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tgmsunmontue · 11 months ago

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Lonely Nights 4/4

Set in 2009, Bradley is ~26 and Jake is ~22. Hangster PWP. AU where Bradley went to the USNA and has a better relationship with Maverick, however DADT still exists. This 100% fits in with the much longer Nepo!Baby-Bradley fic I am currently writing (the angsty one).

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

His entire body is aching in the best way, muscles unused to this particular type of workout and his thigh muscles are going to let him know their displeasure later and he won’t have any regrets. His shower is quick, his stomach grumbling at the fact that it’s nearing nine and he still hasn’t eaten anything for well over twelve hours and that’s something he needs to remedy soon. He towels off again and then realizes he’s going to have to dress in the clothes he was wearing last night. Eugh. Okay, maybe clean clothes are slightly more important to him than food. He steps back into the bedroom and starts picking up his clothes. Jake is lying with the pillow over his head, like he’s pre-empting Bradley’s intention to get him out of bed but he lifts the corner and peers out, his face scrunching in displeasure.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to go and get a change of clothes, plus I’m starving. As good as the sex is, I can’t survive on it. I’m guessing this place doesn’t have room service?” Jake snorts and gives him a look that tells him he’s guessing correctly. “Okay, I can go and get food and come back…”

“Or, uh, we could go together? What else do you have planned for today?”

He feels a little relieved that Jake seems to want to spend time together not in bed, and he refuses to think about it more than that. He pulls his underwear and jeans on, not bothering with doing the zip and button quite yet.

“Uh… well. I was going to go and see the new Transformers movie.”

“Oh, yeah, I wanted, to, uh see that too…”

“And I was going to get a haircut. You probably need one,” Bradley adds, because while his hair has been growing for over two months, he has no idea what style Jake normally has but it’s too long to be regulation right now. He hopes it’s not a buzz; Jake likes having his hair pulled and the idea of it being cut so short Bradley can’t tug at it anymore makes him mourn for it…

“Um, are you okay with… hanging out with me? I mean, getting food and going to the movies and… fucking getting our hair cut…”

He sounds unsure suddenly and Bradley wonders what’s caused it. He walks over to the bed and pulls his tank over his head. Hmm. He likes the visual of being dressed and Jake being naked in front of him. He sits and reaches out, runs his fingers through Jake’s very messy hair.

“Jake… I’ve never been to the movies with a guy I’ve had sex with. Hell, I’ve never shared a fucking meal with a guy I’ve had sex with,” he pauses then, wonders if sharing a mess hall with a carrier squeeze counts and discounts it immediately. “And none of that is because I didn’t want to. It’s been to protect myself. Protect my career.”

“Oh.”

“But I do want to go out and get some food with you, and then go to the movies… and then get my hair cut. And then come back here and have sex again. If you’re interested.”

“If I’m interested? You want that?”

“Yeah,” Bradley says, not wanting to say anything about wanting to maybe play pretend for the next day and a half that he’s going to have to shove all this back into a small space inside of him that he ignores for the most part. “Jake… do you want me to go and check out of my hotel and come and stay here with you for the rest of the weekend?”

“I… yeah. If you want to?”

“I wouldn’t be offering it if I didn’t want to.”

“Then yeah, go and get your things.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in… thirty. Probably? Have a shower and get dressed and then I’ll be back and we can go out and start with breakfast. Brunch I guess. Deal?”

“Yeah, deal.”

He leans down and gives Jake a kiss, softly gentle carrying the promise of later.

… … …

Part of him wants to keep his hotel room, plausible deniability and all that when he’s got three nights paid accommodation all sorted out. He wonders about maybe changing it to two nights, but then the logistics of trying to check out tomorrow just seem unnecessarily convoluted. He’s looking at having a solid two days and nearly three nights with the same guy. Yeah, he’s going to have to leave ungodly early Monday morning, but he was planning on doing that anyway. He changes into clean clothes and grabs his things and packs them, efficient from years of practice; eyes his hanging garment bag containing his service dress blues. He’ll leave them in the car and change half-way to Pensacola. That’ll be fine. He drives back to Jake’s motel and parks in the numbered carpark associated with Jake’s room. He wants to know how Jake is getting to Pensacola if he doesn’t have a car here, but he also doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to offer him a ride because that would raise too many questions when they’re seen arriving together.

He grabs his bag and heads to the door, raps on it and waits. Then Jake is standing there, grinning and letting his eyes travel up the length of Bradley’s body and he’s never felt quite so desired. Like he’s been the thing Jake has been coveting for years and he’s finally within his grasp. Who knows? Maybe he is.

“Brad Bradley Bradshaw.”

“That’s not my name…”

“Close enough, still sounds just as ridiculous.”

“God, you’re kind of a shit head aren’t you.”

“Yep.”

“Come on, we had a deal.”

“I made that deal before I knew the other conditions. Because that shirt is also ridiculous…”

“What’s wrong with it?” Bradley asks, looking down at his shirt. It’s one of the Hawaiian ones the Ice had brought him back from a work trip.

“Uh… it wasn’t a gag gift?”

“No. My uncle got it for me when he went to Hawaii. I wear quite a few.”

“Well, I guess you aren’t perfect after all.”

That makes Bradley laugh in shock, that anyone could think that he’s perfect. And that apparently Jake is judging him for his style of clothing.

“I don’t want to be perfect, I want food,” Bradley says, pushing past him to drop his bag inside, letting his empty hand trail over Jake’s stomach.

“Well, if you insist on wearing that then I guess I have no choice.”

“How about I promise to let you take it off me later?”

“Okay, that’s a condition of the deal I can accept. Let’s go.”

They find a diner easily enough, Bradley happy to drive them, happier that Jake doesn’t ask any questions about why his garment bag is hanging on a hook in the backseat of his car rather than inside his motel room. Some subjects they just seem to mutually avoid. They figure out a movie time and then figure they can find a barber to walk into before or after. They discuss movies they’ve seen, talk about shared experiences having both gone to USNA, let each other’s calves rest against each other under the table. They finish and pay up, walking back when Jake asks about his car.

“Why an Audi?”

Bradley sighs, because he’s already had this conversation multiple times, with multiple different people.

“It’s the safest apparently. My dad is a little overprotective. Tries to be anyway. It was a graduation gift. Wasn’t going to turn away a free car.”

“Hell of a gift. It ain’t no Bronco though is it…”

Bradley snorts.

“No. I don’t need to drive a Bronco…” Not when I fly planes he wants to add; doesn’t. “So, anything you want to do today?”

“Uh… well. I kind of did some looking before I came here. I want to go dancing.”

“Clubbing?”

“I mean, we could, but I mean… line dancing. I miss it.”

“Okay…”

“Can you carry a tune Brad Bradley Bradshaw?”

“I was in the D and B for a bit, I can follow and carry a tune fine.”

“Then you can learn some line dancing easy. I’ll keep it nice and simple just for you.”

“Oh yeah? That a challenge?”

“Always. There’s a casual session happening early this evening. I was going to go, unless I get a better offer…”

“I’m sure we can fit both in…”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep…”

Bradley rolls his eyes and gets him to direct him to the cinema duplex, they buy tickets but pass on food, both still full from their belated breakfast. They make themselves comfortable and Bradley can’t remember the last time he went to the movies with just one other person. Maybe high school? He feels Jake’s hand on his thigh and lays his own hand over top, lacing their fingers together. It’s nice and innocent. Until Jake pulls Bradley’s hand to his mouth and sucks a finger into his mouth, grinning at him when he gives him an elbow.

“Fucking behave… I’m not getting kicked out of a movie I want to see.”

“Would it be a different story if you didn’t want to watch the movie?”

“Uh…”

Jake laughs and Bradley pinches his thigh just above the knee joint tight enough, making him flail a little. A couple of other people turn around and frown at them, but it’s dark, the pre-movie advertisements and trailers unimportant enough that Bradley cannot bring himself to feel even remotely guilty. Jake seems to settle though, so Bradley leaves his hand on his thigh, lets himself enjoy the weight of Jake leaning against him as they settle in to watch the movie. It feels nice.

Once the movie is finished they both walk out stretching, Jake is already looking something up on his phone and then he showing Bradley directions to the nearest barber that accepts walk-ins. It’s a fifteen minute walk, but they both decide it’ll feel good to stretch after sitting for nearly three hours.

“So, how do you normally get your hair done?”

“Uh, usually it’s just a three all over.”

Bradley can’t help the little sound of distress and Jake looks at him in disbelief.

“So… not a buzz all over?”

“No.”

“You wanna tell me what you want…?”

Bradley doesn’t bother saying anything, just stops them and steps to the side, wraps one arm around Jake’s waist and pulls him close against him until they’re pressed close together. Then he runs his other hand into the hair at the back of Jake’s head, nails scraping and he kisses him, softly really, not wanting to make people around them uncomfortable. He tightens the hand in Jake’s hair ever so slightly and just tugs gently. Jake’s entire body responds, hips rolling forward, quiet moan emanating from his throat and eyes fluttering shut. Yeah.

“That. That’s what I want for the next twenty-four hours. You cut it too short then…” he shrugs, because Jake gets the message. It’s his hair, he can cut it however he wants, but he can also get it cut shorter on base.

“Oh. Yeah. Okay…”

He lets Jake go in first, explaining he needs to ring his dad, which is true, Mav expects a Saturday afternoon check-in and always prefers a quick phone call when Bradley can. He does make it quick, explains he’s about to get his hair cut which makes Mav laugh. He doesn’t ask about his time and Bradley doesn’t offer up anything. He says he has to go when Jake appears back in front of him and he hangs up and gives Jake a proper once over. His hair is styled, still long enough to run his hand through on top, but the sides and back are definitely short. Well within regulation.

“You look… good.”

“Only good?”

“I think I preferred it a little longer.”

“Yeah, same.”

“It’s okay, I still wouldn’t kick you out of bed.”

Jake laughs and pushes him inside, tells him it’s his turn to make phone calls and Bradley lets him have his privacy.

… … …

He wakes up Sunday morning and his body is itchy, and this is not the hard-rooted desire to fuck or get fucked, but rather the need to burn energy through exercise, something that has become a deeply ingrained habit. Yesterday he’d written off as a rest day, because not even great sex and an intense line dancing session can replace a good hour of running or weights. He rolls out of bed and moves to his bag, grabbing out his running gear. Pulls on his underwear and running shorts. He sits down on the edge of the bed, pokes at Jake who seems to hate waking up, which makes Bradley wonder how the fuck he got on at USNA.

“Hey. I’m going for a run…”

“Ugh. You want company?”

Bradley blinks. He hadn’t even thought that was a possibility.

“Uh… No? I mean, I like running, so I don’t want you to come if you’re going to bitch and moan the whole time.”

“I mean, I will. But I’ll also enjoy the view more than usual. You look good all hot and sweaty. Just think there are better ways than running to achieve it.”

Bradley laughs then, lets himself shuffle and push Jake into the bed.

“Yeah, be that as may be, just imagine the shower afterwards…”

“We can shower after sex too.”

“I’m going for a run. Join me, or don’t.”

Jake groans, grumbles a bit, but does join him, and Bradley’s fucking glad he’d maintained his training regime throughout his leave, forced to really because Mav wouldn’t ever let him slack off. Jake is competitive, but Bradley is too, and they probably shouldn’t be trying to push each other like this. Neither of them stop though, and it’s not until they’re both back at the motel, chests heaving and gasping, Bradley gulping back a bottle of water without stopping, his entire body screaming out as to what the fuck was he thinking. Jake is laughing though, collapsing onto the ground and Bradley can’t help but grin.

After that they decide to take it easy for the rest of the day, showering separately because there’s no way they can both fit in that cubicle. They walk to a different diner for breakfast and buy sandwiches to eat in bed later. They have sex again and afterwards Jake naps while Bradley reads a book. It feels surreal, like he has somehow stepped outside of his life for this little window of time. Able to enjoy everything he’s always felt like he’s missed. He’s just not sure if it’s a good thing to now know what he’s been missing. They go out for dinner to a steak house, Jake insisting on playing footsie with him under the table while he makes up either tragic or hilarious back-stories for the other patrons and wait staff.

Their last time together is slow. So slow. Bradley wonders if Jake feels the same. If he wants to drag it out for as long as possible and make it seem like time has stopped for them, that tomorrow will somehow not come. He lets himself run his fingers over the odd mole here and there on Jake’s body, places little kisses on them, tries to commit them all to memory. Wants to know he’s traced and mapped as much skin while he can, doesn’t want to have regrets later about not taking the time to touch Jake everywhere. Jake’s hands are likewise occupied and Bradley wonders if his fingertips feel as sensitive as Bradley’s skin does from where Jake’s touched him… His body shudders when he comes, aching and deep, different again from the previous orgasms and he can’t believe he’s developing a catalogue system. Can’t help but smile as he feels the aftershocks and he licks at Jake’s neck, kisses little taps up to his ear, nips at the earlobe.

“God Jake…” He doesn’t know what to say, what he wants to say is just too much. Far too much for something that is only a couple of days old, far too much for something he’s going to have to pretend has never happened, far too much to shove down and ignore. But he will do all of that anyway. “Let’s just say the memory is going to get me through a lot of lonely nights.”

… … …

He leaves at four the next morning, pauses to press a kiss to Jake’s forehead. He’s pretty sure after this his nights are going to feel lonelier than ever before.

THE END

(The angst of this is resolved in another WIP, but it's a couple of months off being posted).

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfic #Sereshaw #hangman x rooster #Top Gun Maverick

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wowowwild · 1 year ago

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You said Sick Days was your favorite of your fics right now so could you do idk... If I just list some numbers you can pick which ones you want to answer, right? 3-6, 8-12 any of those. Thank you!

I love this fic so much I will do all of them ily for this.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

Is it cheating if I don't choose only one? I'm not choosing only one, this blog is my domain and I will do what I want forever.

I really want to include the section where Apollo says 'eugh' but it might rightfully gross people out.

'No time for that, Justice! Your sopping wet boyfriend needs a towel and at least eight hours of sleep, stat.' -Apollo desperately trying to avoid psycho-analyzing his boyfriend

'Apollo was a vision standing in the doorway with a tray of breakfast and Klavier thought he might die.' -Klav just really wanting his eggs

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Also not choosing only one.

“You’re thinking too hard. Feed me my ice cream.” -Klav being a brat (well deserved)

“Ja. I can do anything if I put my mind to it, Herr Forehead, so jot that down.” -Klav being sassy yet entirely too genuine

“It appears he has no court appearances, so please tell Prosecutor Gavin he has the rest of the week off and that if he shows up despite this I will suspend him.” -Edgeworth being the best boss ever and caring for his subordinates

There were also some exchanges but I'm sticking to single liners as prompted, I do follow some rules.

5: What part was hardest to write?

I had to rework the part where he went to get the medicine and ice cream a couple times, but mostly this fic just flowed out of me.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

So I started writing it while sick and I just wanted to be taken care of so I thought 'What are things I would want someone to do for me?' which made this fic really more about their relationship and how they support each other than some greater narrative. Usually I am struck by a funny concept and then work around it, but this one was genuinely about the kind of love that comes with a healthy extended partnership.

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

Answered this above, I was sick. I was sooooo sick. Next time I get sick we're doing the same but in reverse and Apollo is going to be so grumpy, representing the part of me that gets grumpy instead of pathetic when sick.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Nope! I wrote most of this in one sitting so there wasn't time for there to be multiple versions. Most of the scenes were one and done as well.

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I wanted Apollo to take care of me. Klavier is my special boy. It just worked out.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I made so many quick character decisions, particularly about Klav, and I'm happy with all of them actually. My favorites are that he was very close with his Oma and that he just casually keeps a story book by the bed, probably one that his Oma read to him. He is also specifically Austrian in this fic which is reflected in book choice but idk if that's even something people would notice.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

I don't know how else I would have written it, but I made a lowkey ad for Project Gutenberg when referencing the book and it feels clunky to me, but I might just be nitpicking. I genuinely enjoy everything else. I think as a story it's good, I think technically it's good. I stand by my assessment that this is the best thing I've written so far.

#wild ask #wild fic #klapollo #klavier gavin #apollo justice

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callipraxia · 1 year ago

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oh!!! this is a few hours later, but i also wanted to ask what the lost-but-recently-revived project actually is, because i've never thought to ask in an ask box until now. when my tablet is dead. eugh. it must've been mentioned before, but if you'd like to say more, i'd love to learn about it!!! i feel like i've been talking too much about my own things lately, and i wanna read about others', specifically yours >:] (i remember something about gideon and the axolotl, but that might have been a different project---regardless that sounds whimsy af) if you dont feel like it or anything, you can ignore this :^

The lost project actually hadn’t been discussed much, if at all; it’s a post-canon one-shot where Stan and Ford go back to Glass Shard Beach, reasoning that Stan probably needs to see the place again for the good of his memory and that Ford should probably pay some form of respects to their deceased parents. Stan has a video camera. He ends up documenting just how much everything has changed. He and Ford have Feelings about this, and then they run into someone unexpected. It’s...hardly high drama, so it probably doesn’t make sense that it’s taken this long to start rewriting it, but so it goes with my short pieces.

The Gideon thing is a spinoff/sequel to FWJB I’m considering – specifically, what happened to him after the final battle. It begins ten years later, with Gideon waking up to discover that someone appears to have recently jammed the majority of a tube of drugged lipstick down his throat. Since said lipstick would knock someone unconscious and induce mild amnesia in a much smaller quantity, it’s done a real job on him, which leaves him trying to figure out where he is, how long he’s been there, who drugged him, why that person drugged him, and, in fact, most of who he is – he knows his name is Gideon, he knows he should really not tell anyone that, and very little else. Not even why it’s so important to hide his identity.

Naturally, once he figures even a tiny bit of that information out, he promptly finds himself with even worse problems than he started with.

Other ideas...what the heck, I might as well talk about them a bit, not least to, er, document them in some fashion. Been thinking that writing them down might be a good idea anyway, so here we go:

1) You once suggested I kill Ford and make Stan have feelings about it. I’ve started that one, too; it’s the one I wrote down a lot of and then typed up and then lost...last week? Week before last? Week before last, I think. In this sad little universe, Ford manages to break his neck and die like six months after Weirdmageddon. Stan takes this poorly.

2) In other possible returns to old stomping grounds, I’m intrigued by the idea of going further into how Agent Trigger, of all people, somehow managed to slip under the radar, climb the ranks of the DFSI, and end up recruiting Dipper. Similarly, I’d like to do at least a short return to the IG Epilogue situation, if I can think of a good plot for it beyond Dipper’s initial reaction to “...did that guy really just take his face off like a pair off sunglasses and call me by name??” Plus, of course, if I’m ever in a fluff mood, I gotta write what happened when Soos made good on his promise to loan Ford the deeveedees.

3) Road trip time with Fiddleford and the Stan Twins! What could possibly go wrong?

4) So, Powers. Tell us more about how your agency spotted signals from Gravity Falls thirty years ago. What did you guys do then?

5) Writing more of McGucket’s memoirs, and/or the horror novel about the building of the Portal that I’ve had in mind, and/or a between-the-episodes incident where Fiddleford, struggling to remember who the Author was and why he’s so darn difficult to remember, convinces Tate to talk to him about the past, resulting in them going over a bunch of letters Emma-May had kept and Fiddleford struggling to figure out what was real vs what he was lying about, all while he and Tate are having feels (and sometimes explosive arguments) in the present.

6) Some college years stuff. I have vague ideas for something about the construction of the mind-control tie, and for something else about That One Time Fiddleford Convinced Ford To Come With Him To Tennessee Over The Holidays.

7) More angsty one-shots...stuff like Stan pretending to be Ford at Filbrick’s funeral, and the first day Ford went back to high school by himself, and some stuff with small Tate, and...you get the picture.

8) I will admit this only because of your current tagline – I, too, have entertained the idea that Stan has actually read Moby Dick. Specifically, that in his last months in school, he and Ford ended up in separate classes for part of the day because Ford was taking calculus or something, resulting in Stan having to take the standard-issue American Lit class by himself, and the teacher essentially annoying him into making a good-(ish; it is Stan we’re talking about) faith effort to do his book report properly...only for it to all end on the most depressing note possible, of course. I’ve told myself I cannot actually write this, but… *shrugs*

9) Early in his years in Gravity Falls, Stan visits the library. The librarian is someone he finds attractive. Somehow, one thing leads to another and he finds himself being strong-armed into helping with the town science fair, despite a) him not really being a scientist, only playing one in front of tourists and b) his very specific hatred of science fairs.

10) It is September. Everyone is going back to school. Wendy discovers that Tracey and Quattro exist. This is the one that had me complaining about how I missed the apocalypse not long ago – it’s harder to 99% ignore their infatuation with her in a lower-stakes scenario, and I have no idea how to handle that.

11) It is the academic year. Pacifica struggles to deal with her new social milieu.

12) Some other AU ideas...mostly “what if someone didn’t think of [clever thing] in time” disaster scenarios. There’s also the Better World AU, where...let’s just say it’s not a very nice place at all, at least for some people.

So, there you are! It’s...the majority of the ideas floating around my head at the moment. Some could merge together into one project. Some might not ever see the light of day. But I’ve got plenty of material to work with, just have to get my head back in order for writing, and I’m pleased to say that my head is getting closer to order by the day.

#gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls au #too many gravity falls aus

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koqabear · 2 years ago

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stop bc that's literally me rn like i want to write and finish this fic so bad but every time i open my doc i just go 🧍🏻‍♀️ it's so plot heavy and i have to fill in scenes to show mundane progression and it's so... Eugh but u also have to shorten what i'm writing because i don't want it to be too long 💔

also regarding last night (i knocked out like 20 minutes before u responded) i knew bc of ur fic drops! im pst so im three hours behind and usually have to take that into account with most releases 😭 writing until 4 is so crazy to me though but it's more so in a How way than why bc my brain shuts off at around 1-2am but urs... just keeps working? i need inspiration like that fr – ml

STOP bc I get u so much, writing mundane scenes can be so boring but it’s important like ugh you mean to tell my I have to develop my characters and their relationship properly? It’s so tricky and difficult but it always turns out so nice in the end which upsets me more 🚬

But yeah I kinda figured lmao 💀 I genuinely don’t know how my mind works??? It’s more of a deadly fixation at this point, because once I start something I genuinely have to sit down and keep going until I finish it

#pain is temporary but so is my motivation #when I get it I have to use it up #bc I’ll never know when it’ll return again #rambles #koqabear asks #masterlist anon!

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wonkyplate · 8 months ago

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this isn’t how it works but i'm gonna do it anyway (tony hawks regular voice)

🎱 haven’t posted anything yet so: bookmarks 147 and gifts 1 :)

🍓 i got into writing fanfics a long time ago when i discovered fanfiction.net as pretty much a kid and i thought "hey that's neat maybe i can make my own little stories" and since then have never totally finished a fanfic 👍 it's called cosmic dread and it's terminal

🌵 not particularly writing music (but yeah it still works) and not a playlist (a beautiful album), just want to share because sturge Should be shared: https://spotify.link/ofKYQWtEjIb

🕯 eugh. like a 4 for editing. it's a love/hate relationship and i'm not sure which of us is in the wrong. we might be doomed (shaky soap opera breath) but i still love him...

🛼 oooh. okay. 🤖🚀💥⚠️🤕 ??? is this anything ???

🥑 i know who's going to send me some obscure gifs and tumblr posts about it

🥤 ahhh. i immediately wanna recommend cargocrate's star wars stuff but this is a trek/tng blog. we're not mutuals but damsondaforge's work is amazing and hits all the right spots 🫶

💌 please don’t ever ask me that again. we don't say that e-word around here

🌻 my bestie juniper :) i love u i hope ur blossoming in ur new job weehee

🐇 i'm... going to assume reader-insert means (Y/N)? i don't like reading or writing reader-inserts (sorry) because it doesn’t feel believable, to me or the audience i'm writing for. i'd rather get lost in a story than have to talk myself INTO a story everytime the reader insert does something i wouldn’t do. i love original characters though, we need more of those beauties

🧃 mm that's easy, this is like my first ever post on this blog. i'm a dog groomer and i almost faint when a dog slobbers on me 😀

🎲 ha! free time. what a concept! i get maybe 3 hours a week that i can confidently label as free time

🍄 favourite dataforge headcanon: data is the little spoon and i'm right

🧸 make me smile or laugh or cry (not in a mean way, i'm just an emotional guy)

🪐 my niece! she's the best 4 year old ever, i love her. i guess work is going well but i'm expanding the business so those three hours of spare time are in dangerous waters. my gender transition is chugging along nicely too, just waiting for my hrt appointment next month and i'm firmly on the wait list for top surgery. woohoo!

📚 a dog on the cancellation list (chow called sui mai 🧡), supplies i need to order for the salon and some crime shows my writing workshop suggested (e.g. taggart, cracker, trial and retribution etc.)

🍬 i'm pretty sure i don't have any unpopular opinions about any of the tng characters. i'm just like sitting here until u hear some unexpected snarling and frothing macbeth-style

🔪 weirdest topic has probably been about go karting and homelessness and any possible connections there. please don’t ask

🦷 nobody is assigned a timeline. do things in your own time and enjoy the seconds, minutes and hours. depression is a terrible beast that gnashes those second hands between its teeth, but once you reclaim your life - go and live it. make decisions and follow through

❄️ oooh i'm not sharing that on the big wide web but cargocrate would turn any old dust into gold. trust that guy with my life

🌿 oof. writer's block, for me, can be defined as low confidence and nothing more or less. what you write isn’t good enough, how you write isn’t good enough, who you write isn’t good enough. it's tricky but writer's block can only be conquered by practising and improving, having a strong support network of like-minded people (other writers, not just people who like to read), a healthy feedback system for all involved and a life to live and experience (to inform your work and to help create ideas). often, writer's block is just the wall you erected yourself and you're panicking because your view is limited. let go of ego, let go of the block

🥐 "minion... is that your pinis...?"

🏜 i haven’t received ao3 comments but feedback from friends is Always useful :D i prefer honesty, and i love it when people tell me what i can try in order to make the piece work better. but you can't go wrong with a solid "AAAAA-"

🍦 augh god i'm gonna get blasted but i really dislike tasha yar's character. i could talk about the technicals that led to this conclusion but we want some good things, so. i like that she was a symbol for women, at the time of airing and still today, to pursue a career that's male-dominated, and the respect she commanded in the position. i enjoyed how unapologetically stubborn she could be with safety of the crew. i honestly cannot summon more thoughts, i'm so sorry tasha

🥝 i don't lie, or i at least don't make a habit of it. i used to lie as a kid (because i got myself into some difficult situations) but hated the feeling of it. i think the last time i lied was a couple of weeks ago when i told my boss the writing workshop had gone well, but i hadn't actually gone. i'd been so defeated by period cramps that i was worried about driving on the motorway - but i wasn't about to shout this across the salon where everyone could hear

🦋 ocean vuong is always on my heart and mind. but also that fucking data & picard song. it's ripping me to pieces. i've almost memorised picard's security code

🦴 mm. science fiction in general is a huge imspiration to me, as well as drama, but my biggest helper isn't media, it's poetry :)

🍅 my biggest weakness with writing is dialogue, i think. i've always struggled with it because i struggle anticipating what Real people are going to say to me, let alone the fictional people in my head. i need to work more on drip-feeding character through dialogue and drive stories forward using it

🐚 it depends on the surprise lmao. if i have to go/be somewhere specific for the surprise, i would really rather people tell me what it is and let me choose if it's worth the time. if it's like a takeaway dinner or some extra dessert i didn’t know about, i'd be a fucking Fool in the tarot deck to turn it away

🪲 again, this feels like an opportunity for people to steal my work so nah i won't be sharing my wip on here. the wip will be shared when it's no longer a wip !

☁️ an old chat with a friend. not sure how we got talking about it but we wanted to know what we'd each look like as a plate. crate thought i'd be orange and a little wonky and i thought he'd be green and patterned. since then, i've always thought of myself as the wonky orange plate :)

🐝 i really only have a couple of friends and this post is making light work of my records 😭 okay i'll play the sentimental card instead and say, my mother. we never used to get along and came to blows (verbally) nearly every week, but much of that was my own fault for being such an angry child. i was acting out of hurt, but i shouldn’t have taken it out on her. now, we live and work together, and i can easily call her one of my best friends 🧡

🌸 mattie! he's a rescued greyhound from the racing industry over in ireland. i love him with my whole and fragile heart

🎨 hhhh there are too many pieces of fanart out there...... but i'm always a sucker for A Fistful Of Datas fanart 👀

🧩 mischaracterisation! ooc! no paragraphs/strange formatting! extremely Long paragraphs! infodumping! a genuine lack of interest to create a story that moves people (this one is tricky to define but, essentially, no substance whatsoever)!

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats 🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love 🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that? 🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis 🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help? 🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love 💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now? 🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis 🐇 ⇢ do you prefer writing original characters, reader inserts, or a mix of both? 🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before 🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? 🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings 🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual? 🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now 📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app? 🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character 🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project? 🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on ❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best? 🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity 🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh 🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? 🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate 🥝 ⇢ do you lie a lot? what's the most recent lie you told? 🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 🦴 ⇢ is there a piece of media that inspires your writing? 🍅 ⇢ give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing 🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises? 🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here ☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? 🐝 ⇢ tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them 🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them 🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

#wonkyplate's lore

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pearlydewydrops · 4 months ago

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finally finished obit and i’m stunned!! this book + i remain in darkness (which i have not finished…) paired together is painful. i feel very tired out and like i need a shower to cleanse myself now (that may also be because ive been reading this book for like 4 hours couped up in my bed). victoria chang says something about ‘sadness is plural, but grief is singular’ and that is so very true because her depiction of grief in this book is so unique and these individual moments that grief hits expressed through the figurative deaths of various objects, metaphorical beings, concepts and people all culminate into a beautiful and fragmented journey of her grief over her mother’s death. the final obituary is the only literal death described in the book, apart from her mother’s, which was the Parkland high school shooting that happened on february 14th 2018 (as i searched it up), although, the event that occurred on that date isn’t specifically stated in the book for good reason. May they rest in peace and i thought that was a beautiful way to end the book. it all felt so natural - the repetitive format and how all these obituaries feel like an incredibly heavy-handed diary (like a designated grief journal?). the book ends with a final poem that doesn’t end in a metaphorical sense, it’s an endless poem of hope hope hope (‘see how the mouth stays open?’ she writes as the final line) dedicated to her children. i didn’t notice the connection between the poems and the obituaries in the book but i noticed that a lot (maybe all?) of the poems were of victoria chang talking about her children

also weirdly this part of the book rlly reminded me of the image of sitting at the top of the bunk bed of my grandparents (not new but new for me since it was my first time visiting it last year in december) apartment in singapore. i imagine these two scenes to be wildly different cause the writer isn’t even sitting on a bunk bed 😭 but idk the image of sitting at the top of the bunk bed looking down at the many many streetlights through the small open window that only i could see from (yes this did make me feel special compared to my sister, actually i don’t even remember if she had a window on the bottom bunk maybe she did but i don’t think so) at 4am because their (new but not new) apartment was sooooo hot and cramped im not even joking when i say that opening the window was the only thing saving me from passing out (i kinda rlly miss their old apartment but its ok :(( ) and the veryvery white light illuminating through the gap at the bottom of the door from the bathroom whenever my grandpa would take bathroom breaks while watching the football game (i think he goes for arsenal?) is all still so fresh in my mind yet already nostalgic-feeling. it might just be nostalgic because i was feeling sad at the moment and was romanticising looking out an apartment window while im the only one awake woooweee…. but i miss itttt (even tho i was sorta kinda shitting on my grandparent’s new apartment a second ago i still loved it so much i wanna go back for a visit eugh) none of this added to what i was talking about with the book i’m really just saying anything because i am no good at analysing and evaluating books and beautiful writing BUT i will say

i love any piece of art that depicts grief in a lyrical, quiet yet passionate way. i’m scared for the day i have to experience my own intense grief but something about the way its written when its written WELL is fascinating and strangely comforting in a way no other concept of a feeling is (moreso comforting when the person has a good support system). idk why but it is

…my parents are back home now from work and i have to take a shower and study so i’ll just leave these scrappy notes here i guess… ??

(also this whole book reminds me that i don’t think i’ve ever read an obituary in my life. i admittedly didn’t even know what it was until i searched it up 😭😭 maybe i’m too young 😭)

#my reading diary #reading #literally just the most scattered random thoughts that don’t make a whole lotta sense #finished a book! yayyy #reading & writing

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nat-20s · 4 years ago

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for @jonmartinweek day 4 prompt- tape recorders! once again post canon, but this time babes? it’s pure sappiness

~*~

When Martin dumps the box in front of him, Jon can’t help the sardonic huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Really? I would’ve thought you’d had enough enough of these damn things for a lifetime.”

Martin beams at him, obviously expecting a less than thrilled response to the charity shop cassettes. “Oh, believe me, I have. Buuuut..”

It’s clear Martin wants him to bite, and, what the hell, Jon can’t deny he’s curious. He sets aside the paperback he’s been thumbing through and asks, “But?”

“But it’s been a year and a half since we got here, and you know that I’ve been writing again, and the poems really do sound better on tape.”

“Oh..kay? Is that all? Because, love, you do know you can replicate that sound digitally, right? No need to bring..to bring those things into our home.”

“Aha! I knew you would say that, but, no, Jon, that’s not all. Remember how our therapist said something about softening bad associations by re-contextualizing items with new, positive memories, or whatever? I thought these would be a good start, considering they’re not quite so visceral as lotion or, eugh, peaches. And, yes, there’s always the whole possibility of something listening on the other side, but I have actually accounted for that. I’ve had the recorder in my bag for the past week, and I’ve taken it to all sorts of locations that would be considered interesting or scary, and nothing. I brought it to a job interview, for Christ’s sake, and not a peep. I am almost certain that we have total control over when the recordings start and stop, and who gets to listen to them. You have full veto power here, obviously, and you don’t have to record anything yourself, but, I thought it might be nice, to record just notes and grocery lists or songs stuck in our heads or whatever. Maybe we could make tapes into something mundane and maybe even pleasant, if a bit outdated.”

Standing up for a better viewpoint, Jon eyes the box of cassettes and, crammed in the corner, the recorder itself. He’s not overly enthused at the sight, and if it comes on by itself at any moment, he’s tossing everything into an industrial shredder and never looking back. Yet, it would be preferable to not wince at the sound of static, to be able to use the tape deck in their beater car. He knows already that he won’t be using it himself, the imagined press of the recorder in his hand more than enough to make his skin crawl and throat tighten. Just Martin’s voice, however, might be tolerable. Perhaps even enjoyable, on those rare occasions that they have to spend more than a handful of hours apart. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I suppose it won’t hurt to try. Though I must admit my confidence in this experiment isn’t particularly high.”

Martin rewards his willingness to go along with this with a kiss to the temple, and informs him, “That’s fine. I can be optimistic for both of us on this one.”

~*~

The next morning, Jon rolls over to find an upsetting lack of warmth at his side. He opens his eyes to find his delightful boyfriend has been replaced with a cold, uncaring tape recorder. It’s apparently locked and loaded, as it has a sticky note in Martin’s loopy handwriting that says “Play me :-)”. With bated breath, he ever so carefully presses play.

Hello, love. Remember how we completely neglected to do our shopping on Tuesday? Turns out, we have zero breakfast food now. I’m grabbing some bagels from the cafe that’s too pricey for us to regularly justify, I’ll be back in 15. I love you.”

Huh. Not terrible. Maybe this is something Jon could get used to after all.

After that morning, and Jon’s lack of averse reaction to it, Martin keeps his word and begins to record all sorts of things. Little reminders for both of them, a spoken journal, affirmations for Jon, and, yes, grocery lists, despite Jon’s continued insistence that a whiteboard would be infinitely easier. Martin even manages to capture Jon on tape a few times, either singing or having a very earnest conversation with their incredibly chatty cat.

The wild thing is that it works. Jon doesn’t flinch at the sight of a cassette anymore. At worst, they’re mental background noise, nothing to take note of. At best, they’re audio treats, a physical token of something wonderful or peaceful or loving or all of the above.

This culminates six months later, when Jon finds a tape awaiting it. On it is a spoken clue from Martin, leading to another cassette. He follows the path, and he has to admit, he’s enjoying the playful puzzle. After being lead to a number of locations loaded with fond memories, he ends up in front of Martin, waiting on a bench in the park where they first woke up Here. He goes to sit next to him, and with a silent smile, he’s handed one final tape. Jon raises an eyebrow at him, questioning, but Martin doesn’t give away anything, just nodding at the recorder. Jon shrugs, and goes for it.

My dearest Jon,We’ve been through hell and back more times than I can count, and throughout it all, we’ve somehow managed to stick by each other. Right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, and I have an inkling that it’s much the same for you. While it’s largely a formality at this point, I would like to declare to the world that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives, and perhaps even beyond them, together. My love, my light, my anchor, will you marry me?

Okay. He can admit he’s glad to have that on tape.

#jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #tma #post canon #yall this is so saccharine #AND it was posted during daylight hours WILD #HEY THIS WAS MISSING THE FIRST SENTENCE BUT IT'S FIXED NOW

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ramble-writes · 2 years ago

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Forget-Me-Not: The Face of Death

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Soooooo. I realized when I published the 6th chapter on another site that I forgot to update the story here... WHELP. Here’s 4 then since I forgot to update it here. Also, please don’t forget to like and reblog. Reblogging helps for my writing to gain traction despite the amount of shitposting I do lol.

Sam found himself pacing back and forth at the international spaceship landing at the edge of New Aromonia. Tucker and Kai were supposed to be here an hour ago, and there's no sign of the ship that's supposed to bring them here from the moon of Chorus. He was about to go over to a man with a tablet to ask about an arriving ship, but he stopped at seeing one coming in.

1. This is the ship.

2. He is only disappointing himself.

The bounty hunter was leaning more towards the latter, but when the ship landed and the hatch opened, nothing but loud voices came out, and there walking out in a possible argument, were Tucker and Kai. Tucker noticed the man first and waved over to him with a grin. But Sam didn't expect to see Agents Washington and Carolina follow out.

"Hey! Sam!"

He just put up a hand as a wave before crossing his arms. He started to feel his chest tighten, and he had to steady his breathing at the spike of nervousness he began to feel. Is it because hearing his name is different? Or is it due to the heroes of Chorus seeing the face of a man who tried to kill them for the first time? Probably both.

Wash looked around the spaceship landing and noticed Kai staring with her mouth hanging open. With a slight chuckle, he nudged her in the side.

"You're drooling."

"Well, I'm sorry that Mr. Bounty Hunter man is sexy! I don't wanna be rude, but that X on his face is calling me 'Here! X marks the spot for you to sit~'"

Tucker looked over his shoulder at the Polynesian woman as he walked over to where Sam was. "Sorry! I think he's gay, so tough luck!"

"IT'S ALWAYS THE GAY ONES THAT ARE HOT FUCK!"

That made Tucker laugh before turning his attention to Sam, who had his face in his hands. When the Hispanic looked at the Blue, the silence that stretched was awkward.

"So uh... It's... Kinda weird seeing you without your armor. I mean, like. Not that it's a bad thing, but it's different. And knowing your name too, which is all the more weird," Tucker started, rubbing his hand together since they felt clammy.

"I agree. I'm not usually one to freely give out my name. But for the sake of the mission and Chorus, it's needed to keep who I truly am hidden." Sam glanced over Tucker's shoulder to where Carolina and Wash were and raised a brow.

"I thought you said it would be just you and Kakaina."

"About that. I brought them along because maybe it'll get them used to you. Plus, those two need to wind down. No matter how chill they seem, they're always uptight."

A sigh left him. As much as he didn't want to draw attention to himself for this, maybe the extra bodies will be of aid. Sam then motioned the group to follow him to the car he rented. Wash started to move forward as a silent Carolina and a pouting Kakaina followed him, mumbling about how it's such a disappointment that Sam might be into men instead.

Once within the safety of the car away from prying eyes, Carolina crossed her arms as she fixed her gaze on the back of Sam's head. "So. This is the horrifying mercenary Locus out of his armor. And with his name entrusted to the same people who took him down."

"Need I remind you, Carolina. If it weren't for me, you'd be an empty shell of armor with a skeleton and rotting flesh inside."

"Eugh. No need to put that imagery in my head."

Tucker looked over his shoulder from his spot in the passenger seat. "Plus, he's a bounty hunter, not a mercenary. He doesn't kill anymore."

Sam mumbled a 'thanks' to the clarification before sighing. Honestly, he's a bit scared they'll turn him in simply for being Locus once this is over. Tucker could be playing a facade, and Kai... Well, that one is no trick with how upset she looks.

"Washington. Do you remember back at Crash Site Alpha during the war-"

"When I baited you to shoot at my helmet? Yeah. It ain't hard to forget that."

"Right. But before that, when the ship full of prisoners came down. Among those men, do you remember one that was flying?"

Wash took a moment to think back to the war. His memory is fuzzy on many details due to his injury, but he needed a moment to think back to that part. He remembers bullets hailing down on him and the troops and something blue zooming overhead. But that's the extent of it. A man came down with the prisoners, but he was flying instead...

"I think I do. Was there a blue guy?"

"Don't strain yourself too much on the details, Wash," Carolina reassured, then turned her attention to Sam. "His memory is still not that great. So don't press him unless you want to be pressed back."

All Sam did was shrug a shoulder at her light threat. "But, yes. His name is Anubis. A mercenary Felix brought to help out since that man is one of the most dangerous killers out there. As for why I brought him up, he's the one I was sent after."

Tucker was listening to what was said. He remembers Palomo panicking about a "demon" on the battlefield that was flying. And then remembered what Sam told him about this guy. "So, you said clubs is where he hangs, right? Then we gotta get ready!"

"I was told about the best club here! I can get you guys in," Kai chimed in with a grin on her face. Sam glanced at her from the review mirror as the others turned to look at her. Some looks were shared, but they agreed to this club she mentioned.

"But, first things first. You three need a serious change in outfits. Especially you, Sam, since I feel you need help the most."

That made him sigh. He wasn't going to argue with her logic on his choice of clothing, especially for something like a club where he has zero experience on how to dress. And so with that, Kai started to give directions to a dress and suit shop while Tucker looked up the club mentioned previously to see if there was a theme of sorts going on.

Semi-formal.

"Kai. I hate to break it to you, but I'm going to need something that can be tighter."

Kai looked over to Wash with a raised brow before placing a hand on her hip. "The fuck do you mean 'tighter?' That thing is your size."

The ex-freelancer shook his head as his hands carefully worked to loosen the vest-like corset. "No. I mean something a bit smaller. The exact size isn't going to cause the effect you're looking for."

"I agree with him," Tucker said. He stood up to show how he looked in the light blue and white one. "If you wanna put a man in a corset, you need to go for something that really hugs the figure. The idea is to look slim while having a range in motion, but being able to breathe."

That made the Polynesian huff as she crossed her arms. "Who are you to talk about fashion, Tucker? Last I recall, your sense of fashion sucks major balls."

"He does have a point." Sam came out from the dressing room he occupied, all black with hard-to-see patterns loosely hanging off his torso since he had zero ideas on how to tighten a corset. Surprisingly, Carolina, sitting quietly, decided to help out the large man.

"For a man that's been in the army, you should know how to lace up a boot. This is no different."

"Don't patronize me. I haven't had to tie something behind myself for a long time."

"Well, at least you have us here to help you, Mr. Scary Man. Also, Kai, please. Can you look for a smaller one?" Wash looked at Kai with a little puppy dog face. She sighed and nodded since the blond was busy removing the corset he had on. Thank god for dress shirts.

Sam grunted as Carolina tightened the strings to cinch his waist. Tight, uncomfortable, not yet broken into. He has worn figure-fitting suits, but nothing like this where it felt like the first time fitting into new boots. Once the redhead was finished, the Hispanic stretched out his arms a bit since the corset had tightened up and pinned the sleeves to his arms. Once there was some wiggle room, Sam turned to a mirror to see how he looked.

Wash let out a whistle at the sight as he laced up a different vest that was handed to him. "Gotta admit. Ya look good in that, Sam."

Tucker looked over and raised a brow as he leaned back in the chair he was in. "I'm gonna have to agree. It's a good look for you."

"I've worn tight suits, but never a corset."

"All I can say is that you look hot! Actually, both you and Wash do. What kind of training do you guys do that you have hips for days?" Kai crossed her arms with a grin on her face.

"You def look better than Tucker, that's for sure."

"Hey!" Tucker paused, stood up to look at himself, then at the other two, then back to himself. He looked more straightened out than like an hourglass. This realization made him start flinging curses out left and right.

"Well, he did have an alien baby, right?" Carolina questioned as her head tilted to the side, unsure if she remembered being told that.

"He did! Remember when we had to fix the past because of that asshole we all joined up when Tucker gave birth? So yeah. He had one."

"It's baby fat then!"

"Huh. Wonder what happened to all that training I put you through before we joined up with Kimball."

That made Tucker huff as he crossed his arms. "I got killer thighs and calves. Not a full-body workout!"

"Shame. Legs for days, but no abs."

The comment from Sam lead to Kai and Wash laughing, Carolina snickered. Tucker just sat back down with a pout as Sam smiled a little and adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. Everyone took a breath to calm down and assess if they got what they wanted. Wash went to try on a different color and was satisfied with the black and yellow one he found. The group was then set for the night.

Through the windows of the car was the music audible. Loud, heavy, and vibrated in the chest that it was enough to make one take a pause to bask in it.

Sam, Tucker, Kai, Wash, and Carolina all got out of the car and a valet took the keys without being prompted. The owner must have very good money to be paying for valets. Looking at the building, the top of it was similar to an upside-down pyramid, but what would be the tip was wide as a base for support so it would never tip. It was certainly the grandest club in design and lighting for a warehouse-size building.

Tucker motioned to the two Freelancers to follow him towards the bouncer. The brutish man let them in since they are a fraction of the Reds and Blues, then stood in front of the door again. Kai looked to Sam and gestured for him to follow her towards the door. Since she was known for her raves in the gulch, she played the bouncer to convince him that Sam was her bodyguard, which he was easily convinced and let the two in.

The inside of the club was just as grand as the outside. Left of the entrance was the bar, the length of two warthogs to accommodate the many people within. Along both walls were booths and tables, and some half-circle couches had a platform at the center with a dance pole. The club was pretty much what anyone would expect one to look like, along with the thumping music rattling one's eardrums.

The music suddenly died down to a low bass, everyone went quiet, and all eyes went to the stage. Excited whispers started up in seconds, whispers about "the owner" coming up to put in a show. Of course, this caught Kai's attention since she's never heard of club owners putting on performances for their patrons. She knows she's joined in with the people that went to her raves, but this sounded like a whole different level.

The beat changed to the start of a new song; the lights changed to match it as a group of people walked up onto the stage and got into position. The lights came on to show five men, the one in the center dressed differently from the others. How people squealed made it easy to tell that man was the owner. Dark hair with hints of gold tied back in a bun, skin a shade lighter than Sam's. The sleeveless shirt made two thick black tattoo bands with a line with patterns that are visible. There was something about how the lighting reflected in those oddly golden eyes that made the group stare, something unspoken without any sort of indication.

Sam ducked his head low and muttered to Wash how they needed to find a way to talk to the man on stage since he is the owner thanks to the many people screaming as the song progresses and the men start to dance. Kai was like the others: Screaming in absolute excitement at the entertainment. She's lost to them. Tucker then moved closer and whisper/shouted as to why it felt like the owner is looking right at them anytime he looks towards the crowd. Carolina noticed this too and didn't like it one bit since no one makes that much eye contact when performing unless there was a reason behind it. All they could do for now was wait till it's over, then they could hopefully talk to the man.

#I'm so sorry I forgot to post chapter 4 #like shiiiiiiiiit #but here it is lol #and yes I'll post 5 and 6 so y'all are up to date #Kakaina Grif #Lavernius Tucker #Sam Ortez #Agent Washington #Agent Carolina #locus rvb #sister rvb #washington rvb #carolina rvb #rvb #red vs blue #rvb oc #my writings

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omgkalyppso · 3 years ago

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Number 4 for the romance lyric prompt for any variation of the ot4!

4. ‘Cause girls like you run 'round with guys like me 'til sun down.

The lyric is from Girls Like You by Maroon 5 (idk how obvious this is without me saying it), and was added to the playlist specifically for Claude x Hilda though a lot of the lyrics have to be taken at face value because it could be interpret extremely negatively, though not that line, and not my intent. I'll try writing a few words of the stage-production au.

I didn't read over this when I finished.

Here's the first post of the stage-production au: [HERE]

Most of the cast were gone for the day, though the actors who had agreed to go out afterwards had lounged in the audience. Dimitri and Edelgard stood on opposite step ladders, as crewmen held them in place, going over the lines of their final battle with a choreographer and the director.

Dimitri would be atop a large dragon puppet someday, and Edelgard would be in her Hegemon construction, but for now, they were in t-shirts and jeans and trying their best to imagine what the final product might look like.

Hubert and Dedue stood by their sides, and had stopped crouching after the fourth recitation of their lines. By now had been brought chairs to sit upon, from which they each spoke their one line, to be shouted in production, as they supported the song shared by The Rightful King and The Flame Emperor in their epic moment.

From the orchestral pit, the production's vocal coach, Yuri, played an upright piano to guide their tune and tempo.

Hilda sat between Claude and Ferdinand in the audience. Each man whispering along with the song with a bounce of his head while she sunk into her seat, amused, and embarrassed by the prospect of joining them.

It was the most genial cast Hilda had ever worked with, and when Ferdinand, Edelgard, Manuela, Seteth and Lorenz had spoken of not drinking for seven weeks before a show, the bulk of the cast had agreed to go sober for the duration; though when they'd spoken of different dietary restrictions in the week leading up to production, there'd been very little consensus. Regardless, tonight would be the last hurrah for those who drank, as Hilda didn't anyway, and they were waiting to take their friends out for the night.

It was still relatively early as far as nights went, barely seven o'clock, but that was still late enough that people were missing dinner. Hilda could hear the crinkling of a paper bag from behind her, where Mercedes and Dorothea snacked on sweet and sour chicken balls.

After three more runs of the scene, Sweetpea, their stoic mint-haired director, declared, "I think that's it." They did their best to turn to address the rest of their team, in the wings and in the audience. "I'll see most of you in four days when we join Yuri for a, hopefully less chaotic, rendition of The Storm of Myrddin. Great work."

Hilda whistled loudly in support of her castmates, while her friends applauded and hollered. Dimitri bowed to their audience, and Hubert bowed to Edelgard who rolled her eyes and laughed as she exaggerated with one hand thrown skyward as she and Dimitri made their way down their respective stepladders.

"Thank you, Yuri," called Edelgard.

"Yes, thank you, Yuri," Dimitri agreed.

"We'll practice those low notes next time," Yuri answered, before waving up out of the pit to soften his implied criticisms. "You're welcome! We're getting there. There's a lot of range to cover."

Dimitri was still insecure by the time he joined his castmates in the aisles as they marched to the exit, "Did it sound that bad?"

"No," Claude snickered.

"It's Yuri's job to strive for perfection," Dedue observed.

Hilda held her hand in front of her lips for a moment, considering her contribution. Once they were outside, she jut her elbow into Dimitri's stomach so he grunted in surprise, stumbling back into Felix.

"Eugh!"

"Hey, watch it!"

Hilda shrugged. "Just remember that sensation?"

"Don't be mean," Sylvain exaggerated with a whine, giving Dimitri his sweater he'd been holding onto.

"No, I—" Dimitri tried to mimic the same position his mouth had been in, tongue drooping forward in his mouth as he sought the pitch of his exclamation.

"You broke him," Hubert declared, his brow furrowed, at the same time that Claude, Edelgard and Dedue were following Dimitri's example and carrying a deep monotonous tone.

Edelgard even turned it into a line that Yuri had probably been concerned with, that she would sing below The Rightful King's pleas, "So that none will suffer I must forfend—"

Dorothea answered her with The Rightful King's following line, "Living and dead, I will not forget those whom I defend."

"We're not doing that," Felix said, flat.

"Right," Annette agreed, which seemed to surprise him. "Resting voices."

"Resting voices," several people echoed.

They followed Dedue to a Duscur place for dinner, and wolfed down their wraps as they waited in line at a club that might be large enough to accommodate their large group.

"You didn't bring your date?" Lorenz asked Felix.

"We're not dating," Felix said, as if on instinct. He thought a moment. "Wasn't this just for cast?"

Lorenz shared a frown with Hilda before he assured Felix, "I doubt anyone would have complained even if you'd brought someone unrelated to the production. We'd have been happy to—"

"Don't listen to him," Claude said, turning from Leonie so he could wrap an arm around Lorenz. "Or I mean, do, because you could have brought anyone you'd wanted, but also don't because Lorenz just chickened out of asking the other make up artist to join us and hoped they'd have tagged along with Mia."

Felix snorted.

"That's not what happened," Lorenz objected.

"Oh, sweetie," Hilda contributed with a pout. "That's exactly what happened."

"We just got to talking, and I got distracted," Lorenz contributed.

"You forgot?" Felix asked, aghast. Hilda brought her hands to her lips, failing to hide her amusement.

"It didn't come up," Lorenz countered.

"That's not better," Claude said, shaking his head. Lorenz shrugged him off and flicked his chest with all four fingers.

"Fat lot of good friends like you are."

The second floor of the club was open to the elements, archways acting as windows to the brisk wind of evening, and the bright shine of sunset. The breeze and drinks were welcome, Mercedes, Dorothea and Hilda taking turns sitting with their pitchers, yellow with alcohol and pink without, to protect them just in case.

Hilda found herself distracted throughout the night, watching Claude as he dipped Lorenz, and nearly dropped Dimitri, and joined Dorothea in a samba that she and Annette were soundly better at.

They danced together only twice, the first time early in the evening before the dancers and the night had hit their stride, when there was more laughter and embarrassment in their fun than indulgence. The second time had been later in the evening, when he was flush and tipsy, to a ballad that had them swaying slowly with his hand politely between her shoulders. She'd thought about stepping closer into his space, resting her head on his chest, facing the brunt of his sweat and his cologne, but hesitated — partially because of their working relationship, but mostly because Sylvain and Mercedes had whistled about the way Hubert had held the small of Edelgard's back and she'd stretched back in a smooth, flowing dip.

It was maybe an hour later that Claude found Hilda seated at a table by a south-facing archway, the dim red of the western horizon a memory of the now fallen sun, the deep blue to the east twinkling with a few visible stars over a small lake and parkland.

"You having a good time?" Claude seemed more sober now than earlier, unlike some of their friends, and Hilda smiled softly, glad of his attention.

She nodded and ran her fingers under her eyes. "Just tired. Worked early before practice, and will again tomorrow."

"I'm glad you made it," Claude said sweetly, and Hilda rolled her eyes as she sucked on a straw from a cup that was mostly ice.

"No one would have missed me," she contributed, her gaze darting to where most of their colleagues were gathered, some of their friendships spanning years and others only as long as auditions, but generally they seemed to feel closer to each other than she really felt to them. So far, anyway.

She felt slower at forming these deep friendships that others seemed instinctually born with. She wondered if she'd know any of these people long enough for that to matter.

"I just said I would've," Claude insisted, crossing his arms as he leaned into the table. His hair was wilting around his face, framing thick eyebrows and dark lashes that half-hid his green eyes. He needed to curl them, Hilda thought idly.

She blushed and pushed at the ice in her glass with her straw. "You just owed me a few drinks for improvising with you in your audition."

Claude chuckled and hid his smile in his elbow for a moment. "That was kind of you," he allowed. He looked at her directly, and promised, "But it's not just that."

"No?" she peeped, half teasing, waiting on the joke or the reveal.

"No," he said at a whisper. "Would you want to come over to my place on one of our free nights? I could make you dinner? We could just run lines, or...?"

"Or?"

Claude blushed and they both snickered softly. He shifted back and forth against the table, forcing himself to sit up, running a hand over his chin, clean shaven for his part in their production.

"Or whatever you like."

His smile widened as she considered it, and she wondered if it was because he wasn't facing instinctual rejection or because he could tell that she was interested. When she nodded, his shoulders fell, as if suddenly relaxed. A lot of people had rules about not dating people they worked with, the risk of rejection and the pain of a breakup always had a chance of hurting a production, but she could see the value of taking a few moments of flattery too far. Even if Claude tucked his heart away from something more, even if they only ran lines, she was looking forward to it.

#hilclaude #claude von riegan #hilda valentine goneril #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #claude. hilda. mc. lorenz #faedolyn #mia cecile #only my original art was tagged for mia and i need to go through my posts and fix that later #the original intent of this au was for claude to ask fae out after the last showing of their performance but now that's lorenz's job i gues #i'm still ot4 obsessed. they'd all hook up #mia isn't even really in this but asdjfhgasdjm #if YOU (mutual) have an oc you want thrown in this au. let me know. it is a crack au #my writing #long post #i made this #the fanfiction i mean

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dr-who-said-lgbtq-rights · 3 years ago

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i, a fan of superwholock, dissect and give my opinion on the individual shows

idk i thought this would be fun and i currently have 4-5 hours to kill soooo

let’s start with

doctor who

(only new who. i have not seen the older stuff :( )

k. so. i have been a fan of this since i was pretty young. honestly i think i was a little too young to be watching it when my mom first showed me it but that’s beside the point. basically: i really like dr who

this is probably the best show out of superwholock, both in my opinion and in general. however... i am going to be nitpicky bc why not

1. the canon.

(yes the example is abt a dr who episode)

in short, the canon is comprised of a) retcons and b) contradictions. im not an avid follower of canon with any media but good god nobody can keep up with dr who canon

(i am blaming moffat bc i hate him and i think a lot of it is his fault anyway)

2. representation

honestly, the representation isn’t bad. however, i would describe it less as “good” and more as “a good starting point.”

for example, there is quite a bit of queer rep, POC rep, and a lot of characters are women. however, while this is nice, the show could still use a lot more rep, and the rep it has currently should probably be improved upon (for example: jack harkness is NOT straight, but he falls under the “multi-spec person wants to screw everyone” stereotype (i have not seen torchwood so this may be amended in that i just needed an example off the top of my head)).

3. story

some people yearn for romance. i yearn for the days when the doc would take their companion to some party, flirt with a tree, the companion almost dies while britney spears is playing in the background, etc. etc.

basically, the story starts out nice. just a bunch of goofing off, maybe a “big deal” thing here and there. life was fun.

then, the story changes. (this happened specifically from eleven onward, so yeah you can bet your ass im blaming moffat ‘cuz it’s his fault) things gradually became less fun. conspiracies ran amok; just when you thought it was over, turns out there’s an even bigger part of this plan that what you just defeated. the doc actually started caring about the timeline (what happened to time being wibbly wobbly?) sure, there are still fun episodes where the doc and the companion(s) go out for funsies but it’s just not the same as it was.

4. morals

morals are good. basically:

you can have a dark past but still have a bright future, and

be kind

bonus 5. cowardice

at least one of the doctors played by one of the male actors should have worn a dress. there were plenty of opportunities but noooooo there’s a gender binary or something (like,,, they’re an alien????? if gender on gallifrey is the same as gender on earth i am going to fly to britain and drop kick some writers)

OVERALL

needs work, but p good and enjoyable.

~~~

now it’s time for

sherlock

just. um. ohhh boy. basically

but i am going to do my best

1. representation

eugh. representation was baaaad in this. like, i think the only POC in the entire show that had any significance were the Chinese gang members and that is like,,, incredibly poor rep. i think the innkeepers in thob were gay but that’s as far as queer rep goes. there were a few women, i would die for all of them, we need more women. also the “im a high functioning sociopath” line makes me cringe everytime

basically this show had shit representation

2. john

okee he’s a great character right??? the common sense of the operation right??? wrong

he cheated on mary??? and we don’t address it like,,, at all??? it made me so fucking mad.

(again fuck you moffat and gatiss probably had something to do with it too so im mad at him as well)

3. sherlock

classic “let’s make him a bitch” mistake. needs the stick surgically removed from his ass

4. story

story’s actually not that bad. it’s not like, great or anything but i enjoy it

bonus 5. ending

i just want to address it. i think the ending was p good and yall tjlc-ers are just upset that they didn’t bang or anything. they’re literally living in the same [two-room] flat??? and they’re raising rosie???? TOGETHER???? like what more do you want

anyway sherlock’s ace soooo

OVERALL

eh. needs LOTS of work. i love mrs hudson tho, she’s beautiful

~~~

and finally

supernatural

ohohoh. boooyyyy.

(plz forgive me this is so shitty but i threw it together in like,,, a minute)

1. story

aight so the first five seasons? p good. not much to say there

the other ten? the skill level of the writing went wayyyyyy down but i still enjoyed it

2. representation

this show is notorious for bad rep and for good reason. kevin, our beloved prophet and the only recurring asian-american character? dead. charlie, so nerdy and fun and also a lesbian? dead. castiel, the angel who was totally gay? dead. basically: if you find yourself in spn and you are not a straight white man, etc etc, you are going to a) die or b) die but in a worse way

3. mythology/treatment of religions

okay so. a while back i had a wicca/witchcraft hyperfixation which was closely followed by a general pagan religions hyperfixation, so i know some stuff here and there abt religions.

and good golly does this show make me MAD

why is christianity the central and most powerful religion? (i know why, it’s a rhetorical question) why do you demonize the other religions?? (again it’s rhetorical)

one thing that really annoys me is when they say something is a “pagan god.” like,,, do you know how many gods that contains??? if you didn’t know, a religion is considered pagan if it isn’t under the abrahamic religions umbrella. what are the abrahamic religions, you ask? well, they are christianity, judaism, and islam. literally every other religion ever is a pagan religion. so, when they say “it’s a pagan god,” i cry.

back to demonizing... they literally made a greek muse eat someone. my greek mythology phase ended a long time ago and i didn’t really get into the muses but i am p sure they didn’t eat people. also the fact that it makes hoodoo look dark and stuff when it’s actually more abt peace and healing... i bet ten dollars it’s because hoodoo was created by enslaved african americans

there are so many examples of this show disrespecting religions... i just can’t

4. general notes

(for you himym fans: *saluting* general notes) (sorry i couldn’t resist)

-the filler episodes/episodes where random shit happened were the best

-the finale memes are *chef’s kiss*

-god there’s so much abt this show that i can’t even choose bc my brain is overloading

-am i glad amara wasn’t ganked at the end of s11? yes. am i happy about the dean/amara kiss? gods no

-john winchester 🤝 steven moffat: getting a spot on my “fuck you” list

OVERALL

there is just. so much improvement needed. however if there is an absolute shit show with likeable characters i tend to gravitate to it

~~~

and for funsies let’s talk abt superwholock as a whole

-honestly im a sucker for crossover fandoms. if you scroll far enough on my blog you may find my rotbtd fanart.

-it’s honestly just a fun idea

-there’s a lot of ways you could make it happen and all of them are fun

-great opportunities for rarepairs so rare no crackshipper has thought of it

~~~

aight that’s it. thank you for reading! if you have any questions abt my opinions abt other aspects of the shows just ask, i like talking abt this

#dr-who-said... something #as a side note: if you wanna hear abt pagan religions just ask #i may not be fixated on it anymore but i still find them interesting #superwholock

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years ago

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Tomorrow Never Came PT. 6 (SMUT)

Summer is gone, and with it, your mysterious stalker as well. It’s been two months since the confrontation in the bar, and you’ve mostly forgot about his ominous warnings - but now you realize that you have only half a year to finalize your plan of attack with nothing to go on and no idea what to do. So, you take a risk, one that almost completely ruins everything and gets you caught out by Roger. And speaking of Roger...

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here | Read PT. 4 here | Read PT. 5 here

(a/n: DOT DOT DOT so I forgot one of the guys names was already William SO I changed creepy future stranger guys name to Weston srry im a mess. also..... this is IT folks FINALLY the roger x reader fluff/smut i have been waiting to write we’ve all been waiting for in this series. its.... something)

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, darling? I can let Roger go on his own, he’s a big boy.”

Freddie was curled up with you on the couch, having forced his way into an impromptu cuddle session with you after he saw that you were bundled up in a blanket, drinking tea and scribbling in your notebook. He felt terrible, seeing as he and Roger were going to a party that night, one you’d opted out of on the claim that you were working on your resume so you could get a better job than the café.

“Freddie, go on,” you laughed, giving him a gentle shove, and he exaggerated your strength as he pretended to nearly fall off the couch before laughing and giving you a shove in return. “Go on, you scoundrels. I’m happy right here.”

Roger was watching from the front hallway, leaning against the wall and smiling at the banter between the two of you. He looked good tonight, mouthwatering, actually – he was clad in one of Freddie’s black silk shirts, only the bottom half of it buttoned, and several necklaces laid across his dainty collarbones. The silk shirt was tucked into leather pants, and he topped it all off with black messenger boots, having refused to put on Freddie’s platform boots for a good part of an hour. There was something missing, though, and you couldn’t put your finger on it until you literally spotted it on the dresser as Freddie passed it, bumping the brim with his shoulder.

Freddie and Roger were about to leave when you scrambled to your feet, calling out, “Hey, wait a minute!” Grabbing the black newsboy cap off of the dresser, you padded over to the two of them, stopping in front of Roger as he raised an eyebrow before ducking his head, letting you put it on for him. “There. Perfect.”

Freddie rolled his eyes playfully before giving your side a pinch and kissing you on the cheek, then flouncing out of the door and leaving you alone with Roger for the moment. Roger watched Freddie with a small grin, then turned back to you, a questioning look in his eye.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” he asked, fixing the cap so it laid right on his head. An unruly hair stuck out and caught on the brim of the cap, so you reached up to tuck it back into its original place, smiling.

“I’ll be fine here, Rog. Don’t have too much fun without me, though,” you warned jokingly, and Roger gave you a goofy grin before leaning in and quickly giving you a peck on the cheek, starting out the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

And with that, he’d closed the door, leaving you in silence as you walked back to the couch, slumping down against it and sighing. It was always nice having the flat to yourself, but tonight you were on edge a bit. Deciding that a nap would be the best to take your thoughts off your mind, you crawled back under the blanket, getting comfortable again as you closed your eyes, dozing off quickly to the sound of cars honking and dogs barking outside your window.

When you woke again, it was significantly darker outside, and you sat up to yawn and stretch, a heavy weight settling over you in the room. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was making you uneasy still. Maybe it was the fact you were half a year closer to that day and just as nervous as when you began, or just the fact that you were still planning on completely winging your ‘save the day’ tactic. Or it could have just been the terrible Chinese Roger had basically forced you to eat because he swore up and down that it was the best.

In any case, it was too dangerous to be as confident in your ignorance as you were. But at the same time, you remembered your uncle’s warning that the past would fight back if you were to impose on their daily lives – that’s why he’d urged you to move into this apartment. It provided a decent enough vantage point without letting you interact with the two. You’d cut it close with your mom, but thank God it was in a different part of the city. You were reclusive enough as it was, staying inside all day on Sundays to avoid chancing a run-in with her, seeing as she came to church every single weekend. You’d hoped you could go the whole time without seeing her to make it hurt as little as possible, but that moment in the little market had eliminated any chance of that.

6 months without seeing your mom was rough. Even if she wasn’t mentally there for quite a while before you’d came here, she was still your mom, and to see her suffer like that was hell. It was almost worse being here, but you had to remind yourself that barely any time was passing there. She most likely wouldn’t have even moved an inch by the time you got back, which was horrifying and relieving at the same time. Hopefully, if you managed to pull this off, she would be moving when you got back.

God, the thought of her smile when you got back. You felt a small smile come to your lips as you stood back up, ambling over towards the window to peer out of it. Night had settled in, the streetlights making the front of the church even more ominous as you gazed down at it, humming to yourself. “All for you, mom.”

That’s when you saw them. Both of them, William and Ted, exiting the church, standing on the steps. The street was mostly empty, and they mulled around on the steps as they pulled out packs of cigarettes, lighting up and seeming like they were deep in conversation as you stared at them in mild horror. A faint dizziness took over your senses, but a pinch to your arm by yourself brought you back to reality, and you scrambled to find your shoes and a light jacket before you were flying down the stairs.

What came over you, you had no idea, but you had to get down to that alleyway to hear their conversation. You felt like you owed it to your mom, and you needed to know what type of guys these were before everything went down. As you rounded the last set of stairs, heading down it, you heard Weston’s voice in your head, and you skidded to a stop as your hand came to rest on the door that let outside.

“It can’t be fixed.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, pushing open the door and stepping out into the cool night air. There they were, right across the street, chumming and smiling like they weren’t some of the scummiest people on this side of the city. They took no note of you as you crossed the street, slinking into the alleyway next to the broad staircase before you settled your back against the cool stone of the wall surrounding the steps, crossing your fingers that they weren’t planning on taking a stroll.

“Stop while you’re ahead. Reset.”

Shaking your head, you pushed Weston’s voice out of your mind again and tried to focus on the two morons that were literally maybe 10 feet from you, just on the other side of this wall. Scooting over to the edge of the wall for optimal listening, you curled up as small as you could, hiding yourself as you started to register the sound of two men talking.

“Yeah, we should be able to get something set up soon.”

A drag from a cigarette. A pause. “Diane said she’d be able to come and help tomorrow.”

Not your mom, but you wondered if it was the same Diane who your mom had brought over for dinner a few times when you were a child. She was frail mentally and physically even in your early years, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when she passed away around your pre-teen years.

“Heh. Diane.” An awfully lecherous snicker was shared between the both of them, and you almost gagged at the sound of it. Honestly, they sounded horrid, and you seriously questioned your mom’s judgement of them as good people in the first place. But then again, this could be how they spoke in private. They probably didn’t have a clue that a 21 year old from 2018 was sitting on the other side of the wall in a pile of trash, spying on them. That didn’t excuse them, of course, but it definitely explained the lack of judgement.

“Did you hear she’s seeing Dan now?” Dan? Your Uncle Dan? You’d never know he dated Diane. This convoluted mess of people was quickly overwhelming you, and you started to feel dizzy as you tried to keep up. “What’s he live, a few blocks over?”

“Yeah. I’d like to pay her a visit right now, know what I mean?”

Eugh. Gag again. One of them cracked up, laughing before you heard the sound of a light stomp, probably putting out a cigarette. “No disrespect to Daniel, but how is he getting it from a girl like that? She is one gorgeous piece of ass, I’d like to-“

You knocked over a can of trash as an earsplitting ringing sound started resounding in your head, making you double over in pain. It took all of your strength not to cry out for help, and in a daze, you crawled over until you were curled up behind a trash can. One of the men’s shadows appeared around the corner moments later, and you held your breath as you tried to recover from the ringing that was slowly fading. Pressing your eyes shut, you felt hot tears rolling down your face, faintly hearing something akin to “Probably a rat getting frisky. Let’s go inside.”

It felt like years as you sat out in that alley, your eyes shut tightly, fighting the ringing, but it was still there, faintly, and you opened your eyes as you sighed in exasperation. But the sigh caught in your throat as you came face to face with your mom, 2018 mom, sitting in a rocking chair across the alleyway.

“You’re saving me and not Diane?” Her voice was eerie, an echo of herself as she tilted her head impossibly far to the side, too far to be a physical reality, and your mouth dropped open in horror as you watched her, unable to move, unable to speak.

As soon as you blinked, she was gone, no evidence of her presence there at all, and you could feel your body scrambling to your feet, although you weren’t cognizant and telling yourself to do so. Leaden feet carried you across the street, hurtling you through the front door of your building, and before you knew it, you were up the stairs. When you rounded the corner to your floor, the nightmare continued.

Your 2013ish era mom and dad were smack dab in the middle of the hallway, screaming at each other. The sound was deafening, like someone had taken a stereo system and put it together in your brain before cranking it up to full volume. Clutching at your ears desperately, you sunk to the floor as you tried to block out the sound of them bickering, but it was no use. They were there, in your brain, screaming their heads off. It felt like you were 15 again, yelling desperately to try and break them apart, but nothing worked. They were too far in, too far gone to go back on what they’d said now. The arguing would go all night long. Your head was pounding as you dug your fingers into the side of your face, more tears spilling out of your eyes as you started to beg, plead for it to stop.

Another blink. They were gone. The sound had stopped abruptly, and you were alone in the hallway. Face wet with salty tears, you glanced around like a trapped animal, spotting a clock on the wall. It was just before midnight – you’d only been out in that alley for maybe 20 minutes. And yet, you were exhausted like you’d just spent a day running nonstop.

Slumping back against the wall, you let more tears run down your face and closed your eyes, your head falling back with a thud against the wall. “Fuck me, Dan wasn’t joking,” you choked out, wiping some mucus out from under your nose with the back of your hand as you tried to take deep breaths and calm down. Understatement of the century, the past will fuck with me .That was a fucking nightmare, not just a casual ‘Don’t do that.’

You could hear someone coming up the stairs and you sighed as you tried to will yourself to your feet, but nothing was happening. All of the energy in your body was gone for the moment – it would take a literal miracle to recharge you.

“Y/N, bloody hell, what happened to you?” Roger’s voice rang clear through the faint buzzing now in your ears, and you looked up at him while shooting him a pitiful attempt at a smile. “You’re bleeding!” His observation was slightly horrified, his worry only amplified by the slightly tipsy state he was in.

“Am I?” you wondered aloud, holding a hand up to your face and coming into contact with a small stream of blood running down the side of your face, pooling near your hair from the angle you’d been holding your head at. Must have been digging my fingers in harder than I thought. “Shit, I am. I’m sorry.”

“Christ, don’t be sorry,” he muttered, crouching down to your level and nearly falling off balance as he did so, holding on to the wall near you before repeating himself. “What happened to you?”

You shrugged, wiping away the rest of your tears before laughing softly at the state of yourself. “I’m a clumsy moron, I guess.” After that, you made finger guns at Roger and started to close your eyes, mortified that he of all people was the one to find you like this. As your eyes fluttered shut, you felt a strong hand encircling your arm and vaguely sensed that Roger was pulling you to your feet, leading you down the hallway back to the flat and pulling you towards the bathroom once you’d gotten inside.

In no time at all, you found yourself perched on the closed toilet lid, Roger cleaning up the blood from the side of your face as he watched you with an apprehensive expression, not sure what to make of finding his roommate out in the hallway, crying and bloody.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you were on the rag,” he joked as he dabbed at the side of your face, chuckling when that got a small smile out of you. “Just taking the piss, don’t beat me.” After another pause where you didn’t even attempt to pick up the conversation, just watching him with a guarded stare, he swallowed hard. His cheeks were a bit red from the alcohol in his system, and you could tell he was overheating in the cramped bathroom from the small amount of sweat forming on his forehead. “Y/N, you worry me.”

That made your heart flip as you furrowed your eyebrows, the expression change enough to make Roger pull his hand away shakily and fumble for a band-aid, nervously avoiding what seemed like a critical look from you. “Why are you worried about me?” you asked, genuinely curious as to why this 70’s sexpot of a roommate was even halfway concerned with your well-being when he was literally on his way to becoming one of the biggest rockstars of all time.

“Because,” he mumbled, opening the bandaid and applying it carefully as he avoided your gaze, more for his sake than anything. “You’re my flatmate.” An eyebrow raise from you made him sigh, and he dropped the wrapper in the trash before starting to clean up his mess. “Okay, you really want to know? Because Buzzed Roger is about to get real.”

“Third person,” you reminded him, and he gave you a nasty look before starting to wash his hands, clearing his throat.

“You go and work all hours of the day, write a bunch of shit in your notebook when you’re here, we have to beg you to come out with us, and when you do, you end up leaving early or…. or, I don’t know, like that one night, when you ran off with that old guy without checking in with us, and then came back looking like you’d just been through the wringer!”

“Didn’t know I had to check in with you before I left with a guy,” you replied, almost in a haze as you watched him dry his hands, looking at you with an unfathomable expression.

“Well, damn it, you should!” he replied irritably, throwing the towel down on the counter. The sudden outburst actually shocked you, and it must have registered on your face as well, because he was immediately apologizing out of his ass for freaking out. “Shit, no, I’m sorry, god damn it, I just found you all beat up in the hallway and now I’m yelling at you, just hit me, I’m such a knobhead-“

“God, Roger, I’m fine, breathe,” you interrupted, climbing up off the toilet and coming over to look at yourself in the mirror. “Woof.”

“Woof?” he repeated, also looking at you in the mirror. Your face was tear stained, but free of blood, and the redness around the rim of your eyes had mostly disappeared by now. He thought you looked as adorable as ever. Sure, you were a bit messy from your brief stint as a spy, but he didn’t know that, and he marveled at the way you managed to make his heart skip a beat even when you were fresh from crying.

“Just looking a bit rough, is all,” you murmured, wiping at your under-eyes before sighing and making your way out into the hallway, headed for the kitchen. “How was the party?”

Your attempt to change the subject was not lost on Roger, even as drunk as he was, but he chose to mostly ignore it since it seemed to bother you when he’d asked about it. Instead, he followed you to the kitchen, watching you grab two glasses of water. “It was alright. Freddie’s fucking plastered and left without me, so I came back here ‘cause…” he trailed off, shrugging and pursing his lips a bit.

“Because why?” you asked, taking a drink of your water before you handed him his, which he accepted gratefully. The smile on his face as he took a drink rejuvenated you a bit, making you feel less dead, so you decided to crack a joke to see if he bit. “You miss me?”

“No!” he replied defensively, an even deeper red covering his cheeks as you sipped at your water, just watching him. Getting no reaction was even worse than getting a bad one to him, and he stuttered as he fell over his next words, a certified hot mess in a silk shirt and leather pants. “I didn’t mean no like that, God, I meant- I came back because- ugh! Fine. Yes, okay? I missed you. I wanted you to be there with us. It made me sad when I thought of you being here all alone, without us, without me and Fred.”

Despite feeling like you’d just crawled up through the crust of the Earth, you couldn’t help but smile slyly at that, forgetting all about the nights events. “Roger Taylor missing me? I feel honored.”

“You should,” he muttered, taking another drink and trying to hide his embarrassment with a biting tone as he avoided eye contact once again. “I don’t even have to ask if you missed me, I already know the answer to that one. Freddie misses me even when I’m gone for two minutes, so you? You were probably missing me before I got out of the door.”

“Well, someone’s got an ego,” you mumbled, finishing your water before sitting the glass in the sink. Roger laughed at your comment, following you as you made your way to the couch, grabbing your hand and trying to tug you to your feet when you attempted to lay down. “Hey, I’m trying to sleep here. Obviously, I’ve had a rough night.” Although you had obviously had a terrible night, you secretly hoped he would disregard your words and stay, or something similar to that.

And he did. He mocked your voice in a high-pitched imitation as he wrapped his other hand around yours, pulling you to your feet. “You’re mad if you think I’m going to let you sleep on the couch tonight. You’ve had a rough night.”

Groaning playfully as you let him raise you back to a standing position, you followed him down the hall, smiling far too widely at the feeling of his hand around yours. “Rog, you don’t have to share your bed with me. I’m fine.”

“Tell that to the bandaid on your face.” Rolling your eyes, you followed as he led you into his room, letting you go sooner than you’d wanted him to, and you gave him a teasing deadpan look before you crawled into his bed, grumbling playfully. “Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t happy to sleep in a bed for once.”

“You’re not wrong, actually.” You had to laugh at that, and as you laid down on your back on the far end of the bed, Roger chuckled and began to unbutton his shirt. He strolled over to the closet as you watched him, silently admiring the ripple of his understated muscles under his skin as he shrugged the shirt off, tossing it into the closet before starting to unbutton his pants. Out of politeness, you shifted your eyes up to the ceiling – as much as you would enjoy the view, you had to restrain yourself. “If you really wanted to know, yes, I did miss you once you guys were gone.”

“I told you, I already knew,” he teased, crawling into bed once he’d gotten in to boxers and a tshirt. When you scoffed and rolled over to face away from him, he laughed and tugged you back down to your original laying position, propping his head up on his hand and he looked down at you. “Don’t ignore me. I can kick you out of here lickety-split, sweetheart.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You’re too much of a softie,” you snickered, pulling the covers up over your shoulders as you turned on your side to face him, clutching the edge of his duvet.

Raising an eyebrow at that, he gave you an almost insulted look before he spoke. “Roger Taylor, a softie? I’ll have you know-“

“When will you ever stop talking in the third person?” That irritated him a bit, and you could tell from the way his mouth twitched as he tried to calm down and not say something snarky back.

“You’re being real mouthy for such a weak thing, you know that?” he asked, sitting up a bit on his elbow and daring you with his eyes to talk back. It was almost like he wanted to you to, like the banter was fueling him, getting him closer and closer to snapping.

So, you did. “Weak thing? That’s rich, coming from you.”

Now he was pissed. “You little rotter, you- I ought to…” he trailed off, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist, searching for the right words to say. But nothing was coming to mind, not until you prompted him.

“You ought to what, tough guy? Shut me up? I’ll have you know my right hook is mean and-“

Roger’s hand clamped over your mouth all of a sudden, silencing you immediately and making your eyes widen a bit as he stared you down with something unmistakable in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but never quite this pronounced. Hunger. A ravenous hunger, almost to the point of lasciviousness. But there was still a fondness in the way he held your jaw, his fingertips just tight enough to silence you but nowhere near tight enough to leave any marks. And then his fingertips moved away, uncovering your mouth and quickly running over the small bandaid on the side of your face, his breath hitting your lips and smelling of alcohol and something minty. His thumb stroked at your chin once, then took a hold of it with his thumb and index finger before leaning down over you and pressing his lips to yours.

He was impossibly gentle with his kiss to contrast that fierce look you’d just witnessed, testing the waters before he got in too deep, and that set your skin on fire. You tangled with the fact that Roger Taylor, your roommate of 6 months and currently one of your closest friends on top of being a future fucking rockstar, was kissing you. It took you more than a moment to realize you’d been frozen in your spot, but when you did finally realize, you moved your hand up to his wrist and halfway wrapped your fingers around it, barely gripping his arm as you kissed back while your brain was going haywire at the current situation.

Gentle kisses quickly gave way to frenzied, impetuous kisses, the overwhelming smell of alcohol and Roger’s cologne more intoxicating that any liquor you’d ever tried before. His hands explored your body languidly, taking his time touching and feeling anything he could get his hands on. You were about the same, your hands sneaking underneath the back of his shirt and coming to rest on the heated skin of his back as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours and eliciting a quiet purr of appreciation from you in response.

That perked him right up, making him double his efforts as he moved his hands to your ass, gripping it and pulling you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. Straddling his hips, you pulled away to catch your breath and sat up, Roger’s heavy eyelids fluttering open to find you pulling your shirt off and looking down at him, panting ever-so-slightly from the breath-taking makeout session you’d just engaged in.

Really, he didn’t say much, but his demeanor and expression gave everything away as his hands came to rest on your thighs, his eyes devouring every inch of skin you’d exposed by the simple action. And then he was pulling his shirt off too, tossing it to the side as you pulled your bralette off, hissing at the cool air that suddenly directly hit your nipples.

The feeling didn’t last long, however, for Roger sat up and immediately started to place sloppy kisses along your collarbone, making his way down until he left an open-mouthed kiss to one of your nipples, teasing the other with his thumb and making you shiver. Running a hand into his hair, your let your eyes flutter shut as you zoned out, reveling in the feeling of Roger’s mouth on you, hot and desperate.

For a moment, you questioned whether doing this was okay in the grand scheme of things. After all, what if this was the magnum opus of fuck-ups you could do here? But then Roger’s hand ghosting up your thigh before grabbing your ass distracted you, making you breathe out his name in surprise before pressing your ass back against his hand. His grip tightened just a bit when your hips shifted over his and your clothed core briefly passed over his cock, which was beginning to strain against his boxers a bit.

“God, do that again,” he mumbled against your chest, resting his forehead against your collarbones as you began to grind down against him, his hands flying to your hips to guide you in just the right way to drive him crazy. Soon enough, his hips were rutting up against you, needy for any kind of friction he could get. The two of you rocked against each other, getting yourselves off just on the feeling of what could happen if those layers of clothes were eliminated.

Sooner or later, you supposed you’d seen this coming – you and Roger – but never did you imagine it would be so impromptu. Sure, you’d done your fair share of flirting back and forth, but this had been so out of the blue. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was still slightly intoxicated and you were at your most vulnerable, but you didn’t care anymore. All you cared about was getting all of Roger, skin on skin, body to body, fully being one with him.

“Rog,” you almost moaned, tugging his hair back so he’d look up at you. With a half-focused grunt, he raised his eyes to yours as he slowed down his hips, looking delectably keyed-up with his fucked out eyes and parted lips. “Have you got a condom?” you asked, taking his face in your hands so he’d focus completely on you. Nodding as his shaky, irregular breaths hit your lips, he licked his lips and nodded over to the desk.

“Top left drawer, to the left in the very back,” he managed to say, hardly wanting to let go of your hips but doing so once you pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips before crawling off of him. He watched as you went, pushing his boxers down and off without tearing his eyes away from the curve of your ass that was peeking out from under your shorts, which you dropped to the floor on the way to the desk, leaving you only in some panties that left even less to his imagination. Digging through the drawer, you finally found one and snatched it up, putting it between your teeth before shimmying out of your panties too as you turned to face Roger again.

A small smile played at the corner of his lips as you made eye contact, and you found yourself blushing as you took the condom wrapper out of your mouth, carefully making your way back over to him and trying to subdue the redness of your cheeks. Coming to kneel between his legs, you tore the package open with the help of your teeth and pulled the condom out, glancing up at him to find him watching your hands with interest. So, you looked back down and started to roll the latex on to his impossibly hard member, keeping your touch light, which made him squirm a bit and grip the sheets until you’d gotten it on fully. Then you threw your leg over his hips, straddling him again and leaning forward to meet him for a kiss, which he eagerly reciprocated.

His hand took on a firm grip of the nape of your neck, keeping your lips against his as he wrapped his other arm around your waist, flipping the two of you so that he now had you pinned down to the mattress. Taking his cock in his hand, he ran the tip along your folds, velvety smooth and practically dripping at this point. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed the tip against your entrance, wrapping your arms around him and trying to press his hips closer to yours, which he took as an invitation to push into you. A strained groan left his mouth as he pulled away from the kiss, and when he bottomed out, you felt him still for a moment inside of you.

After a short and sweet pause, he started moving again, beginning to thrust in and out of you at an initially unhurried pace. All he focused on at the moment was the small whimpers and moans of appreciation that were leaving your lips irregularly, making him groan your name as he rolled his hips achingly slow, wanting to savor the moment.

But you couldn’t stand it. The suspense was killing you – you needed the frenzy, the rushed passion, or you’d get lost in your thoughts again, and you didn’t want to ruin this moment. So, you rolled your hips up to meet his thrust, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck before you murmured in his ear, “Fuck me, Roger. Let me have it.”

He trembled at the sound of your voice, nearly failing to support his weight on his arms before he nodded, breathlessly pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Then he began to thrust faster, harder, and the sweet, high-pitched moans that you let go were enough to make Roger let out a string of curses before burying his face in your neck, panting harshly as he dug one of his hands into your hips, pounding into you at a feverish pace.

“Oh my god, Roger,” you breathed out, curling up your fingers in his hair and against his back as you felt your eyes flutter shut. Your back arched up in pleasure when he angled his hips, thrusting deeper and slower for a moment, and an almost-pornographic moan tumbled out of you, gaining an equally sinful moan from Roger in response.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mumbled between pants, trailing love bites along your shoulder before snapping his hips forward and eliciting a surprised cry of pleasure that was sure to wake up all of the neighbors. “Wish I could have fucked you senseless the moment I met you.”

“Wouldn’t have been opposed,” you laughed brokenly, cut off by another snap of his hips that buried him deep inside of you. “Oh my god¸ you’re-“

You cut off as you felt a shiver run up your spine from the feeling of Roger moving his hands to your shoulder as he sat up a bit, using your shoulder as leverage so he could continue to thrust deep into you. He was still sweating, probably worse now, but so were you, so you didn’t mind. His hair was an absolute mess from your desperate tugs on it, and he looked about as close to an orgasm as you did.

“I’m what?” he asked, slowing down his hips for a moment and expertly rolling them as he watched you expectantly. It took all of your remaining brain functions to try and remember what you were going to say, too focused on the way he filled you with each thrust to recall the whole thing.

“I said you’re so good,” you breathed out, and with a low moan that caused another shiver to run down your spine, Roger sped up gradually, sending all of your senses haywire as you neared your high. “I’m close, Rog.”

“Let go, sweetheart,” he groaned, gazing down at you through heavily lidded eyes as he steadied his pace, reaching down to rub your clit on top of that. The overstimulation was enough to send you over the edge, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you came, Roger still pounding away into you while you chanted his name like a prayer, over and over, experiencing probably one of the best orgasms you’d ever had.

Roger felt himself getting sloppy as he watched you ride out your high, and a strangled groan left his lips as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his own high in the wake of yours. You opened your eyes finally to see how close he was, so you wrapped your legs around his hips and dug your heels into his back, pressing his hips towards your as you tugged him down for another kiss again. “Come for me, please, Rog,” you begged between kisses, Roger only responding with a broken moan before he pulled away from the kiss completely He thrusted into you a few more times before letting out a long, drawn-out moan and spilling out into his condom, rocking his hips forward a few times to ride out his own high.

“Y/N… oh god, Y/N,” he panted, resting his forehead on yours as he finished himself off. Reluctantly pulling out once he was done, he crawled off you to dispose of the condom, coming back with a towel from his closet to clean you up. You closed your eyes, throwing an arm over them as he did so, absolutely exhausted from the whole day, and almost found yourself dozing off before he crawled back into bed with you, still completely naked but far more satisfied than before. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a spooning position with him, but it seemed more intimate than anything. The fact that you two were still completely nude didn’t seem to arouse any overtly sexual feelings – you just wanted to be in his arms, and he just wanted you in his arms. It was mutual, the unspoken affection between the two of you – no words needed to be said as he pressed a small kiss to your shoulder before settling in and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

You didn’t even have to say goodnight, the both of you just dozing off in each other’s company. For two people who could never shut up around and about each other, you were, for the first time, completely silent, just happy to be alive, and happy to be in love. Love? Am I in love with him? God, how scary is that? Roger made a quiet noise in his sleep and twitched a bit, pulling you closer and nuzzling your shoulder. So worth it, though.

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5

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#god this is so long LMFAO #why am i like this #roger x reader smut #roger x reader #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x reader smut #roger taylor x reader imagine #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut imagine #roger taylor #smut #smut imagine #queen imagine #queen smut #time travel #series

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365daysofsasuhina · 6 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Thirty-Six: An Obstacle ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi, Hyūga Neji ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It may sound odd out of context, but Sasuke’s glad they’ve finally given up. No more invasive surgeries or trial medications. Finally, Itachi can get some rest, and put all that behind him. True, their parents still fuss over him, but it’s no longer badgering about some new procedure. At last they’ve accepted that Itachi’s blindness is - at least, with current technology - incurable.

He was getting so tired of his brother being dragged to clinic after clinic, hospital after hospital: all chasing some false hope they both seemed to know would pan out to nothing. But Itachi was willing to let his parents run out their options, if only to give them hope.

It’s quite the obstacle, but...he’s been working on reviving an old passion. While his assumed path into a business degree isn’t impossible now, his prior offers of scholarships and careers when he was nearing the end of high school have all vanished. Too much time was taken in his endeavors to be cured, and they’d rather give such opportunities to those without Itachi’s impairment.

At first, it flared Sasuke’s temper like nothing else. But Itachi, as always, took the poor news in stride.

The last surgery had kept him in the specialized aftercare clinic for two weeks. During that time, Sasuke had seen the pair from before - Neji and Hinata - fairly often. Hinata’s recovery was slow, but going well. She often mourned that Itachi was not as fortunate.

“I will make due,” the elder brother had assured her. “But I thank you for the sentiment, Hinata. I’m simply glad you’re doing well. Some good news, at least.”

Before they’d left, Hinata had insisted on exchanging contact information. Apparently she’d enjoyed her time conversing with the brothers. “I won’t be able to use a screen for a few more w-weeks, but...well, when I can, we’ll have to talk!”

“Yeah...sure.”

With Itachi moved safely back home, things slowly settle back into normal. Eyes paler than his family’s with blindness, Itachi can at least move around the house fairly well, given his lifelong memorization of its layout. More often than not, Sasuke’s startled to find him somewhere, going about his business.

It’s when he has to leave that problems arise.

“May I ask you a favor?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

Itachi opens his mouth, pauses...then asks, “Do we still have that keyboard I got for Christmas when we were younger?”

“Uh…” Sasuke has to think. “I...have no idea. It might be in the basement…?”

“Would you look for me? And if we do, help me set it up in my room? I’d like to try something.”

“Sure.” Curious, Sasuke takes to digging around in old boxes of packed away things, coughing a bit in the dust. Eugh, when was the last time anyone got into these?

Opening some flaps, there’s a pause as his phone vibrates in his pocket. Retrieving it reveals he has a text.

It’s...from Hinata.

He blinks. Then it clicks. “Oh, shit!” Opening the message, he finds a general how-do-you-do, asking what he’s been up to since they left the clinic. Apparently she can’t use her phone too much yet, but she wanted to check in.

A small smile lifts his lips. “Doing all right - keeping tabs on my bro. Trying to find his old keyboard atm”

A little more digging, then another message.

“Oh, a keyboard? Like piano?”

“Yeah, he used to play when he was in school. Guess he’s feeling nostalgic.”

“Maybe he wants to start playing by ear!”

Sasuke considers that, finally finding the right box. He forgot how big this thing really was.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Hauling the thing upstairs, Sasuke asks, “You really want this thing in your room? It’s huge!”

“Yes, please - did you find the stand?”

“Yeah. Hold on.”

It takes a few minutes to set it up, a chair swiped from the dining room for him to sit on. Hands run lightly over the keys, and Sasuke watches a small smile lift his brother’s lips.

“...remember how to play?”

“I suppose we shall find out. I believe it’s much like riding a bike. You just need to get the feeling again.” A moment passes as he tries to recall a melody. Fingers position over the proper keys, and then tentatively begin to play. Every so often a sour note breaks through, and the pair of them flinch.

“Ah...oops.”

“No, keep going.” Slowly, Sasuke lets a grin grow as Itachi trudges on, completing a little ditty before returning hands to his lap.

“...do you...think I could do this?”

“You just did.”

“No, I mean…” A small sigh. “...perhaps as...a hobby. Or I could...attempt a career. I considered putting the music online.” A wry smile curls his lips. “Perhaps I could have a nice clickbaity title about a blind man playing piano.”

Sasuke can’t help a small snort. “I mean...you can try. Do they make music in braille?”

“I believe so. For now, I thought I would just try to teach myself a few things by ear. See if I can make this work.”

Lounging on his brother’s bed as he keeps playing small snippets of songs, Sasuke picks up his conversation with Hinata again, explaining Itachi’s thought.

“Oh, that’s a great idea! Is it...going okay?”

“Yeah. Here, one sec.”

Knowing Itachi can’t see, Sasuke sheepishly records a short video of his playing, sending it to his acquaintance.

“Wow, that’s really good...how long has it been since he played?”

“I dunno...4, 5 years? He played in a music class in school, but...not since...all this started.”

“...I’m glad he’s getting back into it. I’ll have to come hear him play!”

That earns a lift of his brow. “Yeah, sure - I’ll ask him.”

Itachi, of course, approves in an instant. “I would enjoy seeing her again. And I’m sure you would as well.” A pause, then, “...well, perhaps see is the wrong word.”

Sasuke just rolls his eyes. “I’ll let her know.”

A week later, they turn plans into action. Sasuke helps move the instrument to the living room, and Neji drives Hinata over. She’s confessed to being nervous about cars after her accident - he’s one of the few she trusts to drive her.

“You know, we’re r-really not that far apart! I live like...twenty minutes from here!”

“No kidding? Small world.”

Neji just gives a curt nod in greeting that Sasuke returns.

Seated at the keyboard, Itachi looks up as they come back inside. “Hello,” he greets jovially. “I do hope you’re ready to be disappointed.”

“Well, I only played the flute for a few years - I’m sure you’ll still do f-far better than I ever did,” Hinata laughs.

“I will do my best to meet your expectations.”

To most, Itachi seems perfectly calm. But Sasuke can see a small tell in the way he moves his hands. It appears he’s nervous.

There’s no sheet music as of yet - just something he’s been teaching himself by ear. A pause, and then he begins, playing a bit slower than Sasuke’s heard him doing on his own. But there’s no missed notes, the three of them listening quietly as he goes along the melody. The younger pair clap loudly as he stops, and the tips of Itachi’s ears go pink.

“That was l-lovely!”

“Thank you. I hope to get some proper sheet music soon, though...I will have to learn the braille equivalent.”

“I’m sure it won’t take you long.”

Both Hyūga remain for a few hours, having lunch and chatting. Even Neji seems to relax a bit as they reacquaint after their time apart...not that he’d been overly friendly at the clinic.

“I’m glad to see that your sight isn’t an obstacle for your music,” Hinata offers, smiling.

“Well...perhaps in a way. But obstacles are meant to be overcome.”

“I might have to pick my guitar back up,” Sasuke murmurs, sipping his soda.

“I would enjoy that, Sasuke. Perhaps we could play together.”

“You still outclass me.”

“That’s what practice is for.”

“M-maybe I’ll dig out my flute! I haven’t touched it since middle school, though,” is Hinata’s sheepish offering.

“I would be thrilled to hear it nonetheless. Music is a wonderful thing. Don’t you agree, Sasuke?”

Giving his brother an unseen questioning glance, he replies, “...yeah, sure.”

As their guests prepare to leave, Hinata promises to keep in touch. “I’m t-trying to limit my screen time for now, but I’ll text when I can!”

“Your eyes come first,” Sasuke chides. “You could just call me.”

“O-oh...I suppose I could.”

He chuckles at her hesitation - he’s not fond of it either. “...whatever you wanna do.” Both brothers wave as the car pulls away, and then Sasuke looks to Itachi. “So?”

“That was pleasant. Hinata is a lovely soul. Neji is...well, he’s a bit quiet to know quite yet.”

“Stick in the mud,” Sasuke mutters, grinning at his brother’s pointed look.

“...will you really start practicing your guitar again?”

“Yeah, I think I will. Might be fun. We can start a band: a keyboard, a guitar, and a flute.”

That gets Itachi to laugh out loud. “I’ve heard of stranger things, I suppose. But it would be nice if she came around.”

A brow perks. “You got a crush.”

“Oh heavens, no.”

Sasuke lets a grin grow. “Still pining over your nurse?”

“...I am not pining. I simply thought you would enjoy her company.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Even without my eyes, I could see the glances you kept giving her,” Itachi teases with a smirk of his own.

“W-what? I didn’t -”

“I’m merely giving you a hard time, Sasuke. But you two did seem to get on well. I know you’re not the most social type, so...I thought it prudent.”

Sasuke’s cheeks puff with a pout.

“Well, let’s get back inside. I’d like to practice a bit more tonight.”

“...sure.”

Okay so this is a MAAAJOR throwback: all the way back to day fifteen! That one was about Itachi's degenerating sight, and Hinata's accident that left her temporarily blind. The four of these babbs got to know each other a bit, and now they're getting back together! A very random connection, I know, but it happened to jump to mind xD Until then I was rather stuck on what to write for today. Some prompts are just a little stumpy, lol Anywho, that's all for tonight - I'm off to bed! Thanks for reading n_n

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uchiha itachi #hyūga neji #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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agoddammharpoon · 6 years ago

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So i've just finished Station Blue thanks to @podcastgalore

And i have strong emotions, many of which are summed up by 'what the f*ck Chad' as so many people have asked him!

This audio drama isnt quite like any of the others i've listened to and i think i need to relisten before i truly understand my feelings towards it. But immediate thoughts. Some of these sound negative i think but they are not! They are the result of a truly affecting podcast that is brilliant written and brilliantly disturbing.

This podcast is ROUGH. This is not an easy listen and even though its only 4 hours, it took me a few weeks to get through it. If you listen, please pay attention to the content warnings. I'm not easily disturbed by stuff but i had to take a few breaks, particularly because of the...

mental health issues. Honestly i cant get over how mental health is dealt with in this drama. Its really raw, really honest and completely stripped of any niceties or romaticism which often comes with mental health depiction. Its just fantastic writing. I dont sant to say too much but as someone with my own mental health issues and with people in my life with their own struggles,it was all a little too real for me at times. Which is obviously not a critism at all, just something to be aware of i guess.

The two part Sarah episode. Eugh. Eugh in the best of way!

Yay Philip Pullman!

The sound design which is just phenomenal. And the risks that are taken with the absences of dialogue which i have never heard done so well in an audio drama

I'm gonna like eat some chocolate and maybe call my mum. I need a hug.

#station blue #podcast recommendations #i've tried to.avoid spoilers #but gonna tag it just in case #station blue spoilers #spoilers #i review things #what the f*ck chad

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monstersdownthepath · 6 years ago

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Spiritual Spotlight: Charon the Boatman

(and featuring the arm of Dispater, in the upper right!)

Neutral Evil Horseman of Death

Domains: Death, Evil, Knowledge, Water Subdomains: Daemon, Ice, Memory, Undead

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 36~37

Obedience: Meditate upon your infirmities and the slow, inevitable progression of physical and mental decay inherent to the ravages of time. Mimic this progression by immersing yourself or a victim in icy water until nearly unconscious, or by consuming alcohol or drugs that dull memory and mental faculties. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws against necromancy and negative energy effects.

I greatly prefer the shrouded figure in a nice hat from the Bestiary, but I’ll be damned if the crotchety, coin-covered old man from the cover of the Complete Book of the Damned hasn’t won me over a little. Too bad the illustration inside the book is so... eugh.

Anyway, it’s odd to me that the most powerful of all the Horsemen has the simplest of all the Obediences. Simple doesn’t mean safe or easy, though. Icy water is difficult to come by without magic, especially not water cold enough to deal damage to you--note that it says you have to be rendered nearly unconscious by this submersion, implying nonlethal damage must be dealt by the freezing temperatures. A stickler DM may demand the water be at -0F or below, which deals nonlethal damage each minute, and may force you to bathe in it longer depending on how much HP you have, meaning this Obedience becomes more difficult as you level up.

Of course, that’s just a mechanical perspective. You can achieve the same result by meditating under the water until you nearly pass out from oxygen deprivation, in that case. A looser DM may also allow you to chill (badum-tish) in the water for an hour and consider it said and done... But beware, because you can’t just dunk yourself in ice-cold water over and over again without some longer-reaching side effects, such as frostbite or hypothermia. ... Both of which can be cured via magic, but y’know. It’s real hard to explain to any do-gooders in your party why you keep needing frostbite healed while in the middle of summer. It’s a very hard Obedience to keep a secret, is what I’m saying, especially since it requires a bathing vessel, a whole lot of water, and some method to chill it. The latter two can be done with magic, but the former is still pretty attention-grabbing.

Unless you cut out the danger to yourself and just use a Sack Of Rats and nearly drown one in freezing water every day, I mean. You save on water and on bathing vessels! It makes you look like a sociopath if you get caught, though. I mean, you are if you’re worshiping Charon, but it’s also real hard to explain why you’re dunking rats in ice water.

The potential alternative is no less deleterious to your character, either. Drugs which dull memory and mental faculties tend to do so by dealing Intelligence or Wisdom damage, and dealing damage to your own ability scores is never something you want to do just in case the DM has a monster in the wings that’s ready to do it for you. There’s also the danger of addiction, which itself can be cured by Cure Disease... but if you can’t cast it yourself, then there’s the whole “explaining things to your party” thing again. While carrying around drugs is a lot more subtle than hauling around a bathtub, it’s also more expensive and is likely to raise more questions and garner more attention if you’re caught in the act, ESPECIALLY if you’re in a majorly Good- or Neutral-aligned civilization at the moment. Not to mention it’s harder to maintain; what are you gonna do, stock up on a hundred days’ worth of Hazy Brain Juice in one city? And don’t forget that it’s ability score damage. Taking those kinds of drugs day after day is going to render you invalid quickly unless you have a method of repairing the damage.

And if you don’t, party shaking disapproving head etc etc you know the drill.

And, no, getting sloshed first thing in the morning isn’t any better, even if you can cure it right away. Being the Funny Drunken Party Guy is good fun once in a while, but not every single day at the crack of dawn. It DOES make it easier to disguise your true nature, though, because Cayden Cailean exists. You’d just have to put up with looking like a really, really terrible follower of good ol’ CC who misunderstood their own god.

Hoo man. That was a lot of writing! Anyway, the benefit is great. Necromancers and death Clerics are a very common enemy type, so it’s good to have the extra protection against them! .... Unless you’re in an Evil campaign, in which case you’re unlikely to run into as many negative energy effects or necromancers. That puts a pretty big dampener on its usefulness.

Boons usually come at levels 12, 16, and 20 if you merely take the Fiendish Obedience feat, but having levels in the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel prestige classes allow you to unlock the respective bonuses much faster. The trio of prestige classes can be entered as early as level 7; taken as early as possible, you unlock the Boons at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead.

Daemon worshipers may elect to class into the Souldrinker prestige class instead of the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel class, and may choose any of the three Boon lists they wish to have.

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EVANGELIST

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Boon 1: Death’s Blessing. Gain Memory Lapse 3/day, Catatonia 2/day, or Create Soul Gem 1/day

I’ve discussed the general usefulness of Memory Lapse previously in Tex Mex Ian’s article, so check that out under Evangelist!

Catatonia is a spell whose usefulness is SO cripplingly limited that the situations in which it’s useful are basically nil. For those who don’t know what the spell does--and I don’t blame you--it’s a touch spell that knocks the target into a deathlike state for 1hr/level. Their body is treated like a corpse in all respects until the spell ends or is ended by an outside effect. Can you think of a practical use for this spell that couldn’t be replicated by a different spell? I bet! What if I told you it offered no saving throw? That’d be AMAZING!

Except that it can only be used on a willing target.

Yeah.

I suppose you could use mind-control magic to make someone willingly accept the spell, but at that point you have someone mind controlled so there’s no real need to knock them out, unless you VERY SPECIFICALLY need to bring their corpse somewhere and have them regain consciousness to wreak havoc.

Create Soul Gem, however, is a... strange spell. Because it’s a spell-like, you don’t actually need the focus component (a crystal lens worth 500gp), but the spell itself transforms the crystal lens into a soul gem. I would discuss the exact way this manifests with your DM before it comes up, because in my opinion, you should be allowed to just use any old glass or crystal lens you have on you as the focus regardless of its worth. A player character will likely have little reason to actually create a soul gem unless they’re bargaining with fiends, or holding the soul of some unfortunate victim captive... But the spell wears off 1 day/level later, the gemstone crumbling and releasing the soul to the Boneyard for judgment. Some fiends likely won’t recognize the temporary soul gem, but most devils will, and a daemon definitely will.

Thankfully, though this ability may seem less than spectacular at first, it combos well with the next Boon...

Boon 2: Soul Crush. As a standard action, you can crush a soul gem (such as one you create via Create Soul Gem or one created by a Cacodaemon) to gain Fast Healing 15 for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice. This action condemns the crushed soul to Abaddon; resurrecting this victim requires a successful DC 28 caster level check.

... Oh boy does it combo well. Suddenly, Create Soul Gem reads as ‘once per day, fully heal your character over the course of a minute.’ Regenerating 15 damage every round you remain conscious is game-breakingly powerful, saving your party hundreds on spell slots, wand charges, and health potions as you gnaw on a delicious soul-filled rock rather than take up valuable resources. By the time you get this ability, it lets you restore over 190 HP to yourself per soul gem used, and that will rise as you level up.

This is one of the rare Evangelist Boons that can fit on any character archetype equally well. A frontline tank will adore the extra HP, and between their AC and Fast Healing, will likely outheal any damage the enemy can do. The midliners who can slip out of combat can dodge and roll as their entire HP bar grows back, and the backliners who get potshot by enemy attacks can bide their time in cover until they regain enough HP to peek out again.

The best part about this ability, though? The quality of the soul gem doesn’t matter, and there’s no daily limit on how many times you can use this power, only however many soul gems you have on your person. Stock up, and become the invincible soul-eater you always dreamed of being!

... Oh yeah, everyone you crush gets sent to Abaddon, too. That’s pretty neat! And also a horrible fate to inflict on someone! You bastard!

Boon 3: Death’s Clutches. You can use Soul Bind as a spell-like ability 1/day.

Hrm. Soul Bind is... A step up, I suppose, from Create Soul Gem. It’s basically Create Soul Gem, except the gemstone is permanent. That’s actually all there is to it; they even have the same range as one another.

Along with the same complication that results from the spell itself requiring a gemstone focus to bind the soul, but spell-like abilities typically ignore focus requirements. Whatever solution you and your DM came up with for Create Soul Gem will have to work with Soul Bind as well. Whatever the case may be, though, this ability might end up giving you a nice pocket filled to the brim with soul gems to fuel your immortality.

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EXALTED

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Boon 1: Death’s Grace. Gain Ray of Enfeeblement 3/day, Death Knell 2/day, or Sands of Time 1/day.

I’ve talked about Ray of Enfeeblement and Death Knell before, so the quick versions are:

RoE: Good spell to fall back on. Negated by a save, but 3/day makes it better.

DK: Decent. Extremely narrow use, but very good at what it does. A mediocre choice, but powerful if you can actually get the killing blow with it.

So. That leaves us with Sands of Time, a spell with no saving throw that instantly ages someone one age category up without granting them the age bonuses that usually come with an age-up. That is, at the very least, a -1 to Str, Con, and Dex which... Is not spectacular, really. But say someone is already middle aged? That means Sands of Time takes them to old age, and suddenly that’s a -3 to each of their physical ability scores. If you manage to swat an old enemy with it? They become venerable, and suddenly they’re buckling under the weight of a -6 penalty to Str/Con/Dex that lasts for 10 minutes per level.

Now, granted, Sands of Time loses a lot of its potency if you’re up against people in their 20s... or 120s, as ridiculous as it is, because the longer-lived races live really long and their age categories advance at a glacial pace. Unless the DM puts you up against exclusively human foes, it can be difficult to figure out how badly your Sands of TIme will affect someone; you may just end up giving them a meaningless -1 penalty which will get you killed instantly because I just saw that Sands of Time is a touch spell. Oops.

At the very least, you can also dump it on an object to accelerate its decay, dealing 3d6+1/lvl damage to it. It also works on Constructs and Undead in this way, dealing a decent chunk of damage with no save allowed. But, again, it’s a touch spell, and Exalted are fragile casters. That’s a pretty big damper on its usefulness.

Boon 2: Hunger of the Styx. 3/day upon successfully striking an enemy with a melee weapon, you may force them to make a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + Cha mod) or be stunned for 1 round and staggered for 1d4+1 rounds. On a successful save, they are still staggered for 1 round. This is a mind-affecting effect.

Not entirely sure why the Exalted, the caster class, gets a melee ability. On the other hand, it’s a very handy Get Out Of Jail Free card, since it automatically staggers whoever it hits regardless of whether or not they make their save, preventing the attacked enemy from taking full-attack (or full retreat) actions. If they actually FAIL their save, the encounter is more or less decided right there. This ability is an amazing Save-or-Suck that’s unfortunately stapled onto--wait a second when did Clerics and Oracles get 3/4ths BAB?

Nevermind! This ability’s amazing!! Provided you somehow have enough accuracy to strike an important enemy’s full AC (unless you have some weird melee weapon that hits touch AC), something that gets less and less likely as enemy CR rises.

Boon 3: Grasp of the Styx. 1/day, you may cast Grasping Hand as a spell-like ability. This hand is made up of the bubbling, black water of the Styx. Any creature grappled by the hand must succeed on a Fortitude save (DC 17+Cha mod) or gain 1 negative level.

Couldn’t spring for Crushing Hand, eh Charon? I suppose the negative level makes it good enough, despite the unfortunately low save needed to negate it, and the fact that foes you’d actually want to grapple are likely immune to negative levels.

Then again, even if you get it as early as possible, it still has a +28 to grapple checks (+17 caster level, +10 Str modifier, +1 size modifier) that only rises as you level. Even without the negative level, being able to partially paralyze a single opponent from medium range (100ft + 10ft/lvl) for 1 round/level is amazing if they don’t have allies capable of breaking the spell. A tall order, to be certain, but grappling an enemy caster for even one round can make a fight much easier.

The biggest weakness of any grappler, though, is Freedom of Movement, which most classes get around level 10 (except Cleric, which gets it at level 7). Now, since it has somatic components it can’t be cast while grappled, but with a 10min/level duration, if an enemy with the spell in their repertoire knows you’re coming they’ll slap it on themselves the instant you breach their fortress. Even against enemies immune to being grappled, the spell still finds some use by interposing itself between you and a chosen enemy, granting you +4 AC versus more or less everything it tries. So I suppose, in that case, it’s never completely useless.

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SENTINEL

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Boon 1: Death’s Crusader. Gain Mount 3/day, Wartrain Mount 2/day, or Phantom Steed 1/day

Please direct your eyeballs and/or other visual sensory organs to Trelmarixian’s page, because every Horseman gives the same Sentinel spell-likes.

Boon 2: On A Pale Horse. As a swift action, you may call upon the phantasmal image of the Pale Horse of Death, which takes up a 10ft square adjacent to you. As a move action which requires concentration, you may direct the Pale Horse to move up to 120ft in any direction or path you desire. It is unaffected by difficult terrain and may move over surfaces that would otherwise not bear its weight (water, ice, snow, glass, etc). Any creature the Pale Horse passes through must make a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 hit dice + Cha mod) or be struck with a -6 penalty to Constitution, Strength, and Dexterity, as though they had been suddenly struck venerable. Creatures who normally gain power as they age, such as dragons, gain the penalties instead. A creature may only be affected by the Pale Horse’s power once per round, no matter how many times it passes through their space. This is an aging, curse effect. The Pale Horse vanishes at the end of the round

Lets get one very, very important detail out of the way, one I think has to be a misprint: There’s no limit to how often you can use this power, so long as you give up your swift and move actions to do it. Harsh for the martial Sentinel, not so much for the spell-slinging Souldrinker.

The fact that there’s no limit to the horses you can conjure means you can try, try again if your opponent saves against the first round. Though age penalties cannot take an ability score below 1, a -6 to all of their physical ability scores still means that, among other things: they do 3 less damage with their attacks and have a -3 penalty to all attack rolls, they have a -3 penalty to Fortitude and Reflex saves, they gain 3 less HP per hit dice, have 3 less AC. Plus, if any of their scores are brought down to 1, any amount of ability damage beyond that will likely kill them (or render them helpless, which is the same thing). 120ft of movement is a HUGE range, and provided all of your enemies are lined up in a nice little row for you, it means you can potentially hit up to 24 people with a single use of this power!

And by the by, the penalties are permanent until cured by magic.

The fact that it’s both a curse and an aging effect means that some enemies are immune to it, but the potential in the Pale Horse to instantly debuff a whole crowd of enemies at the same time outweighs that fact. And besides, you still have your standard action to take even after you send the steed into the fray!

Boon 3: Death’s Call. 1/day, you may cast Wail of the Banshee as a spell-like ability, except it lacks a sonic component. Creatures affected seem to crumble to dust.

With the snap of your fingers and a whisper into the air, you can will people around you to just die. Wail of the Banshee is a very, very powerful spell, capable of hitting a 40ft burst of people within close range (25ft + 5ft/lvl) and weaving its power between allies and people you want to spare, dealing a flat 10 damage per level to everyone affected. Because Death’s Call is not audible, it may look to all the world like a crowd opposing you simply crumbled to dust with nothing more than a glance. You don’t actually HAVE to perform any motions, but come on! Who wouldn’t gently sweep their hand over a group of hapless fools, each one your hand passes over turning to a burst of dust as their allies look on in horror?

Who wouldn’t want to be Thanos snapping his fingers and ending half an enemy’s group?

Of course, there is the small, annoying fact that it’s a 1/day ability completely negated by a successful Fortitude save (DC 19 + Cha mod). Unlike with Implosion, though, the damage is sent out all at once and is launched at a range. However, it’s also a death effect, meaning that most high-end enemies will be outright immune to it.

It’ll kill or severely injure everyone with them, though. Plus, there’s always the delightful thought of walking into a crowded street with this and clearing yourself a path through them. It’s what Charon would have wanted.

You can read more about him here.

#End of the World Month #Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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