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stillsolo · 2 months

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GET TO KNOW THE MUN. respond to the prompts out of character !

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? oh, where do i even begin? well, i suppose i should start with how long sw has been in my life. ANH was the first movie my mother ever saw when she visited the USA; she saw it with my grandmother ( and subsequently developed a massive crush on harrison, so indiana jones became a huge part of my childhood too lol ). for this reason, my mother introduced my brother and I to sw when we were actual babies. then, when the prequels came out, it’s all me and my brother consumed. from the movies themselves to the original clone wars cartoon to the PS2 games to the novels/book series. we watched it on a tiny portable player for every trip, and every time my relatives needed us to go away to let the adults talk lol. it also helped our comprehension of english so much. i can’t recall a time in which sw hasn’t been present in my life! before i joined the tumblr swrpc, i kept to myself in the prequels community, wrote fanfic, and rped anakin on skype. he’s always been a character that hit a little too close to home in one too many ways. the main parallel i have with him (that doesn’t relate to his mental issues haha) is his love/devotion/attachment to his mother. it’s difficult for me to explain without getting into the aspects of my culture (孝順 / filial piety), but in short, i am cantonese; if my mother asked me for my thumb tomorrow, i would give her my arm today. anakin’s love for his mother, his determination to free her from slavery at an early age, was very touching. EPII has been memed to oblivion, yes, but the pain i feel when anakin doesn’t get to hear his mother tell him she loves him one last time before she dies, and knowing that it haunts him for the rest of his life (eu), makes me want to throw myself out a window lmao i have an extremely close relationship with my parents; this sort of pain is absolutely gutting for someone like me. anyway, when i joined the tumblr swrpc, writing han solo was never the plan. i originally wanted to write luke but ended up changing my mind at the last second. I’d written well over a dozen fics with han at that point, but was nowhere near confident, so i thought of it as more of an experiment. guess that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, because if you really think about it, since the day i started writing him in fics, he hasn’t stopped butting into my brain. in fact, he’s been harassing me ever since—to the point that i even switched from writing luke to him… lol given my upbringing and my mother’s love for him, han has always been my childhood hero, as well as my brother’s. our dad was our han solo. the nostalgic and familial associations run so deep, it’s difficult to articulate. we share many traits, right down to his universally agreed-upon zodiac sign (sagittarius); i know han solo like the back of my hand—and it’s probably because i wanted to be just like him when i grew up.

is there anything you don’t like to write? character death. if i have to say another, it’s when people conflate harrison with the character he plays and then decides to address that in a thread. harrison was a ladies man back in the 80s, and that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean the same for han. i hate seeing the conflation between the two. not sure if this happens as often anymore, but there was a time when fics/threads/even han rpers would lean into it, by default, thus totally destroying his character in my eyes. i mean, write it as a storyline, that’s cool and fine, but infidelity has never been inherently part of his character. i will die on this fucking hill.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? most unpopular opinion ever: action sequences. critical situations, fast paced action, thriller scenes featuring immediate, life-threatening circumstances. i love writing that which exhibits a sense of urgency and tension, with sprinklings of emotional depth and contemplative introspective moments. scenes with internal conflict combined with aforementioned external events. even evading enemy forces, sustaining minor/major injuries, dressing wounds. dunno why those are always the most fun to me. aside from that? romance/romantic angst. i’ve had many writing partners over the years, and each one thought they could outdo me in writing romantic angst. sometimes, the psychosomatic pain of heartbreak isn’t far from feeling like you’ve lost a limb in battle.

how do you come up with headcanons? by being the most annoying, meticulous person ever. i’m extremely detail oriented; when i see incongruities in my own work, i perish. so, when i come up with headcanons, i have to consider all factors that may affect the outcome of whatever question i’ve posed in my mind and feel the need to justify my choices, for whatever reason, by tying it back to XYZ. my headcanons must align with my muse’s personality, their environment from childhood to adulthood, their current circumstances, and if it’s an AU, how it mirrors canon events. canon/eu is everything imo, because they are their own choices; it’s what shaped them into the character we know them as. ofc, this is my process and opinion, so make of that what you will.

do you write in silence or do you play music? no music, no tv. sometimes people talking is too much for me. i have adhd and my medication only helps so much. i will absolutely start writing down the conversation or lyrics playing in the background lol

do you plan your replies or wing them? plotting vs planning replies is different to me. plotting gives me a foundation, but it can’t be too confining. to plan a reply is to block out each moment. if you trap me, i will always deviate; so i wing everything, even when i have a foundation.

do you enjoy shipping? yes, absolutely! i’m not sure why people tend to assume otherwise, but i’m more open to it than people think. i’ve never cared about who you write, if they’re in the sw franchise, or even what era of sw etc etc never given a shit about what people think; if our muses click, they click. honestly, some of the best ships i’ve had with han, as in the most enjoyable and enlightening of his character, have been ‘crack ships’.

what’s your alias/name? vin, vince, vincent. vincent van hoe. trash bin vin.

age? 27!

birthday? dec 2!

favorite color? silver. if that’s not a color to you, then blue.

favorite song? you can’t expect me to… well, ‘in your eyes’ by the weeknd has been up there for a long time.

last movie you watched? star wars: the clone wars (2008)

last show you watched? … the clone wars lol

last song you listened to? billie jean - MJ.

favorite food? my mother’s 番茄炒蛋 ( egg and tomato stir fry ), unagi, freshly baked breads, fresh fruit …

favorite season? i get mostly tropical weather, but i love a cold winter.

do you have a tumblr best friend? unfortunately, so many people have left the site over the years, but i'm grateful to call these people some of the closest friends i have in the rpc: @techniiciian @desiccation @vibraea @rcvanchist @sgterso @voxcrystallis

tagged : @debelltio thank you for thinking of me!! tagging : if you're still reading this, i tag you!

#( . i hope i didn't bore anyone to death haha i already cut out so much skdfjksdf #( . im a bit of a Yapper y'see‚ and i can ramble about sw stuff like nobody's business #( . anyway just know that i always come back to han‚ no matter what. he's so annoying lmao #˒・*。◞ ( dash game ) *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ ғᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴇ ғᴀᴠᴏʀs ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʟᴅ‚ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ’ᴍ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ʟᴜᴄᴋʏ.#˒・*。◞ ( ooc ) *･ﾟ✧ ⎸ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄᴀʀʙᴏɴɪᴛᴇ.#long post ts

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fuckmeyer · 1 month

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I’m certain this is over 500 words but I am dying to hear more about all of this. I genuinely tried to cut but I could not make up my mind - silk tie anon (still workshopping the name here, not sure I want to be know for Edward’s clothing/buns all that bad):

Edward had threaded one hand through my hair and was mindlessly curling strands around his finger, sweeping them off my shoulder, bringing them to his lips. My nails traced mindless patterns on his other hand wrapped around my waist.

The intimacy and burn of his fingers on my skin made me remember with striking emotion how much I missed him touching me, how starved I was.

We breathed in unison. Every other moment, a faint static would pulse down my body. At first, I thought it was him flinching, but it was rhythmic and soft. Like was responding to me. Like our bodies were syncing up. In a good way.

I sighed. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips.

“Em’s obsessed with carbon-neutral cabins now,” said Edward. “I should ask him to build us one.”

I could practically hear the smile on him.

Usually, I would balk and respond along the lines of No way, Jose.

Cactus Bella would’ve, anyway.

“That’d be nice,” I said. Edward hmm’d in response, just as surprised by my reaction as I was. “We could watch the sunset every night. It’d have to have a tiny art studio, though. With a view.”

“Yes. Art studio in the attic, recording studio in the basement.”

“And a library.”

“The rest of the house is a library. Every room has at least one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.”

“And we could decorate and hang up pictures. And we’d never pay rent.”

“And I would make tea for you every morning and dinner for you every night. We would stay there for weeks at a time.”

“Months.”

“Years.”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed. It sounded off.

The sun dropped into the horizon.

“Twilight, again,” I remembered him saying at prom. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end….”

At prom, it had sounded romantic.

Here, it haunted me.

We didn’t speak. Only dying birdsongs and classical music filled the silence.

Before he could wallow in his forever comment, I asked, “So what's on the menu for tonight?” gesturing with my head to the tiny stereo. “Wagner, to celebrate my being done reading that freak Nietzsche?”

“Hah hah. As if this was remotely Wagnerian.” For a moment he tensed underneath me; his faltering chuckle returned. “I was wondering when you’d say something. What do you think?”

It was the smoothest-sounding music I’d ever heard—that’s what I thought. Every note was correct and on key and on beat and every instrument played with exact preciseness. It felt more like the whole song was just one fluid, resonating harmonic note to the next. A dream. A fantasy.

What set it apart were the colors. They jumped off the track. Purples and orangey-yellows, mostly, but the piano sounded like the greenest grass Forks had ever grown.

“Unedited thoughts only,” he warned me.

“You know what it reminds me of?” I said, patting his knee. “Debussy. With a little Emile Pandolfi zhuzh to it. Or like if Rachmaninov woke up one day and decided to write something a little more understated.”

“Classical influences with modern touches.”

“Exactly.”

“Dramatic?”

“In good way. Y’know? Not so cloying and loud.”

“Calmer.”

“Yeah. Less struggle. If that makes sense.”

“Interesting.” He tried keeping an even face but his eyes lit up. He nuzzled his face into my collar. “But the real question: do you like it?”

“Hell yeah. That’s my biased opinion. You know I like your recs.”

“Except Bobby Vinton.”

“Fifties trash,” I said with a dismissive shrug, “what can you say?”

“I’d say your taste in men is better than your taste in music, and that’s not saying much.”

His voice was jovial—and false.

—No, not false.

Shaken with a sheepish nervousness. Embarrassment?

I laid back against his chest. Puzzle pieces assembled in my head, so loud and clear I would assume he could hear me coming to my conclusions.

Edward was nervous.

All night, he’d been nervous.

The good kind of nervous.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Laying against him, I could feel excitement coursing through him.

“Hm?”

“There’s a speech you’re not telling me,” I said. Edward broke into a smile but looked down so I wouldn’t see it. The anticipation he carried with him felt like live wires on my skin. “You’re dying to say it. Mhm. Something overwrought. Or some super nerdy, esoteric lecture, I bet. Yeah. The blues speech. The classical music. There’s a theme going on here.” He laughed. “Tell me. Who’s this dead guy and why do I care?”

“The tongue on you.” His lips kissed my temple, tickled the shell of my ear when he spoke. “That dead guy is me, thank you very much.”

“Huh?” I whipped around to face him with an open-mouthed smile. “No way.”

“Yes, way. Wrote and performed.”

“This? Really? You wrote this? Really?” As I talked, I moved to straddle him, my hands on his shoulders, the side of his neck. Brassy golds and jewel-toned purples swirled through the music drifting between us. “That’s so cool!”

This, like everything else about Edward, seemed otherworldly in its grace and beauty. It felt like listening to the future of music—refined to an even higher degree of perfection.

Of course this was his.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

"Eloquent as always."

"This is amazing work. Wow!” It felt like I radiated so much joy, my cheeks burned. “Congratulations, oh my god. It’s great. It’s brilliant. I take back all the ‘dead guy, don’t care’ stuff. Lecture me up.”

“You assume I have more to say?”

Getting Edward to share any of his compositions had been, up until now, impossible. He had informed me several times he hadn’t written anything since the 1970s. Any time I’d ask, he’d just come up with some medley of songs by others, or he’d improvise.

“It’s a lullaby.” Beat. “Your lullaby.” Another beat. “I wrote it for you.”

I blinked. Stilled.

“For me?” My hand fell back to his chest, leaving his hair a wild, sculpted mess. Edward watched my face fall and eyes drift toward the speaker; his brows knit. “A lullaby? For me?”

Edward laughed, nervous, and pressed a button on the stereo.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to me.

Instruments jumped into that first note, springing to life with a harmonized breathlessness that reminded me of sky blue, lavender, spots of gold, and brown. An overwhelming, bright, vibrant first measure calmed into a languid, inquisitive piano.

Oftentimes, a song would have competing colors, for better or for worse. Anything I wanted to paint would require several relistenings and a full-on moodboard before the oil would ever hit the canvas.

Art supplies were expensive—you had to be sure of your vision.

But this. This was gorgeous. Like it had been written with the intention of being ready for the canvas.

For me.

“It’s been in my mind for a while now. At first, they were just bits of melodies you’ve given me from our time together. The happy, sunny times.”

“Like a tapestry of little memories?” I joked, voice thick with emotion.

“In the middle of the night, if you start tossing, I hum it to you. I think you like it. It calms you down.” He grinned. “You stop trying to kick me, anyway.”

“Which memories did you use?”

“G-minor, when you first spoke to me—that was the first measure. The first night I stayed over. Picking wild blackberries for you on the way to the meadow. And— Do you remember the second time we took the truck to that forest a couple miles north of Goat Rocks?” I frowned. “In July? We played Nickel Nock in the truckbed? You were asking about the—"

“Fireflies,” we finished in unison. I laughed. “Duh!” I told him it’d been the first time I’d seen one in person. Edward turned off the lamp and caught one for me in his hands just so I could see it up close. I smiled wide. “The little chimes in background. Is that them? The fireflies?”

“Perceptive.”

Tears threatened to spill over; I wiped one away from the corner with my thumb.

hey Silk Buns anon, you can choose your own nickname as far as i'm concerned. i love you

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 3: DATE - DVD COMMENTARY

[i haven't read this chapter since i posted it lmao OOP-]

The intimacy and burn of his fingers on my skin made me remember with striking emotion how much I missed him touching me, how starved I was.

We breathed in unison [ok but fr breathing in unison w/ ur partner is relaxing as fuck]. Every other moment, a faint static would pulse down my body. At first, I thought it was him flinching, but it was rhythmic and soft. Like was responding to me. Like our bodies were syncing up. In a good way.

[it's wild how many hints i dropped about the mating bond. i was resolved to put it in the fic because it was an unexplored part of smeyer's lore & an interesting creative challenge (much like imprinting, although that's more about fixing mistakes than fleshing out a concept). but i didn't have the mechanics of mating hammered out at all. details like this are fun to come back to because they ended up fitting perfectly.]

I sighed. “I wish it could be like this all the time.”

He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips.

“Em’s obsessed with carbon-neutral cabins now,” said Edward. “I should ask him to build us one.” [something something By Starlight Chapter 9: Envoy]

I could practically hear the smile on him.

Usually, I would balk and respond along the lines of No way, Jose.

Cactus Bella would’ve, anyway. [Cactus Bella should have come back]

“Yes. Art studio in the attic [HEY!!!!], recording studio in the basement.”

“And a library.” [i picture them having a tiny cabin with a loft, lots of plants, artwork, cozy chairs, one of those little roller ladders for their library, & tons of windows that overlook the forest below. i'm projecting my own desires btw]

“The rest of the house is a library. Every room has at least one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.” [get you a fanfic Edward Cullen who says "YES, AND"!!!]

“And we could decorate and hang up pictures. And we’d never pay rent.” [i can't imagine how much Bella hates dealing with landlords. from her describing her experiences delivering Renee's late rent to telling Phil to pay rent early to "get the landlord off Renee's back" to her doing DIY plumbing repairs, it feels like she does everything in her power to avoid getting a landlord in her hair. honestly, mood.]

“And I would make tea for you every morning and dinner for you every night. We would stay there for weeks at a time.”

“Months.”

“Years.”

“Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoed. It sounded off.

The sun dropped into the horizon.

“Twilight, again,” I remembered him saying at prom. “No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end….”

[so interesting, this shift we see in Edward by the end of Come Nightfall/beginning of By Starlight. in ITA he insists there is an end to all things (especially the self). contrast this with BS Chapter 1: Ultimatum where he insists Bella isn't terminal. he's able to rationalize that he can't keep Bella, but the more he falls in love with her, the less he wants to stand by his assertion that there is an end to all things...]

At prom, it had sounded romantic.

Here, it haunted me.

We didn’t speak. Only dying birdsongs and classical music filled the silence.

“Hah hah. As if this was remotely Wagnerian.” For a moment he tensed underneath me; his faltering chuckle returned. “I was wondering when you’d say something. What do you think?”

[in the early stages of drafting these fics, i list bullet points of things that i think would be cool to write. at the climax of New Moon, instead of exposing himself to humans, i thought it'd be fun if Edward had turned Bella's lullaby into an anti-Volturi operatic work that he would play throughout Volterra on St Marcus' Day. not all ideas are good ideas]

What set it apart were the colors. They jumped off the track. Purples and orangey-yellows, mostly, but the piano sounded like the greenest grass Forks had ever grown. [Bella has chromesthesia. light spoilers?, this comes back later]

“Unedited thoughts only,” he warned me.

“Classical influences with modern touches.”

“Exactly.”

“Dramatic?”

“In good way. Y’know? Not so cloying and loud.”

“Calmer.”

“Yeah. Less struggle. If that makes sense.”

“Interesting.” He tried keeping an even face but his eyes lit up. He nuzzled his face into my collar. “But the real question: do you like it?”

“Hell yeah. That’s my biased opinion. You know I like your recs.”

“Except Bobby Vinton.” [deleted a whole scene about Bella and Edward arguing over how much Bobby Vinton sucks, so this was my compromise]

“Fifties trash,” I said with a dismissive shrug, “what can you say?” [SO true bestie]

“I’d say your taste in men is better than your taste in music, and that’s not saying much.” [HEY!]

His voice was jovial—and false.

—No, not false.

Shaken with a sheepish nervousness. Embarrassment?

I laid back against his chest. Puzzle pieces assembled in my head, so loud and clear I would assume he could hear me coming to my conclusions.

Edward was nervous.

All night, he’d been nervous.

The good kind of nervous.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Tell me.”

Laying against him, I could feel excitement coursing through him.

“Hm?”

“The tongue on you.” His lips kissed my temple, tickled the shell of my ear when he spoke. “That dead guy is me, thank you very much.”

“Huh?” I whipped around to face him with an open-mouthed smile. “No way.”

“Yes, way. Wrote and performed.”

This, like everything else about Edward, seemed otherworldly in its grace and beauty. It felt like listening to the future of music—refined to an even higher degree of perfection.

Of course this was his.

“Is it so hard to believe?”

Now my hands played nervously with the locks of his hair that sat at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s just, you said you hadn't written anything since the 70s, and the colors are just—I mean it’s perfect, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but, just—wow." [Edward likely doesn't know she has synesthesia, considering how much of herself she's hidden from him pre-breakup.]

"Eloquent as always."

“You assume I have more to say?”

I snickered, raking my hand through his hair and pulling on it. He purred. “Six words? You? Please,” I said, and he laughed. “What d’you got for me? Historical context? Music theory? Behind-the-scenes anecdote? You gotta unedit, y’know.” [it's crazy to go back to these earlier scenes and hear this Bella talk. there's such a stark difference imo between pre- & post-breakup Bella. in By Starlight, she's sounds more mature, somber, careful with her words, closer to canon. i can def see why readers abandon these works lmao]

“It’s a lullaby.” Beat. “Your lullaby.” Another beat. “I wrote it for you.”

I blinked. Stilled.

“For me?” My hand fell back to his chest, leaving his hair a wild, sculpted mess. Edward watched my face fall and eyes drift toward the speaker; his brows knit. “A lullaby? For me?”

Edward laughed, nervous, and pressed a button on the stereo.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to me.

Art supplies were expensive—you had to be sure of your vision.

But this. This was gorgeous. Like it had been written with the intention of being ready for the canvas.

For me.

“It’s been in my mind for a while now. At first, they were just bits of melodies you’ve given me from our time together. The happy, sunny times.”

“Like a tapestry of little memories?” I joked, voice thick with emotion.

“In the middle of the night, if you start tossing, I hum it to you. I think you like it. It calms you down.” He grinned. “You stop trying to kick me, anyway.”

“Which memories did you use?”

“G-minor, when you first spoke to me—that was the first measure. The first night I stayed over. Picking wild blackberries for you on the way to the meadow. [i've always thought this Edward had some crow-ass behavior going on. like he'll just show up at Bella's window with a handful of berries or a shiny pebble or a tiny flower and be like, "i come bearing gifts (caw)"] And— Do you remember the second time we took the truck to that forest a couple miles north of Goat Rocks?” I frowned. “In July? We played Nickel Nock in the truckbed? You were asking about the—"

“Perceptive.”

Tears threatened to spill over; I wiped one away from the corner with my thumb.

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet

#thank you!!#asks #come nightfall #fanfic dvd commentary

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hopetorun · 5 months

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7, 10, 15, 18 please!

7. answered

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

a lot of writing sticks with me tbh! obviously i have now forgotten all of it due to being asked* but a few things that tend to leave me thinking about something constantly for days: a wrenching bittersweet ending where the protagonist is stuck with only imperfect choices, a scene where it’s so so clear what the non-pov character is going through and the pov character is totally missing it, really good metaphors especially ones involving bodies, great closing lines.

i consider something to be haunting me when i can’t get it out of my head! but i don’t really feel that way about my own stories because that’s so different. i cannot articulate it but it is.

*see previous response to this meme with a note about how i should be better at keeping track of snippets that stick with me

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

i wish i was a person who wrote in the margins but i very much am not, mostly because i get too distracted reading to take notes. i do sometimes scribble stuff in my notes app for book club books so i don’t forget my thoughts but not always. i don’t dog ear pages but i do read in the bath and i also read while eating and stain my books with food. i therefore cannot judge people who deface books in other ways, and would not want to. books are meant to be read and loved and used. my cheeto-fingerprinted copy of little women and my baby blanket that i slept with until it was literally just scraps of thread and the handmade quilt my uncle had on his bed until he died that was worn to bits are the same, actually. we are meant to use these things and love them and that’s its own way of treasuring a thing. if any one person wants to treasure their books by keeping them pristine that’s fine but i treasure mine by loving them to pieces and having to buy a whole new copy to love to pieces again. and covering them in cheese dust fingerprints

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

from home by now:

It works for Matthew, and it’s the most comfortable he’s felt around Draisaitl in literally years. Maybe since they collapsed from the shower onto a hotel bed in Edmonton during the playoff bubble, wrung out and relaxed and extremely pleased with themselves.

“I thought that was going to be hot when you suggested but I didn’t realize how hot it would be,” Matthew said in that hotel room. Leon dropped a hand heavily on his ass, patting him twice and then letting it rest there.

“We’re going to be out soon,” he said. Matthew couldn’t argue with him; the Oilers had been thoroughly outclassed in their first three games, and he didn’t think they were going to pull off a reverse sweep. “We can maybe win one but I doubt more than that will happen.”

Matthew nodded. “Sorry,” he said.

“You’re not,” Leon said, but he laughed roughly.

“Not very.” Matthew shrugged. “I’ll miss this.” He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth, but Leon seemed unfazed. If anything, he smiled faintly.

“Won’t miss having to sneak around whenever I want to do anything but watch TV in my room.”

There wasn’t a good answer to that; Matthew was willing to put up with it for hockey, but Leon was about to be on a plane back home. He shrugged, and a silence fell around them that felt heavy. Leon’s hand was still resting on his ass.

They were in Leon’s hotel. Matthew needed to leave soon, if he was going to be able to sneak back in and get enough sleep. It felt like breaking the moment would break something important.

Matthew did it anyway. He rolled himself out of the bed, patted Leon on the shoulder a couple of times and grabbed a towel from the bathroom to throw at him.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” he said before he opened the door. Leon grunted, and the noise was almost like one he made on the ice sometimes. Made it easier for Matthew to slip him back into the Draisaitl box, smirking at him from across the ice, looking terrible in orange.

In the present, he’s still Draisaitl, but somehow more comfortable than a few weeks ago. His shoulders are relaxed, which is probably the alcohol, and he’s not walking like he wants to leave Matthew in the dust.

Matthew didn’t think—well, he isn’t sure what he thought, anymore. He thought Draisaitl hated him, and then he thought Draisaitl liked him, and then everything got muddled for a while, with the playoffs and then Matthew’s concussion making everything worse and hazier. At the end of it he thought Draisaitl hated him, but differently than the first time. It felt like—like something changed. Like there was a different thread underlying the way that Draisaitl shoved him and whispered insults and generally refused to look at Matthew at all off the ice after everything that happened.

Above them, the moon is still high in the sky. It’s almost full, a sliver missing off the perfect circle.

“Full moon soon,” Matthew says, because he doesn’t like the silence.

thank you for your submission and for not making me pick 😂😂 excited to get to talk a bit about the sex scene flashbacks, some of the first bits of this story i wrote! i had all these scraps of them tucked at the bottom of my google doc waiting for the right place to fit into the story. early on in the writing process i did a bunch of sketching out timelines of the bubble playoffs and how many days they were both in edmonton and how many times i realistically thought they might have hooked up. it was not many at all, btw. but i stuck to it.

the line about the concussion was a fairly late add, because my trusty alpha and beta readers did tell me i needed to seed it better. it still has that like, oh you weren’t here all along feeling to me! even though i know that’s not how it works for readers.

i didn’t look up whether there’ll be a full moon around the right time in the summer of 2026 for this scene. which is weird for me because i normally look that kind of thing up (huge shoutout to my best friend time and date dot com) but i wanted the moon to be almost full so it is. why do i always look this kind of thing up? well i like to be accurate or at least plausible in descriptions of weather and seasonal changes and when it’s dark outside but also i once read a book where the sun came up before 7 am in scotland in late december and i shrieked aloud.

#ask meme

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7r0773r · 1 year

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Now Do You Know Where You Are by Dana Levin

A WALK IN THE PARK

To be born again, you need an incarnation specialist—a team from the Bureau of Needles to thread you through— Your next life turns on an axle of light—which Plato likens to a turning spindle—what was that? I mean I knew

what a spindle was from fairy tales—how it could draw blood from a testing finger, put a kingdom to sleep— but what did it actually do, how did a spindle look in real life? I didn't know. As with so many things: there was fact and there was

a believed-in dream . . .

Everyone had them back in the ancient day, spindles. When we had to weave our living-shrouds by hand. "A slender rounded rod with tapered ends," Google said. Plato's, so heavy with thread, when viewed from the side, looked like a top— though most diagrams assumed

the hawk-lord view . . .

Moon thread, threads of the planets, earth thread. Your thread. Everyone else's. Nested one inside the other, a roulette machine— If a thread could be spun from liquid light was what I kept thinking— imagining a sluice of electric souls between the earth-wheel's rims— there "I”

was a piece of water, Necessity wheeled it around—Necessity, who was married to Time, according to the Greeks— Mother of the Fates. Who would measure and cut your

paradise/shithole extra life . . .

Well we all have ways of thinking about why, metaphysically speaking, anyone's born— though the answer's always Life's I AM THAT I AM

—how it hurls and breaks! on Death's No there there . . .

—which sounded kind of Buddhist. According to the teachings we were all each other's dream . . .

And soon able to vanish— out of the real without having to die, whoever's got the cash—to pay the brainier ones to perfect a Heaven upload—to cut the flesh-tether and merge

with the Cloud . . .

Well we all have ways of constructing Paradise. To walk alone deep in thought in a city park was mine for several minutes, thinking about spindles. Before the vigilance of my genderdoom

kicked in—

And there it was, the fact of my body— all the nerves in my scalp and the back of my neck, alive— How it moved through space, how close it had strayed toward concealing trees, my female body— Jewish body—inside my White body—dreaming it was bodiless

and free . . .

to decide: how and when and if to fill the body's hungers— how and when and if to walk in thought through the wilderness . . .

before Death comes with its Fascist hat.

Its Park Murder Misogyny hat.

Its Year Ten in a Nursing Home stink hat—

However spun my thread.

Anyway, it's peaceful here in the park, at midday, if a little deserted. I've moved to the path that winds closer to the street. Thinking again, as I always do, about body and soul. How they infuse each other. How they hate each other. How most people pledge allegiance to one or the other. How painful it was! To be such a split

creature—

***

ABOUT STAIRCASES

1 To be human is to reflect upon your position in space: on a roof it's called Seeking, in a basement Paranoia—especially with a telescope. On the leather couch, behind the blue door, in a row of doors down a long, white hallway, windows chicken-wired glass: thirty years ago I told Dr. C., I feel like I'm being haunted by my four-year-old self, I feel like I'm being haunted—inside my body. Jury-rigged staircases, one atop the other, in my psych-room construct inside-body: on the roof it's called Save Me, in the basement Don't Kill Me—up and down, the ghost-child raged. Thinking then, Inconsolable Escher—you never wanted to climb the fucking stairs, ever.

2 To be human is to try to change your position in space: hide-and-seek, king-of-the-mountain, all the drugs I did to stay awake inside dreams—Elevators, the philosopher wrote, do away with the heroism of climbing; no longer is there virtue in living up near the sky. In mythology class, we dis- cuss ambition: the falling boy, his melted wings—late night dorm room pot-cloud question: how many human means of ascension? D. lost interest, took up his guitar— money, beauty, talent, force.

3 Can change be achieved by contesting your position in space? The brave ones try it: climbing into trees marked for clear- cut, refusing to move to the back of the bus. What we expe- rience as conflict, the mythographer wrote, the Great Mother perceives as parts rearranging—but is harmony possible in a kingdom of ladders, where there's always a foot coming down on a neck? A poet asks: What would be a horizontal notion of progress? (wider and wider rings of kindness—)

4 In a movie, a man repents murder by climbing to the top of Amazonian falls, lugging in a net his suit of armor. And when one of the priests, after hours of watching him slog through mud, lifts a machete and hacks the ropes—well it feels so true: how our liberated man tries to dive for the armor. But I'm thinking now about letting it go. About Georges Guétary in An American in Paris, singing "I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise." In top hat and tails. On stairs that light up when pressed by a toe. He climbs between dancers descending in rivers, dancers who swan, diaphanous, down—once, a war was over and the stairs were lit: such going up and down with flourish—

#dana levin #book quotes

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misslu999 · 2 years

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« interesting stuff… or not »

I was reading some character’s quote, and some were kinda interesting and funny to read! So I wanted to share it with u (it’s in french but I translated in english! (Not fully) How nice I am!)

Big thread coming ⬇️⬇️

Traveler

1) The Library’s private access

Where traveler talks about Lisa secret room in the library ! Traveler is questioning to Paimon why the room is a private access and what we can find inside, she/he thinks it’s probably a place where there are books forbidden to children !

It is… it is… a room full of hentai manga??? How dare Lisa to not share this room to us ! 😭 (or maybe there is a manga version of Boku no Pico and it’s understandable)

2) Traveler is… us?

Who never try to kill, burn, or well you know, the birds in front of Timmy? Who?? Don’t lie to me! Why do I say that? Bc Traveler did it too!

Paimon asks if Traveler who is person that impressed her/him the most! Paimon answer is Sara… Traveler is Timmy, lol! She/he says « His face haunts me each time I eat an honey-roasted fowl, it’s pretty unpleasant » See?! She did it too! How bold is she! (Now I feel less sad to have killed his ducks instead to feed them! 😂)

3) A spoiler? Or Paimon being Paimon?

I won’t translate everything, if you want you can find it on « about the Rain on Yashiori Island » but anyway! Traveler talks about the fact Archons doesn’t cry, Paimon said if she/him pinched her face she will !

Paimon claimed she is a goddess??? Is that reel?? At least traveler doesn’t believe it and jokes about it (as always), at the end, she said : « I am a guardian goddess ! I take care of your protection, Traveler! »

It is a spoiler? It’s true that Paimon is an Archon? Why not after all she named from one the 9 kings of hell as mentioned in Ars Goetia! Or she isn’t and it’s just Paimon who flex as always!

And you what do you?

4) Sam porter?? Is that you?

Just a funny conversation between those two, that reminds me of Death Stranding!

« Paimon: Traveler, where do you think the chests come from?

Traveler: I think big travelers places them a bit everywhere. When I opened them, I feel a big connection with the people who came before me!

Paimon: it’s what we call "winning experience "! »

Do you feel it to?? The little ref ?

5) Don’t kill it please Mihoyo

Please… Mihoyo don’t destroy, are kill Paimon! We know what you can do because of Honkai Impact ! And I am not ready to cry the lost of ur Emergency food!

Mona Megistus

I didn’t screen everything, but I feel like each stuff she says, it’s a predilection, here for Kaeya:

I won’t translate everything I leave it to you, but well, when she says « He thinks to have his past behind him, but someday, the fate will catch up with him. when the time will come. He will have to take a crucial decision »

What do you mean??? Mona??? Don’t tell me something bad gonna happened to Kaeya!! Don’t you dare Mihoyo!

Raiden Shogun/Ei

Poor Itto…

Translate: « Who? »

She doesn’t even know who he is??? With all noises he makes… what a surprise !

Well that it ! End of my little thread, if you read it fully, and you too thinks there is other hidden stuff in their quotes, reblog it and let’s create a very big thread! 🥰

Ps: I am not an english native, so sorry for my bad english, I did my best to translate it ! Be nice ❤️

#genshin impact #lumine #aether #traveler #paimon #mona megistus #raiden shogun #ei #genshin thoughts #genshin thread #genshin impact theory #spoiler ?#funnyshit

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cometchasr · 1 year

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4, 10 or 17 for the ask game?

ask game

this ended up being extremely long so all of it is under cu

4. What's a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

tbh i have no clue. i love writing fluff and angst, but i fucking love fluff. good fluff, and by "good" i mean "fulfills a very specific set of requirements that makes my heart melt". i think some good candidates would be "cuddle" (with adjectives and description of character's emotions) and "(insert thing that means said softly here)". generally i tend to go crazy over specific sections of text more than single words... like, give me soft cute gay fluff written the way i like it and i will die of happiness.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

i've never thought of this properly before. what would "haunted" mean? how would it work? i'd feel like it would mean that the work has left a big impact on me and how i do things. it "haunts" me because you will see echoes of it in my work, because i keep looking up to it as a role model unrealistically knowing that whatever i see is after editing, after betas and from someone with more experience, and i'm trying to get raw drafts up to that quality. so fun. anyways, works that have haunted me, in order:

Shadow of the Mind and Different Threads by Firehawk1100 on ffn and ao3. WoF. this was way back when i was writing broken draft 1, because his works were so long (to me back then). i wanted to make my work that long. yeah. then i got into warriors and tdp, and i started losing interest in WoF... so this ended.

the Exile AU by @/troutfur, @/kudossi and @/mallowstep. warriors. as you know utopia is based off this. it was a very important experience, because mallow's use of brackets echoes in my work, and so do the titles, and so does the method of using oneshots. probably one of my most important influences, just because. how much of what makes my writing style what it is came from here. there is only one other fic that reached this level. i thus find it slightly funny that mallow, who is one of the people that have influenced my writing incredibly, has me blocked. it's just a little bit funny

I Am Arthur Wellesley: An Iron Duke SI by Sarthak on alternatehistory.com. it actually didn't influence anything you've seen yet, but it haunts me. i keep thinking about it. it is dead, which i find infuriating. but it was the first AH story i read, and it basically told me how to write an SI fic, in the traditional sense. tdp si is influenced by this. actually you could put a lot of AH.com stories here but IAAW was the first i read, so i put it here. other good contenders are The American Dream by okmangeez and Purple Phoenix Reborn by Sersor.

finally, Warped Skies by @team-ion. in the flesh. DoP, as you know, was started literally because i read this and went "oh shit i want to make something like this". this is the other fic. a non-negligible portion of DoP's worldbuilding is directly taken from there. not a very significant portion, but one large enough that i can't hide it. the only reason the portion isn't bigger is because a) i actually need this to be original and b) i need to ask a lot of stupid questions like "how does primal dialga KGB work" and "what is the feasibility of manufacture of X in PMD world" and "can quadrupeds gain enough breath support to sing". but for me, this is THE pmd fic of all time (that's also because i havent read many others but shhh). it's beautiful. haven't read through the whole thing because it's still long as fuck, but it's beautiful. this is the other fic that made me insecure about word count again, but then i managed to make DoP's chapters three times as long as every other fic's through the sheer power of dialogue, so that got solved rather easily. it's always in the back of my mind because it's fucking good and i quite directly and blatantly based DoP off of it. also we're both on PMDWU and i'm a less effective version of him when it comes to being a writing demon. it's so fun.

that was long as fuck.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

oh boy which one to choose. (spins the wheel) (yes i use a name wheel i have too many things to juggle shush)

tdp si. right. literally just started this, so... yeah. very much based off IAAW. chapter 1 (done, unedited) is just over 1k long, i think. but i dont care! this one's all about the POLITICAL SHENANIGANS and those are later on! >:D

so. stas is adopted by annika and neha. they are an absolute joy to write. imagine how i wrote zanrex, but different. yes, i love fluff. i already said that, i believe. they bring him around everywhere, which means this baby sits through council meetings and everything. of course, he's a baby, so he sleeps through most of them... but he gets through one whole meeting once, beating his body.

also stas is panicking slightly because he knows annika and neha are going to die at some point, and then he has a nine year timer until things go to shit, more or less. depends on how fast viren is able to convince harrow. i know butterfly effect but i actually need the show to happen ok? but right now he's 1 year old and very much wants to enjoy himself while he can.

(what he doesnt know is that annika and neha will die when he's 4)

#mine #qna

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chainedwarden · 1 year

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(1/2) "My heart could fail me right now and I would be just one more corpse." Nerva said, not even stopping to mull over Solus' question. It was one he had been turning over in his head since he was a child. "A deflected bullet that was meant for my father could end my life. A sudden storm. A too hard clap on the back. The only certainty is that I shall die. My wish is to preferably not to, or at the very least, be able to choose the way of my passing." He stopped here, putting into words the feelings that have haunted him at night before sleep. "Nay it is not the death I fear. It is the lack of choice of how one meets it. Tis quite different to live a long and fulfilling life instead of it being cut short. Yes..." He said this more to himself. "A fulfilled life. Not a long one."

(2/2) Nerva seemed to snap out of his thoughts. "Ah, I suppose that should be a sufficient answer to that question, then? How about one in turn?" He did not wait for an answer. "Why does man lie to himself? That he is always in the right? I have seen my father do so all the while breaking his own beliefs. And even with banalities akin to 'how do you fare'? What purpose did they serve you so you are able to sway others with them so?"

Solus watched Nerva intently as he went on about his thoughts, about life, and the myriad of problems within it. His flaw... not Solus's, but that would be another story... another lifetime.

"When silk is made in a silkworm's body, it is at their most vulnerable. They undergo a horribly difficult and scary change, to cocoon themselves, to melt, and be reborn. What happens if they survive this horrid ordeal? They are just some ugly moth..."

"Yet if one plucks the cocoon at the right time, and smashes it open, the valuable silk thread will be there for us."

Solus leaned in slightly.

"Some people... have more value as a corpse, than as a survivor."

He looks down at the table, thinking of the analogy, wondering if it sufficed. "Military might means nothing if you can't convince the worm that it never wanted to be a moth anyway. Soldiers will shoot and miss their enemy, hide and sob in trenches, tremble and miss their targets. They hate it there! Of course they do. The only beneficiaries are you and I, and I suppose some businessmen. Naturally all of Garlemald hates this... yet we were born in these trenches. You are one of the lucky few, the lucky ones that get any choice in how to die in those trenches. Choosing your death will be a great honor bestowed on you as you sit on your own throne of corpses to deal with. You will know that in due time."

"It is in this filthy life which we find great joy in banality. You think you were born out of love and desire for offspring? You think there's some mysterious reason your father, who is much older than Varis, had a son around the same time Varis had Zenos? You are a competition baby. Your father's night of pleasure was done out of pure spite. Yet it is a distraction all the same."

"Truth, and the desire to approach the truth, is not well sought after. People like that are not loved. Maybe you discover amazing things, but you will almost always ruin yourself in looking for it. The Emperor can envy the man who tends the field for the simple and pleasurable life they can lead -- but at the end of the day, I am the one that can force them to kill their whole family -- and unless they get very lucky, they can't do the same to me."

"Why would I ask you these questions Nerva? Why are you asking me? Think about that for a moment. Ponder it. What did you gain so far from meeting me? Knowledge. Information. In the banality of a question like 'how are you?' you open a door for someone to speak to you. They may tell you 'oh, I am feeling unwell, I can't stop coughing. Or they may say, 'oh, I am sad, my dog has passed away.' and if you are smart, all the knowledge means something to you. I can buy my friend a new dog to fill the void in their heart. They will remember this gesture. I can slip a little thing in my enemies drink, so their coughing grows worse, and suddenly they die, of some horrible illness, and certainly not of the poison slipped in their tea."

"Yet if you get carried away, your pompous nature will bite you. Do you think someone will die for you just because you got them a puppy? Power is not so simple. Your father is easy to frustrate, because he doesn't understand that. Whether I like it or not, there are many things I still remember about your father, his least favorite vegetable, his favorite color, what he painted on the walls of his bedroom when he was 5 years old, his first skinned knee, his first car accident, I taught him how to drive, I taught him how to hold a gun. I saw him kill his first animal -- it was a fox, beautiful, pale white in the snow. I showed him how to skin it and eat it. You think I forget that he is my son? That you are my grandson? I know thousands of people, and information about them all -- I remember the first man to die in my arms in the Invasion of Ilsabard, I remember cutting my own soldier's neck open because he would not stop screaming from the pain and the enemy drew near. He was my friend, but it was either him, or both of us. His name was Lucius. A name that I passed on to my son. Do you think I forget?"

"Love, as awful as it is, is not without value. With love, even the most banal and pointless of discussions have power... have meaning. Your father never understood that. Obviously you couldn't understand it either. The belief that men delude themselves with lies... is the simple fact that life is more complicated than what little information you have on it. As much as I hate a fellow enemy, as much as I imagine you hate me, I did not let myself believe you had ulterior motives -- and I may be wrong. Maybe this too, is a lie I am telling myself. Yes?"

#rp #ic #nerva anon #me upsetting myself by calling silk moths ugly: its what emet would have said

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zeffevnon · 1 year

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but to be loved

i've been thinking about writing down what i want... from life, i guess. and i'm unexpectedly conflicted about it. it's kind of a frightening thing. maybe that's because i don't want to admit what i want. maybe that's because, for some reason or another, i don't want to let go of what i don't want. after all, it seems that is what has been driving me for... as long as i can remember, i guess. i don't know the last time i felt like i had an enduring sense of purpose that properly drove me. i remember times when i followed a distant light (namely the sense of righteous purpose i felt when i took the gospel seriously), but i don't trust my own honesty with myself in those times. looking back, i see a boy who--more than anything--feared falling short of the expectations of others. and not only do i doubt the conviction of my former faith, but i am also aware of its fleeting nature. i clung to god most when i was frightened. the fear of the abyss within me drove me from behind. seldom did i feel like i was pulled forward by divine promise.

and this tells of a larger theme in my life. one that prevails now even when i've left god behind. i am not pulled forward by anything; i am pushed reluctantly forward (to whatever degree i move forward at all) by fear of what might happen if i stay where i am. i don't believe in the reliability of standing still. things fall apart. when have i ever reliably been pulled toward something that was meaningful to me? again, my desires are fleeting--barely desires at all. they are perhaps more accurately described as whims. i admit now, still reluctantly, that this may simply be the way my brain is wired: to float from one desire to the next, forgetting in one moment what captivated me in the last. but this admission does nothing to ease the burden of the fact that i've never wanted anything...

but in saying so i fail to be honest with myself. i've never wanted anything, but to be loved. the singular thread through the ebb and flow of my motivations has been a silent desperation to be fully understood, and cherished as i am. i have always known my imperfection. it's haunted me at times, consumed me at times. it has never eluded me. i want to be accepted anyway. and not just accepted, but chosen. too many people--people who i loved, people who were supposed to love me--have come and gone. i have been left behind by parents, grandparents, friends, and lovers. love in my life is like the moon, rising and falling in a multitude of shapes and sizes and colors. yes, the moon always returns eventually. but it never just... stays. on some long, cold, dark nights, it never shines at all. the one thing i want is something i know i can't depend on. i accept now, all too casually i fear, that people are but moments in my life. but i don't want it to be that way. i want someone to come and lie with me in the opaque darkness as the nights pass one moon at a time. just one person. just one person to hold and know without reservation that i can trust to stay.

again i must admit of some dishonesty. i have a loving mother. i have a family who loves me, torn and scattered as that family is. and i am more grateful for them than anything else in my life. but a mother and brothers and sisters are no substitute for a companion. i confide in no one. i cleave to no one. i hold no one, and am held by no one. i carry on clinging to the fading hope of something i don't know i can believe in. how long can that last?

i do believe in looking into the abyss. i do believe in fighting the demons i find within. but what a sad way to live: to be motivated only by the disgust i have for myself! i don't like that at all, and i don't want to live like that. yet every day i find myself wading laboriously, slowly, poorly, in the fear of my own weakness. i do not feel strong. i do not feel as though i'm fighting nobly against some evil. if i did, maybe i could find some gratification or meaning in the struggle. i am treading, tired, head barely above the water. i have gotten better at it these last few years, forced to face being alone. even before i was single, i felt alone. my previous love never really gave me what i needed. i always felt i had to hide some part of myself, and if i ever bared myself fully, she too would leave. eventually, she did. as did the love before her. as did the love before her. i give myself to somebody and inevitably they turn their back on me.

how can i live a life motivated by such feelings? how long can i live like this? i don't want to end my life, not anymore anyway. but its sad, existing this way.

so a part of me says, 'run toward the potential of the future! spread your wings and chase the sun across the sky!' but the days are short now, and the sun sets as surely as the moon. i have had dreams. i have dreamt of being a doctor, a lawyer, a writer, a professor, and much more. but these dreams pass faster than the moments of love. i can't say i have ever been truly drawn to any career, and in fact i have always had some degree of disdain for the idea that i ought to be motivated by a career. its a bit vulgar, i think, to be driven by the thought of achievement; to fellate oneself at the prospect of one's own greatness. i don't need to be great. i need to feel fucking safe. i need to feel like everything i have worked or fought or suffered for or held dear won't one day slip through my fingers. maybe that's an unrealistic need. maybe it's just as delusional to believe i can hold on to anything as it is to believe in my ability to become 'great'. maybe i should listen to myself when i assert that 'things fall apart', and realize that to expect anything different is absurd. but existence itself is absurd, and i need what i need.

#love lonely

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thoughts-and-all-that · 2 years

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my brother is such a selfish prick

he has known me for all 19 years of my life and i dont even know the last time he asked me how i was doing. if i was alright

oh but his little fiance hes only known for like 2 years is somehow the most important person in this situation

yknow, i toootally didnt have a whole ass breakdown and thats why i yelled, but whatever. i didnt even say anything bad about her. i was calmly trying to ask something and these overgrown children started yelling at me and i was holding on by a frayed thread so i screamed back. all i said was "he keeps bringing me into this" and "im so fucking sick of this shit"

they cant just get over themselves and accept that if theyre going to stay part of this family they have to accept that the mother of my other brothers children is part of this family too whether we like it or not. if you hate her so much send her to a mental hospital where she belongs, but then id have to take care of the kids while my brother is at work and thats what caused this in the first place, cause i am not a fucking caretaker

i didnt like the idea of my oldest brother moving out and going off wherever before but now i hope for it so hes done rubbing his selfishness all over this house

as if they havent been pulling away anyway. we barely see them, he acts like he hates talking to dad, ive barely met who is now my niece

at first this situation was kindve haunting me but now im just pissed. of course its about other people, of course it doesnt matter how i feel, whats going on with ME. when does it matter in any got damn situation how i feel until i put my foot down and make people have to think about me for once.

also fun fact my oldest brother is a huge pissbaby and always gets pissy about everything and yells at the stupidest shit and slams doors over nothing cause he cant handle emotion but yknow, of course hes not the bad guy for yelling. only me. the one time ive yelled like EVER. classic, guys, its fucking classic

quite frankly i dont give a FUCK who is at fault for the drama between the girls, they just need to get over themselves and also LEAVE EVERYONE ELSE OUT OF IT. the selfish duo pretends they never brought me into it as if every comment they ever make to me about that girl isnt them bringing me into it. they never have a good thing to say and love making comments to me about how much of a bitch she is. but sure, you never brought me into it.

ive hesitated so much on my friends request to move into my house because of shit like this but i almost really want it to feel like theres any sense of sanity here, but thatd be so unfair to them at the same time. itd just be so nice to have someone in this house again who isnt some sort of fucking addict. i wish mom were still here. so sick of these people always going out to drink and gamble and whoever knows what and leaving me here to take care of the kids or they just expect me to just be chill i fucking guess

i wish the day i can move out will come faster, i beg for it. i should get a job but i cant drive and i dont have my ged. im so fucked. im so got damn fucked. every job sounds like shit anyway and doing the same miserable thing day in and day out makes me want to .

no one cares. no one ever cares. i scream to a void no matter what platform i speak on, no matter who i talk to, no matter what i say or do. i live in hell masquerading as something else. who the hell do i have to talk to to get a reset haha good place reference he he he he ha ha

im so tired.

#vent #personal #long post

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trash-writings · 3 years

Text

Stay

Ryuuguji Ken x GN!Reader

Who would have thought my first Tokyo Revengers fic would be angst? Not me!

This is inspired by the song Stay by Sugarland. Anyways, don’t read this if you don’t like pain! Like I’m not joking, this is not for the weak and I say that with all my love.

THIS IS UNEDITED PLS ITS 2 AM BE NICE IM ALREADY CRYING THINKING OF THIS

Tagging: @spicysoftsweet, @twkhoosha, @anxiousbabybirdb and @rythlynn (bc b said you liked angst)

Warnings: angst, manga spoilers

Word count: 1330

No matter how hard you tried to not live in the shadow of a ghost, it was damn near impossible. You hated the way you felt. It was disgusting to feel so angry with him. She was so young, never even having a chance to get to know him the way you have. How can you be jealous of that? How can you possibly feel the lingering effects of a girl long gone?

You get all the good parts of him: the soft touches, the warm kisses, and the late nights laying on his chest while listening to his heartbeat.

She’d never get that, and yet here you are desperately clinging onto the shred of dignity you have while watching him get dressed. His back is littered with old scars and a few new ones that seem to have barely just healed. The bed dips when he sits on the end, rebraiding his hair.

“Ken,” your voice sounds outside of your body, no longer resembling yourself.

“Hmm?” He hums, his eyes peeking over.

“You could stay with me tonight, it’s late.” Stupid, you’re so stupid. There’s never been a time this has worked, and never will be.

“I can’t.” He kisses your forehead as he stands, grabbing his black and white cardigan. “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“That’s fine,” the lie comes out as smooth as room temperature butter across warm toast. It’s not fine, and never will be. But, what else can you say? You lay down, enveloping yourself into the covers.

It shouldn’t hurt anymore, not after everything else. You can’t even admit to your friends you still see him as often as possible, too afraid of the way they’d look at you with their eyes full of pity. No matter how many ‘you deserve better’ and ‘just block him’ you hear from them, it’s in one ear out the other. The only thing you have left to keep company is your quiet apartment and the fading mental image you have of the pretty blonde girl who haunts you every waking moment.

He smells faintly like blood, the sweat masking any other scent he might be emanating. The bags under his eyes make you wonder if he’s slept since the last time you saw him, barely able to stand in your doorway, falling into your arms as he steps inside.

“What the fuck happened,” you ask, nearly crumbling under his weight.

“Nothing, I just... “ he sighs, and you manage to get him to your couch. He slumps on it, and you notice the trail of blood from his nose to his chin, only interrupted by his puffy lips. “Your place was closer.”

“Ken,” you kneel down in front of him and the couch, “please, talk to me.”

He shakes his head, smiling at you as you tilt his chin up. “Don’t want to worry you more than I already have. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.”

“Don’t be, I’m happy you’re here.” You kiss his lips, and he winces. He doesn’t pull away, instead, he leans into you, again nearly toppling over. “Okay, let’s get you clean, and then you’re sleeping here. No more fucking arguing about it, okay?”

He chuckles, muttering something to himself. You faintly hear him say the word ‘her’.

You stop in your tracks, biting hard on your bottom lip. “What was that?” You manage to keep your voice from cracking.

“Nothing, just thank you -----,” he tells you.

You know it’s not nothing.

He compared you to Emma again.

You let yourself collapse against the sink in the bathroom, far from Draken’s view. You’ve never let him know how you feel about this, and you weren’t going to start now. You’ve let this go on far too long to mention how a girl whose death destroyed him makes you feel two inches tall when you’re with him. The mere mention of her name or whisper of memory can send you spiraling.

You’ll never be here, no matter how hard you try to be what he needs.

“Can you make it to the tub?” You ask, softly running your fingers across his shoulders. “I don’t think I can carry you.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He stands, wobbling slightly before taking a few steps.

You place your hand on his back, slipping under one arm to help him the best you can. Undressing him is easy, his clothes already barely hanging on by threads. Whatever happened tonight, you’re sure you didn’t want to know. Helping him into the tub is easy, he basically collapses mumbling a few sorries as the water splashes onto the floor and your legs.

Without speaking, you help him wash off. He lays back against the cool tile, not speaking a word. His eyes can’t stay open, fluttering shut then he jerks them open as he’s about to doze off. You wash his body, making sure to get every speck of dirt and bloodstain off his soft skin.

“Can you sit up so I can get your back?” Your voice is soft like you’d done this a million times.

Actually, you’ve never done this with anyone. Never even sharing a shower with someone. This is the most intimate thing you’ve experienced with him, despite the numerous times you’ve let him in your bed. As you wash the remainder of his body and his hair, you wonder if he’s thinking something similar. Does he think about you beyond the hookups?

“I forgot to grab a towel, give me a second.” You run off to your bedroom, reaching in your closet to find one, and then running back to give it to Draken.

“Thank you, so much.” He kisses your forehead before wrapping it around his waist, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You sit on the edge of the tub, your head in your hands, forehead still burning with the lingering effects of his lips. Your grapple with the contradicting emotions and thoughts running through your mind. It doesn’t mean anything, he always kisses your forehead.

However, tonight might be different. It might mean something more.

You’d be stupid to think it means anything more.

You’d be naive to think he just randomly showed up at your place because it was closer. It was out of convenience, not necessity.

“Hey, do you have any food?” His voice brings you back to reality.

“Yeah,” you laugh, draining the tub and then drying your hands. “Just get in bed, I’ll bring you some pizza. I’m not heating it up though, just deal with it.” He laughs, the warm tone of it making your heart melt.

You look over as he speaks again, “that’s fine.”

When you hand him the plate, he smiles before digging in. He eats it ridiculously dast, and you worry he’ll choke and you’ll be left trying to remember the CPR you took in high school far too long ago. He doesn’t luckily. You take the plate and he lays back on your bed, and you join him soon after. He lets you lie your head on his chest, wrapping his arm around you.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that right?” You tell him after several minutes of silence.

His fingertips lazily draw circles on your skin. “I know.”

He sounds exhausted, his words barely a whisper. You’re not sure he’s even awake at this point.

“I love you, Ken,” you can’t stop yourself.

Stupid, so fucking stupid. Why would you say that? You know he won’t say it back, or even worse he could just-

“I love you too, Emma.”

-he could do that.

#tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers x reader #gn reader #draken #draken x reader #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken ryuuguji

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akingdomofswordsandstories · 3 years

Text

Unrequited

azriel (acotar) x reader

Summary: takes place during acofas, you and Azriel are mates but he doesn’t know it yet, angst, fluff, and everything in between

*Also this is my first imagine ever so I'm sorry if it sucks lol! There will be a part 2 to this, but I am still working on it!!

word count: 3927

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

The winter solstice was in a few days and you weren’t sure what to get some of the inner circle. You walked briskly down the streets of the Rainbow, chilled to the bone due to the wind. You had made the dumb mistake of rushing out of the townhouse - to avoid any questions of where you were going - without taking your scarf. Your current outfit, which was a chunky knit blue sweater with leggings and boots, wasn’t enough to keep the chill away. But the cold wasn’t the most important thing on your mind. You had already bought presents for Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Elain, but that left Cassian, Mor, and Azriel. Mor and Cass would be pretty easy to buy for, but you put it off knowing they would look through your room trying to find their solstice gift. But Azriel, that would be much harder.

Every waking hour, the shadowsinger haunted your thoughts. Something you had come to conclude was unrequited.

You had realized the mating bond between you two before he did.

It had clicked a few months ago while on a diplomatic mission. The aftermath of Hybern had left things chaotic, and if you were being honest, it still was. Rhys decided to send Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and you to travel to some of the other courts to bring back reports on the recovery after the war. However, traveling did have some dangers. While you were on your way back to Velaris from the Winter Court, your group was ambushed by a group of Hybern soldiers who had been hiding out in the mountains. Had it not been for Azriel’s wings shielding you from the initial arrows, you would’ve surely been dead, and that’s when it clicked for you. But like an idiot, you didn’t say anything.

You had thought if the bond had clicked for you, it would've clicked for Azriel too. You realized your mistake when Azriel hadn’t acknowledged any change between you two. You hoped that he would figure it out in the coming weeks, but he didn’t. You knew the same sort of situation happened with feyre and rhys so you still held out some hope. But as the months went by, and you realized the bond still hadn’t clicked for Azriel and it felt too late to tell him.

At least that was the excuse you made up. Truly, you were also afraid of the rejection that could have followed. You weren’t a fool, you knew him and Elain had some sort of connection, and that shattered your dreams even more. The possibility that he wouldn’t accept the mating bond to be with the fair skinned, doe eyed fae. Everytime Azriel was in the same room as Elain, she was the only thing he would pay attention to. During gatherings, you would plaster on a smile and act as if you were happy, but Cassian and Mor, your best friends, could sense your discomfort. They tried to ask you about it, but seeing as you would shut down anything they said, they decided not to pry too much. Amren ended up figuring out the source of your discomfort had to do with Azriel, but kept your secret until you would be ready to share it.

You came to the conclusion that distancing yourself from him would be the best option, so that's what you did.

You walked down the street till you got to one of the finest seamstresses is Velaris. Since you were an artist like Feyre, you decided to draw out a dress and have it made for Mor. The color was blood red, her signature. It was a silk slip dress that would come down to her mid-lower calf and it would be embroidered with a brilliant gold thread. You drew out a pattern of the sun, stars, and moon, which you hoped she would like. To go along with Mor’s dress, you got a jeweler to make a custom necklace and bracelet set to go with it. You designed more dainty jewelry that had gold stars with diamonds, since she was a dreamer.

You decided to design Cassian’s gift as well, creating a beautiful silver and black dagger with a moonstone on the hilt. It was a beautiful dagger, but you also made sure it was usable, because you would hate for it to go to waste. To add onto the combat theme, you also decided to buy him new fighting leathers with touches of red embroidery to match his siphons. Lastly, you bought Cassian a bottle of fae wine, which definitely wouldn't last long.

The last thing you got for all three of you was a friendship necklace. Although that sounds corny, the two of them had become such a positive force in your life and you couldn’t imagine life without them. Keeping with the celestial theme for the friendship necklaces, you bought a sun, a moon, and a star. The sun for Cassian, the moon for Mor, and the star for you. Although they are opposites in some ways, all three need each other, just like the three of you needed each other.

Now that you had gotten Mor’s and Cassian’s solstice gifts figured out, it was onto Azriel’s gift. You honestly had no clue what to get him. Due to distancing yourself, you weren’t sure if there was something that he wanted. You were positively stumped. Lucky for you though, you ended up spotting Mor in another shop a few stores down from where you were, most likely getting the rest of her solstice gifts. You decided to sneak up on her as a friendly prank. Grabbing her shoulders, you yelled in her ear, making her jump.

“Oh mother above, it’s just you, y/n! You scared the life out of me” Mor said.

“Doing some last minute shopping?” you asked. “I could ask you the same thing”. Giving her a playful smack on the arm, the corners of your mouth curled upward, even the simplest remark from her could make you smile.

The two of you were currently standing in front of a jewelry shop, looking at the collections of necklaces and earrings through the window. “Wow” you breathed out “These are all so beautiful”

“Indeed they are, although they’re quite pricey”

“How pricey is pricey?”

She whispered the amount in your ear and you stopped breathing for a second, “Holy Mother wow, that is quite the price tag. At least we can admire it from a far”, you laughed out. Even though you got a very generous salary from Rhys, you still felt guilty spending so much money on materialistic things.

After a moment you said, “Actually, since you’re here, I do need help finding a solstice gift for Azriel”, softening your voice at the end, “Any ideas?” you asked, drawing out the syllables.

“Well, I always get Azriel some cool towels, clothing, or a dagger!” Mor said. A small scoff came out of my mouth as I shook my head and raised my eyebrows. “Fine!” she exclaimed, “I may have overheard him needing a new leather sheath for Truth Teller.” grumbling towards the end. “Oh that sounds great, thank you for the help! Now let’s go off to the closest leather goods store and find a sheath!”.

“y/n! I still have shopping to do” a scowl appearing on her face. “Fine, I guess I’ll just call Cassian, cause his judgement might be better than yours, when it comes to knife related things of course” you said, baiting her.

“Ugh, I hate you y/n”

“I hate you too Mor”

“Fine, let's get going before I change my mind” she grumbled. Then we took off down the streets of the Rainbow to find a sheath.

The task was easier said than done, for you at least. Being indecisive and a major over thinker, you had looked through close to 100 sheaths, but none of them seemed good enough to hold the blade that Azriel never let anyone else touch. Except Elain.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you laid your y/c eyes on the perfect sheath. It had a bright cobalt blue stitching to match Az’s siphons. Along the tip and lining the top of the leather was a thin coat of silver plating with little sapphires embedded in the metal. You quickly snatched it up and paid a hefty price for it, but it was perfect.

“Thank god you finally picked one, it felt like we were in that store for centuries”. Mor sighed, probably a sigh of relief for getting out of the store, “But y/n, it’s perfect, I know Azriel will love it”

“Do you really think so? I just want it to be the perfect gift and I’m scared he won’t like it because what if it’s too simplistic and what if-”

“Hey! It's perfect! Don’t stress too much y/n. And for the record, I think that you’re an amazing gift giver - the amount of thought you put into gifts make it all the better.”

You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and mumbled a small thank you.

“Anyway while we’re here do you need to get anything to go with your solstice outfit?”

“Oh Actually, I was so stressed about getting everyone’s solstice gift that I forgot to buy my dress” your voice falling off at the end. You felt yourself being yanked to a harsh stop and the saw Mor’s face staring at yours, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“Are you crazy?? Solstice is in 3 days and you still don’t have anything??? Oh honey, our shopping isn’t done yet.” And with that statement you found yourself being pulled into the nearest dress shop. After trying on nearly 20 dresses you finally found the perfect one, which Mor approved. It was a light blue silk dress that was more fitted at the top but flared down at your waist. It had a cowl neckline, a slit going up the side to the mid upper thigh, and accentuates your curves beautifully and has a slight shimmer to it. You looked ethereal in it

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

After your exhausting day of shopping, you couldn’t wait to get out of the cold. You swiftly walked back to the townhouse. Once inside you made your way to your room to set down the gifts, change your clothes, and grab your book. Then you quietly headed down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to read. The house was quiet since all of the others decided to go to Rita’s tonight. You decided to stay home for some much needed relaxation. You opened your book and started reading. After a few hours, you felt your eyes drooping and eventually, sleep consumed you.

The loud noise of the front door caused you to stir and your eyes fluttered open. You were too exhausted to look so you just laid your head back down and tried to go to sleep. You could hear Mor whispering something and then felt yourself being lifted off the couch and being held close to a chest with your blanket still draped on you.

“Cass?” you whispered hoarsely along with a string of incoherent words

You heard a slight laugh “Not Cass but It’s ok, go back to sleep”. Then you felt yourself being gently placed on your bed and the sleep hit you before you could mutter a thank you.

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

The sun was setting towards the sea as you sat in the sitting room of the town house. You were in your blue silk dress with a glass of wine in your hand. Rhys and Feyre were by the mantel, quietly talking while Mor and Amren were across the room. Near the window I saw Elain, and from the corner of my eye I could see Azriel making his way towards her. My face fell but I quickly plastered on a smile, not wanting to concern anyone. Especially since today was also Feyre’s birthday and we had planned a surprise for her. Feyre thought she could slip her birthday past us, but we hadn’t forgotten. After a few minutes, Cassian made his way from the kitchen with the enormous cake.

You floated towards Feyre and gave her arm a light squeeze. “Happy Birthday, make a wish before the candles melt!”

She blew out the candles and then we ate cake before opening up the presents.

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

Rhys snapped his fingers and piles of brightly wrapped bags and boxes filled up the sitting room. Amren was the first to open her presents. Naturally, everyone got her something jewelry related. Amren opened mine and you saw a wide smile set across her face, she picked up the diamond necklace and nodded a ‘thank you’ your way. You returned the gesture back, a small smile forming on your face.

Next, Cassian handed Mor her present from him and she pulled out a-. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He bought her red lingerie. Your face turned slightly red, but the Mor said “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.”

Then, you heard one sharp knock at the door.

Nesta.

You saw Cassian tense up a bit. Nesta walked in, linking arms with Elain. She got a glass of wine before heading to sit in a chair in the back of the room. The silence was deafening. Finally Varian started talking and the present opening resumed.

From Amren, you received a new calligraphy set. It was so beautiful and you loved it. From Rhys, you got some books. It was perfect since you loved to read, and they were ones that you had been wanting to read for a long time. From Feyre, you received a painting as well as a new paint brush kit.

Cassian made his way to you and set a gift down in your lap. You opened the dark blue box that Cassian had placed in your lap. He had gotten you a sky blue hardbound journal with a gold embossed star on it. You desperately needed a new one, and this was perfect. You walked over and gave him a hug, whispered “Thank you, I love it.”.

Next you opened Mor’s present. You nearly choked when you saw what she got you and your whole face heated up. She got you a matching navy blue lingerie set like the one Cassian bought her.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure what to get you so I thought we could twin”. You looked around the room and saw the others holding in their laughs. You could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of red on Azriel’s ears. You just smiled and mouthed a silent “I’m going to kill you, but thank you” at her.

There wasn’t anything from Azriel. Your heart twinged. Had you not been important enough? It was just a present you reminded yourself, fixing your composure before handing Cassian his present.

He ripped it open like an animal, squealing when he saw it. A promising reaction given the amount of thought you put into it.

“Did you design these? They look amazing!”

“Yeah, I’m glad you like it. It took a long time to figure out what to get for your dumb ass”

“You mean my cute ass”, you smacked his arm and then got up to give Mor her present.

You closely watched her reaction as she opened her dress and jewelry, a large smile spreading across her face.

“You really buy the perfect presents y/n, I love it”.

“Oh Cass, Mor. One more thing.” You pulled out the small boxes with the friendship necklaces and bracelets handing it to them. “This was just a little something extra I thought of, I hope you like it”. You knew you would have started stuttering and crying if you had said the meaning to them, so you just handed them notes instead. They read over them, eyes glossing over, and pulled you into a hug.

“This is the only time I’ll wear jewelry” Cass stated, causing you to chuckle

Then Mor said, “I am never taking this off” causing you to laugh again.

Finally, Azriel opened up his presents. He had opened up all the others. All that was left was yours and Elain’s gift to him. He found his way to your present first, opening it.

“A new sheath for Truth Teller. I heard you needed a new one” you quietly said.

He held your gaze and smiled, “Thank you, it's great”. Suddenly feeling exposed, you quickly gave him a nod.

Then he went to open Elain’s gift. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” she said.

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

You hadn’t heard him laugh before, and mother above it was gorgeous. You had never heard a sound so deep and joyous, a sound which made your heart clench. A part of you wished you were the reason he was laughing. You forced on a smile and spent the rest of the night drinking away the slight pain in your chest.

You were exhausted by the end of the night, sitting on the couch with Cassian and Mor, Azriel and Rhys seated on the opposite side of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement towards the door, and craned your head to see what was going on. It was Nesta making her way to the door. You felt the couch lift next to you.

Cassian. He had swiftly pushed past Feyre and went after Nesta. This wouldn’t end well.

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

Cassian had come back quiet and brooding, walking straight to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of liquor. You got up off the couch and followed him straight into the kitchen.

“Cass, let’s take a walk, yeah?”

“I just took a walk”

“It wasn’t a question”. You grabbed a white shawl and his hand and led him outside. “What happened?”

“What’s there to talk about? It was like all the other times. Why did I have to fall in love with someone who doesn't even love me back. Who looks at me like the Illyrian born bastard I am. Who hates the idea of being in the same room as me.”

You grabbed Cass’ hand, lightly squeezing it. “Don’t say that. Nesta, she,” your voice stopping for a second “She’s different. The way she handles pain and copes is different. Give her time. She just needs time. I know how much that may pain you, but you can’t rush healing”

You pulled him into a hug

“And for the record, I know the feeling more than you know” you quietly said “unrequited love”, head pointed at the ground.

Cassian tilted his head down to look at you, his face painted with confusion. You could tell he wanted to know more, but didn’t want to pry too much.

You hesitated before continuing, not sure if you wanted to reveal your closely guarded secret. “I-“ your voice faltering, “I found my mate”. The words seemed to have rushed out of your mouth and tears pricked your eyes as you said that. After months of hiding it, you had finally gotten it off your chest.

Cassian stood shocked, staring at you. “You found your mate? And you didn’t think to tell any of us? How long ago was this”

“I-, I found out who he was around the same time Rhys sent us on that diplomatic mission. And I didn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t even know yet.”

“That was almost 6 months ago, and you didn’t say anything?”.

The tears had started flowing at this point, “I thought he would figure it out. But by the time I realized he wasn’t going to figure it out, it was too late. He had already set his eyes on someone else. And I know I could never compete with Elain, even if I am his mate.” the last part slipped out without you realizing.

“Elain? What does she-“ his eyes widening “Does that mean Az is-“

You slowly nodded, tears welled up, threatening to spill out.

“Oh, mother…”, he pulled you into a tighter hug and that’s when the gates broke. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you sobbed into Cassian's chest, his hand stroking your back.

you must have been there for 15 minutes before you realized the other might start getting suspicious. Regaining your composure, you dried your tears and tried, to the best of your ability, to hide that you had been crying.

Looking back at Cassian, you gave him a slight smile before muttering, “Thank you. I’m sorry for dumping that on you, but please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Of course y/n, and don’t apologize, if it makes you feel better, it helped to take my mind off of Nesta and my own problems, which I desperately needed” he chuckled out.

With the smile still on your face, you linked arms with Cassian before saying, “Oh mother above it’s freezing, let’s get back inside before we turn into popsicles!”

He let out another laugh before the two of you made your way back into the house.

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

You walked into the house and your sliver of happiness was crushed as you saw Az and Elain sitting at the table smiling and laughing quietly to themselves. Elain had her sketchbook out, showing Az her plans for the garden.

Your distraught had been clear to anyone who saw your face, and you were too tired to realize you weren’t able to hide it fast enough. Not being able to view the scene anymore, you quickly got up, muttered happy solstice, and grabbed your coat and purse before heading out the door to your apartment.

While walking home, you were consumed by your thoughts. You hated the pangs of jealousy that coursed through you. You often found yourself jealous of her soft spokenness and kindness. You also found yourself jealous of her effortless beauty. It was something that kept you up at night. She was so likeable and easily approachable, something you wished you were.

You were so drowned in your own thoughts that you hadn’t noticed a male following you till it was too late. One of his hands clamped on your mouth while the other grabbed your waist and pushed you into the nearest alleyway.

The male pulled out a knife and your tears started to fall. You were terrified about what he would do to you. This could be the last time you would have seen your family. You were struggling and kicking against him but it was no use. Your senses were groggy from the alcohol and drowsiness.

You had been so stupid to walk home alone at 2 in the morning. No matter how angry you were, you should’ve just stayed at the town house.

Before you could realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain shoot through your side.

The sound of a clatter.

Receding footsteps.

A crimson stain blooming.

Your body crumpled to the ground and your vision started blacked out. This was it. Nobody could hear you and nobody could save you.

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel #cassian #imagine #sarah j maas #azriel acotar x reader

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

Previously on BnHA: Mirio was all “SURPRISE I’M BACK THANKS TO OUR RESIDENT SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WHO RECENTLY EARNED HER BACHELOR’S OF BEING A TOTAL BADASS.” Kacchan was all, “you know what, Dabi’s been trending long enough, time to remind the fandom what a real G looks like,” and he blasted his little bleeding body back into the fray and was all “FROM HERE ON OUT CALL ME DYNAMIGHT!!” Mirio was all, “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... oh, you’re serious,” and Kacchan was all “!!”, and so that’s the story of how my son got murdered twice in one day. Meanwhile in the Todoroki Drama Zone, Deku was all “STOP MURDERING MY FRIEND” and Dabi was all “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” and fandom had a whole big debate about Whether Or Not Dabi Trying To Murder Deku’s Friends And Mentors Is Any Of Deku’s Business, which went exactly how you think it went. Anyway, so then Deku yelled at Dabi, and Endeavor was all moved by his manly words and randomly went to go uppercut Machia in the chin. And, seeing as how the Momoserum finally chose that exact moment to kick in, Machia is now down for the count.

Today on BnHA: The Miriosquad handles the Nearly High End Noumus, freeing up Jeanist to jasphyxiate (okay that one doesn’t really work so well) the rest of the League. Compress is all “TIME FOR THIS MILD-MANNERED SIDE CHARACTER VILLAIN TO SHINE”, except that by “shine” what he actually means is “use his quirk to punch a literal hole right through his own ass to free himself.” The rest of the chapter is basically just a back and forth between him and Jeanist, with Jeanist trying to recapture him, and Compress repeatedly thwarting him by chopping more holes out of himself because HE’S FRESH OUT OF FUCKS, AND THE ONES AT THE STORE ARE ALL SOLD OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS. Anyway, so with Compress basically dying and all, Horikoshi is all “you know what that means”, and delivers a freshly-baked villain flashback revealing that Compress is a descendant of Harima Ouji, a.k.a. the Peerless Thief, a.k.a. some famous guy whom Gentle mentioned this one time for like two seconds back in the day. The chapter ends with Compress finally demasking himself and dumping Tomura back onto the ground, a.k.a. The Worst Possible Place For Tomura To Be. ( •﹏•)

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

AIZAWAAAA you’re alive and receiving medical help thank GOD. HOW MANY EYES DO YOU HAVE. AND MIRKO!! HOW MANY LIMBS DO YOU HAVE, OMG

so is this Aizawa dreaming about Crust’s final moments, then?? jesus. with All Due Respect to Crust’s memory, does Aizawa not already have enough misplaced guilt on his conscience as it is?? “nope, we’re gonna keep piling it on. that’s all he is now. three limbs, an indeterminate number of eyes, sexy hair, and Guilt” well shit

motherfucker y’all really out here placing an oxygen mask on Gran Torino’s corpse. fucking shounen characters. each one comes with a lifetime warranty

DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOWING THESE CLOSE-UPS OF HAWKS’S UNCONSCIOUS FACE ALL WHUMPED OUT AND EXHAUSTED. HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS ARE WE GOING TO GET. ARE YOU PLANNING ON KILLING ME WITH THE UPCOMING CONVALESCENCE ARC, BECAUSE IF SO, AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME AHEAD OF TIME SO I CAN MAKE A WILL

for a moment I considered going back and checking my previous recaps to count how many times I’ve already made a joke about Dabi’s fire incinerating Hawks’s wings but not touching so much as a hair on his five o’clock shadow, so that I could calculate whether or not I could possibly get away with making that same joke one more time. but then I realized I could just do it in this kind of roundabout way I’m doing right now instead. so there you have it

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

PLEASE BE ALIVE. PLEASE RESPECT THE SIGN ON THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING. THE ONE THAT SAYS “NO LADY CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO DIE”, WITH THE FINE PRINT AT THE BOTTOM “AT LEAST NOT UNTIL HORIKOSHI GIVES US LIKE TWENTY-SIX MORE OF THEM FIRST IF THAT’S THE WAY HE WANTS TO PLAY IT.” IT’S A GOOD SIGN, PLEASE RESPECT ITS WISHES!!

so anyway though, Jeanist is giving a speech about how god knows how many people all worked together to bring Machia down. and now RHA is getting in on those fabric puns too, I see. “A SINGLE STRAND MAY BE THIN BUT TOGETHER THEY FORM A STRONG ROPE” oh so you think you guys are funny eh? I’m a frayed knot

MEANWHILE EXCUSE ME BUT WHY ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING BLOOD, HOLY SHIT

fffffff. so much for him taking over as the Number One once all this is over. so let’s just recap real quick, because Horikoshi has long since made it clear that one of his plot goals for this arc is to wipe out every single member of the Billboard Top Ten. so how we doin?

Endeavor - was just figuratively eviscerated in front of the entire nation by his homicidal zombiepunk son. also burnt half to death and possibly down a lung. will almost certainly be forced to retire after this one way or the other

Hawks - lying prettily in a medical tent. wings status: gone. hair status: still perfect

Jeanist - WELL I THOUGHT HE WAS FINE BUT APPARENTLY HE’S OUT HERE DYING, JESUS CHRIST

Edgeshot - MIA, last seen fighting Re-Destro. I really want him to have kicked RD’s ass because fuck that guy, but realistically they probably fought to a draw at best

Mirko - alive but in critical condition and missing something like 1.5 limbs

Crust - dead, currently haunting Aizawa’s traumatized dreams. now he’s gonna be triggered the rest of his life by people giving him the thumbs up, THANKS A LOT

Kamui Woods - was set on fire which is His Weakness. thoughts and prayers

Wash - last seen floating hospital patients to safety as Tomura’s wave of decay descended towards him. probably dead ffff

Old Man Samurai - haven’t seen this fucker in a hot minute, who even knows where he’s wandered off to

Ryuukyuu - currently being treated for her wounds, looked pretty bad off. but it’s hard to tell how hurt she is since most of the injuries were acquired in her transformed state. SHE BETTER GET WELL SOON

anyways, so yeah. so much for the top ten. guess that’s another reason Horikoshi brought Mirio back now, huh

so there’s a big panel of everyone fighting the Noumu while Machia lies there all “blurgh.” good riddance my dude. it took like twenty chapters and a hundred people to stop this guy so I really fucking hope he stays down. you’ve had your fun

anyway so Jeanist is sending another steel thread towards Dabi! and he’s all “just a bit more!!” fklklj this is gonna go real well isn’t it

meanwhile Mirio’s fighting a Nearly High End with all of these weird rock formations jutting out of its skin. go on and kick his ass then, Mirio

“each of these guys is probably just as strong as the Noumu from Kyuushuu” hold on I thought Ujiko or Tomura or someone said that wasn’t the case? not that Mirio would know I suppose. anyways let’s just hope he’s wrong cuz if not these kids are probably screwed

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

IIDA FUCKING TENYA YOU’RE A PEACH. THINKS THE NAME IS OUTRAGEOUS, CHECK. USES IT ANYWAY, CHECK. “JUST BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T BE SUPPORTIVE.” WHAT A CLASS ACT

AND KACCHAN IS RESPONDING WITH AS MUCH DIGNITY AS HE CAN MUSTER

WOW, SON. IT’S ALMOST AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, OR SOMETHING!! although listen up, real talk, the fact that Kacchan of all people can’t muster the energy to yell at someone questioning his ability to kick ass is HIGHKEY troubling and we may be in need of an intervention here soon :/

now Jeanist is finally turning his attention to the League! was... was it not already on the League. omg

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

hey so um. what the actual fucked up hell. my soul left my body. imagine if you saw the reflection of this panel on your bedroom window. you would never sleep again

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

THIS CANNOT BE WHAT HE’S ACTUALLY SAYING RIGHT. BUT IT’S RIGHT IN THAT UNCANNY VALLEY OF NOT BEING QUITE SURE, THOUGH... (　ﾟдﾟ)

(ETA: just a next-day clarification here, apparently my sleep-deprived ADHD word-skipping brain completely skipped right over the “a” in that last panel, so what I read was, “and Shigaraki’s limp noodle.” so yeah, the moral of this story is always read the speech bubble carefully before you start making running jokes throughout the rest of your post, folks.)

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

to be fair though, I’d argue that Dabi has gotten pre-tty close at this point :’) thrilled for him, really I am

but anyway, well then figure something out you big dramatic robot-armed fiend. didn’t you just say you could touch your own ass? can you not just Compress yourself to break free?? does it not work on you? or would you be stuck afterwards lol

(ETA: I was picturing him compressing his entire body at once, not just chunks of it. ghhhlkh.)

holy shit Jeanist. are you stupidly trying to cut off their air, or are you going for more of a sleeper hold (jleeper hold??) thing instead. the latter would be way smarter and faster and probably safer as well just saying

but unless Spinner is just being super dramatic, it sure looks like he’s fucking strangling them djslkjlk. this will certainly cement his popularity among the villain stans. good thing you’re not running for office any time soon bud

anyway so I have no idea what these guys are trying to do now. what is this

do you even have till the count of 5 at this rate. I mean

OH MY GOODNESS

HE’S REALLY FUCKING DOING IT!! HE’S COMPRESSING HIS BUTT!! OMFG. TOMURA HIDE YOUR NOODLE!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DID YOU COMPRESS A PIECE OF YOUR OWN ASS. FUCKING WHAT. PUT THIS MAN’S PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE WORD “LOYALTY”, HOLY CRAP

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

“HOLY SHIT DID THAT GUY JUST PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH HIS OWN ASS IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS VILLAIN PALS. FUCK IT, HE DESERVES TO ESCAPE”

jeez, talk about... A HALF-ASSED ESCAPE ATTEMPT :D :D :D hahaha. but real talk though, Horikoshi has clearly never tried to leap twelve feet straight up in the air multiple times in succession with only half his glutes though. everyone, I regret to inform you that this panel right here on the left may be slightly unrealistic

also where the hell is he going to go?? did you pack a jetpack away in one of those little marbles sir. and what about Dabi?? and Skeptic too, I guess, but we don’t really care about Skeptic

(ETA: at this point I had to stop reading for about two hours because I had to go out and take care of something; that’s also why this is being posted later than usual lol. anyways so where were we.)

oh my lord

the existence of a translator’s note here implies that the earlier line about Compress being able to reach Tomura’s junk was not, in fact, ad-libbed. hmm. hmmmmmmmm

anyway so now he’s grabbing Compress again because OF COURSE HE IS, so now we’re right back to square one! except now Tomura and Spinner are secured inside of little marbles, and presumably Compress is the only one who can release them

oh nevermind he’s just maiming himself again instead, SHEESH

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

so, uh. is he gonna die, though??

I really can’t tell wtf is going on here, this is the most confusing the art has been in a while. Horikoshi put all of his spoons into that creepyass close-up panel earlier, that bastard

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THE “COMPRESS IS RELATED TO THIS THIEF GUY FROM OLDEN TIMES” THEORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE WHAAAAAAT. OH SHIT

so apparently Harima was a Robin Hood type guy who stole from... heroes?? wtf. are heroes the 1% in this scenario. y’all didn’t have any Fortune 500 CEOs to steal from?

THAT’S THE BLOOD THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU, OH SHIT. and in a related oh shit, the fact that we are getting a Compress flashback now of all times doesn’t bode super well for him. ffff

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

listen here boy if you touch one freaking hair on Shouto’s candy cane head I swear to god --

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

SHOUTO NOOOOOO. WTF YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONE GUY WHOSE WEAKNESS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIRE. DABI YOU SHIT, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF!! I’M PRINTING OUT A COPY OF THAT COMPRESS PANEL!!! KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THAT BEDROOM WINDOW YOU PUNK!!!

SO NOW POOR SHOUTO IS UNCONSCIOUS AND FALLING!! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!! WHO CATCHES THE CATCHER

COMPRESS LITERALLY HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS HAPPENING

PLEASE DON’T CALL TOMURA LEADER OF THE “PLF” YOU KNOW I CAN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DO THAT. ARE YOU DYING. ARE YOU JUST A FUCKING HEAD NOW WTF

(ETA: “masks are removable, makeste” you know what it’s been a long day okay lmao. or I suppose Compress is really the one who is lmao.)

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

WHY WERE YOU COVERING THIS SEXY MOP OF HAIR UNDER THAT HOOD YOU TOOL. IT WOULD HAVE LOOKED SO GOOD WITH THE TOP HAT. I’M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW

as if it wasn’t enough for him to demask himself, he also had to get all shirtless and then do this weird attempt at a sexypose too huh

hard to say exactly how much of his torso is currently missing, but safe to say that’s proooooooobably not good. :///// fuck

on the other hand, Kacchan also has a torso hole and he’s still flying around like he just drank a dozen red bulls, so

this man lost his ass and he’s still out here monologuing like it’s the last two minutes of The Prestige. one might say he is monologuing his ass off

so he let Spinner and Tomura free, but is Dabi still trapped in his marble?? wasn’t he all on fire and stuff?? hopefully he can still turn off his quirk in there because if not that’s a pretty fucked up way to die. somewhere out there Snatch’s ghost is all “YEAH I’LL SAY.” oh how the turntables

last but not least, sooooooo. Tomura. back on the ground. that’s. um. ...shiiiiiiiit

#bnha 294 #mr. compress #...and actually that's pretty much it lol #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #sorry this is up later than usual (and mostly unedited as well)#just one of those days

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Danger First

Chapter 3

@pocketramblr (also please let me know if you would like me to stop tagging you on these, I don't want to be annoying. :))

"WAIT!" shouted Nana abruptly, as Izuku was talking to his (weirdo) teacher. "I know who that is! Quick, get ready to turn everything off!"

"Turn what off?" asked En. "We live in a formless mental void. We don't even have electricity."

"The quirk! That's Eraserhead!"

"Oh, yeah," said Yoichi, while everyone else (sans Second and Third) scrambled to grab onto the quirk. "I remember Eight meeting him, now! So, he's a teacher, huh?"

"How do all of you forget the one person who might be capable of one-shotting All for One?" demanded Nana.

"Doesn't his quirk not work on mutations?"

"Stop daydreaming and get over here, Yoichi!"

The quirkspace began to glow faintly, ominously red, and the ghosts pulled hard on the quirk, holding it temporarily out of Izuku's reach.

Then, the red glow abated and they dropped it back into place.

"Well, that was exhausting," said Banjo. "So, we'll have to be constantly ready for that, huh?"

"As long as he's around, yeah," said Nana.

"Why did we just do that, anyway?" asked En.

"So we can continue to masquerade as a normal, non-haunted quirk?"

"We could have just let him think he didn't have a quirk, or that the anxiety-"

"Super anxiety."

"-isn't part of it."

Yoichi gasped, as if scandalized. "You'd want us to lie to Izuku?"

"Okay, seriously, what is up with you and Nine?" asked En.

Despite not having a body, Yoichi began to visibly sweat. "Nothing, nothing at all. I just... think he's neat?"

"If you're going to lie to us, can you not do it with archaeomemes?" asked Nana.

"No, no, actually, I can get behind this," said En. "Would you say Izuku has... vibes?"

Yoichi nodded solemnly.

"Young Midoriya!"

Izuku shrieked and jumped back from the sudden sound as All Might suddenly emerged from an otherwise innocuous bush.

Both of them froze, staring at each other.

"Are you..." said All Might, hesitantly, sounding much more like he did in his small form than usual, "alright?"

"I... think so?"

"That's good, then." All Might coughed slightly into his fist. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes."

"Of- of course!" said Izuku, immediately.

"Then allow me to lead the way!"

All Might led him through a door labeled 'staff only' and immediately deflated. "All the staff know about my condition," explained Mr. Yagi.

Izuku nodded. Then a thought occurred to him. "Mr. Yagi?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Why, um, why don't you teach, um, as Mr. Yagi? Instead of as All Might? Wouldn't it save your time?"

Mr. Yagi stopped and scratched his head. "I hadn't really thought about it before," he admitted. "But part of the reason I took this job, other than wanting to help train the next generation of heroes, of course, is that I want to get people used to the idea that I am going to retire." He tugged on one of his bangs. "Also, ah, I'm not sure if my qualifications to teach are quite up to par without my reputation."

"I'm sure it would be fine! You're the best, after all!"

Mr. Yagi chuckled. "I'm glad you think so," he said. Then he reached behind him and opened a door. "In any case: my office."

"Wow," said Izuku, quietly, stepping in. "All Might's office..." Who knew when he'd get another opportunity like this again? He kept his eyes wide to drink in the details.

The rather sparse details. The office was rather bare. Which made sense, seeing as All Might was a brand-new teacher. It was sort of... disappointing, as thrilling as it was.

Mr. Yagi sat down behind the desk and gestured for Izuku to take one of the other chairs. It had a lot of cushioning. A lot a lot. Izuku sank down into the fluff as Mr. Yagi fiddled with a drawer on his desk. He got the drawer open, and pulled out a notebook. A notebook of the same brand Izuku liked to use, actually.

"Since your experiences with One for All are so different from mine, I thought it might be a good idea to do some research into past holders and take a leaf out of your notebook, as it were." He passed the notebook over to Izuku, who took it with shaking hands and a slightly open mouth.

"I'll treasure it," he declared, voice wobbling.

"Not so much that you don't use it, I hope," said Mr. Yagi. "As it is, it's only an overview. The earlier holders, especially, don't have many records associated with them. Consider it a starting point. I haven't had much time to work on it."

"I can't believe you found the time to write this at all," said Izuku, flipping through the pages. The information was sparse, but each holder had a basic profile, all the way back to the fourth. "I mean, between being a hero, training me, and preparing to be a teacher, I'm stunned nothing fell by the wayside!"

Mr. Yagi proceeded to turn a very interesting color.

"Uh, nothing fell by the wayside, right?"

"Why don't you take a few minutes to skim through. If anything jumps out at you right away, we can talk about it. And then I'll let you go get changed and go home, and we can discuss more later, after you've had more time with it."

"Okay!" said Izuku. He'd start with just the basic profiles. Name, date of birth, date of death, quirk... wait, those ages... "They all died young," he said, softly.

"Hero work is dangerous," said Mr. Yagi, hand going to his side.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Not something you need to worry about. I took care of it, years ago." The hand holding his side spasmed slightly.

"... Six years ago?" asked Izuku, aware he was pushing his luck. But this sounded both important and relevant.

There was a long pause. "Yes," said All Might, finally. "A villain with a longevity quirk. He... had a history with the first user."

Izuku got the feeling that was an understatement. It also seemed unlikely that the only application of the villain's quirk was longevity, given what he'd done to All Might. But the subject was clearly making All Might uncomfortable, so he dropped it in favor of burying his nose in the notebook again.

(Social fumbles aside, this was the most secure Izuku had felt for... a while.)

"The sixth user had a smoke quirk?"

"Yes, it seems so. Although it doesn't seem to have been actual smoke, but a biological compound."

"I wonder if that has anything to do with all the steam you release when you deflate. Actually..." he flipped back through the quirk. "I wonder if you're using Float, too, subconsciously, when you jump."

"What?"

"I- I mean," said Izuku, "I noticed, when, um, when I grabbed your ankle and also in videos of you- Your hang time is kind of messed up? You're in the air for longer than you should be, but it isn't, like, consistent? Plus, you can change direction mid-air, which I thought was because you were shooting out blasts of air pressure with your quirk, but with me on your ankle, you definitely didn't do that. There was- there was a forum I was on where some people thought your quirk tapped into magnetic fields, somehow, but that doesn't make any sense, because you'd expect a lot more electronic interference and that similar locations would produce similar results, given the Earth's magnetic field, but they don't. But subconscious, low-level use of a telekinesis-based flying quirk would explain everything. If we take into account what you said about my anxiety after the entrance exam, then that's minor expressions of three out of four of the quirks listed here, not counting the base stockpile and enhancement quirk. Do you think the unknown quirks of the second and third users might have partially manifested for you as well? Have you experienced anything else that's atypical for a strength enhancement quirk?"

Mr. Yagi stared at Izuku.

Oh, no, he'd gone too far.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind, my boy," he said, faintly. "But... magnets? Really?"

"I told you it didn't make any sense."

Mr. Yagi rubbed his chin. "There might be something, but... it's too unclear to say either way. I'll keep an eye out. It's just... a lot to take in. I thought One for All was done surprising me."

"When has it surprised you before?"

"Oh, under the influence of certain mental quirks, you can wind up hallucinating the previous users."

"Hallucinating?"

"Yes. But being under the influence of a mental quirk is always the larger issue, so..."

"Mr. Yagi," said Izuku. "That's really the kind of thing you should let people know about up front."

"I- is it?"

The ghosts all stared at Nana.

"Hey, don't blame this on me! None of us explained that kind of stuff before passing One for All on."

"In our defense," said En, half raising a hand, "we were usually dying when we passed it on."

"More importantly," said Hikage, "do you think Ninth is right about the quirks?"

"It would make sense," mused Yoichi. "Although then we'd have to wonder why Blackwhip didn't manifest similarly."

"Is it too much for me to get someone to use my quirk? My extremely awesome quirk, that has no downsides?"

"It is powered almost exclusively by rage."

"No downsides."

"You-"

"No. Downsides."

Aizawa passed him an envelope labeled 'quirk counseling' along with the standard schedule and orientation packet he was handing to everyone else. It didn't look like any of his class mates had noticed, though, for which Izuku was grateful. He didn't want to be known as a weirdo who didn't know what his own quirk was.

He heavily suspected he was tapping into Danger Sense, somehow, but he didn't know how, and the fourth user of One for All had lived so long ago there weren't any records of him. Not easily and publicly available. Everything Mr. Yagi had written in his notebook (that Izuku had probably stayed up way too late reading... and texting Mr. Yagi about it... and comparing it to his notes... and texting Mr. Yagi about that... and reviewing old All Might compilations and theory threads... and having Mr. Yagi threaten to call his mom if he didn't go to sleep...) about the fourth user had been retrieved from the journals Mr. Yagi's mentor had passed down, according to one of the source notes in the margin.

(Mr. Yagi had really neat, small handwriting, which Izuku wouldn't have ever expected from his large, dramatic signatures as All Might, and his notes were meticulous and carefully cited. If Izuku didn't know better, he would have thought it belonged to a secretary.)

But despite Izuku's suspicions, he didn't actually know. He didn't know it's range, what it defined as danger, whether or not it 'ranked' dangers, how to distinguish it from normal anxiety, or- Well. Anything, really. And he would really like to.

He opened the envelope quietly. Inside was a handwritten note instructing him to pick one of three schedules for quirk counseling and return it to Aizawa by the end of the day. The other pages were printed, with times and possible locations. Options for both before and after the school day.

Izuku felt his eyes tearing up. This was easily the nicest thing a teacher had ever done for him... Although he was nervous about being alone with Aizawa. Some of his other teachers, when they asked him to stay after class it was... not good.

Nothing bad happened, not like in movies or TV shows or the awareness videos the school had shown sometimes. The teachers didn't hurt him, really, didn't do anything to him, other than talk or yell, mostly, but it still wasn't good.

Maybe he could ask Mr. Yagi or Recovery Girl to sit in... But he already felt bad, taking up so much of their time.

He picked one of the after school schedules. He was already staying late on the other days to work with Mr. Yagi, and if something did go wrong, he wanted to have the night to recover before he had to face Aizawa again in class.

He put it to the side, so he'd remember to give it to Aizawa before he left, then looked over the class schedule. Homeroom, Math, Hero Art History, History, and English in the morning. At least this morning. The history classes alternated with something called Heroics-Applied Science and Hero Law and Ethics. Afternoons, meanwhile, were entirely occupied by Hero Basic Training.

And every class would be taught by a pro hero. He wondered if it would be rude to ask for their autographs...

Shouta grunted as Hizashi flopped down onto the couch next to him on the couch in the staff breakroom. "What a morning! I just love seeing all those bright little faces at the beginning of the year. Anyone have a favorite first year yet?"

Shouta kicked Hizashi through his sleeping bag. Sadly, this had no effect on the man.

"I think mine might be the little green guy. He's the only one who was actually paying attention, and you know how rare that is, when everyone is anticipating their first heroics lesson. The rest of us just pale in comparison."

Shouta attempted to kick Hizashi again, this time for an entirely different reason. Midoriya was already All Might's favorite (probably)- he did not need more pull with the staff.

"I know who my least favorite is," said Kan. "Kid's certainly dedicated and competitive, but I wouldn't be surprised if he threatened his middle school teachers into giving him those glowing reviews. His personality needs a lot of work. How did you get Nezu to saddle me with Bakugo, anyway, Eraser?"

"I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't give me that, I was going to have Monoma. At least he's a team player."

"You're being illogical," said Shouta, zipping his sleeping bag closed over his face.

"How about you, Nemuri?" asked Hizashi, cutting off Vlad King vs Eraserhead round five hundred.

"It's hard to choose! They're all so cute and eager! Full of the passion of youth! I think they're all my favorite."

"You always say that..."

The door opened and closed.

"All Might! What about you? Any favorites yet?"

Yagi coughed. "I've only had the one class of third years so far. Don't you think that's rather... premature?"

What an incredible nonanswer.

"How did that first class of yours go, anyway? They didn't sour you to the whole idea of teaching, did they?"

"Not at all! The students were wonderful. The third years are very advanced, aren't they? For some of them, I wouldn't be shocked to see that skill level on an active sidekick."

"What can I say? We start them off right," crowed Hizashi.

"They did seem a little surprised by the scenario, however."

"So was I, t'be honest," said Snipe, who was in charge of the third years.

"Ah, was it no good...?"

"It was fine. Lesson plan was a bit rough around the edges, but you and Nezu'll be goin' over that later. But... quirk traffickin' doesn't quite seem like your thing."

"Ah, well, set-pieces," he said, using the slightly derisive underground slang for large-scale spotlight hero battles, "may be what I'm known for, but before my injury, the majority of my battles and investigations weren't publicized."

"Shield laws?" asked Nemuri.

"Generally, yes, but some of the investigations were tied to others, so we were using the organized crime secrecy laws to keep those under wraps. Simply put, my popularity isn't the only reason I keep the number one spot despite Endeavor having more completed cases than me on paper."

Shouta had known there was more to All Might than 'punchy, over-the-top, eyestrain-causing, bombastic muscle guy,' but part of his stupid, illogical brain was annoyed at Yagi for pummeling that image into imaginary dust, anyway. It seemed like the man's only two flaws were horrible interpersonal skills when not using his public persona, and his vast suite of health issues, the latter of which all heroes who operated long enough picked up.

Oh, and a possible inclination towards bribery.

Made it hard to dislike him, which Shouta wanted to do, because he was loud, flashy, and gave him headaches, literal and metaphorical. He ignored the fact that Hizashi was the same way, and had forcibly become Shouta's best friend. Clearly, there was no connection here.

"By the way, why is young Aizawa completely zipped in like that?"

"Nap time," said Hizashi, solemnly.

"Sir?" said Iida, raising his hand.

"Yes, young man?" boomed All Might.

"There are nineteen of us. How are we handling the odd person out?"

"Excellent question! In other exercises, we may handle it differently, but for today, one of you will be working alone! Occasionally, a hero may find themselves isolated when they originally expected help. However, for better balance, I have also arranged it so the odd hero out will be taking part in the last battle, so you'll have more time to strategize!"

But the other team would also have more time to strategize, Izuku noted. He really hoped it wouldn't be him... not that he wanted to force it on any if his classmates! He just didn't want yet another handicap on the first day of training.

All Might walked around with the box of ballots, pausing for each student to take one. He reached Izuku and held the box out to him with a wink. Izuku smiled back, reached in, and grabbed one.

A chill ran up his back and he froze, fingers wrapped tightly around the little ball. Something told him this was definitely the cursed, single-person ballot. Could he let it go? Would it be considered cheating if he picked a new one?

But All Might was already walking away. Every part of his body tense, Izuku turned his hand over and forced his fingers apart.

The tenth character of the Latin alphabet. For the tenth, last, team.

He watched as everyone else started to pair up, and All Might looked at him apologetically.

Izuku approximated a smile. Plus ultra, right?

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fic #fanfic #danger first au #danger first

143 notes · View notes

woodrokiro · 3 years

Text

For Next Time (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: When I told you… she starts, hesitant, and it is so unlike Rukia that Ichigo jumps from his half-slumber-half-death. Written for @ichirukimonth prompt “things I said that I didn’t mean.” PG rating

When I told you… she starts, hesitant, and it is so unlike Rukia that Ichigo jumps from his half-slumber-half-death. She threads her fingers through his, and if this is what death is supposed to feel like then please God, give him purgatory, give him a hundred deaths just like this one.

“What?” He rasps, and she shakes her head. It hurts to move, but he frowns. “Rukia, I’m not dead yet.”

“You’re delirious, talking to ghosts. You’re close enough.”

“You’re not a ghost, you’re an angel of death.”

She chuckles. “That sounds much more romantic than what I actually am…”

He wants to tell her no, actually - she is much more deserving than that title. She is the vision that religions are made of, lovelier than light and more haunting than the dark. She is a whole universe that he can span his hands across, and when is he ever going to find someone like her again?

Never.

Not in this life, anyway.

Her finger moves up up up to trace the river of his veins, so blue and knobby and old but he isn’t embarrassed. He’s lived a good life, exactly as she wanted for him. He did her proud.

“...When I told you that… I was happy for you… That there was nothing more that I could’ve hoped for… I lied.” She bows her head, lips pressed in a thin line.

Idiot. She’s ashamed.

“I hoped… For a lot more. Selfishly, I suppose. I hoped -” She chokes up, looking at the ceiling of the hospital. “I hoped… For more. For you. And me.”

“I know.” If he had more breath, he could tell her all that he hoped for them, too. He could tell her he hoped for sunny days in the park or rainy days in bed; for hours to be spent kissing open-mouthed on a ratty sofa in an apartment that they could call theirs. He hoped, naively, for nights spent soaring through the skies saving souls the way they used to as kids. He hoped to always have her near enough to touch, or embrace, or make love to, or pull to his chest when she needed solace. Perhaps impossibly, he hoped to one day have a family of their own (but with Rukia, the word “impossible” never came to mind). He hoped to show her his world, the sunsets and sunrises and oceans and rivers and cities neither had been to, the world that was just a bit dimmer after she left.

He clears his throat again, heavy with fluid. He doesn’t have much time. “I know. So… Next time, you gotta promise me.”

She shakes her head. “What next time? Ichigo, I’ll still be married when you come to Soul Society--”

“I’m not coming to Soul Society. I’ll wait at the entrance gate for them as long as I have to until you die.” His vision is hazy, but he locks eyes with her as best as he can. “They’re gonna reincarnate me. And you, Rukia Kuchiki… I’mma find you, when you’re reincarnated here too. I’mma find you, so live your life to the fullest now before you’re stuck with me. Okay?”

“... You’re ridiculous.” She’s wiping her eyes that are not, as she would tell you, filled with tears - but it worked. She’s smiling as she pulls Sode no Shirayuki from her side, positioning it directly to his chest. “All right. I’ll hold you to that.”

As the blade plunges through his soul, Ichigo thinks about how he can’t wait to die again.

#ichiruki #irmonth2021 #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #my stuff

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half-bakedboy · 3 years

Text

it’s okay (not to be okay)

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “Great idea. Eddie really shouldn’t be exerting himself right now.”

“Seriously, Buck?” Eddie asked, standing up with a huff.

Buck didn’t have time to be frustrated, because Bobby was instructing him to assist with other patients and he had a job to do.

(Two jobs, if he counted protecting Eddie from himself.)

___________________________

[From: Ana]

Eddie had a panic attack and was taken to the hospital. He’s okay, but he’s struggling, Buck. I can’t get through to him, but I think you can.

[From: Ana]

He doesn’t want anyone to know. Chris had to tell the doctor he was shot. I don’t know what to do.

[From: Ana]

He just dropped me off at my house. Maybe someone should check on him later?

Buck stared down at the messages on his phone, panic thrumming through his body with each passing moment. He ran his fingers through his hair and held in the breath he had sharply inhaled to hold back his own alarm. It was a feeling he was used to, one that he grew to absorb and hold back because he couldn’t let it interfere with his life, his job. He needed a clear head and when he didn’t have one, the panic would become too much to handle, a cross he couldn’t and wouldn’t let himself bear.

Eddie didn’t panic. Eddie was the one who didn’t make rash decisions, who thought through everything before he acted, who kept everyone else calm in each crisis the team had. His level head made him an amazing soldier, a phenomenal firefighter, an ideal father, and… well, everything Buck had ever wanted to be.

So to say he was worried about Ana’s texts was an understatement.

He held his phone up to his ear and when the sound of Eddie’s voice rung through the speaker, he deflated. The familiar sound of Eddie’s always professional voicemail pissed him off more than anything so he wasn’t about to give up. He dialed the other number saved into his favorites and after a few rings, rustling sounded through.

“Buck?” Christopher asked, voice muffled with sleep. Buck checked the time on his watch and sighed.

“I’m sorry, buddy, you go to sleep. I was just trying to reach—”

“Dad’s not gonna answer.”

Christopher said the words so matter-of-factly that Buck felt his heartbeat speed up.

“You think so? Why is that?”

“He told me and Ana not to tell anyone,” Christopher began.

Buck could hear his pout and he wanted to ruffle his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he had to convince himself of it first. Christopher could see right through him and he wasn’t willing to have the kid lose sleep over his own nerves.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Buck promised, “but can you let me know what your dad is doing right now?”

“He’s in bed. He didn’t even take a shower and he loves showers,” Christopher exaggerated. Buck let out a huff of laughter.

“You’re observant, you know that?” A few moments of silence passed and even through the phone, Buck could hear Christopher’s worry. “Hey, he’s okay, right?”

“I think so.” He didn’t sound sure.

“Well, both Ana and I are looking after him and you know who else is?” Buck asked.

“Who?” Christopher whispered. His breathing was starting to slow, his voice sounding even more muffled as he slowly lulled himself to sleep.

“ You . He’s okay because he has you, just like he always has, got it?”

“Got it,” Chris agreed quietly. “Love you, Buck,” he added.

The line went dead before Buck could say it back, but he figured Chris knew what his response would be anyway.

___________________________

Over the next day, Buck did what he did best. He watched. He noted Eddie’s behavior. He considered the inflections of his voice, the content of his words, the way he handled himself. To any outsider, it was like nothing ever happened.

Buck wasn’t just anyone, especially to Eddie.

He pretended not to notice Eddie’s hesitation when he was tasked with helping Chim wire the air traffic controller. He pretended that Eddie’s hand didn’t feel too heavy on his shoulder when he stood up to quickly diagnose the other man with a potential panic attack.

He pretended he didn’t see the way Eddie’s hands trembled a little more than they usually did after a call while they made their way to the fire truck and ambulances with the victims. He pretended not to see Eddie close his eyes for a few moments and take a deep breath, in and out, calculated like it wasn’t quite second nature anymore.

It wasn’t until they entered the emergency department that he had ammo for confrontation.

“Hey, what was with that doctor on the way in? Why is she asking if you’re alright?” Buck asked. He played nonchalance really well but he could be proud of himself for that later.

“It was nothing.” Buck just stared and Eddie sighed. “I wasn’t feeling well the other day, so… she checked me out.”

“She’s a cardiologist. At a hospital,” Buck supplied. He knew Eddie didn’t think he was that stupid—or at least, he hoped. “Are you saying you had a heart attack?” Buck asked, immediately concerned that maybe he didn’t let Ana and Christopher in on the full story.

“No, I’m not saying I had a heart attack. I’m saying the opposite,” Eddie said smugly, “I’m saying I didn’t have a heart attack.”

“But you did think you were having a heart attack,” Buck appended. He was leading Eddie to the point, feigning dumb for the good of the situation, but Eddie wouldn’t budge.

“Can we just drop this?”

Before Buck could argue, Hen walked over and asked, “Guys, want us to tag you out?” Eddie agreed, but Buck felt his annoyance rise within him. He couldn’t stop himself from his next words.

“Great idea. Eddie really shouldn’t be exerting himself right now.”

“Seriously, Buck?” Eddie asked, standing up with a huff.

Buck didn’t have time to be frustrated, because Bobby was instructing him to assist with other patients and he had a job to do.

(Two jobs, if he counted protecting Eddie from himself.)

___________________________

The front door to Eddie's apartment slammed and Buck could see the tension jerk at Eddie’s shoulders.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Buck questioned.

“There wasn’t anything to tell, Buck,” Eddie said stubbornly. Buck would have smacked him if he wasn’t so worried.

“Nothing to tell, huh?” He held up his hand and counted off his fingers as he listed off, “You had a presumed heart attack and were sent by ambulance to the hospital. Turns out it was a panic attack and when asked if there were any stressors lately, you lied to the doctor about getting shot—”

“I didn’t lie, I—”

Eddie stopped himself when Buck’s glare narrowed even further.

“Your son had to tell the doctor that you were shot,” Buck corrected. Eddie pressed his lips together, unwilling to argue. “You almost have another panic attack on a scene and tell approximately no one only have a full-blown meltdown on a helicopter that’s hanging on by a thread in the middle of a rescue. Am I missing anything?” Buck asked, though it was clear he wasn’t looking for an answer.

“I’m fine—” Eddie began.

Buck waltzed up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him as hard as he could while still being aware of the bullet hole-shaped scar left behind from those few months ago. The scar that might have physically stayed on Eddie, but lingered in the back of Buck’s mind every single day.

“You’re not fine, Eddie! You almost died and you’re sitting here like life goes on and nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has. It was a panic attack, not another near-death experience.”

“You say another like it’s a normal occurrence in people’s lives,” Buck exclaimed. “It’s not! It’s not normal for people to get shot and survive—not once, but twice. It’s not normal for people to just move on with their lives like they weren’t nearly ended. It’s not normal to carry on like nothing is wrong when something is fucking wrong, Eddie!”

“Buck, you should take a step back—”

Buck pushed himself away before Eddie’s hands could press against his shoulders, that thumbprint on his pulse that reminded both of them that they were still there. He leaned against the wall behind him, unable to hold himself up without assistance anymore, and sighed.

“You didn’t tell me,” Buck said, a whisper of admission into the air between them like a secret Buck wasn’t ready to tell.

��I couldn’t,” Eddie muttered.

“You couldn’t?” Buck scoffed. “You didn’t trust me? You didn’t want me to exhaust you with my worry? Give me one good reason why you couldn’t tell me!”

“Because then it’s real, Buck, okay?!” Eddie yelled. He ran his hands through his hair before he pounded a fist against the wall beside him. It would hurt in the morning, that much was obvious by the sound that echoed through the empty room.

“What?” Buck asked quietly. Eddie breathed deeply like he hadn’t taken in air in months. Buck wasn’t convinced he had.

“If you don’t know, then I can forget it’s happening. I’m not reminded of that moment where the pain was so great that I couldn’t hold myself up and only trusted myself to reach out to you to pick me back up. I’m not haunted by the fact that I almost made my son an orphan for the third time in his life. If you don’t know, then I can pretend it never happened and move forward.”

“From what, Eddie? You can’t just move forward. You know that,” Buck prodded.

“Yeah, well, I sure as hell can try .”

They both paused, taking the moment of silence to breathe, to think, to figure out what was next.

Eddie made the first move, walking over to where Buck had leaned back against the wall and matched his position. He pressed their shoulders together, his eyes glued to the way Buck’s chest moved up and down slowly, imitating the movement as if he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it himself.

Buck yearned to reach out and hold him, but instead, he asked the questions that lingered on his mind.

“When are going to let us—any of us—in? When are you going to let me help you ? When are you going to admit that you’re not okay?”

Eddie didn’t—couldn’t—answer, but the shake in his shoulders was unmistakable.

As he slid down the wall, Buck followed his every move, wrapping an arm around his waist to ease the fall. When they landed, Eddie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a gutwrenching sob that had tears bubbling behind Buck’s eyelids. He held them back as best he could because, at that moment, nothing else could matter but Eddie.

Cries of pain, anguish, fear, every horrible emotion that had been welling up inside of both of them burst from Eddie’s mouth and he fell into Buck for the support he extended. He clawed at the collar of Buck’s shirt, his nails raking against the skin of Buck’s chest, but nothing was as painful as the way Eddie gasped at the breaths that didn’t seem to come as quickly as he needed them to.

Buck held Eddie’s hand to his heart so he could feel the simple rise and fall of his chest and mimic it again. His other hand grasped at the shirt of Eddie’s back to keep his panic away, his own way of anchoring himself there so he could continue to be the solid weight Eddie needed to push through.

Every part of them was entangled and Eddie had no choice but to press his face into Buck’s neck. Buck hoped his heartbeat stayed solid enough to remind Eddie they were both still alive, even if it felt like they weren’t.

“I’ve got you, Eds, I’m here. I won’t let you go, never.”

It was too much to say, too easy for Eddie to read into the double entendre of his words and Buck selfishly hoped he was too lost in his own mind to realize it.

But the words or the touch or the steady calmness Buck forced himself into seemed to ease Eddie out of the attack of emotions that surged through him. Little by little, Eddie’s sobs turned to hiccups, his tears turned to trickles, and the white-knuckled grip he had on Buck loosened but didn’t fall. He breathed in time with Buck, his heartbeat slowing to its correct rhythm, and the tremors in his body settled to occasional chills.

“Buck?” Eddie asked, as if he barely realized what was happening inside of him.

“I’m here,” Buck reassured.

Eddie shook his head and when he finally glanced up, all Buck could see was the redness around his eyes and the tear stains that looked too permanent on his skin.

“I’m not okay,” Eddie admitted— finally —before pressing his face back into Buck’s neck with a whimper like the words were painful to acknowledge out loud.

“Yeah, Eddie, I know.”

Buck couldn’t resist kissing the top of his head and letting his lips linger for just a second too long.

“I need your help,” Eddie said, his voice graveled with emotion.

“You’ve got it,” he promised again.

“Yeah, Buck, I know,” Eddie teased because of course, even in his darkest moment, he had to get the last word in and it had to be something full of that sarcastic barrier he protected himself with.

Buck let him, though, because he figured Eddie knew what his response would be anyway.

#911 on fox #buddie #911 #911 spoilers #5x1 coda #evan buckley #eddie diaz #my writing #im so happy this season has started #coda fics are gonna own me for the next few months alksdjfl;asd #911fic

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