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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

Most of your fics absolutely destroyed me emotionally so, on my own risk, may I request #13 “You shouldn’t be this easy to carry" with Qui-Gon and padawan Obi-Wan? Thank you!

Ohhh I’m happy to write this one! Thank you! (Always pleased to hear I’ve emotionally wrecked innocent people lol)

From this various prompts list.

Qui-Gon descended the ramp of his ship with something less than his usual grace, his expression was rather sour. Other than that, he looked his usual self, untidy but comfortable and serene.

He waved to the attendant heading towards the ship, and bowed to a small mechanic droid that squeaked with excitement, ran in circles around him, and then darted off after the attendant.

Qui-Gon chuckled. He paused to take a deep breath, tasting the metallic scent of Coruscant on the air, but also the warm and familiar notes of the Temple, of home. It was good to be back. Tedious diplomatic assignments that ran well overtime were nothing worth dwelling on, especially when it was done alone.

“Master Jinn!” a warm voice called.

He turned his head and saw Shaak Ti walking towards him, a smile on her lovely face with its striking colors.

“Knight Ti,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” she answered. “I’m just about to depart to Alderaan; it’s a royal wedding and I’m the token Jedi invitee,” she informed him, but there was no offense in her voice. Alderaan was well known to be genuinely welcoming, and had been more than courteous in their dealings with the Order for centuries on end.

“Enjoy it,” Qui-Gon advised her. “Weddings are rarely something you’d like to miss.”

“I will,” she promised. “Oh, is your Padawan around? I was hoping to catch him when he returned, he forgot to sign off on his departure notice and was scheduled for three shifts in the crèche, which he obviously missed.”

Qui-Gon’s head tilted to one side, and he frowned.

It was obvious that Shaak Ti believed that Obi-Wan had accompanied him on his mission, which had in fact been a solo assignment. The twenty-one-year-old Padawan had remained behind for class rotations.

And Obi-Wan had never missed... well, anything. He was notoriously early for everything, beyond punctual. It was almost annoying.

Perhaps he’d finally slipped into a belated teenage fit of laziness, or he’d fallen so behind on class work that he’d forgotten about the crèche. Both would be extremely out of character, but one instance of this in nearly nine years of training could perhaps be excused.

Shaak Ti was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, revealing nothing. “Thank you for letting me know. I had no idea.”

She waved it off. “These things happen. You have a good student on your hands; he’s easily forgiven.”

Qui-Gon smiled.

The door to their quarters opened for him with a casual wave of the hand. Jedi did not lock their doors often; privacy was an understood thing, something not casually breached. No Jedi would enter another’s rooms without first asking permission.

He wasn’t sure what he expected.

Obi-Wan in the common area, reading.

Or Obi-Wan out and about, somewhere off with some of his more trouble making friends. (Quinlan Vos.)

He was not expecting to find Obi-Wan huddled in the corner of their kitchenette, half-hidden in his cloak, knees drawn up under his chin, crying.

Obi-Wan saw him enter and flinched away, shuddering.

Qui-Gon stared.

The entire scene was so unexpected, so wrong, that for a full five seconds he simply stood there, unable to process it. Obi-Wan had buried his face in his knees and was attempting to stifle his tears, seemingly by holding his breath, which was only making him shake harder.

Qui-Gon jolted out of his paralysis and stepped nearer, dropping onto one knee, sensing that looming over his Padawan was not going to help.

“Padawan?” he asked cautiously.

Obi-Wan looked up reluctantly. His face was a sickly grey; his cheeks were bright red and his blue eyes were feverish. They darted around, seeming to fix on nothing.

“Obi-Wan,” the Master tried again, warily reaching out a hand and resting it on top of one of Obi-Wan’s, clenched around his knee.

Obi-Wan took a rattling breath, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “...What... day is it...?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened with something close to terror. What in all the galaxy was going on here?

“It’s the 29th,” he said gently. “Taungsday. I returned a day late from my solo mission. Do you remember that?”

Obi-Wan’s tears had increased throughout the brief speech. “Y-yes.”

“All right,” said Qui-Gon, struggling to remain as calm and patient as possible. “All right. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his expression crumbling. Suddenly he very much resembled the boy Qui-Gon had met on Bandomeer, uncertain and frightened, although even then he had not cried. This was different.

“Are you sure?” Qui-Gon pressed.

Obi-Wan nodded, strangling a loud sob by clapping one hand over his mouth. He said something, but of course it was impossible to understand behind his clamped fingers.

“What?” asked his Master.

“...so...stupid,” Obi-Wan burst out angrily through his tears. “I just... don’t feel well.”

“Don’t feel well?” Qui-Gon stared at his apprentice in confusion. “You’re sick? Obi-Wan, why didn’t you just go to the Halls?”

Obi-Wan shuddered. More tears slid down over his flushed cheeks. “I...I...I fell,” he said, sounding deeply uncertain. “I was working, and it was late, and I fell. I think I fell. I can’t walk. I can barely move. I don’t know how long it’s been—”

Qui-Gon was already moving, alarm ringing in his head like sirens. In two seconds he had Obi-Wan in his arms, cradled like a child, his head resting under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“You shouldn’t be this easy to carry,” he said tensely. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you fell?”

“Some... some water,” Obi-Wan murmured. His skin was blazing hot against Qui-Gon’s, a sick and feverish heat. He had stopped crying — his tears seemed to have stemmed from a combination of confusion and shame, not pain — but he seemed on the verge of passing out. “I... I got some water... don’t remember when...”

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon ordered. He was striding down the hallways, ignoring the few bystanders who watched them pass with bewilderment and concern. He did send a grateful nod to one young woman who raised her comm in her hand at him, asking a silent question, and at his gesture raised it to her lips and murmured ‘Tell the Healers that Master Jinn is bringing in his Padawan. Have someone ready.’

Obi-Wan murmured something vague.

“Stay awake,” insisted Qui-Gon. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Obi-Wan moaned but nodded, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The words came out harsh and insincere in Qui-Gon’s urgency, and he realized it, because he dropped a swift kiss to the top of the fevered head in apology. Obi-Wan relaxed ever so slightly.

They arrived in the Halls of Healing and were immediately received by a Healer and his apprentice, who had Obi-Wan safely tucked in a bed and monitored in less than two minutes. Obi-Wan had closed his eyes against the bright light and seemed in danger of falling asleep again.

“Stay awake just a little longer, Padawan Kenobi,” the Healer instructed kindly. “I’m fairly sure of your diagnosis but I have to be more certain before I can administer treatment. Then you can sleep.”

“Yes, Healer,” rasped the young man.

Qui-Gon watched from the wall, his hands tucked deep in his sleeves to hide how they trembled. The shock of the last quarter hour was setting in, and he scrambled to keep his wits about him, worried about what this diagnosis might be. He still remembered Obi-Wan’s confusion about the day, his bewildered tears, and that memory was not going to be going away anytime soon.

He had been far too light in his arms.

Just how long had Obi-Wan been trapped in their rooms, unable to call for help and too confused to figure out a way around that? How long had he gone without eating and sleeping?

He found out.

An hour later, Obi-Wan was fast asleep, hooked up to an IV and blissfully pain-free due to a dose of pills he had managed to swallow. The Healer turned to Qui-Gon with a weary smile.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just returned from a mission, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to know. I was asking about shock, however,” the Healer said gently. “I know this can’t have been a pleasant homecoming.”

Qui-Gon’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.

The Healer seemed to understand. “Obi-Wan has contracted a strain of the flu,” he explained, moving past the brief surge of emotion. “As you know, most strains of the flu are easily combated these days and many species have evolved or inoculated to the point where it’s hardly a concern. But sometimes the flu is stronger. In this case, it’s clear that it’s job was made easy. I don’t think Padawan Kenobi was eating or sleeping properly before the sickness began to set in. It would explain the severity of his malnutrition, and his confusion.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered to the bed where Obi-Wan was sleeping, the fever still burning in his cheeks.

“...How long?” he asked.

“A few days at most,” the Healer said. “But I suspect it’s a habit that’s related to stress and overwork. Does Obi-Wan struggle with stress or insomnia?”

The Master hesitated a moment, opening his mouth to deny it, and then stopping to think better of it.

“...Maybe,” he admitted. The hesitation stung. Shouldn’t he know? “He’s very private with his habits when we’re in Temple. He prefers to study alone in his room, and we usually only manage to share one meal a day during his busier semesters, if that.”

The Healer nodded. He didn’t look or sound at all accusatory when he said, “That’s understandable. I’m going to suggest keeping a closer eye on that. Don’t force him out of his comfort zone, at least not right away, but make sure he understands that three square meals — or better yet, a light meal or snack every two or three hours — is expected of him. As is sleep.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat tightening again to the point of pain.

“Rest easy, Master Jinn,” said the Healer, briefly laying a supportive hand on the taller Jedi’s shoulder. “He’ll pull through this. The illness, and everything else. I believe it’s nothing more than a bad habit formed from good intentions. There are crueler demons out there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Qui-Gon. And he did know. One didn’t reach Jedi Mastery without learning the galaxy for what it was.

But he didn’t think he would ever quite move past the shock of today, of carrying his adult apprentice in his arms, sick to the point of tears and helplessness, and then discovering that he could possibly have prevented this if he had paid a little more attention to Obi-Wan’s work habits.

Well. They would, as the Healer said, overcome this.

Qui-Gon drew up a chair to the side of the bed, resolving to wait until Obi-Wan woke, and slowly reached out and set his hand next to his Padawan’s. After a moment, Obi-Wan stirred, and even in his sleep he gave a contented sigh and shifted his hand, his fingers searching blindly for his Master’s hand. Qui-Gon took it and held it tightly.

They had overcome so many things in nearly a decade together.

They could handle this.

And besides, Qui-Gon told himself, even after Obi-Wan was Knighted, he would always be here to watch his back.

He would never abandon Obi-Wan.

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friggsdc · 3 years

Text

Title: little delinquent pt iv

part iii | part iv

Warnings: Female!reader (bat!sis), mostly plot with family fluff, AU, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4600~

Synop: It had Bruce and Dick sharing a look for a moment before the latter spoke up, “It’s not like I’m against continuing to expand the family, but…” he eyed the child you held nervously, “please don’t start bringing home every child you find…” he tilted his head, “he’s bad enough.” Bruce settled a light glare at his first son (that definitely wasn’t what Bruce was thinking), though Dick was stilled by the way your eyes narrowed at him instead.

“His name is Terrence,” that was all you said, brushing past as they were suddenly on guard at the inherited Wayne-scowl on your face.

---

A/N: ee;;;; enjoy me not knowing what this plot is, idk tbh, but it’s fun to write. It’s more plot than fluff, which wasn’t what i meant to write sighs. I’ll probably write companion pieces to this that’s zero plot all fluff. The plot wasn’t meant to be so deep, but I mean, uhm… enjoy papa Bruce and mama Alfred~

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[bigR] Dad’s upset.

[bigR] He’s talking less than usual, not even grunts.

[bigR] I think he’s ignoring me?

[you] crap

[bigR] Worse, there’s no news.

No news? True, you hadn’t seen the info feeds light up, the networks had been offline all day, but nothing from Tim’s side? If you didn’t hate Luthor before, well…

[you] this is giving me a headache ::dizzy_emoji::

[bigR] No kidding, I think he’s figuring a few things out.

[bigR] Patrol with B, everything’s unlocked, bb @ late.

[you] is typing…

“You sure it’s okay?”

The taller male gave quite the toothy grin, a large hand coming up to pull the awkwardly fitted shirt collar back to center, admiring your new outfit. “You can just bring it back later, besides, I think it’s cuter this way.” After a few hours and an incredibly long phone call between Jason, Tim and yourself, the three of you combined were able to get the suit to come off.

Tim said he still had a lot to go over, but that the laptop was actually incredibly useful. Much of what Tim had been talking (and geeking) about had been lost on Jason and you, too focused on Terry and wrangling the alien suit off.

Jason said he’d be jealous of the strange futuristic-like material if it weren’t for the second skin-like fit, happily poking fun at Nightwing’s taste in suits.

Most of the work was done on Tim’s side since he apparently already had the ability to take control of the suit. It was something you were rather… anxious about, but unlike the manor, Jason’s place had the advantage of no Bruce and no cameras.

So now you sat in the same pair of pants you’d come over in, the only pair of flip-flops he had. They were far too large for you, but your toes would have to hang on till home, and a large t-shirt that fit well enough.

“Muscle up, Buttercup” was written on the front, Superman’s flexed arm between the words.

“Your taste in clothes is…”

“Cheap. Like second-hand cheap.”

“But… why…”

“To spite Bruce? I pay more for job-related injuries than money I actually have, it’s been tempting me to go back to crime, honestly.”

“…you sure that’s not to spite Bruce as well?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, an impish grin on his face as he lightly ruffled the top of your hair, causing you to childishly swat his hand away, “isn’t that what everyone else does? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

“Uh-huh…” you were honestly too much of a—

“Daddy’s girl,” he snorted lightly, unimpressed.

Before slipping one of Jason’s unused backpacks on, you stuffed the batsuit in the bottom, and the jacket you arrived in on top. Turning just in time to see him picking up Terrence’s sleeping form with incredible gentleness, you cooed lightly.

“You know, you’re not bad at that,” he looked at you, frowning, ears flushing before his attention went back to the bundle in his arms.

“Not even…” instead of moving to take the child from him, you opted to stand still and just watch the interaction instead, as if a point were being made.

Big boy looked like he was terrified of breaking the child in his arms, like an heirloom British teacup, “You look cute like that, a giant teddy bear and a tiny uh... new bat?” Walking over, he turned his eyes to the side, not a single trace of anger towards the situation in his voice anymore, “don’t get used to it,” he muttered, unsure of himself. “But you could get used to it,” you smiled, taking the giant marshmallow from him, “he’ll be around from now on, you know. You’ll have uncle duties~” Your teasing only increased his rising timidness, “right…”

“Well,” he began, heading to the door once you had everything, “I’m already late for patrol, let’s get you home.”

Alfred had greeted you at the door and mentioned putting on some tea, and you gladly accepted, though not before you went up and changed. With the promise to be back downstairs in a few minutes, he took Terrence from you to ready him for bed. Adorable child was actually quite active, having tired himself out at Jason’s temporary housing.

Quickly, you’d headed to Tim’s room to empty the contents of your bag in his faraday cage, hoping that it was secure enough being in his room. Once you’d locked the safe’s door, you headed out of his room and down the hall to your own. Sorry Jay, but the shoes were uncomfortable, and the shirt kept trying to strangle you more than the shirt of a giant should. Pajamas sounded wonderful right now.

The now empty backpack was tossed to the side near where Duke had left the your clothes from earlier in the day, and a few immediate items for Terrence. You figured everything else was probably in the nursery now, hoping it was all waiting for you in the next few days. The awkward clothes you’d worn over the suit had been tossed on your day clothes, and then Jason’s shirt and shoes were dropped on top.

The shower was quick, and having changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, you suddenly felt sluggish, your shoulders now heavy with tightness. Come to think of it, your thighs also felt rather wobbly, like jelly… but the only strenuous activity you can remember doing in all honesty was… base jumping… was it the wings? It’s all you could honestly come up with. Maybe you weren’t used to such a thing yet, and as you rubbed your shoulders, you headed back downstairs to the sitting room. “Nn…”

“Sore?”

It was still too early for anyone scary to be home right now, so…

You nodded, collapsing on the small sitting couch, Alfred going to stand from his seat to fix you a cup of tea from the tray on the table. “I did a dumb thing today. I’m not certain if I regret it or not.” He handed you the tea plate and cup before returning to his original position on a rather regal looking chair, “I’ve already put the Little Master to bed for the evening. The Young Masters went to bed awhile ago, though I suspect, they are not, actually sleeping.” He gave an amused hum at the thought of Damian and Jon and what they were totally not doing.

He definitely hadn’t noticed when they’d snuck out earlier. Nope, not at all.

It was a long day filled with heightened emotions, anxiety, stress, confusion, and at the end of it, you were just so tired, and Alfred had always been your confidant next to Tim, and—

You tried to keep quiet as you spoke.

“I jumped out of a really tall building. Like… ninety feet up? I’m not certain, I was watching my life flash before my eyes.” He sighed and frowned into his own tea, “Master Bruce has already left for the night, Master Tim is accompanying him, as the boys are… supposed to be here for a night off. I really had hoped you’d grown up to be more intelligent and not as reckless as your brothers.” Or your father, Alfred mused, sipping at his tea, pinky out, the proper macaroni gentlebutler he was.

“I mean, I panicked, I was in a batsuit, I had a lot of intel on me, like, literally stole a laptop and backed up something called Project B (whatever that meant, though you had your suspicions having met Conner), there was a ton of guards outside going from door to door… I don’t have the same muscle mass to fight like my militant brothers, I was scared of what would happen if they caught me, like dad’s reputation?, I may have been overwhelmed by the—”

“—batsuit?” Ah, you looked up from your tea with wide eyes to see him staring, uncertain if the twinkle in his eye was worry or mischief. “Yeah, that. Uhm… Please don’t tell dad,” you sat up straight, gave him your biggest crocodile tears, and were about to clasp your hands together like a beggar before he waved your antics off. “I would not, not unless it endangers your life, Young Miss, you know that. Including young Master Terrence, of course.”

“This afternoon I must ponder over, What you did was, how shall I say, not okay,” he spoke, stern.

He stood to walk over, seating himself next to you while smiling gently, “though I must admit, I am quite curious as to the story behind all of this.” You gave your own small smile as you stared at your tea, “Yeah. I still don’t know all of it yet, myself, but… it’s actually really cool…” The two of you spoke in hushed tones.

Bruce may have been your father, but much like him, you were raised by Alfred, and seeing as you usually weren’t allowed out on the field like the others, your disposition was as Alfred’s was; support. It was something your brothers and father relished in when they had any extra time over the years. You loved to spoil them, and they were readily eager for it.

It was also thanks to Alfred that you’d learned you had a unique knack for espionage.

Your brothers were raised to protect themselves and others, getting to go out nightly on risky (and deadly) vigilantism escapades. More than that, they not only got to be of use to your father, but they were able to grow up around him, their lives dedicated to the same purpose.

To say you were jealous was an understatement, often worrying Dick and Jay at times.

To say you were your father’s daughter and just as like-minded as him was also an understatement. This was something Tim and Damian understood better than your two eldest siblings.

You were determined as heck.

You graduated from avoiding Alfred’s detection to stalking your father and brothers, skills honed even further as you learned how to use their toys and listen in on their coms system. It was your father’s own fault, leaving you alone all the time.

You would never be useless again.

You would never be left behind again.

“So, your brothers are helping you, then? I am glad of that, it means I need not worry as much,” even though Jason and Damian only knew half the truth, it was Tim who knew everything you did. Duke didn’t want to know and apparently Jon’s dad had warned him not to get involved with “bat business,” and Alfred… “If… If Terry’s parents…” how were you supposed to frame this part, exactly? You ere bothered by the truth of it, so... maybe making it sound worse than it was? If that was even possible... “if they were bad people, like really bad people,” as if suddenly remembering the walls had ears, you lowered your head and voice, barely audible for him to hear, “do you think dad would let me keep him?”

The both of you knew that wasn’t the issue, Bruce had no problem with the child staying, but…

There was something about the boy that seemed to be worrying you…

“If there is one thing I take great pleasure and joy in,” Alfred beamed like the proud father he was, “it’s that at least one of you children turned out more like myself than Master Bruce.” No, honestly, he was so glad you weren’t gloom and doom like your father and siblings, “I’m certain you could tame the wildest of beasts.”

His parentage held no ground here, the two of you understood the meaning behind the words, memories of when Damian met you for the first time after arriving at the manor surfacing, “I think you’ll do just fine with the child. I have all the confidence in the world.”

Maybe you were being overly paranoid about the whole situation.

The evening was finished in comfortable companionship between the two of you, and he’d shoo you away to bed long before it was time for the boys to come home.

After cleaning up and assuring himself that at least someone in the manor went to bed properly, he busied himself with the surveillance of the manor.

He made certain you wouldn’t be caught just because of his curiosities.

Through part of the night, you’d begun doing as much research into the relationship between Luthor and CADMUS as you had time for, the past few days having been spent going over only CADMUS information. That was until you got a ping on Luthor’s name written on several specific checks, and gathering as much information available. You looked for key phrases in the news cycle over the past day’s incident, as well as dating back several months. You’d even taken the chip out of your work phone and popped it into the laptop sitting on the bed in front of you, allowing network protocols to take over.

There was only so much the news would give you, so you checked in on security feeds from the area, keywords during phone calls used to see if anyone noticed, satellite intel snapshots, everything. Anything.

The time-sensitive channels still hadn’t opened, no information from other informants was anywhere in the Societies channel logs, not even the time-delayed backlogs.

Someone else was cleaning up.

Early morning, the best time to avoid anyone in the manor who had a night life, also just in time to get breakfast as Alfred made the first batch of the day. Though mostly for himself, he’d generally make extras as you’d often join. Heading down the foyer stairs, Terry’s barely conscious form bundled in your arms, you beelined to the kitchen, the smell your guide. “Ah, good morning Young Miss! I even made some for the Little Master, just in case,” Alfred smiled down at the boy in your arms, holding up a small bowl of minced and steamed veggies.

The kitchen was large for an older-modeled mansion, constantly rebuilt with minimal changes, but still cozy and incredibly sustainable. Between the door to the foyer and the opposite wall, where the door to the dining room was, there was a large table. Several shopping lists, foodstuffs, and cookware took up a good portion, but there as still enough room for a small few people to sit comfortably at once.

You smiled, sitting down in the chair the older male pulled out for you, then pushing you in, food for the child set on the table. You situated Terry in your arms, finding a nice spot to rest his bottom without worry of him slipping off, and reached over to spoon some of his meal to him.

Strangely, he didn’t resist much, yawning in between bites as you had to scoop up what tried to spill out of his mouth, “so, how old might you say he is? I’ve been thinking about it, perhaps about a year?” you nodded as you looked up, agreeing with Alfred as he sat down, food cooking behind him in the meantime. “I think… if not that, maybe a few months younger… he can stand, and seems okay with soft solids… I think you’re right, maybe a year?” his clothing size certainly seemed to think the same, Duke having gone to extreme lengths to get a perfectly fitted wardrobe for the boy. He even included a few different larger sizes for the coming year as well.

“Hm…” Alfred leaned on his crossed arms, rested on the table as he eyed the boy, “I suppose we could begin early development lessons with him, signing especially, but I think he can do more, words, possibly.” In response, Terry sneezed, food spraying all over the spoon and bowl in front of the two of you, his eyes still groggy as he slumped in your hold. “Oh dear,” Alfred hummed in amusement, standing to bring you a small terrycloth towel to clean up.

Terry gave a small grunt as he pushed at the cloth now cleaning his face.

“Gonna… Gonna have to get used to that…” the suddenness surprised you, you knew it was a normal human function, but you just hadn’t… expected it.

“I think there will be a great many things for you to get used to from now on, even I will have to relearn a few things. It’s been… a very long time since an infant was in this home.” He went back to finishing his and your meal, a nostalgic and wistful look masking his face. Bruce had no idea what to do with you when you were an infant handed over to him, and it amused Alfred to this day.

Thinking about it, you looked down at Terry, your chin coming to hover over his head, almost as if you were trying to nuzzle him, loud enough for only him to hear, “…mama. S… Say mama.” The child just tilted his head and cooed at you instead, reaching up to pull at your hair again ohdeargodpleasestop.

Releasing your hair from the child’s grasp and holding both of his hands in yours this time, you tried once more, “mama.”

“Mmba,” he blew a raspberry at you as he slurred his speech, becoming more fascinated with the bubbles he blew than your inquiries. “Mm… bah.” He let out a giggle, popped his lips at you and then smiled, trying, and failing thanks to your hold, to reach for your hair again. After several attempts, he settled for turning slightly, resting his head on your chest as he watched Alfred and all of the very shiny cookware.

You flushed, wanting to beam but also feeling incredibly self-conscious about the situation still, it was honestly a lot to get used to. Frowning in determination at the snuggly bug of a child, you tried a different tactic this time, “ma.” He was still more interested in the food being cooked, however, and you heaved a sigh into his head of hair. “Mma,” well, it was a start, and you repeated your previous chant of mama to him, your own eyes wide with what felt like pride.

Was this how Alfred felt?

“Mmba.” Well, as you said, it was a start. With a sigh, you went back to shoving food in his mouth, though quickly you had to wrangle the spoon from his mouth each time. “Stop… biting it, Terry…” you wondered how Conner had gotten so smart in such a short amount of time, wondering if Terry had still been too young when you took him from the bio labs at CADMUS.

“Ah, good morning Sir,” Alfred greeted, and your head shot up to see your father standing in the doorway, bags under his eyes and a yawn hidden behind the back of his hand. “Good morning, Alfred,” he stared at the older man with a frown, obviously trying not to say something. Instead, he looked at you and the child for a long moment, giving both of you a morning greeting. And even though Terry couldn’t properly respond, he did give Bruce the same challenging look as the last time.

He was looking for something out of the ordinary, however, the only thing in the room that was new was Terry, nothing else seemed to be amiss. But you could tell, looking up at him from the corner of your eyes, head still downturned, he was searching.

“Morning dad…” you tried to be light as you smiled at him, nothing is wrong.

“Daah,” Terry tried imitating, but it was lost in the rest of his babbling as he grabbed the food from the spoon. He was making another mess as he shoved it in his mouth, fingers fiddling around tongue and mushy carrots. Thankfully you still had the terrycloth to wipe at his chubby cheeks.

Bruce’s footsteps were as silent as his entrance, stopping next to you and squatting down, large hand, warm and gentle, landing on Terry’s head as he ruffled his hair, “I’d like to talk to you downstairs soon, okay?” He studied Terry for a moment, eyes as brilliant as his own, though it seemed like Bruce almost enjoyed the small head of hair in his palm. You couldn’t tell beyond the awkward chill in the air, but the two of them were giving each other knowing looks, both challenging, though Bruce couldn’t understand why Terry looked at him that way.

He made to stand up, pulling his hand away before Terry could do any damage, cheeks puffing out in a pout. “There’s something I’d like you to look into,” he spoke as he headed back towards the door, a morning coffee handed to him by Alfred, “oh, and you’re not allowed to leave the grounds for the time being. The tracker seems to be faulty.”

Considering you broke them often over the years, well, yeah, of course it was faulty.

Again.

The smile he gave you before he left was smug and you weren’t completely certain as to why, and it was making you really really nervous, “the League computers picked up something quite interesting yesterday.”

“Uh…” Ah yeah. Well heck.

Yeah, metropolis was both a huge risk AND your last outing, you were glad you took the chance though, even if your stunt escalated the situation. You were now officially on house arrest by the most observant secret-wannabe cop in the world.

Then again, there was no telling exactly what he knew.

He might be bluffing.

“Maaam… ah…” Huh? Did he just… Quickly as if borrowed from the speed force, your thoughts of Bruce and the problems at hand seemed to flee as you beamed at Terry. “Mama?”

“Mamhh.”

[bigR] Was able to give the drive a quick look.

[bigR] I don’t understand villains. I just don’t.

The hell did that mean?

[steph] c u soon <33

Ah, crap.

The table before Bruce had only a few pieces of paper and only two photos. You’d come home nearly a week ago with a new addition to the family, from where he still wasn’t certain. He’d checked and there’d been no missing infant reports that matched up with him, both in looks and location. Tim seemed to be in on it, hiding secrets along with you, and holding back when Bruce would inquire about anything even remotely familiar to the situation. Tim had also been keeping busy with something the past few days, and ever since you’d come home from shopping, he seemed unable to stay still, constantly fidgeting.

Then there was yesterday, when Duke took you out shopping with the boys while Batman had been at the Womb at the League’s watchtower, digging up as much as he could. Which, unfortunately, was just the few scraps of confusing ledes in front of him. The annoying part is how well you avoided the cameras, there were only a few times where he had been able to make you out, the rest he had to guess based on your profile that day.

The subsequent events had started stacking up in a rather annoying fashion. Your tracker’d been broken since you gave everyone a scare a week ago, returning with a child in your arms and something akin to paranoia. Even Tim had been clueless (until he wasn’t), and now even his attitude was giving Bruce pause. It felt more unnerving than bad, something making Bruce’s own stomach knot when he kept coming up with dead ends.

The day you’d gone shopping, the Womb had picked up something the news hadn’t, as the news was calling it nothing more than an accident, and it was that that gave Bruce even more pause. The worst part is that he couldn’t just take a deep dive into the LexCorp building’s system, knowing that much was out of their (or his) hands.

If Cyborg found out that Batman was secretly looking into a non-incident on the League system for family-related business, then he’d never hear the end of it from Superman and the others. He’d have to go out of his way to get into the building, and right now wasn’t the best time to do so, security was increased ten-fold. He’d have to wait it out.

LexCorp wasn’t even reporting it as an incident themselves, but the fact that they were being very stringent about the details, the increase in surveillance, Bruce felt it in his gut; an obvious coverup. The problem was why, there was no way what had happened had been anything short of problematic for Lex, and yet they weren’t filing any kind of paperwork.

They did their best to act as if they didn’t care, but Batman saw all the extra measures, and he also saw the information black hole happening.

LexCorp, no doubt, was scrubbing.

What he had been able to do, however, was gather two snapshots of a black blur that sped out of the building before disappearing into the thick of the city below.

About the same area where Damian’s own tracker took a detour.

“I preferred it when you used to use electrical tape to tape a transceiver blocker to your arm to hide the trackers,” Bruce hadn’t looked up as you approached (and you were dang silent too, even Terry was being chill), “It was much less of a headache.”

“Yeah, but that was when I was a kid. Nothing I do now can hide me from you anymore, the technology is different from back then.”

“Except breaking it.”

“Except that.”

He snorted as you stopped at the table, situating Terry on your hip, and looked down at the photograph that Bruce pushed over to you. It took every bit of training not to give anything away as you picked the photo up and gave it a once-over.

“This is…?” you turned your head to see him with that smug smile from before, tapping the image in your hand with his finger, “this is what I want you to look into.” You would have bristled if you hadn’t known your father better, this was some kind of trap.

“The same day you headed off to Metropolis, intriguingly enough, the LexCorp building had a break-in,” he paused to gather more words, rolling them around on his tongue before swallowing them, I’m worried, and you’re the reason.

“A break-in? I hadn’t heard—”

“No, you wouldn’t have. LexCorp seems to be keeping it from the public knowledge.”

“Then the League computers?”

“Was able to take a few photos from another satellite, these two were the best ones I could find. One of whatever broke in as it took off flying, and another of the same building a few minutes after. No police, no fire crews, nothing.” He was watching your reactions like a hawk, unfortunately you’d played this game so often growing up (learning to lie and stay out of trouble was a skill your brothers and you freaking perfected, even if they got into trouble on purpose), that it was really very easy to just—

“Uhm, but… dad, how? You grounded me, remember? That makes gathering any kind of intel like, y’know, hard.”

The smug smile was back as he pointed at the rather established medical area, the two of you heading over together, “you’re the information broker, I’m sure you can find something useful. It’s not the first time you’ve had to gather information from behind bars, after all,” you really hated how he still felt compelled to remind you of that.

It was once, in a country where no one knew you and where records were shoddy at best.

And on purpose, dangit.

You still weren’t certain how he even found out, besides, he and your brothers had done worse by comparison.

As he began removing the old tracker, you ignored the pain, the lack of anesthetic nothing new to you, too used to it at this point. Not that it was terribly painful. He was precise in skill, second to Alfred, you were too preoccupied with keeping the child still in your lap to notice what he’d been doing prior to your arrival.

All jokes aside, he’d finally gotten ahold of something that could yield actual results.

He looked to the boy again, staring at his familiar features, at his hair, like midnight, “striking how much he looks like us.” You frowned at him.

It was a statement.

The joke wasn’t lost on him.

Or on you.

#tim drake x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #stephanie brown x reader #duke thomas x reader #bat!sis

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Flatbush & Atlantic: part ix

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii

And here we’ve got part ix! This will be the second-to-last part of the series, I’ve got some thoughts also running around for a possible epilogue if that’s something anyone would be interested in reading. As always, there’s literally nothing writers love more than hearing from you all, so don’t be afraid to come and tell me what you think - my inbox is open, comment on the post, reblog with your thoughts!

part ix

April 27 (tues)

Mat’s mind was racing. If he was honest, he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn since Cass had dropped the news about her job offer. Hong Kong? He knew she was brilliant, knew that her skills could and should take her anywhere in the world she wanted to go; the thought that she might leave New York, leave him, was still terrifying. Becoming more worried by the minute, he pulled out his phone, dialing the first person he could think of that might be able to help.

Tito answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Tito. What’s up?” Mat asked nervously.

“What’s wrong, Mat?” He immediately asked. Mat cursed under his breath; even over the phone, Beau was always able to read him like a book.

Mat grimaced. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mat, we see each other pretty much every day. Not to be a jerk or something, but you don’t really call me unless something’s wrong. What is it? Did you and Cass have a fight?” Mat could imagine him crossing his arms on the other end.

“Not exactly,” he said, scratching his head as he wandered aimlessly around the park. “She got this job offer, and it sounds like a really exciting opportunity, but…” He trailed off.

“But?”

“It’s all the way in Asia. It’s in Hong Kong.”

Tito sucked in a breath. “Oh, wow. That’s a big one. Big move. Has she said if she’s going to take it?”

“Not really, she hasn’t decided.” Mat shook his head, not realizing Tito wouldn’t be able to see. “We talked through it a little, they’re offering a really good starting salary and she likes the company values, but it’s such a huge jump that she’s not ready to make the call yet.”

“Did you talk about what it would mean for you as a couple?”

“A little, though not as much as we probably should have,” Mat admitted. “Neither of us would want to break it off just because it would be long distance, but logistically it would just be a nightmare. It’s something like a 15 hour flight from New York, so it’s not like either of us would ever be able to make that more than once or twice a year. Did you know that it’s a twelve hour time difference from here?”

“No,” Tito said, “and it’s obviously not like I know exactly what you’re going through. Paige is a kindergarten teacher, so it’s not exactly like her job would suddenly pick up and move to another country. But it’s obviously a different story with me.”

As distracted as he was, Mat felt compelled to respond. “You know they’re going to resign you, right? It would be a terrible move for them if they didn’t.”

“Yeah, I mean that’s what I’ve figured,” Beau responded. “And my agent told me to expect negotiations to start in the next month or so, but still. I could be sent to Winnipeg or Phoenix or Vancouver pretty much without notice, and I wouldn’t want to ask her to just pick up her whole life and follow me. So, I get the feeling.” He paused for a moment. “How do you feel about it?”

“Mixed feelings,” Mat answered honestly. “I’d never want to hold her back from anything, that’s not the kind of person I am and it’d be a dick move regardless. She’s her own person and deserves to be able to make her own decisions. And I would never want her to grow to resent me if she decided to stay for my sake. That would almost be worse. I just..I really love her, Tito, and I would hate for us to never be able to see eachother because of her job. Or worse, for this to mean the end of us because the distance was too hard to deal with.”

It took Tito a minute to respond. “I know you love her, Mat. It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like she hung the moon. But if they all say that things will work out if you love each other and talk it through, then what are you so worried about?”

Mat took a deep breath before answering, trying to gather his thoughts as best he could. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “Because I’ve never been this gone for a girl, Tito. What Cass and I have...I don’t even know how to describe it. I’d stop the Earth turning if it made her happy. It’s just...she’s it for me. I’m done looking. And the idea that I could be 13,000 kilometers away from her isn’t even something I had considered. I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow. That’s...that’s big, Mat. You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied.

“When do they need to hear back by?” Tito asked.

Mat looked down at his watch, checking the time. “Not for a few weeks. She’s got some time to decide, which is almost worst.”

Tito hummed sympathetically. “Just talk it through. I can’t pretend like I know what’s going to happen, but I have faith in you. It’s going to work out.”

“I hope so.”

May 13 (thurs)

It was nine days before Cass graduated, and if she was being honest, her time may have objectively been better spent studying for her finals, the first of which was Monday. But this was Mat, and this was the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and she supposed that her studies could wait for a night while she spent her evening at Barclays. It was Game 5 of the Eastern Conference final, and there was no way she was going to miss her team’s chance at the Wales trophy. The tone in the arena was tense from the moment she stepped in; ever the optimist, Cass liked the Islanders’ chances, but the fact remained that they were down 3-1 in the series after a 4-0 rout by the Lightning in Game 4. The series had started off with forward momentum after winning the first game at home, but the three-game losing streak had done little for the fans’ hopes and even less for the team’s morale.

The only bright spot, if she could call it that, was Mat’s return to the ice. He knew as well as anything that the recovery time was for his own good, but he wasn’t made to be cooped up in his apartment for nearly two weeks straight, save only doctor’s appointments and short trips to the complex gym. Per his usual dramatic fashion, Mat had been cleared in time for Game 7 of the second round, returning to raucous cheers and scoring two goals in the eventual 4-2 win over the Capitals. She had caught up enough on her work to be able to make the game, and it was one of the great joys of her life to be up in a box surrounded by her friends when the love of her life scored the goal that sent the Islanders to the conference finals for the first time in nearly thirty years.

That kind of a dramatic win had made the losing streak that much harder. Game sevens are always exciting, especially with someone coming back off of injured reserve. While the win hadn’t made the team cocky by any means, the confidence had carried over into something more closely resembling complacency. They won Game 7, they won the first of the next series, so some of the team — mostly the younger players who hadn’t yet cut their teeth in the league — had made the mistake of assuming that the rest of the round would be smooth sailing. They should have known better, Cass thought ruefully as the Lightning scored two minutes before the first intermission to even the score at 1-1. Why couldn’t this be the round before, filled with confidence and coordination and laser-focused passing on every line? Why couldn’t it have been the celebration after?

---

May 3 (tues)

Winning a game sometimes called for going out. Winning a series almost definitely called for going out. And winning a series in Game 7 that sent your team to the conference finals for the first time in recent memory called for going out, and going out hard. As much as Cass would have loved to get as hammered as the rest of the group, especially considering the stress she was under with finals and graduation and her job offer piling up, they didn’t want a repeat of the afterparty from the All-Star Game, and Cass still had school the next day. So, she had committed to limiting herself to three drinks. “I want to be tipsy, not shitfaced,” she had explained to Paige on the drive over. Tito had driven his car over, Paige volunteering to DD so the boys could let loose and everyone could let off some much-needed steam.

Someone had already opened up a tab for everyone by the time their car had gotten there, and it wasn’t ten minutes before they had claimed a few couches in the corner and Cass had a caipirinha in her hand. She was a little worried that Mat’s tolerance had tanked in the past few weeks; he hadn’t really drank since before the concussion and it was their first time at a bar in a few weeks regardless. Mat noticed her nervous glances out of the corner of his eye. “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I specifically asked the doctors if I was good to drink at my last appointment and they said I was in the clear.”

Cass giggled, sipping her drink. “You asked your doctors if you could drink alcohol?”

“What can I say?” Mat shrugged. “I wanted to go out and get lit with friends, can you blame me?”

Cass’ giggles had evolved into full-on belly laughs. “Lit? What are you, sixteen?”

Mat’s cheeks reddened in what was probably a combination of alcohol and embarrassment. “My cousin said it once.”

Cass headed back over to the bar a few minutes later for another drink, leaving the boys to talk amongst themselves with the occasional interruption from an excited fan. On a high from the win, the team were more than happy to take photos and have quick chats with anyone who stopped them, and thankfully weren’t mobbed by the crowd inside the bar. For the most part, Cass and her relationship with Mat had been able to fly under the radar — well, as much as she could being Mat Barzal’s other half. Her Instagram hadn’t been private since college, and while a fair few fans and fanpages followed her, it had all remained mercifully low-key. Waiting at the bar, she resigned herself to scroll through Twitter for a few minutes, knowing it would be a little while before the bartender got to her.

“Are you Cassidy Shaw?” Cass’ head turned slowly towards her right, where a short blonde girl looked at her with a shocked expression.

“Cabrera Shaw, but yes?” She answered slowly.

“Sorry!” The girl apologized, “I didn’t mean to be weird or anything. I follow you on Instagram, it’s just so weird to finally see you in person.” Cass gave a nervous laugh. She had fans? On Instagram? Who were excited if they met her in real life?

“One Southside and whatever your favorite IPA on tap is, please,” Cass said to the bartender who had just leaned over the counter to get her order. “Thank you? You’re welcome?” Cass smiled awkwardly.

“I just wanted to say that I think it’s super cool how you’re not a typical WAG or anything. My name’s Sierra, I’m a junior at St. John’s. I’m applying for law school next year. It’s just, like, awesome to see a woman being successful in her own right apart from her partner, especially when they’re in such a visible position and it’s not what’s expected of them. I’m sorry — I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Cass laughed, a genuine one this time. “No, you’re totally good. Don’t worry. That’s really sweet of you to say, thanks a lot!” She sipped the Southside the bartender had just handed her, sliding Mat’s beer over. “Yeah, I have so much respect for the other women who choose to do more philanthropic work or be stay-at-home moms, but that’s not what I feel pulled to. Right now, at least.”

“Right, totally,” Julia said, grabbing what looked like a rum and coke from the other bartender. “Anyways, I should let you get back to the celebration. Tell the team congratulations, it was a great game to watch!”

Cass picked up the other glass, nodding. “I will. Thank you for your kind words, that was sweet of you to say.”

“Anytime!” Julia chirped happily.

Cass walked carefully back over to the group, keeping an eye on the drinks. She handed Mat’s beer to him. He looked up curiously, taking a sip. “Something hold you up at the bar?”

She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. “Kind of? I think I just had my first fan encounter.”

He laughed, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Comes with the territory, babe.”

---

The game was scoreless through the second period, which didn’t help the tension in the stadium or Cass’ blood pressure. She and Paige had decided to get actual seats for the game, which Mat and Tito were more than happy to arrange. The Islanders were doing well through the first half of the third period, other than a little bit of messy passing the lines were good. But good wasn’t good enough sometimes, good wasn’t close enough to score and give them the lead. Cass’ heart sank as soon as one of the defensemen, she wasn’t sure who, made a turnover in the neutral zone to give the Lightning the puck. Kucherov picked it off, skating past the defenders and around the goal while the rest of the line nearly tripped over themselves trying to skate back in time.

She was on the edge of her seat as he wrapped around the goal, silently praying that Varlamov would somehow be able to get a piece of the puck with his blocker or that it would have one of those one-in-a-million deflections off of the post. You could hear a pin drop in the stadium as everyone waited for the shot; tall of the sudden, time seemed to move like molasses. And then the puck went in, the red light went on, and the scattered sections of blue-and-white clad Lightning fans threw their arms up in celebration.

Cass allowed herself exactly ten seconds to hold her head in her hands. There was still seven minutes, thirty nine seconds left. There was still time. Then there was five minutes, forty-two seconds left, and Maroon got two minutes for tripping, and that was their chance. That was supposed to be their chance. But then the penalty came and went, and it was three minutes left. Two minutes left. They pulled Varlamov at one minutes fifty-eight seconds left, and then it was the last shift. Forty-nine seconds left, and it was time for a Hail Mary. Out of habit, Cass’s lips began moving in the prayer. Hail Mary, full of grace...It was a holdover from her lacrosse days, when they were down in the last quarter with seemingly no hope in sight. It didn’t always work, but it sometimes did. It didn’t work that night. It didn’t work because the clock ticked down to zero, the score was still 2-1, and the Islanders had lost. They were out of the playoffs. Fans began shuffling out of the rink, shoulders slumped and heads down, as Cass bit her lip and tried not to cry. The team had worked so hard for this. God, they had worked so hard. And if she was taking it this badly, if it was affecting her this much, then she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for the guys on the team.

Paige turned to her after a few minutes, when there were only a handful of people still left in their seats and the Zambonis had come out to resurface the ice one last time. “We should probably get down there, do you think?” She asked softly. Cass nodded. She was referring to the tunnel, outside the locker room where everyone usually got to greet their partners with kisses and hugs and words of congratulations, but where the mood would be profoundly different on that night. Cass grabbed her bag and straightened out her jersey, squeezing Paige’s hand. Neither of them really knew what the environment was going to be like after such a devastating knockout; Paige had started dating Anthony the summer before, and Cass obviously had even less experience. They had dealt with losses, they had dealt with disappointments and losing streaks and points droughts, but this was something new entirely.

They rode the elevator in silence before walking down the corridors to the room, where the rest of the WAGs and other family had congregated. Kerry rubbed her shoulder sympathetically as Lauren walked over. “We in the Islanders family have a lot of experience with getting knocked out of the playoffs,” she said with a weak smile, trying to crack a joke, “so here is how it usually goes. The guys should be coming out in a few, it takes longer than usual because the media typically has some end-of-the-season wrapup questions and Trotz and Anders will probably make speeches or say something. Some others might too.” The two women nodded. “Don’t treat it like just another loss, but it’s also no good to hover too much. It’s obviously a real disappointment, so it usually takes a week or so before most of them bounce back to being their normal selves. They know what coping mechanisms work best for them. Most will hit the gym more, read or cook if they’re into that, something to get their mind off of it. Obviously they’re still players and still want to know how they can get better, so they might want to go over tapes of the games and make notes of where they went wrong. That’s fine, but don’t let them beat themselves up about it too much. This was a hard series, and Mat especially,” she gestured towards Cass, “tends to be more than a little bit of a perfectionist.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cass said.

“One last thing,” she continued. “Let them process, let them cope, but a loss not an excuse for them to treat you any worse, any less kindly. Be understanding, of course. But don’t take any crap from them, regardless of the circumstance.”

“Thank you,” Paige said gratefully. Cass echoed her sentiment. The next ten minutes were filled with checking emails and making half-hearted conversation before the team started to trail out of the room. Embracing their partners and families, most couples exchanged no more than a few words before turning down the hall that led to the players’ parking lot. Paige left with a squeeze to her shoulder and a promise to get coffee the next week before grabbing Tito’s hand and guiding him towards the cars.

Unsurprisingly, Mat followed right behind. He hadn’t combed his hair after his shower, the top button of his dress shirt was undone and only haphazardly tucked into his pants. Mat had been on the shift when Kucherov scored, and if there was anything she knew about her boyfriend, it was that he’d take it personally. He dropped his bag on the ground as she embraced him, and the thud against the concrete floor felt as if it could echo all the way across the Long Island Sound.

“I’m so proud of you, Mat. So, so proud. I know this didn’t end how you wanted it to, but you worked so fucking hard to get here, and that’s what I see. That’s all I see,” she whispered.

Mat wasn’t crying, but his breathing was labored nonetheless. “I just feel...I feel like I let everyone down. I wasn’t supposed to be that far up on the ice, and if I hadn’t, maybe I would have gotten back in time to steal the puck, or check him or something, or…” He trailed off.

Cass sighed. “I know, chou, I know how you feel. But just try to remember that this is a team sport. You win with the boys, you lose with the boys. Do you get mad at Tito when he makes a bad play? Or Jordan, or Anders?” Mat shook his head. “It’s the same way with you. They don’t stop being proud of you or think you’re any less of an incredible player because you made a bad decision. Bad decisions get made all the time, and it doesn’t have to reflect on the person who made them. It’s a hard game, love, but you did your best and that’s all anyone ever has a right to ask of you.”

Mat’s thumb rubbed against the small of her back. “I know I’ll be fine, eventually. I mean, we’ve all dealt with this before. It just seems different this time, because we were so close to actually making the finals. It seems kind of silly to say since I know I’m only 23 and I know I’ve got so much time left to play, but,” he took a shaky breath, “I look at all the veterans, all the amazing players whose entire careers have gone by without ever having gotten the Cup. Lundqvist and Thornton and Marleau and all of these legends. And it sounds kind of selfish and naive, but I don’t want to be one of them.”

They stood like that for a few more minutes, just holding each other, before either spoke again. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Cass murmured to Mat as she carded her hands through his hair. She felt a tiny, almost imperceptible nod against her shoulder. Her bag had her laptop, books, and chargers. She had a whole drawer in Mat’s room by then, a combination of stray shirts that were his-turned-hers, a few pairs of leggings — they took up an entire drawer of their own back at her apartment — and balled-up socks from her one unsuccessful attempt at doing the laundry in his building. She had a spare box of tampons in his bathroom, her floral shampoo next to his 2-in-1 Old Spice. No matter how hard she pushed, Mat remained oblivious to the benefits of having separate shampoo and conditioner.

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and handing over his keys. “Do you mind driving?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. Whatever you need.”

The ride back home was about forty minutes, and it was almost halfway through before either of them spoke, the lull of the 80s rock channel filling in the silence. “Where’s your head at, Mat?” She asked carefully.

He was looking out the window, distracted. “Hm?”

She repeated the question and he tensed slightly, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Just feeling kind of...confused about the whole thing. Seems like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions one day, but then all of the sudden something like this happens and I’ve got nothing. It’s overwhelming. I know I have a life outside of hockey, I know it’s not all of who I am, but sometimes it seems hard to believe that when it seems like that’s all I’m recognized for.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, Cass reached over to cover his hand with her own. His fingers held onto hers like a lifeline.

“You’re right, you know?” She said as they passed into the Queens-Midtown tunnel.

“About?”

“Being so much more than people perceive you to be. I get that, it’s like that for me too sometimes. And Mat, you are so much more than ‘just a hockey player.’ You’re a good son and an amazing brother to Liana, and an awesome friend to Tito and the guys on the team and everyone back home. And,” she added, cracking a smile, “you’re a pretty good boyfriend too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Just pretty good?”

“I didn’t want to fluff your ego too much,” Cass said. “But seriously, Mat. You’re incredible entirely on your own merit. You care so deeply for the people in your life and you love so hard, and it’s an honor and a privilege to be able to witness that firsthand.”

Mat bent down to the center console, brushing a kiss over her hand. “How do you do it?”

Now it was her turn to question. “Do what?”

“Always know the right thing to say.”

“I don’t,” Cass admitted. “And sometimes I get it wrong. But I know I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurting if there’s anything I can do about it.” The car exited the tunnel into the dotted lights of a Manhattan evening.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “if there was an Oscar for pep talks, I’d have to give it to you, hands down. No offense to any of the guys on the team.”

She laughed, stopping at the light. Right on red wasn’t legal in New York City, a rule she found out the hard way two months after moving. “I’m glad it helps.”

“It does,” Mat said softly. “It means the world to me that you care enough to do it. You mean the world to me.”

Her cheeks heated. “You sure know how to flatter a girl, eh, Barzal?”

“I meant every word.”

---

May 20 (thurs)

She was done. After three years, six semesters, dozens of classes, and hundreds of hours studying, Cass had just finished her last final of law school. Her classmates stumbled out of the lecture hall, not entirely believing that all of their tears and heartache and hard work had come to a head in such an anticlimactic fashion. Turning on her heel, she walked south. It was just before seven, and her friends had a group reservation at some ridiculously extravagant French wine bar. It was Les’ idea, who had a penchant for all things expensive and who had made the reservation months prior because “you never know, John Mayer could book the whole place up and as much as I love dollar slices, we don’t want that to be our only option for what’s supposed to be a very prestigious celebratory dinner.” Les, Fiona, and Samaira were coming, along with Daniel, another editor on the law review, and Robin, one of Cass’ friends from first-year criminal law and the president of the Women’s Law Association. She had initially been wary about inviting Mat; it wasn’t that she didn’t think he’d get along with her law school friends, but she didn’t want him to feel out of the loop. After Les had announced that he was bringing his boyfriend, Xavier, Cass had extended the invite to Mat as well.

It was only a ten minute walk, and the hostess directed Cass to their table, where she realized that she was the last one to arrive. “Don’t worry,” Robin said, “we’ve just been interrogating your man.”

Cass scooted in next to Mat, kissing him quickly before rolling her eyes. “I hope you haven’t been too hard on him.”

Mat smiled. “Nah, they’ve been good. But being questioned by six lawyers who all seem very adamant that I don’t deserve you —”

“You don’t,” Samaira cut in, though it was clear she was joking.

“Was more than a little intimidating,” Mat finished, handing Cass the menu.

“Order whatever you want, I’m paying,” Daniel said as he flicked through the wine menu. “Well, technically, my parents are.” Daniel came from money; his mom was a partner at a firm in Chicago and his dad was a law professor at the University of Chicago. “If they’re going to insist on sending me to law school and sheltering me my whole life, the least I could do is take advantage of their generosity,” Daniel said, plunking his credit card onto the table. Fifteen minutes later, the group was sharing plates of escargots, crab tartine, and roasted cauliflower; twenty minutes after that, entrées were served. Mat had recognized the waitress’ accent and was chatting to her in French in between plates. Cass sipped on her wine, a pinot noir, and took a moment to look around the room, a moment to relax. Two more days, and she graduated. Everything that she had worked so hard for was finally coming to fruition. She still had to pass the bar in July, sure, but for one night — for a few days, really — she was going to let herself finally rest in the ability of her accomplishments.

Dessert was maple bourbon crème brûlée with Sauternes, and Mat may have had a little too much fun breaking the caramelized sugar. Cass was full of good food and conversation; after everyone was done it was after nine. Les, Daniel, and Xavier had decided to get drinks, but Robin had barely slept at all that week, Samaira was going to watch a movie at her boyfriend’s, and Cass and Mat had to wake up early to get her grandparents from the airport. Mat took her hand as they walked towards the subway station. He had parked a few blocks away and offered to drive Cass back to her apartment, but she didn’t want him to go out of his way and all things considered, taking the subway at night had become something of a routine for her.

They walked down Manhattan Avenue, resting in the kind of comfortable silence that only came with being with someone who really gets you. Cass had decided not to take the Hong Kong job the week prior. It was just too much distance from her family and Mat, and while the job seemed interesting enough, it wasn’t the kind of position she thought she could really be happy in long-term. “Have you figured out what you’re doing yet?” Mat asked as they turned the corner. “I’d say you should just move in with me and become a full-time housewife, but something’s telling me that’s not exactly the kind of opportunity you’re searching for.”

Cass laughed, bumping him with her shoulder. “Tempting offer, the housewife thing, but I think I’m going to have to pass. Plus that would necessitate you wifing me up.”

Mat kissed her head. “All in due time, pretty girl.” “But anyways, about the job search.” Cass said, a smile playing on her lips. “I was going to wait until graduation to surprise you, but since you asked…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Chris offered me a job. Permanently.”

Mat stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Chris? Like Islanders Chris? Lawyer Chris?”

She giggled. “Yes. Islanders lawyer Chris. You’re looking at the new Associate Counsel for the New York Islanders, Mat.” Mat damn near hollered in celebration, picking Cass up and spinning her around before pulling her into what was very possibly one of the best kisses of her life. Cass barely took notice of the tourists watching them from the side or her own public display of affection. It was New York City. They had seen weirder.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Mat’s chest. He was being honest when he said that he wouldn’t have done anything to get Cass to stay, it just wasn’t his place. But he also would have been lying if he had said it would be anything but heartbreaking to see her leave. It was like he told Tito. Not even giving the future a chance to work itself out would be worse than a breakup. And with any luck, they’d never have one of those either. They rounded the last corner, steps down to the subway in sight, when Mat remembered what he had wanted to ask her but had been interrupted by her news. Her incredible, perfect news. “What would you think about spending some time in Canada this summer?”

Cass, seemingly oblivious, answered, “Oh? Like as a vacation?”

He shook his head. “No, like in Coquitlam with my family.”

“You want me to spend the summer with you and your family?” Cass asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, only if you want to, of course. And I’m not sure when the job with the team starts, or…” He looked down.

Cass smiled. “I’d love to, but are you sure it isn’t too much? I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding on family time, I know you don’t get a lot of time with them since you’re here most of the year. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to bring me around just because we’re together.”

They stopped by a lamp. Cass leaned up against the post. “Cass. My parents have made it very clear to me that you’re family, and that they’ll have my head if I’m ever dumb enough to let you go.” She snickered. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t intend on ever letting that happen. My family loves you, my sister thinks you’re way cooler than me.”

“She’s got good taste,” Cass said, tilting her head.

Mat laughed. “She does. She told me you guys were texting the other day about the guy she’s interested in, giving her advice. Sure, it was my idea to invite you, but they were so on board from the moment I mentioned it. Plus, my friends back home are getting annoyed with me because they haven’t met you yet with how often I talk about you.”

She bit her lip. “How long were you thinking of staying?”

Mat shrugged. “Leave in a couple weeks, I usually stay two months or so, so until sometime in August?”

“I’d have to fly back to take the bar in July, and I’d still need some time to study while we’re over, but my contract doesn’t start until the end of August, so…”

“You’ll come?” Mat smiled hopefully.

She nodded. “I’ll come. I’ve never been to Canada before, did you know that?”

He shook his head, leaning in and brushing a kiss on her hairline. “You’re going to love it.”

#hockey imagines #nhl imagines #hockey smut #nhl smut #mat barzal #hockey #hockey writing #hockey imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl writing #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #New York Islanders

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beyondthecosmicvoid · 4 years

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~Henry VII: The Red Dragon’s Unlikely Triumph~

Henry’s victory to success is simply amazing due to how far down he was in the line of succession -if he was at all! Of all the Tudors, and don’t get me wrong I love them all! He had the most adventurous life! His life is the stuff of movies and you’ll see why. Henry was born to Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond and Margaret Beaufort, heiress of Lancaster in Philippa Gregory’s words. But she was far removed from the line of succession! The Beauforts derived their name from a castle John of Gaunt had in his possession in English occupied French territory. John of Gaunt married three times, the last to his mistress Katherine Swybford. When they married their children were already grown up but by no means less ambitious. In an effort to ingratiate himself with the shifty king Richard II, John betrayed many of his comrades and persecuted anyone who stood against the king, his nephew. In return for his good services, Richard II legitimized all the Beauforts but that’s it. No say if they were inthe succession or not. Later after John died, his firstborn, Henry Bolingbroke ascended to the throne after he deposed Richard. He didn’t overturn Richard’s legislation but added a new restriction: The Beauforts were legitimate in the eyes of the law of men but due to their revious bastard status they were excluded from the line of succession. So bye-bye ambitions. By the time Henry IV’s grandson had issue, this changed altogether. Their descendants were still seen as progeny of a bastard branch (albeit legitimized) of the House of Lancaster but their status had changed overnight as support build around the Duke of York and his Neville relations (who also descended from the Beaufort line, but through the female line). Henry VI betrothed his young relation, Margaret Beaufort to his half brother Edmund Tudor. He was thirteen years her senior and while it was common for women to be married at a young age, people still found it disturbing because the groom didn’t wait for her to grow up. As soon as she was 12, he married her and the next year she was pregnant.Edmund and his brother Jasper had supported the Duke of York on various occasions but when the conflict escalated to war, the Tudor brothers sided with their kin. Edmund was captured during battle in late 1456 and died in attenpts to escape, possibly of sickness. Margaret , thirteen at a time, was already a young widow and expectant mother. She feared for her safety and the safety of her unborn child so she started a dangerous sojourn to Wales, to Pembroke castle where her brother in law resided. There, she gave birth to her only child, a boy she named Henry.Henry did not have a lonely childhood like some Ricardians and fiction writerss love to depict, nor was his mother a crazy fanatic. She was the same as the rest of the women. Religion was not separate, it was part of women’s lives, especially the adoration of female saints and the virgin Mary from whom women kept relics and images to pray to so they could be safely delivered or to protect their young. Of this latter cult, Henry became a firm follower, worshipping the image of the blessed mother with the same fervor as his mother. Likely, the little boy had childhood companions like David Owen, the illegitimate son of his grandfather by an unknown mistress. In spite of her second marriage, Margaret was allowed to visit her little boy and spend hours teaching him, but then her fortunes changed when Edward Earl of March forced the Lancastrians to flee and was declared king by popular acclaim in March 4 1461. Margaret and her new husband now had to curry favor with the new regime and to prove their loyalty, they had to let her son go. Edward saw Henry Tudor as a potential threat and to neutralize this threat he gave his custody to a loyal Yorkist, William Herbert and his wife Anne. They raised Henry as if he was one of their own, and he had the company of the new Earl’s other wards. But Henry knew that a prison made of gold was still a prison. One mistake from his mother, his guadians or worse, his runaway uncle and he would be dealt with.After the Lancastrian Readeption which only lasted a year, Jasper Tudor was forced to flee yet again. This time he took his nephew with him. The deaths of every Lancaster made Henry a potential threat. Every male Beaufort was also gone. Margaret had to let him go once more, this time she would not see him for another fourteen years.Bad weather brought them to the court of Francis II, Duke of Brittany. There he continued his education, by the time of Richard III’s accession, he enjoyed the company of many English exiles, among them the formidable and staunch Lancastrian loyalist -Earl of Oxford. It was in Brittanny, that December of 1483 after it was clear that the princes were gone for good, that he made a promise to marry Elizabeth of York and become King of England, thus uniting both bloodlines, the Houses of York and Lancaster into one.The next year and a half he spent his time planning, borrowing money and now in the court of France, currying favor with the French king. He had tried to invade England but failed. What made Henry think, the French king and others told him, he could succeed? But they didn’t know Henry. He was by now an educated, cosmopolitan young man who was also confident that god was on his side. On July 29 1485, Richard III gave the seal to Barrow, one of his officials to carry out his orders in the counties nearby and prepare for war.To be fair, Richard III was the most experienced soldier here. He had known the horrors of war since he was very little and his life parallels Henry’s but unlike the latter he had been participant in many military campaigns and had the entire North at his disposal. Henry had mercenaries, disatisfied English exiles, Edwardian Yorkists and most of Wales with him, but that was not enough to beat Richard’s armies. On August 7, Henry’s ships docked on Milford Haven. According to Fabyan when he disembarked he knelt and thanked god, reciting the Psalm 43: ‘Judica me deus & discern causam mean’. -Judge me, Oh god, and distinguish my cause. The following days he spent recruiting, some of Richard’s most staunch supporters defected to Henry, others refused to fight and just stood by as the two armies clashed on August 22. Others like his stepfather, chose to intervene in his favor only when the tide turned against him. After William Brandon, his standard bearer was struck down, Stanley and his brother with his armies charged down, and with their combined forced Richard’s was cut down. Richard, according to various sources screamed 'traitors’ and refused to go, instead seeking to confront Henry, but he never got to. The enemy got to him and he was forced down from his horse and minutes later, killed. It was a glorious day for Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. He had won against all odds, but the war was from over. Henry would face many pretenders and plots against him, his mother knew and she cried tears of fear, likely anticipating all her son would have to endure. He died in 1509 after twenty four years of reign.

In relation to Paul Atreides from DUNE MESSIAH onwards …

While DUNE, the first published novel of Frank Herbert set in the Dune universe is the book every reader should start with; DUNE MESSIAH is the most crucial one of ALL Dune novels because rather than reading like a science fiction novel or another inclusion into this space opera, it reads like a narrative tale that is chronicling events that already happened. For a history buff, this novel is the deciding book in the series that sets the tone for the rest of the saga. Additionally, aside from being a deconstruction of the hero mythos, it is also a critique of history. From the onset, the book starts with one of many historians being killed simply because he wanted to tell the truth. But obviously, Muad’Dib, the grand emperor Paul Atreides with his ongoing Jihad spread across the Known Universe can’t have that. So … what does he do? He starts rewriting the past, allowing only a few historians (who in reality are propagandists and religious zealots) to tell his version of history. Irulan is (thankfully) exempt from this. Despite being made fun of by the ‘I do not need to read books because thanks to the spice melange and the superior breeding program of the Bene-Gesserit I am a product of, I can access all the knowledge stored in my super evolved brain to keep feeding my ego’ crowd, she stays a true historian until the very end. She doesn’t agree with Paul Atreides or his other crazy fam, but slowly comes to realize that what they are doing (while terrible) needs to be done to free humanity of pre-destination and oblivion. And due to being understimated by the pretentious Lady Jessica, her husband’s concubine and true love, the Fremen Chani, and of course, Paul and his whole band of Jihadists, she gets to write down history as it truly transpires. But she does it in a way that makes him look less of a tyrant and more of a reluctant hero.

This historical treatment is the same kind of treatment that was given to the Tudor Dynasty starting from its very first monarch, HENRY VII.

I long for the day that Henry VII is correctly portrayed on screen because the way that the Tudors have gone down in history is how the Atreides clan did in the Dune universe. For every history buff that has enjoyed Dune, I urge that likewise, Dune readers do a deep dive into Tudor history to further appreciate both fandoms and see how the two can be studied together and dissected. Currently, revisionist historians who want to restore Richard III’s reputation have not ended up doing that. Instead, they have swung the pendulum the other way. As DUNE MESSIAH teaches us (through Irulan’s writings and Alia’s observations), the best way to understand saviors and deified leaders is not by extolling or vilifying them. Rather, see them as individuals trapped within their time period who feel as though they are ahead of it, and have to do what they must because otherwise darkness will reign.

Paul and Henry Tudor started off as exiles. Their foes never expected them to beat the odds but they did. But part of the reason why they did is because of the element of prophecy. And I am not just talking about the whole Henry Tudor claimed to be the long lost descendant of Arthur Pendragon and what not. Edward IV and Richard III did that too (though it worked less for Richard). I am talking about the issue with the whole Welsh prophecies that supposedly predicted the rise of Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. Before he was born, a prophecy was sung that from his father’s line, the savior that the Welsh were hoping for would come. This prophecy in itself was a call back to a much older one which said that eventually one of the Welsh royal houses would rise to claim the English throne and unite all of the Isles. Well … Henry didn’t unite all of the British Isles but he did start the process when he married his eldest daughter Margaret to the King of Scots, James IV. Their descendants, from James VI of Scotland and I of England and Ireland, ruled all the British Isles.

In an interview, Frank Herbert said that he chose to take the direction of Paul Atreides and (especially) his son, Leto II’s stories in the way he did to caution about the danger of charismatic leaders who reach messiah or (in the case of Leto II) divine status. It’s not so much the power they possess or how evolved thy are that makes the Atreides so revered, it is their genius at how they present themselves and understand that the power of propaganda (be it religious, political or both) is the stronger force in the universe and what shapes human events. In studying the Tudors and Dune we learn that history is a collection of accepted events that are part factual, part propaganda, and part a reflection of the time period when they were written.

#Tudors #History #Relation to Dune #Dune Messiah #Science Fiction #propaganda is thy name of history #dailytudors

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Just a quick driveby post here to thank people for their continuing messages of support and donations despite the current theme of my blog being Welcome to Dullsville, Population: Me.. Not to put too fine a point on it, but its literally all that’s kept me alive, fed and with a roof over my head the past week lol, while I spend pretty much every single minute of every single hour I actually spend awake like, doing the Super Sexy Shuffle all about town as I continue hunting for a stable apartment/room to rent. Just, y’know, like, while disabled and broke and also like, during a literal pandemic because lololol, no, see, that’s what makes it FUN!

But like, yeah. So unfortunately, until I find SOMEWHERE stable to just like....exist in, until the surgery, like, my entire waking existence revolves around Addressing That. As lolol I simply can not afford to spend any of what little time I can stay upright/mobile at the moment on anything that isn’t productive towards like....tackling my one singular and obnoxiously pressing Need to fill/take care of.

Like, the good news is absolutely every single other thing needed to make the surgery even possible and get me ready for it, after an extremely long and drawn out three years, is finally and completely done and crossed off my list and officially Out of My Hands now. All scans have been done from every possible angle for the people making the prosthetic joint, insurance company has pre-approved and authorized every step and aspect of the actual surgery and hospital stay, and all of that is ready to go, I freaking got all my teeth extracted at age 35 just so as to as cheaply as possible get two straight and even rows dentures that even actually COULD be used to set a whole new bite from scratch, and that they could actually work with and use to align and position the new jaw/jaw angle at properly.....etc etc etc blah blah blah whatever.

Point is, all of that which feels so taxing and tedious even just rattling off in paragraph form, let alone LIVING it and that basically being the entirety of my whole life all day every day for three years.......like at least now its officially all done and out of my hands and at this point there is absolutely nothing left for me to do on my end or that I even CAN do on my end, other than wait fpr tje prosthetic to be finished, at which point they’ll book the surgery ASAP and at long last Make It So.

So like, I’m done done, according to every single one of the people I’ve extensively quizzed on that and then re-quizzed on that because its not like I haven’t heard that before and was told around this time LAST summer that I was at that stage only then get wallopped by the Plot Twist where they were like lol wait no scratch that, we lied.

But as far as I can tell, and accounting for every angle and possible late-stage obstacle that could still come up that I could even think of, everyone seems agreed that no This Time Its For REAL For Real Though, and like, pinky swore on it and everything, albeit in a socially distant way, of course.

*Shrugs* So they’re like, from here out its totally out of your hands and just a waiting game, so all that’s left for you to even do now is just.....keep existing until the prosthetic’s done and its surgery time. So just rest up as much as you possibly can and try to minimize your stress and pain-from-movement so as not to aggravate the issues your body is having any further than they already are.

Which totally makes sense as a plan and I am ALL for that gameplan and like, even found some cheap-o dictation software to experiment with and see if I can use it to just type-talk while lying down resting. Like, Ive gotten really good at talking while barely moving my mouth/jaw much at all, lol, so that’s likely to still take WAY less of a toll on me than it does, having to sit up and type while gravity makes like an asshole and just stands on my jaw and makes everything worse all the ding-dong day long

So anyway, that’s the plan at this point, and I’m totally on board and moooooore than ready to give the whole “bed-ridden” thing a try, lol. Just like. As soon as I first find a bed to be bed-ridden in, that’s at least even just a little more “actually something I can call my own bed” than the ones that I basically just rent by the day in motels that at their cheapest right now still cost like, a hundred bucks a day and lololol no that’s not sustainable and hasn’t been for a long while now but I just couldnt really do much about before while I still had to shuttle back and forth regularly between cities for different parts/stages of pre-surgery treatment.

Anyway, that’s the super exciting update on where I’ve ben and what I’ve been up to all week, and why Im not around much at the moment until I land somewhere stable, and like, preferably MUCH sooner rather than alter. But speaking of beds, now Im gonna go crash and crash HARD because Ive been up for a couple days straight now trying to Make Things Happen as much and as quickly as I can until my body force-quits on me and demands I plug back into bed for a recharging session or whatever. Ugh.

Yeah, and tbh I have no idea if what Im saying even makes sense at this point and given how obnoxiously long it took me to get even this fairly-short-by-my-standards ramble out and onto the page, like.....this is me declaring myself officially Useless at this point and gonna go collapse now, kthxbai.

But also, seriously, seriously SO much thanks for everything everyone has done to help me this past week in particular. Legends only, each and every one of you. And like, your combined and continued goodwill is making it hard for me to even have a villain origin story so if anything that’s what’s gonna be my ultimate villain origin story so jot that down. And like. Make it make sense though.

Anyway. Thanks again! Or still, or always. And also like....goodnight! Or good morning, or good afternoon or ugh shut the fuck up and go the fuck to sleep, me.

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ohimtherebabey · 5 years

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! all of the numbers of questions

first of all, i respect you so much. thank you. second of all, i have already answered 1, 5, 7, 11, 13, and 27 so i’m going to skip those here.

2. Favourite band? my chemical fucking romance!!!!

3. Any New Year's resolutions? ive been really trying to be like. outwardly emo and not be embarrassed by it. also, to go to more shows! which ive already achieved and its only march!

4. Favourite music video? helena or desolation row. king for a day is a contender.

6. Panic! At The Disco or Fall Out Boy? thats difficult. i would say fall out boy but they’re really close

8. Do you own a pair of fingerless gloves or skeleton gloves (or the combination)? no :(((( but i want some

9. Do you own any band merch? If so, from what bands? oh yea. ive got a metric fuckton of mcr merch. also concert shirts from panic! at the disco, bastille, the killers, and poppy

10. Got a jacket with pins? yes!!!

12. Any hair dying or haircut plans for 2020? i’m shaving my head tomorrow!!!

14. Killjoy name? i dont have one. i don’t really like danger days and the whole universe kind of intimidates me

15. Are you into The Used? yes!!! bert mccracken has done more for me than the armed forces

16. Do you want any tattoos? Of what? YES!!!!! i have a lot of mcr designs (as of right now, i’ve got designs for our lady of sorrows, vampires will never hurt you, bullets in general, helena, mama, early sunsets, and welcome to the black parade). also i want a haunted house and some bats and a really stupid t-bone steak that says “tell your boyfriend” to commemorate DONTTRUSTME by 3OH!3

17. Can you play any instruments? Which? yes! but none of them are instruments that i want to play. i have 15 years of classical piano training and 6 years of saxophone from high school band/marching band

18. Favourite My Chemical Romance song? demolition lovers

19. Do you think Twenty One Pilots are emo? i dont think im educated enough to pass judgement. i dont listen to twenty one pilots and i havent heard a song of theirs in honestly 5 years. just from first impression, i would say theyre more generic alternative than specifically emo.

20. Are you into Taking Back Sunday? not really. i’ll listen if its on, but i won’t seek them out

21. Do you wear any make up? only the shittiest smudged eyeliner in the world

22. Do you have black painted nails? yes! i just painted them 2 hours ago (im not allowed to have painted nails at work but im on spring break this week so theres no work)

23. Have you got any band posters? Of what bands? i have a few mcr posters, a panic! at the disco poster, a fall out boy poster, and a pierce the veil poster

24. Do you want any piercings? yes!!!!!! i already have my septum and several ear piercings, but i want at least one lip piercing, a nostril piercing, more ear piercings, maybe an eyebrow, my nipples. i want to stretch my lobes, too.

25. What's your opinion on All Time Low? Sleeping With Sirens? Pierce The Veil? i FUCK with pierce the veil. my second favorite band of all time (im listening to a flair for the dramatic as i answer these questions). i dont like sleeping with sirens but i thank kellen quinn for his services on king for a day. i fuck with all time low (predictably my favorite atl song is a love like war because vic features)

26. Do you think it's just a phase or that you'll be emo/punk\scene forever? i take being emo too seriously for it not to be permanent.

28. Are you into Black Veil Brides? not really, but i respect the fuck out of knives and pens

29. Do you like any newer emo/scene/punk bands? Which? i love love love destroy boys. also: currents.

30. What's your favourite music genre besides emo/punk\scene? either like. folksy alternative (hozier, florence + the machine) or old school country (johnny cash, dolly parton, marty robbins)

31. Are you into Mindless Self Indulgence? not really

32. Favourite Fall Out Boy song? golden

33. Are you mostly into the so-called "emo trinity" or "emo quartet" or do you listen to a lot of other bands too? most of my listening history is my chem + bands outside of the emo trinity/quartet. i dont really make a habit of listening to panic or fob, and never twenty one pilots. mostly its pierce the veil and bring me the horizon. a lot of evanescence, too.

34. What's your opinion on Waterparks? Palaye Royale? I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME? i only know one song by waterparks, so i dont really have an opinion on their music, but awsten annoys me so much. ive dont know anything by palaye royale, so i cant pass judgement. idkhow is pretty good. i dont know too much by them but i liked what i did know. i think dallon did a great job at bringing back the weird stuff that made panic! so good

35. Are you into Bring Me The Horizon? YES. ive been nonstop listening to count your blessings for two weeks now.

36. Favourite solo project by a emo/scene\punk band member? i love all of frank’s solo projects (i go apeshit for leathermouth and death spells in particular). i love hesitant alien. also i’m really digging hayley william’s solo stuff so far

37. Are any of your friends IRL emo/scene\punk? no. and it makes me sad.

38. Are you into drawing? If so, show some of your art! only kind of and none of it is good. this is something i did based on a fragment of sappho last summer.

and here’s a quick thing i did for its not a fashion statement, it’s a deathwish

39. Favourite colours and colour schemes? im too much of a revenge fucker to not say black/gray/dark red

40. What are some of your favourite lyrics? a LOT of them are from selfish machines, just a warning. “i’m wanna hold your hand so tight, im gonna break my wrist” “i’d steal you flowers from the cemetery” “there’s no room in this hell, there’s no room in the next” “another knife in my hands, another stain that wont come off the sheets, clean me off, im so dirty babe” “decapitate her and bring her head to athena, unlike her sisters she aint no deathless God” “holding on to cold hands and sunken eyes hasnt held the same charm as it once did”

41. The Black Parade or Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge? this is such a difficult question for me. the demo lovers are everything to me, but, as i have said in the past: the black parade is the best album ever written. that doesnt mean its my chemical romance’s best album though. i’m going to say three cheers (that answer will change a thousand times).

42. What's your opinion on Paramore? Green Day? Blink-182? LOVE paramore. the riot! cd is a permanent fixture in my car. i fuck with older green day. like american idiot and dookie green day. i dont really care for blink-182

thank you again for the questions

#answered #sav speaks #my art #long post

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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in the sky with the fire below (branjie) - holtzmanns

AN: This was going to be a small 5+1 drabble, but somehow turned out to be much longer. I think it’s one of my favourite things I’ve written to date. As always, thank you to writ and bean for being the certified Best™ and making writing so much fun. Title taken from ‘Reforget’ by Lauv.

(read on ao3) | (find me at plastiquetiaras)

Five times that Brooke doesn’t know what to say, and one time that the words can’t be held back.

“We’re done.”

The two words knock him out one after another, caving in his chest like they’re anvils. They may as well be, from the way that he can’t breathe anymore, how the world feels slightly tilted off of its axis.

Vanessa looks at him with a challenge in his eyes, daring him to say something. To fight him, yell, plead, anything but what he’s doing now.

But he doesn’t.

Brooke is tired. Tired of the bickering, tired of being on completely different pages, tired of not being able to give Vanessa what he wants. Tired of not being enough, the way that he should.

Is it worth it? Is he worth it?

He’s seen relationships fall apart around him. His friends’, his parents’, ones that start so promising and are recalled breathlessly with so much happiness. But only last for so long.

The characteristics that people love about each other turn out to be the same ones that push them apart. Two sides of the same coin that can never quite land the way it’s supposed to.

He thought waiting for the right time, the right guy, would keep him from it. From experiencing the way that a person can turn from being the most beautiful one in the room to one that needs to be avoided at all costs. He had thought that he’d found it, found a person that wouldn’t make him want to pull away.

He was wrong.

Vanessa had always said that he wanted someone to fight for him. To give him that romantic moment, the movie ending that makes the audience wish that they had packed a box of tissues when heading to the movie theatre.

“So that’s it? You’re not gonna say nothing?”

He doesn’t.

“Coward.”

ii.

Oh, lord.

“Well, wasn’t that just spicy!” His fellow queen that is co-hosting the viewing party looks positively delighted.

The audience is cheering along with her, some of them yelling ‘Miss Vaaaanjie’ because he’s never gonna be able to escape from Vanessa now, is he?

He should have remembered that this episode was going to be the first one where they kissed. Not even a kiss, just a light peck. Them fooling around in the workroom, smack dab in front of the cameras because they were having fun, damnit.

It didn’t even mean much, back then. They were just messing around. It was before things had shifted and Brooke fell into it with his whole heart, only to be left in a bottomless pit that he’s still trying to escape from, to get back out of.

He realizes that his co-host is looking at him with an expectant expression. “Well?”

Fuck. She must have asked something. “Uh, what?”

“There you have it, folks. That little kiss was apparently so good that it’s still leaving her speechless. My, my, my, Brooke Lynn. Didn’t think you were the type to go after those cookies on national television.”

The audience is cheering louder and louder, and it makes him wish that he could disappear into his chair, fucking vanish from the face of the planet. How many weeks of this does he have ahead of him? Of more than just a light peck on camera, of feelings and arms wrapped around each other and kisses that meant so much more than that first one and their lip sync against one another, when one half of his heart got sent home without him?

The ending of the commercial break feels like a lifeline, when the eyes that are focused on him shift towards the projector screen as the episode starts up once more. He breathes a sigh of relief when it appears that no one is looking at him, takes a swig of his drink.

He’s gonna have to think of some better answers. Some prepared ones that don’t leave him bumbling like an idiot, stuttering as he tries to answer questions about moments on television which barely scratch the surface of their relationship.

Past relationship.

He needs a cigarette.

iii.

‘Crazy in Love’ is playing.

It shouldn’t be a big deal - it’s usually not enough to make him even blink; the song is present in the music libraries of pretty much every bar that he goes to.

But tonight he’s just finished a show in a bar in Tampa, and already thrown the last makeup wipe into the trashcan of the dressing room, packed up his drag. He’s ready to go home, really.

Well. His hotel room. Not home.

But ‘Crazy in Love’ echoes over the speakers as he tugs his small suitcase out of the dressing room, past drunken partygoers and queens still in a half-state of drag. The beats, the setting, everything is so familiar; gives him a sense of déjà vu.

September 2018. When Vanessa had a gig here at his home bar in Tampa and Brooke spent a whole day driving down from Nashville to surprise him.

The noise of delight, the way that Vanessa had thrown himself into his arms and hadn’t wanted to let go had been worth it.

Brooke had come to Vanessa’s gig, watched him get in drag and perform for loving fans. Had rained money on him because Vanessa deserved it, deserved to be appreciated, to be adored.

They had made out in the very same dressing room, Brooke wiping the smudges of lipstick off of his own lips, slightly drunk but not enough to explain the giddy smiles on both of their faces.

‘Crazy in Love’ had blared as Brooke helped Vanessa pack up his drag, looped an arm through his. They had gone through the same hallway, singing along obnoxiously off key and loud enough for a fellow queen to exclaim ‘Goddamn, shut the fuck up!’

They had gone back to one of their hotel rooms, and for a few hours nothing had mattered - no flights to catch, no unsaid feelings, no timezone changes completely fucking up their systems.

It’s different tonight.

No Vanessa - just him, the way he’s wanted, right? The way it had seemed to just be easier, right?

Right.

Brooke can’t really stop himself as he taps out Vanessa’s number with the pulsing beat of the music overhead. He needs to tell him about the song, where he is right now. He waits for it as it rings once, twice, three times.

Listens as he doesn’t pick up.

He steadies himself during the voicemail spiel (“I’m not here, ho, leave a fuckin’ message, BYE”), though it’s not enough to keep him from flinching during the resultingbeep.

The line crackles. He’s silent, watches the seconds pass by on the clock on the wall before the answering machine beeps again, signalling that he’s run out of time to record a message.

He doesn’t call again.

iv.

Brooke can handle it.

The idea of touring with Vanessa and the rest of the season eleven cast had initially filled him with trepidation. Doing shows with Vanessa - not just one, where they’d kiki for only a few hours, but instead night after night. Travelling between cities by bus and plane and being around him all the time, in a way that they haven’t been since they were…well.

But it’s fine. They’re friendly, they are. Brooke believes it. He can talk to Vanessa without the telltale knife that’s been buried in his chest for the last few months twisting itself even more. Seeing Vanessa doesn’t make him want to run away, or smoke until his lungs crackle and burn they way that it did before.

Oh, yeah. He’s cutting down on that, too. Not only because it’s bad for his health (he knows that, he does), but because it gives him something to focus on, to do. Something to control, to distract him. Somehow, as backwards as it is, he’s been holding on.

He feels like he’s in a delicate homeostasis with Vanessa - a combination of elements that are unstable on their own, heading towards destruction, but when combined together create a strange balance, a calm, no matter how imperfectly they fit.

Brooke’s able to joke around with him, have a normal conversation - so what if it’s a bit more of a surface level dialogue than he wants it to be, what does it matter?

They have a stability. It’s not perfect, but it protects not only their sanity, but that of their tourmates too.

Brooke starts to believe that they’re gonna get through this tour in one piece.

That is, until Calgary.

Brooke’s black catsuit sits around his waist and his pointe shoes dangle from his fingers. He has approximately 17 minutes until he has to be ready to go in the wings for his number, to step on after Ra’jah’s performance.

But he wants to grab a snack, and Nina always knows the best snacks from the catering table to mix together. As a result he never goes on a snack run without her, but she’s not in any of the dressing rooms, nor is she chatting with any crew members in the halls backstage.

Which leaves the stage and the wings.

Brooke approaches the wings carefully, years of dance training instilling in him not to make any noise. Nina’s yellow wig is easy to spot between the curtains, and she shushes him with a hand before he can even mutter the word ‘snacks’ into her ear. She gestures to the stage, and suddenly Brooke can see why.

Vanessa.

The first and last time that Brooke had seen Vanessa perform to ‘No Drama’ was during filming, the lip-sync with Shuga where he had fucking sang his heart out to stay. Ru had described it as magical. Brooke agreed. It was an experience so ethereal that he saw the pieces Vanessa had left of himself on the stage, the frustration and the emotions and feelings that he couldn’t keep in any longer. The release in Vanessa’s shoulders when he was told that he was staying. Brooke couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t let go of Vanessa once they were off stage, holding his shaking body as he cried into his shoulder.

Watching Vanessa right now, whipping the same leopard print caftan around the stage with so many emotions flitting across his face - anger, pain, passion - is enough to make Brooke never want to tear his eyes away. He can’t, not even while Nina is tapping his shoulder because nothing else matters, not when his force of nature (no, not his anymore, he should remember that) is on stage and creating magic again.

Does Vanessa do this every night, every tour stop? Release what’s in his heart to the audience because it’s all too heavy to carry on his own? How has Brooke never seen it before?

He only realizes that the number is done when the roar of the audience is too loud to ignore, when Vanessa grins that ever-so dazzling smile of his and takes a bow, wiping the stray tear tracks on his face.

Nina lets out a whoop beside him when Vanessa gets closer, ducks into the wings. He looks up at him with those brown eyes which always say so much without even trying, while at the same time leaving Brooke himself at a loss for words.

That was amazing. You’re amazing.

I love you.

He doesn’t say any of it, breath hitching in his throat. Nina’s talking to him, to them, Vanessa’s saying things back but he doesn’t hear it. Not after the words are still washing over him, bringing down his resolve brick by brick.

I still love you.

Brooke is not really sure how to deal in the aftermath. The realization that keeping Vanessa at an arm’s length, staying friendly and professional is not sustainable.

He can’t do it.

But who is he to ask for more? When Vanessa seems okay and thriving and happy and living his best life on tour? He goofs off with Silky and A’keria out of drag, voice carrying throughout the tour bus and Brooke wishes that he could be a part of it. He preens in front of thousands of fans that call his name, lighting up the stage with his smile (how can Brooke not watch every night now?) because he’s incredible and he knows it and deserves all of the praise that he gets.

It’s not like Brooke hasn’t known that he still loves Vanessa. He had said so at the reunion, he said it to Vanessa backstage away from the cameras, and every time it had been received with a pang of bitterness because of the words that Brooke hadn’t said.

That he couldn’t handle the relationship, that he wanted space and room to enjoy the post season eleven hype. That a relationship hadn’t been his highest priority.

Funny how things change. Now Brooke is the one pining like an idiot, his love for Vanessa colouring his vision, his own performances, how much he drinks to try and forget. Vanessa is the one enjoying life, doing just fine without him.

Nina squeezes his shoulder when he tells her about the fact that he’s completely, utterly fucked. Replies that she knew, she can tell, the entire fucking cast can tell because his big puppy eyes aren’t exactly subtle to everyone who isn’t Vanessa.

“Tell him. He should know.” Nina’s eyes are encouraging, almost pleading. He knows that’s on him, because Vanessa makes him broody and twitchy and Nina has certainly been on the receiving end of things. He needs to fix that.

“He’s happy now. I can’t pull him back down again.” He doesn’t want to ruin Vanessa a second time, be the cause of their destruction no matter how much his heart is telling him to do just that.

“How do you know it won’t pull both of you back up instead?”

She has a point.

So he plans to do so in Seattle, to at least try because doesn’t he owe himself that? Some form of closure?

It feels too strange of a term to apply to his relationship with Vanessa. Even if over, it feels like they’re constantly drawn to each other, two planets trapped within one another’s gravitational pull, to weak to separate. He’s not sure if they can ever get closure.

But he wants to be honest. Wants Vanessa to know that he’s all in. He’s an option, if Vanessa wants it.

The two shots of tequila that he took at the bar light up his veins, mixing with the high of another successful performance, another show ticked off the list. He weaves through the crowd, avoiding the drunken partygoers and his fellow queens out of drag enjoying yet another afterparty.

Brooke cranes his neck, listening for Vanessa’s telltale booming voice that more often than not acts like a beacon when trying to figure out where he is. It doesn’t project over the pulsing music the way that it normally does, and for a second Brooke starts to wonder whether Vanessa is still even at the bar. But then he sees him.

Leaning against a pillar, smiling up at some guy whose back is facing Brooke, but who is definitely tall and blonde. Real great. He’s fine, it doesn’t matter.

Vanessa tugs on the guy’s collar, leans in on his tiptoes to whisper something into his ear and it’s fine, really, Vanessa is allowed to do that. Brooke has no right to say anything at this point, he really doesn’t. He shouldn’t, anyway.

Vanessa is happy. He’s moved on. He deserves to be happy.

Why does it feel like his heart is being torn apart, then?

He’s not sure how long he stands there, frozen, his feet lead bricks that drag down, down, down, into the core of the earth, unable to move. Though when Vanessa leans in and the guy wraps an arm around his waist and cups Vanessa’s face and kisses him, the ground lets go of Brooke. His feet are moving and he has to go, get out, past the other sweaty bodies and into the cool air because he needs to breathe in something other than the matching ugly tastes of jealousy and yearning that poison his insides.

He’s not going to say anything.

+ i.

Brooke bangs his fist on the glass of the vending machine, trying to make the can of pop fall from the precarious position that it is currently wedged in. It doesn’t budge.

The side of his hand hits it one more time with a thud, rests there as he leans his forehead against the glass, lets out a growl. He needs the caffeine, the sugar. Of course he’d pick the one that gets stuck. Typical.

“What you looking so pressed for, Mami?”

Fuck. Not now. He doesn’t want to deal with Vanessa, with the way that he rips his heart clean open, not now.

He’s just managed to push everything back down to where it is supposed to be. The last few tour stops he’s kept himself away from Vanessa, focusing on his performances and his mug and taking all of the extra shots that are offered to him because he can.

So what if Nina looks at him with that look in her eyes laced with pity, the one often accompanied by a pat on his shoulder and an apology? There’s nothing to be sorry for. He’s fine.

He is.

He can put himself into tiny neat boxes, keep himself compartmentalized during this tour the way that he knows how.

But Vanessa standing directly behind him, saying his name with a soft voice is enough to spill all of the contents of the boxes out onto the ground for everyone to see.

“The can is stuck.” Hell, if Brooke’s going to feel like he’s dying while he talks to Vanessa, he may as well get him to help retrieve his drink.

“Lemme try.” Vanessa brushes past, hand pushing Brooke back slightly so that he can take his spot in front of the machine, and the touch feels like it’s burning into his chest. Not that Vanessa notices.

Vanessa’s small fist hits the glass, trying to shake the can. “C’mon!”

It’s enough to make Brooke nearly crack a smile. He loves listening to Vanessa. Sue him.

“Fuck this shit.” Vanessa reaches into his pocket, then, pulling out some change and stuffing it into the vending machine. “Come on, come on, come on.”

The can falls as the metal in the machine turns, makes another can fall right after it. Vanessa lets out a whoop. “There you go, bitch.”

But he doesn’t care about the pop cans anymore, not when Vanessa’s fingers graze the inside of his wrist and send a lick of flames up his arm, lighting it on fire. Vanessa’s hand lingers, dragging down against Brooke’s palm, his fingers, brushing against each other like they’re not going to explode at any second.

Brooke looks at him. Vanessa’s looking right back up with a defiant set in his jaw, his eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for Brooke to say something.

“Don’t.” One word is what Brooke can get out right now.

“Don’t what?” Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

His breath hitches when Vanessa’s fingers trace up his arm.

“You don’t get to do that anymore.”

“This?” Vanessa’s nails, lightly pressing into his skin.

Fuck it. Fuck any other guys, fuck keeping himself safe in pretty boxes. It doesn’t work, anyway. Not with Vanessa.

“If you’re going to touch me, then touch me like you mean it.”

It’s all Vanessa needs; Brooke’s back hits the vending machine and the glass is cold but he doesn’t care. Vanessa’s on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around his neck and biting at his lower lip and it’s like no time has passed at all, nothing has changed.

Except it has and Brooke’s brain is still travelling at a million miles per hour because it’s happening, this is happening, it’s fucked but he doesn’t care.

He uses his core strength to push himself off of the vending machine and flips them around, cradling the back of Vanessa’s head before it hits the glass. Brooke presses biting kisses to his skin, the column of his neck and behind his ear and his whine makes him push a knee between Vanessa’s legs, makes his dick twitch when Vanessa immediately grinds against it.

He pulls back, suddenly, because there’s so much to say that he hasn’t in so long and he needs to, and how can he do this without being clear?

“Do you know how hard it is to try and get over you? To forget you?” He punctuates his sentences with a hand raking up Vanessa’s sides, feels him shudder. “I can’t. I fucking can’t. I can’t do it.”

Vanessa chases his mouth, whines when Brooke pulls back. “Then don’t. Why do you insist on making this shit difficult?”

“Because you deserve more. More than this.” It’s bitter, it’s empty, accompanying the nip that Brooke dots on his jaw.

“You ain’t getting it, are you?” Vanessa tugs on his belt loops, somehow pulls him in closer than they already are. “I don’t want nothing else. Tried to. But I only want your sad ass.”

Brooke tugs on his hair. “I’m not sad.” He’s not.

“Yeah, you are. Sad little puppy eyes is what you have. Now get over your bullshit. If you think I deserve more and you’re gonna keep pouting like that, then show me. Be it.”

Vanessa knows exactly what he’s doing. Brooke can tell. Sees it in the challenge on his face, the raise of his eyebrows. The way Vanessa lifts his head up slightly, dares him to come closer again.

So he does.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #angst with a happy ending #5 + 1 #holtzmanns #submission

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

What’s the viscosity of blood?

i did the actual prompt this time! this is how Logan, a serial killer, and Roman, an actor and author, met.

Warnings: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggested death, mention of a possible car accident, mentions of a bad break up, panic attacks/anxiety. on one hand, this is basically Fluff but on the other hand, Logan’s a serial killer. if i forgot anything, please let me know!!!

Words: 3,208

Pairings: Logince, former Analogical

read on AO3!

enjoy!!!

It wasn’t like Logan to join a dating app. He had never done that before, and to be honest, he wasn’t much of a romantic. He’d only ever had one relationship and, well…. And he definitely hadn’t spent over 50 hours awake in the lab after the break up, running on nothing but coffee and suppression. Definitely hadn’t cried into the empty right half of his bed, lamenting how large it was, how much more spacious it was. No, no, Logan wasn’t sentimental.

He wasn’t still upset over the break up, despite it being over a year ago. He hadn’t signed up willingly, sought out a mobile application that was as different from Tinder or, God forbid, “Grindr,” which was what one of his teaching assistants suggested. One of the graduate students he oversaw definitely hadn’t suggest he get back into dating.

He hadn’t handpicked this particular site out of an actual pool of possible matchmaking services, hadn’t weighed the pro’s and con’s of each site before electing to sign up for one that would match him with someone with similar Google searches. He hadn’t been hoping that the “similar searches” would be related to work — he hadn’t been quietly hoping to talk with a fellow chemical engineer, maybe even discuss astrophysics with someone.

He had been a little surprised to be matched based on the searches “20 pack 20 mL syringes,” “buy hydrogen peroxide near me,” and “viscosity of blood.”

Now, these weren’t necessarily work-related searches, but the person who had matched with him based on those searches had already swiped right on his profile. Logan recalled being a little confused, a little more curious, to see what this “Roman del Sol” might be doing with that sort of information. Logan himself had a solid alibi, what with his position at the university. No one could disprove that one of his pet-projects wasn’t about how blood reacted to certain chemical agents, and that would explain all three of the searches. And it wasn’t too far from the truth.

No, he hadn’t rehearsed the story in his head over and over while driving to the planetarium. It’d been his idea but Roman had accepted wholeheartedly, granted that they start at the cafe inside. “i wanna get to now you first ;P” was how he justified it, and in hindsight, Logan couldn’t believe he’d accepted a date with someone who typed like that.

Their conversations over the app were quite something. According to Roman’s profile, he was an actor, writer, and loved Disney. Upon first contact, Logan had to clarify what “loving Disney” entailed, which led them to a surprisingly heated but good-natured discussion about the ethics behind the Walt Disney Corporation becoming a monopoly of entertainment and media. Something about that led Roman to asking “r u doin anythin on friday, teach? ive got rehearsal until 6 but after that we could meet up somewhere and continue this delightful debate in person ;)” and something — Logan still couldn’t put his finger on what — but SOMETHING moved him to respond with “That would be lovely.”

So now here he was, parking in the planetarium’s lot. Logan looked at himself in his rearview mirror and straightened his tie with one hand, smoothing it down his chest slowly with his eyes trained on his own face. Dark bags had begun forming beneath his eyes, darker than a few years ago. He would have to make a larger effort to maintain his work schedule. And his skin had grown pale.

No. He shouldn’t waste time scrutinizing his own reflection like this, because he could spend hours doing so and he had to meet his date on time.

Logan held the edges of his sports coat as he exited the car, pulling his briefcase out with him. He slung the strap over his shoulder and brushed himself down once more. It didn’t hurt to want to impress, no. He just had to remember that he looked, what did Roman say, “dashing?” He looked dashing.

He checked his watch as he walked up the short path to the planetarium. He had arrived five minutes early, despite the traffic. Splendid. He could order and secure a table.

The prices were relatively understandable and the service fairly fast. Logan’s americano was sitting before him in ten minutes — meaning Roman del Sol was five minutes late. The thought ground Logan’s gears just a little, and he indulged in the meaningless frustration as he took his first sip, eyes glazed over while staring at the parking lot. Perhaps Roman had been caught up in the traffic? Or the rehearsal was running later than anticipated. Maybe he had stood Logan up. Or he’d gotten into a horrible car accident on the highway, resulting in fifteen dead and six wounded.

Reel it in. You’re turning into Virgil.

At that thought, Logan scoffed. He could never rile himself up as much as his livewire ex. Still, as his thoughts drifted back and forth between worrying about his new potential beau and anger towards his former flame, Logan couldn’t help himself in combining the two and worrying about Virgil. If Logan was taking the break up this hard, it was unlikely that Virgil was put together at all.

Now, now, Logan. Dr. Picani had said you shouldn’t decipher your past until you were ready and in a good location to do so. Maybe you are ready, but this certainly isn’t the stage, and this definitely isn’t the audience.

Speaking of theatrical metaphors, where the fuck was—

“Hello! Are you Logan?” speak of the devil.

Logan blinked, adjusting his glasses and sitting up slowly. “I, um. Yes,” he cleared his throat, a stern tone overtaking his voice as he was reminded that he’d been waiting for — he glanced at the clock on the wall — 23 minutes. “You must be Roman.”

His eyes trailed up and he had to mentally withhold from a verbal exclamation. Before him was, well, the most stunningly beautiful man he’d ever seen. Roman’s profile photos were true to life, hair swept lazily to the side, a dazzling playful smirk on his face as his slender fingers curled around the empty chair at Logan’s table. He was wearing a dark brown coat with a vibrant red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal a white and gold prince’s outfit beneath.

“Sorry I’m so late, rehearsal ran late and then the traffic was unbearable! I didn’t want to be too late, though, so I didn’t change out of my costume,” Roman slid into the empty seat, leaning forwards with his arms on the table, “It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Specs.”

He reached a hand out to Logan’s, which he assumed was to shake. Roman had a fairly firm grip and his hand was warm, warmer than Logan’s surely. Once they let go, Roman leaned forward on both of his elbows, smiling cheekily.

“I know we disagreed on a lot regarding Disney, but you must admit I was right about one thing,” his voice had a purr in it, almost like a cat.

Roman’s tone didn’t change the fact that Logan was definitely not giving up ground on their Disney argument. “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, picking up his mug slowly, “About what?”

“You do look handsome. As dashing a prince as I’ve ever seen.”

Logan straightened up, a bright red flush overtaking his face. Oh. He cleared his throat and reached down for his coffee. “High praise coming from the man actually dressed as a prince,” two could play the flirtation game.

“A Scottish nobleman, thank you very much!” However, it seemed that Roman was more well-versed. “First, though, I would love to know when your birthday is.”

Their conversation bounced around, from astrology to astronomy, to the possible colonization of Mars, to civilization, and Logan was honestly refreshed by how quickly Roman was able to keep up with him regarding depth of knowledge. They did seem to disagree on a lot, such as how accurate astrology charts were, though Logan was as willing to overlook Roman’s acute knowledge of astrology as Roman was to overlook the apparently blasphemous fact that Logan was a Capricorn.

An hour or two of conversation had passed before Roman swept his hand through his hair, laughing heartily at something Logan must have said. They were on the topic of plays, since Roman’s current role was Macduff in Macbeth for the fall Shakespeare festival, and Logan had made an offhand comment about washing the theater blood from Roman’s pristine white outfit. Really, Logan knew nothing about theater. He considered it “professional make believe,” though the nature of poetic verse did intrigue him enough to actually read a few Shakespeare plays.

“What’s so comedic?” Logan asked, hand tracing around the rim of his empty mug.

“Oh, well, you know. You mentioning blood reminded me of the searches that crossed our paths,” Roman’s hand ran back, cupping the back of his neck as he chuckled a little more, looking not at Logan but out the window to his left.

Logan had almost forgotten that that was what they were meeting over. His back straightened, sitting upright.

He knew exactly why he’d been searching about syringes, hydrogen peroxide, and blood. He was more interested to hear why Roman was. And while he wasn’t nervous in the slightest (had Roman been a threat, Logan would have no trouble in alerting the authorities), Roman grew more jittery at the topic.

“....It’s always a little difficult to explain, but, well. I always end up searching the weirdest of things,” Roman shot him a tiny, lips pulled tight smile, “Usually it’s for reference, as an author. I’m working on a murder mystery novel.”

Ah. Logan nodded. “That would explain the blood viscosity search,” he said.

“Mhm. And you hit the nail on the head with the white outfit, actually,” Roman grabbed his costume’s sleeve and rolled it over, showing Logan the back part of his right arm.

There were a multitude of tiny light brown dots, barely visible on the white fabric. Logan raised his eyebrows.

“The information’ll definitely come in handy regarding my book, but what happened here was that I was stitching on new trimmings and kept poking myself in the hand. Eventually, well….I’m not the best tailor and I had to figure out a way to clean the fabric. The searches before that were probably ‘how to get blood off of clothes’ and ‘what’s hydrogen peroxide,” Logan snorted at the second search, to which Roman grinned, “Hey! Not all of us are chemists.”

“Chemical engineer,” Roman rolled his eyes and, despite the small flare of annoyance at the fairly common mistake, Logan felt something warmer well up at the sight of his small smile. He wanted to see more. “And you added the trimmings yourself? I thought there was a costuming department or such.”

“No, well, this is actually one of my personal costumes. It’s from when I played Cinderella’s prince in a production of Into the Woods a few years ago. The director for that is the same director working with us for the Scottish play, and to cut costs he asked if I could reuse the costume. With a few modifications, of course,” Roman smoothed out his outfit once more, smiling lopsidedly at Logan now.

“Of course,” Logan felt himself smile back, fondly watching Roman fiddle with the costume. He wanted him to keep talking.... “And you mentioned a book, correct?”

A spark jumped through Roman’s eyes and his face lit up. He clasped his hands on the tabletop, leaning forward as he did so. “My book! I don’t, oh, I don’t want to spoil too much, but it’s a murder mystery novel! I’m just working on the first draft and research right now but once it’s out, oh once it’s out!”

Logan didn’t want to press Roman for details but....a murder mystery novel? That was his one of his favorite genres. And, well. Was his life. “A murder mystery? I won’t ask you to spoil it, but I am excited to read it,” he pushed his glasses up, watching Roman’s face glow brighter.

“Oh, maybe I’ll tell you a little! There’s definitely romance involved, but the beautiful beau at the center of it all has no clue who to trust. Does he trust the dashing but stoic doctor, or the charmingly focused detective, or maybe the righteous journalist following him around? Oh, it’s the mystery of the century!” Roman laughed, excitement laced through his voice, and Logan found the laughter to be contagious.

“I’m excited for it,” he reiterated, unsure of what else to say.

Roman nodded energetically, now sliding his coat off. Something about the motions must have reminded him of the other pressing question in his mind, though, because his grin faltered for a second. It was up as quick as it went, however, and Roman asked “But what on earth were you doing searching about blood?”

The moment of truth. But Logan had long since become an expert at explaining that part of his life. He didn’t even have to draw in a breath, he just let his own giddiness ride itself out before answering. “It’s quite boring, compared to your story. All three of the searches were about work. I’m running a study on blood clotting agents at my lab. While I was the one bulk buying hydrogen peroxide and syringes, for the study, one of my graduate students was doing background research on, well. Blood.”

There was a bead of pause. Logan wasn’t nervous, no, but he could hear his own blood pumping. A quickened pulse meant nervousness. But he wasn’t nervous.

Roman was still looking out the window. For someone exuberantly animated, Logan thought, Roman was being very quiet at these revelations. He had an eyebrow quirked up as he seemed to watch the outside world. Logan couldn’t help but worry that Roman didn’t believe his story, but what wasn’t there to believe? It wasn’t an entire falsehood, only a few omitted details and one large fabrication. Did Logan not look like he’d run studies on blood?

“See, Professor Plum, you say that’s boring, but that honestly sounds quite fascinating.”

Logan blinked and watched Roman’s mouth curve into a small smile. He faced back towards Logan with a wide, supportive grin. “Blood clotting agents? For what, medical purposes? That sounds groundbreaking.”

Well — “Such a thing already exists, though in fairly unstable forms,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “We’re just working on, ah, making a less costly version.”

“Less costly? Like, the ingredients?”

“Precisely.”

Logan didn’t miss how Roman’s eyes widened, how they seemed to sparkle. Was that wonder? He hadn’t pegged Roman as the type to be so excited over scientific discoveries. “That sounds amazing! Really impressive, Logan,” his voice had a sort of breathlessness, was Roman really that impressed?

He seemed to catch himself, though. Roman leaned back and crossed his legs, the same Cheshire grin he’d been wearing all night returning to his face. “So you’re beautiful and a genius,” he hummed, voice as warm as his hands had been.

Logan couldn’t help but let out a breath as the rest of his face turned red at the praise. “I, well….thank you,” he also couldn’t help the little smile that grew on his face.

It fell in a second, though, when he realized Roman hadn’t disclosed all of his search reasons. “Wait. Why were you searching for syringes?”

And now it was Roman’s turn to turn red. A small laugh escaped his lips and his fingers drummed against his upper lip, a habit that did not escape Logan’s notice. “Well, it’s a long story. The summary is that I was trying to do that thing with flowers and food coloring, you know? I, ah….was trying to make a bouquet, and I needed a lot of syringes.”

Flowers and food coloring? “Can you elaborate? What do you mean, flowers and food coloring?”

Roman waved his hand now, a little dismissively. “Oh, t’was a bold dream. I’m not as good with precise measurements and such as you seem to be. There’s this thing you can do where, if you split the stem of a white rose, you can soak it in dyed water to change the color? You typically split up the stem and leave the different parts to soak in glasses with different colored water in them. I was trying to make a bouquet of rainbow flowers but, well….after a few days, it was clear that something had gone wrong. And after a week, I gave up on it.”

“You….you needed syringes. For that?”

Logan couldn’t help the incredulity that filled his tone. Roman gave him a tiny glare, shoulders hiking up — the way his brow furrowed, despite the evident frustration, was adorable. Logan didn’t expect this to be going so well, to be falling so hard for this dumbass, but it seemed he was still capable of being surprised. Roman…..wasn’t continuing, though. He just raised an eyebrow at Logan, face still stiff in a frown.

Was there some social cue Logan was missing? Was he supposed to know how to color roses? He shrugged. Surely he couldn’t expect that “I have never attempted to color roses, thus I am unaware.”

Roman kept watching him with a guarded expression, arms crossed around himself. Logan must have stepped out of line in some way. He had half a mind to apologize when Roman finally lowered his shoulders and cleared his throat. “No, no, you’re right. It….technically it wasn’t necessary.”

He’d bounced back fast. “But it was oh so fun. Almost like my own little experiment,” Roman smiled at him, “I like it when things are just perfect.”

“Of course, completely understandable,” Logan elected to not acknowledge Roman’s moment, “Did the roses turn out….okay?”

“They did! They were for Pride, of course, and they were beautiful!” Roman laughed.

And so they continued. Pride, homosexuality in the media, Star Wars movie theories, Star Wars versus Star Trek. Debates, bickering, insults with no bite behind them. It felt….

It felt like Logan was falling from a tall building. He’d never clicked so well with someone. And he certainly lost track of time.

“‘Scuse me, babes, but we’re closing!” Logan and Roman both turned towards the cafe’s desk, where the barista who had served the both of them was waving, “I’m gonna have to ask ya to leave!”

Logan checked his watch. Had they really talked for three hours? That must mean the planetarium was closed, too.

“Damn, well. We missed the planetarium,” Roman put his phone down and let out a breath, “I can’t say I’m too upset! It would have been lovely, of course, but I got to spend the night with an even more delightful star.”

He held out his phone towards Logan, whose ears were turning red with embarrassment. “I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime,” his voice was soft as Logan’s hand brushed over his to take the phone.

Logan felt himself smile downwards as he typed his information into Roman’s phone. “I would like that very much, Roman. Your company has been most enjoyable.”

“You, too, Spock.”

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aeyaverseproject · 5 years

Text

The Fear of Yesterday Interview Questions

these are my answers to the questions from @alexprompts WIP weekly event. thanks for featuring my wip!

SETTING:

Three main settings are mentioned in your post, being Soma, the Facility, and Purgatory. Can you give us a description of all three and the relevance to the story?

the majority of the story takes place on Soma. it’s a tropical island where travel is heavily restricted. whoever is running the show has done a good job of keeping the “zombie” thing a secret, so even most of the people who have gone there have been sworn to secrecy. Soma is part of Vafria, the country the story is set in. the only people that actually live on the island are scientists; military personnel can be seen all over the island as well. Soma is where the next two areas are located.

the Facility is an underground bunker/shelter. due to it being so unnecessarily extravagant, it is thought to be owned by someone rich and powerful. in the Facility are quite a few hallways. these lead to different rooms, including the ones the cast resides in while they are held there. there is also an upper level, which is where the two masterminds behind the deadly game are hanging out.

the most notable areas within the Facility are the Lobby, a circular room with a tall domed ceiling that mimics a skylight, and the Library, which is by far the most spacious room in the Facility.

Purgatory is another underground building. Purgatory is where Robin and the others are sent after they lose the game. it is crawling with the zombies (referred to as Infected in the story). Robin is initially under the impression that only children are down here, but that’s not quite the case.

even though it’s much larger than the Facility, most of the people sent there remain on the bottom floor indefinitely. while down there everyone is required to team up in groups to protect each other from the Infected and survive. there seems to be a way to get to the second floor, but going down that path is frowned upon.

every floor is like a labyrinth, consisting of many twists and turns. the people of Purgatory know their way around the first floor and have no problem teaching outsiders. the rest of the floors, however…yeah. they’ll have to learn as they go.

Purgatory has its own civilization that is hidden from the outside world. Robin can never really get used to the way things work down there.

Are there any other relevant settings?

one other relevant setting is Greenworth, Robin’s hometown. we won’t get to see much of it though, as it only appears briefly. there’s another location that’ll be shown near the very end, but i’m keeping that one a secret for now. :)

What do you draw your settings from? Your reality, imagination, a combination?

the Facility was inspired by some of the locations in the Zero Escape games and the whole tropical island idea was kind of inspired by Danganronpa 2.

Purgatory is mostly just drawn from my imagination. however, i watched a movie a few years ago (can’t remember the name) where a character mentioned an underground labyrinth that no one could escape and that really, really freaked me out. so that’s how that happened haha

CHARACTERS:

How does the main character, Robin, get caught up in the story you’re telling?

someone he trusts is about to start working on the island. this guy knew Robin and Marina’s parents when they were younger, and he also knows that they’re on Soma, as well. he never tells them how or why, but he is allowed to bring people with him. he already has the trust of Robin and Marina’s respective guardians, so they just kinda. let him do that. the people in Greenworth don’t know what’s going on on Soma, but they definitely didn’t expect it to be something like this.

after a tragic turn of events, Robin has no way to get home. things just go downhill from there.

What is the most important piece of character development you have written or planned so far?

so far, the most important piece of character development i have planned for the story has to do with some shared knowledge between Daphnis and Tiffiny. right now all i have is an overheard conversation between them, but it adds to the overall mystery of the story. without spoiling anything, i can say that they just know way too much. but they do use their knowledge to help their team out when they can.

Where do you choose your names from?

the character names so far have been mostly random. even One was random, to be honest. i don’t usually name the characters after anything or anyone in particular, and there’s no theme when it comes to names or anything. usually i’ll think of common names i’ve heard in the past, then if none of those work, i’ll think of japanese names i’ve heard.

however, Daphnis is an exception, here. i’m sure you’ve noticed his name is much different than the others’. i purposely named him after one of saturn’s moons, and i wasn’t sure why at first. but after looking through the plot in detail i’ve noticed that it fits very well. like eerily so. but that was a total coincidence.

STORY:

How do you plan?

when i first started this story, i didn’t have any plans, actually. over time i would type up any idea that came to mind and copy it to my notes later. eventually i had enough of those entries to start creating an outline. it’s not organized or anything, but it helps me keep the story in order.

Where did the inspiration for your story come from?

the Zero Escape series inspired this story, for sure. after i finished the trilogy, i decided i wanted to put my own spin on the whole deadly game thing.

THE FUTURE:

Do you plan sequels? If so, how many, and what will their connections/places in the universe be?

The Fear of Yesterday is part of a four-book series called Tomorrow’s Message! there is no direct sequel, but some of the characters in this book show up in the other entries. the other books are from the pov’s of two other characters in the series.

book two, The Door to Tomorrow, is the first half of book one told from Chuck’s perspective. it shows what really was going on in his head as well as his motives.

book three, Today and Forever, is about Joseph’s life (from his pov). it’ll reveal more of his involvement with this whole mess and how he feels about it. it’ll also showcase what’s really happening and why. as such, this book will answer a lot of the questions brought up in The Fear of Yesterday. there will be a detailed intrigue plot, a group of childhood friends, and lots more of that conspiracy stuff.

book four, New Century Endeavor, is told from Chuck’s pov once again. this focuses on his life after he’s come to terms with what he learned about himself in the Facility. this has almost nothing to do with the intrigue/conspiracy and is mostly about how his life gets totally derailed shortly after meeting a certain someone.

i’m currently trying to write the whole series at once. so far ive completed book two, which is actually quite short. this method is challenging and i’m not sure if i can recommend this kind of approach, but it’s fun connecting the stories together while they’re simultaneously being written.

Do you plan to publish? If so, what is your biggest goal in relation?

i plan to self-publish this series eventually. i’m not really sure what the goal is yet i just want a lot of people to enjoy my work.

If your story were to be turned into a movie, who would you want to play your main characters ideally?

well, i’d imagine it to be an anime-style movie. when i think of The Fear of Yesterday as a movie, i think of those netflix anime titles. so, i’d prefer for it to be a netflix movie, but a theatrical release would be cool, too. as for the cast, i… actually have no idea haha. but they’d be anime voice actors for sure.

#writing #alexprompts #alexpromptswipweekly #my wip #writeblr #tfoy

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fortunatelylori · 6 years

Note

What prophecies do you think will play out on the show? What will be the outcome and which character will the prophecy be about?

Hey, nonnie!

Hmmm … very interesting question. And a multi-layered one.

Of course the show will have to pay-off the prophecies it included from the books. Then there are prophecies that were not mentioned in the show but by the nature of revealing the endgame and by being ahead of the books, the show will either pay them off or at least give heavy hints for what they might be in the books. And then there are foreshadowing elements that aren’t really prophecies per se but serve a similar purpose in the narrative.

So let’s get started. Warning: this will get long.

Prophecies mentioned in the show

Azor Ahai

Melisandre: After the long summer, the darkness will fall heavy on the world. Stars will bleed. The cold breath of winter will freeze the seas and the Dead shall rise in the North. In the ancient books it’s written that a warrior shall draw a burning sword from the fire and that sword shall be Lightbringer.

This is very much in play, having been mentioned as recently as season 7 and I believe that by the end of season 8 we will have a definitive answer as to who and what Azor Ahai is.

I’ve talked about this before in this post. Here is an excerpt:

I think it’s far more likely that Azor Ahai is not a hero. He’s a villain and the elemental opposite to the Night King. R'hllor followers herald Azor Ahai’s second coming with such encouraging words as: “ he will bring an eternal summer” which sounds great if you worship fire but in reality an eternal summer is about as bad as an eternal winter. If the WWs unbalance the world by plunging it into night and winter, Azor Ahai is supposed not to bring balance back but to unbalance it in the opposite direction.

Considering the placement of Azor Ahai in complete opposition to the WW and the obsession with fire of the followers of R’hllor, I’d say that the best candidate for this position is one D*enerys Targareyen, which doesn’t sound surprising since many people theorize the same. The twist is that AA was never meant to be a hero but rather an antagonist. @trinuviel has a fantastic series regarding this topic and I would encourage you to read it. She goes into a lot more detail than I am able to provide.

One aspect of this prophecy that is not brought up in the show is Nissa Nissa:

To fight the darkness, Azor Ahai needed to forge a hero’s sword. He labored for thirty days and thirty nights until it was done. However, when he went to temper it in water, the sword broke. He was not one to give up easily, so he started over.

The second time he took fifty days and fifty nights to make the sword, even better than the first. To temper it this time, he captured a lion and drove the sword into its heart, but once more the steel shattered.

The third time, with a heavy heart, for he knew beforehand what he must do to finish the blade, he worked for a hundred days and nights until it was finished. This time, he called for his wife, Nissa Nissa, and asked her to bare her breast. He drove his sword into her living heart, her soul combining with the steel of the sword, creating Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

People have been speculating for years on who might be the Nissa Nissa in the story but because this isn’t mentioned in the show, I’m not really sure this will be paid off. However, considering Melisandre’s obsession with blood magic and human sacrifice, I think there’s a possibility that a candidate will arise. And in my opinion, that would probably be Mel herself. She foretold her own death in season 7 and because of the nature of her arc, the relation to fire, blood and magic I can see her as a willing human sacrifice for the glory of the prophesied hero.

However, since I don’t think she is interpreting the prophecy of Azor Ahai correctly and that AA is probably not the person that will end the Long Night, I don’t think this human sacrifice in the form of Nissa Nissa 2.0 will have an effect or at least not the desired one.

In the comments section of the post I linked above, @trinuviel brought forth the idea that the story of Nissa Nissa and Lightbringer is a metaphorical set of instructions on how to forge Valyrian steel. And I have to say that’s a very intriguing idea and one that sounds very plausible to me for several reasons:

1. Valyrian steel swords are already magical swords and we know they are effective against the WWs. What could a burning sword do that these other swords can’t?

2. The Valyrians were known to practice blood magic and it’s theorized that’s where the source of most of their power came from, including their bond with dragons.

3. GRRM has purposefully pointed to the mystery surrounding the forging of Valyrian steel in story several times. There must be a pretty big reason why he hasn’t revealed how these swords are forged.

The Younger More Beautiful Queen

Maggy the Frog: Oh, yes! You’ll be queen … For a time. Then comes another. Younger. More beautiful. To cast you down and take all you hold dear.

I believe the last time Cersei mentioned her encounter with Maggy the Frog was after Myrcella was killed. So this will be paid off in season 8.

I’ve made the argument in the past that Sansa is the younger, more beautiful queen that will cast Cersei down and take all that she holds dear:

Sansa has been intimately involved in all of Cersei’s tragedies even though she is not directly responsible. She was the one that carried the poison that killed Jofferey, the war with her brother is the reason why Myrcella was sent to Dorne, Jofferey’s death leads to Tommen becoming king and eventually killing himself. And, by the end of this series, Sansa might end up as queen of the Seven Kingdoms effectively replacing Cersei.

It isn’t that Sansa is directly responsible for what happens to Cersei but that she ends up taking everything from her in a way that no one could have predicted unless you look back at the events.

There is an aspect of this prophecy that isn’t mentioned but I think will be paid off as well:

And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.

I honestly have no idea why they chose not to include this in the show since it’s part of the same conversation as the younger, more beautiful queen. They might bring it up in season 8 through another flash-back and I think that they should. Either way, I’m pretty sure we will find out who the valonqar is.

I’ve made an argument for Jaime because I think it will be a fitting end to their story and because of what Cersei told Ned about her and Jaime back in season 1:

Cersei: Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We shared a womb. We came into this world together. We belong together.

And by that logic … they will die together. Or at least one will be the end to the other.

The Prince that was Promised

Melisandre: You should kneel before your brother. He’s the lord’s chosen. Born amidst salt and smoke.

This is a dicey one because it’s only brought up by Mel as an interchangeable title for Azor Ahai.

In the books, however, the PTWP is also brought up in relation to Rhaegar and his prophecy fulfilling quest. When D*ny visits the House of the Undying, she has a vision of her brother holding his infant son, Aegon, by Elia Martell and saying this:

Rhaegar: Aegon. What better name for a king?

Elia: Will you make a song for him?

Rhaegar: He has a song. He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.

From what we know at this time, Rhaegar never brings up the Azor Ahai prophecy and we don’t know that much about the PTWP. But I tend to think these two aren’t related.

I believe the PTWP is Jon. His is the only story that is linked to both fire and ice. He is the literal product of the song of ice and fire (the son of a Targareyen and a Stark) and his story is connected to both ice and fire through out. He fights against Ice in the form of the White Walkers and he encounters both the false Azor Ahai (Stannis) and now D*ny, who is the person associated the most with fire in the series. If the Dance of Dragons 2.0 and dark D*ny theories become canon, his song of ice and fire would be his titular role in both these great wars that are about to visit Westeros. He also has “salt and smoke” imagery associated with his death (and subsequent resurrection).

So I tend to see the PTWP and AA as actually being ultimate adversaries.

What I’m doubting at the moment is whether or not the show will bother differentiating between these two. I do think that by confirming Dark D*ny and the Dance of Dragons 2.0, they will essentially pay off this prophecy but I’m not sure they’ll signal the distinction.

That’s about it on the show-included prophecies, I think.

Prophecies not mentioned in the show

The Last Hero

Legends of the north state the last hero and his companions went in search of the children of the forest during the Long Night, thousands of years ago. The only survivor of the company after attacks from giants, wights, and Others, the last hero eventually reached the children and gained their assistance. The Night’s Watch then formed and won the Battle for the Dawn. This ended the generation-long winter and sent the Others into retreat, possibly to the Land of Always Winter. The fate of the last hero is unknown

One could make an argument that this is not a prophecy but rather a story but because the Battle for the Dawn 2.0 is fast approaching, this story/prophecy will most likely be paid off in season 8.

If anyone is destined to be the hero to save the world from the Long Night that character is Bran Stark and his story is linked to the legend of the Last Hero, who is also identified as Bran the Builder. This connection is not fully established yet but I believe the characters of the Last Hero and Bran the Builder to be one and the same.

Bran is the Three Eyed Raven, he’s traveled to the Lands of Always Winter and reached the children of the forest. That’s enough evidence for me to assume that his role in season 8 and the defeat of the WWs will pay off the Legend of the Last Hero. Incidentally, Bran the Builder is mentioned in relation to our Bran by Maester Luwin in season 1.

We might also get a pay off for how the Wall and Winterfell were actually built although I do think part of this story will remain a mystery that will most likely be tackled in the Long Night prequel.

D*ny’s prophecies in the House of the Undying

… mother of dragons, daughter of death …

… mother of dragons, slayer of lies …

… mother of dragons, bride of fire …

Essentially, I believe all of these will be paid off by the Dark D*ny reveal.

three fires must you light… one for life and one for death and one to love… three mounts must you ride… one to bed and one to dread and one to love… three treasons will you know… once for blood and once for gold and once for love…

I think it was a huge mistake for the show not to include the 3 treasons prophecy in D*ny’s storyline, particularly since they included Cersei’s Younger More Beautiful Queen one. Because the three treasons prophecy works on D*ny’s psyche much in the same way it does on Cersei’s.

They both become increasingly paranoid and obsessed with these ominous predictions and are actively on the look-out for potential candidates.

However I think the pol!jon reveal will resolve the 3rd treason aspect of the prophecy as well as this:

A blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice, filling the air with sweetness.

A great stone beast takes wing from a smoking tower, breathing shadows.

Between the parentage reveal and Political Jon, her lover turned nephew, Jon Snow, will turn from the flower that fills the air with sweetness into the great stone beast that will oppose her.

There’s also a case to be made that the three treasons are actually treasons D*ny commits against other people, as @thelawyerthatwaspromised has detailed on her blog. And by going to war with Jon and potentially turning her back on the fight with the WWs, D*ny would essentially become a betrayer.

So either way, I think we’ll have a much clearer picture of these prophecies by the end of the show.

The dragon must have three heads

This is the continuation of the Rhaegar vision D*ny sees in the House of the Undying.

Rhaegar: He has a song. He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire. There must be one more. The dragon has three heads.

We don’t know much of anything about what this means or how Rhaegar thought it would link to the PTWP prophecy. I wouldn’t have included it, to be honest, if it wasn’t for the Crypts of Winterfell teaser and the staging of Jon/Arya/Sansa as a play on the original three heads of the dragon Aegon/Visenya/Rhaenys. In a previous post I said this:

The “Dragon must have 3 heads” is generally considered the reason why Rhaegar started his relationship with Lyanna and the main reason why Jon was even born. Details on this prophecy are foggy but the theory goes that at some point Rhaegar became convinced that his three children would be instrumental in saving the world and because Elia Martell was unable to bare another child after her two pregnancies, he went after teenage Lyanna Stark, thus looking to fulfill yet another prophecy: that of the Prince that was Promised whose song is the song of ice and fire.

In trying to fulfill it, Rhaegar named his children after the 3 original Targs that conquered Westeros: Elia gave him an Aegon and a Rhaenys so he went in search of his Visenya. Clearly he failed, because instead of a girl, he got a boy.

However, as GRRM points out through out his story, prophecies are tricky and the more you go out of your way to fulfill them, the more blunders you’re bound to commit. That doesn’t mean there isn’t some value to it but it will most likely come to pass in a way that you did not expect.

It makes you wonder just what the “3 heads of the dragon” might actually be about. Everyone tends to think that this prophecy is linked to the war with the WWs. However, by introducing Sansa into the mix, it changes things a bit …

What if the “Dragon must have 3 heads” prophecy isn’t related to the War of the Dawn at all but rather to the Dance of Dragons 2.0? Because in that war, Sansa would truly be instrumental: by making Jon a Stark, because of her political expertise and her strategic connections all over Westeros. So instead of creating the ultimate Targ team to face off against the apocalypse, Rhaegar not only brought down his father’s dynasty and his own in Robert’s rebellion but also created the circumstances by which, years later, his son would face off against the last scion of House Targareyen and bring about the demise of all living dragons.

While this could simply remain something that will be inferred by the way season 8 plays out, I think there’s a case to be made that we will actually get more insight here via flash-backs of Rhaegar/Lyanna.

I think it’s also possible that through these flashbacks we will find out more about the situation surrounding the abduction of Lyanna, more insight into the year they spent in the Tower of Joy and even perhaps the name that Rhaegar whispered as he lay dying on the Trident.

The Lannister gold prophecy

The wealth of the westerlands was matched, in ancient times, with the hunger of the Freehold of Valyria for precious metals, yet there seems no evidence that the dragonlords ever made contact with the lords of the Rock, Casterly or Lannister. Septon Barth speculated on the matter, referring to a Valyrian text that has since been lost, suggesting that the Freehold’s sorcerers foretold that the gold of Casterly Rock would destroy them.

This is a very obscure prophecy and I haven’t seen many people discuss it. The few that I have seen talk about this link it to the Lannister’s long lost Valyrian steel sword, Brightroar. The Valyrians, fearing this prophecy Septon Barth mentions, always refused to sell the Lannisters a sword but they managed to get their hands on one by other means:

Brightroar came into the possession of the Lannister kings in the century before the Doom of Valyria, and it is said that the weight of gold they paid for it would have been enough to raise an army.

So people speculate that it was the purchasing of this sword that lead up to the Doom of Valyria. However, I don’t really see this as a possibility because GRRM never really plays prophecies this straight.

However, one thing we do know is going to happen in season 8 is that Cersei will be acquiring the Golden Company, whose banner is simple golden cloth. She will also be paying for it with what can be described as Lannister gold.

Also since the show didn’t include the Young Griff story line, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that the GC is leaded by Jon Connington, one of Rhaegar’s best buddies and also the guy who was in love with him.

So if let’s say the GC would decide to join Jon’s forces against D*ny during the Dance of Dragons, a case can be made that Lannister Gold did in fact bring about the ultimate doom of Valyria, by killing off its last real member and putting an end to the dragons.

Then there are a few prophecies that I believe have already been paid off.

The mummer’s dragon

A cloth dragon sways on poles amidst a cheering crowd.

By essentially removing the Young Griff from the story line completely, I think the show has revealed that this young man is not Aegon Targareyen but a pretender whose lie, and life, D*ny will slay in the books.

The girl in grey prophecy

I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.

I think everyone in the Jonsa fandom can agree that the girl in grey is in effect Sansa Stark and she will flee her marriage to Harry Hardyng and join Jon at the wall.

The show had Sansa fleeing her marriage to Ramsay and reaching the wall where she was reunited with a recently resurrected Jon. She was also wearing grey which is I think the show’s way of linking back to this prophecy in the books.

The Ghost of High Heart prophecies

In case anyone is not familiar with who the Ghost of High Heart is, she’s a dwarfish, albino woman who was reputed to be a woods witch in the Riverlands. Arya and the brotherhood without banners camp overnight at High Heart, to meet with the ghost to hear her tell the future, and to learn the whereabouts of Beric.

She accurately predicts a few things that have happened in both books and show. In addition, there are also these:

I dreamt of a man without a face, waiting on a bridge that swayed and swung

In the books, this is Euron hiring a Faceless Man (and potentially paying for his services with a dragon egg) to kill his brother, Balon Greyjoy, the King of the Iron Islands. In the show Euron does the deed himself, on a bridge that swayed and swung.

I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.

This is generally believed to be about Sansa because of the poisoned hairnet she wears in her hair that eventually kills Jofferey. I’d argue that by ordering the death of Littlefinger in Winterfell (a castle in the North where there’s a lot of snow), the show has paid off the later part of this prophecy.

She also says this directly to Arya:

I see you. I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death … You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel. I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart. Begone!

This could be nothing but the woman noticing Arya’s increasing violence and tendency towards killing but because she mentions Summerhall it’s speculated that she is referring to a future and particularly bloody event Arya will participate in. Assuming that, I would say the show has already paid that off when Arya killed off all the Freys in an act of mass murder.

This is a bit dubious, though, because of the fact that Lady Stoneheart has been cut from the show. It’s likely that it will be LS that kills off the Freys in the books and the show simply gave that particular plot point to Arya.

That doesn’t eliminate the possibility that the Ghost of High Heart is potentially referring to a future Summerhall-like event Arya will be involved in and if that is the case I fully expect the show to include it.

And finally we have what are essentially sayings that are mentioned frequently in the show but because of their implications they act like prophecy in the sense that they foreshadow future events but not in a clear cut way.

The Long Night

Melisandre: For the night is dark and full of terrors.

This is pretty self-explanatory. We’ve been told that when the WWs first came 8000 years ago, they brought a night and a winter that lasted a generation. So the WWs are back at it and are going to bring darkness and terror.

We should start preparing ourselves for at least 3 episodes of almost exclusive night time scenes. This is also supported by the actors saying that they had about 40 days worth of night time shootings which is an incredibly long time for that sort of thing.

When a Targeryen is born, the Gods flip a coin

This is obviously a saying that came about in reference to the Targeryens being or going mad more often than not.

However, at this point in the story, we have only two Targeryens left so the duality of a coin flip becomes foreshadowing for Jon and D*ny as foils.

I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come

This has only been uttered in show by adversaries, first in the Stannis/Mance conversation prior to Mance being burned alive and then in the Ned/Arthur Dane flashback. The third instance is in the Jon/D*ny good-bye scene. I don’t know about anyone else but this indicated to me … Dance of Dragons 2.0.

Sansa’s red comet prediction

The morning of King Joffrey’s name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. “What do you think it means?” she asked him.

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. “I’ve heard servants calling it the Dragon’s Tail.”

“King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son,” Ser Arys said. “He is the dragon’s heir - and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey’s ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies.”

Yeah, Jofferey wasn’t and he didn’t. If only there was a guy in this story who was the dragon’s heir and whose birth name the show incidentally spoiled as being Aegon. Glory to that guy! And to his queen!

Suffice it to say I think we will get the pay off from this scene in the form of Jonsa.

Just a small addendum before I finish: A Song of Ice and Fire is littered with prophecies, prophetic dreams, cryptic messages that can be interpreted to signal future events, etc. I probably missed a lot of them. So if there’s something you want to add here please do.

Thanks for the ask, nonnie!

#game of thrones season 8 speculation #got prophecy #jonsa #sansa stark #jon snow #anti-daenerys #arya stark #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #jaime x cersei #got speculation

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lanasaved · 5 years

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cue me, clanking noisily at a nearby manhole as i attempt to scrabble my way bk out of the sewer like the stinky little rat tht i am. enchanté, ghouls! some of u might remember me (nai/from manchester so i pronounce things like a gallagher brother n i’m profusely sry abt it) bt if nt i hd to drop off the face of the Earth rp wise fr a hot minute there bt now im bk n i couldn’t resist reviving lana so???? here we r. u kno the drill more abt her under the cut!!

( cis-female ) haven’t seen LANA JAMESON around in a while. the KRISTINE FROSETH lookalike has been known to be (+) VIVACIOUS & (+) ALLURING, but SHE can also be (-) UNRELIABLE & (-) CARELESS. The 22 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in BALLET. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nai. 22. gmt. she/ha/the beast from split. )

some random aesthetics: a red water pistol topped up with caribbean rum and covered in stickers of cartoon pin up girls, a vinyl record whirring silently because you got too distracted by a stranger’s hands to reach over and flip sides, giant inflatable flamingos floating in the aftermath of a pool party, smudgy lipstick kisses left like an autograph on someone else’s mirror

SO i think in terms of explainin where she’s been fr the past month i’m gna say tht she didn’t rly.... tell a lot of ppl??? probably only a select few bt to others im guessin she was pretty vague bc she hates discussin anythin serious/personal. anyway essentially she’s been back @ home helpin her brother out n i won’t elaborate much more bc im a thot

frm this point on ive jst pasted her old intro bc im the laziest woman alive n that’s jst life Babey

she’s local to the ny area i jst havent decided where exactly she grew up tbh. probably somewhere upstate

okay so her mum is an old money socialite / three time campaign model way back when n her dad is a big record label mogul. he owns a label called jameson records n they repped a few rly big rock bands back in the eighties, altho they’re mostly known for ‘poppy injects’ whose lead singer had a big heroin scandal tht brought down his career. lana p much grew up around musicians snorting lines instead of spooning down cereal fr breakfast n her parents were v much absent her whole life

they’re pretty well off obviously n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst.... a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pastel coloured fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her. it was v clear that she was an accident after her older brother caleb n that even when they just had him alone they weren’t cut out for parenthood. they always kind of jst… ignored her n hoped she’d go away. she had to mke herself microwave meals when she ws only like 12 bc they’d forget to get her anything. once she went like 6 days without her mum even looking her in the eyes once

despite this tho!!! she’s always been insanely close w her brother caleb. he’s her whole world. thts why when he decided to sign up to the army she ws understandably scared bt supported him regardless. bt then he wound up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed his best friend die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home n he was never the same n lana kind of felt like he’d died out there too. he’s in n out of hospital a lot n it’s rly hard on her bt she doesn’t tlk abt it to anyone rly

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. jst literally…. knew everyone n everyone definitely knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character

she’s always been insatiably spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

anyway so after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. in fact she’s so… shameless in her endeavours tht she’s actually currently having an affair w her ballet instructor tanya who’s engaged to b married

she also currently? is working as a cam girl. she found this website bc she trawls… porn stuff a lot n she wound up applying to work as one bc she thought it’d b fun n wld earn her some disposal income (even tho she frankly doesn’t need it bc she’s already well off). the guy tht manages all of the girls on the site is kind of suspect n it’s a whole plot i’m gna unravel where it’s actually like the front for a cult or something wild so. stay posted ig. kgjdkgjh

new development!!!!!!!! cue me trottin around doin jazz hands. she’s actually been cut off by her dad so she’s….. living off the money she has left n has to look to find a job which is jst. a nightmare fr someone like lana bc she’s insatiably irresponsible n destined to be fired from anything she tries to hold down bt. it’ll be interesting bc this means she genuinely has to keep on camming even tho she’s starting not to want to any more bc of other circumstances i won’t elaborate on jst yet winks

personality/some fun facts: uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. her fav book as a child used to b alice in wonderland n she’d fantasise abt having her own little wonderland too where everyone knew her name n asked her things n took her on adventures. at the time it didn’t rly strike her how evident it was tht that was bc she was so lonely. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s strawberry laces or gummy bears or cherry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. wildflowers r her favourites bc they’re the brightest and u can’t buy them. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

plot ideas: exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. let’s get wildt!

#water:intro #inhales a deep breath before slappin down these tws #theyr all only briefly touched upon / vague bt! jst to be sure #rape tw #statutory rape tw #abuse tw #ptsd tw #hospitalisation tw #hypersexuality tw #death tw #mental illness tw #drugs tw #also im literally 2 lazy to finish doin her blog so if u click on the pages n r shocked by the barren findings then i jst. i jst dnt kno #wht to tell u

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yukheii · 6 years

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first loves

× genre and warnings :: husband!yoongi + wife!reader, married au, parents au, fluff, mentions of min holly [gif cr.]

× notes :: refer to this post to read more abt min yeona (my oc mini min); this was a combination of two requests that were originally for reactions/scenarios, but i thought it worked better like this

× précis :: five times min yoongi learns to fall in lover all over again

i. first messes

Yoongi should have known better, but in his defense, he didn’t think anything this catastrophic could have happened in the two minutes he had slipped away to the bathroom.

But as he stands in the doorway leading to the kitchen, he finds at least thirteen things wrong with the picture in front of him; at least ten of which could have been prevented if he could hold his bladder better.

“Baby girl,” he starts slowly, stepping over a puddle of—is that an egg? “What happened?”

The four-year-old sits on the tiled floor, covered head to toe in a mixture of strawberries, bananas, yogurt, flour, and orange juice, with something with an uncomfortable, sticky-looking texture stuck between her fingers. Yeona points to the counter top and Yoongi turns to find the root, or at least one of the roots of the many issues: an uncovered blender and open carton of eggs.

He blinks before turning back to the child on the ground. She looks down at the messy floor—and Yoongi knows that pout like the back of his hand.

He sighs, crouching down to her level and pushing her dirty hair out of her face, “It’s okay, baby, it was an honest mistake.”

But her disappointed resolve doesn’t fade away at her father’s words, “I messed up mama’s breakfast.”

“Hey, no you didn’t,” he says, encouraging her to stand to her feet, “Do you know how many times your Uncle Jimin and Taehyung have done this before?”

That gets her laugh, the image of her uncles fumbling around a kitchen amusing. “Uncle Chim is really clumsy, dad.”

“He sure is,” Yoongi agrees, “It’s my fault, too, baby. I should have been there to help you.”

“No! You didn’t do anything wrong, daddy!” She exclaims, dark eyes going wide at Yoongi’s self-accusation.

“How about this then: I won’t blame myself if you won’t,” Yoongi extends a pinky finger, “Deal?”

Missing teeth and gums beam at him as a small pinky is linked with his. Yoongi nods, “Come on, let’s get you and the kitchen cleaned up before mom gets home, yeah?”

ii. first kisses

Yoongi would never admit it, but Yeona definitely got her possessive side from him. She was a carbon copy of her father when tired; shamelessly clingy and in need of your undivided care. Yoongi usually relished in the unabashed attention from his daughter, except when she used her pre-napping phase to stake her claim over you.

He comes home from work to find you and a six-month-old Yeona laying on the couch, and her new favorite Disney movie on the month on the television. Yoongi leans downwards to give you a kiss, but is instead met with a small, chubby hand to his lips.

He blinks his eyes open, stunned to see that his kiss was intercepted by none other than his own daughter. And that you had the audacity to find it funny.

“Oh?” He raises a dark eyebrow before tugging his lips into a smirk. He leans past her barrier, kissing your cheek with a sorry-not-sorry look in his eyes.

And Yeona goes ballistic. Her nose scrunches in an all too familiar manner, bottom lip protruding noticeably and muffled growls leaving her mouth.

She shimmies her way up your chest, grabs your face between tiny fingers, and presses a wet kiss just below your bottom lip.

Yoongi laughs wholeheartedly, but he has to hand it to her when she mimics his glare: all’s fair in love and war.

iii. first unscheduled checkup

“Okay, hyung, don’t freak out, but me and Namjoon are at the hospital with Yeona right now—don’t freak out—because there was a little incident—don’t freak out—but she’s gonna be okay, so don’t freak—”

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate you with my own two hands, Hoseok.”

“So you’re mad. Understandable,” Hoseok says, wincing away from the phone when Yoongi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and then you better fucking hope she’s okay, or I’ll have your heads.”

Hoseok eyes Namjoon with his bottom lip between his teeth. They were so screwed. “Funny story, actually, so, we think Yeona might be allergic to nuts.”

“Might be?”

“Yeah, so—um, actually, I’m going to let Namjoon, explain,” Hoseok hurries, handing the phone to Namjoon.

He tries to reject, but sighs when the device is shoved into his hands. Reluctantly, he brings it to his ear, taking a deep breath, but Yoongi speaks before he can, “Save it. Just text me the name of the hospital and pray I don’t murder you when I get there.”

Twenty minutes and a few run red lights later, Yoongi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric floor. He doesn’t care about the old woman at reception yelling about no running in the halls, or the other parents eyeing him for marching past the waiting room like he owned the place. His baby was in there somewhere and he was going to get to her.

“Yeo—oh, my baby,” Yoongi coos, frantic as he comes to the side of the hospital bed, stroking the girl’s face. Angry red bumps litter her neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and her mouth looks irritated, but Yoongi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay.

“I’m fine, daddy,” she smiles with swollen lips, “Uncle Hoseokie ran with me all the way here when I started itchin’.”

“I know baby, daddy was just worried about you,” Yoongi nods, cradling her head with tears threatening to fall, “How do feel? Does anything hurt? Is your throat okay, love?”

She nods, cubby cheeks lifted as she beams and tells him she’s okay, “They gave me a shot though, but I was a big girl and I didn’t cry at all! Uncle Namjoonie was there, he saw!”

Yoongi smiles back and kisses her head, “My brave little girl.”

He’d forgotten that Hoseok and Namjoon were there until he hears an awkward cough from the corner of the room. “We’re sorry, we didn’t know,” Hoseok apologies, “And when she started coughing and said she couldn’t breathe we didn’t know what was wrong, and I swear I ran here as fast as I could to—”

Yoongi sighs, “It’s fine, Hoseok, I didn’t know either. We’ve had peanuts around the house forever and she’s never reacted to it.”

“The doctor said she’s allergic to tree nuts,” Namjoon speaks, “We gave her pistachio ice cream, that’s why she had a reaction to it.”

Yoongi nods, making a mental note to get rid of anything pistachio flavored within a mile radius of his house. Tree nuts were stupid anyway.

“They gave me this pretty bracelet, daddy, look!” Yeona interjects, flashing the sliver bracelet to signal her allergies. Yoongi smiles, “It’s beautiful, baby. I’ll get you one in every color to match all your outfits, okay?”

“Uh, hyung?” Hoseok calls, pulling Yoongi’s attention away from her, “You should probably call ____.”

Too caught up in his rush to the hospital, Yoongi hadn’t been thinking of anyone or anything besides his potentially dying daughter. His face pales three shades when he realizes he hasn’t so much as texted you to tell you that your child was currently hospitalized with a newfound allergy to tree nuts; something a mother should probably (definitely) know about.

“Oh no,” Yoongi shakes his head, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

“Is mama gonna be mad?” Yeona asks, looking up at her father.

“Not at you baby,” Yoongi shakes his head, “But say a prayer for your uncles.”

iv. first time away from home

Comeback season sucks. Performing is fun, but the awards don’t make up for the constant traveling, endless recording, and repetitive interviews; and to top off the shitshow, they’re promoting in Japan for the first time in three years, which means Yoongi doesn’t get to see you or his precious daughter for almost a month.

He’s frustrated with everyone and doesn’t have it in him to be around too many people, so the second they’re finished recording for the day, he makes a beeline for his hotel room, locks the door, chucks his phone on the desk, kicks off his shoes, and plops the fuck down on the bed.

Comeback season really fucking sucks.

Everywhere he goes, he thinks of you two. From the food to the buildings, he finds something he’d think you and Yeona would like. And he thinks of how much more he’d enjoy being here if he had you two by his side.

When he’s finally started to doze off to rid himself of missing you two too much, his phone starts vibrating, multiple text messages coming to his attention. He groans, rolling over to grab the phone. It was probably the maknaes, they’d said something about wanting to go out to dinner to celebrate their latest win, but Yoongi just wanted to sleep.

He picks up his phone, thumb already hovering over the power button to turn it off, when the notifications catch his eye. It’s in fact, not the maknaes blowing up his phone, but you, instead.

His resolve washing away, he presses his thumb to the home button to unlock it and reveal the messages. When he opens them, an immediate smile tugs at his lips.

A video of you, Holly, and his baby girl, all wearing matching outfits and smiles.

“Okay, are you ready to film the video for daddy?” you say, readjusting the angle so that Yeona can be seen. She nods excitedly, petting Holly before speaking, “We hope you’re having fun, daddy! We miss you!”

Holly barks as if to say he agrees. Yoongi’s on the brink of tears.

“Good luck with promotions!” you chime in, “We love you!”

“Daddy’s in Japan, right?” Yeona asks, looking up at you. You nod and her face lights up and she takes the phone from you, holding the camera close to her face, “Oh, bring back mochi for me and Holly, daddy!”

“What’s the magic word?” you scold lightly from off-screen.

“Please bring back strawberry mochi,” she repeats, then whispers, “It’s not really for Holly, it’s secretly all for me, but don’t tell mommy. Bye!”

Yoongi chuckles as the video comes to an end, and saves it to his camera roll. He sends you back hearts before falling back on the bed with his head to a pillow, and slips into sleep with a genuine smile on his lips.

Comeback seasons sucks, but coming home to you guys is going to feel really great.

v. first steps

Yoongi is alone with her when she takes her first steps (and you’re a little pissed that you’ve missed such an occasion due to work, but are nonetheless happy and proud of your baby girl).

A soft thud grabs Yoongi’s attention, pulling him away from his morning newspaper and drawing his attention to the baby sat on the carpet a few feet in from of him. She giggles after stumbling to the ground again, all gum. Yoongi laughs with her.

She’s been determined to learn to how to walk these past few days, and while Yoongi was in full support of her efforts, he was beginning to wonder if her bottom would bruise.

The eleven month old stares at the base of her father’s leg, eyeing the brown plush Shooky next to it. She makes grabby hands and leans forward. Yoongi glances between the babe and the pillow, smiles with a raised eyebrow, and picks it up.

He waves it in his hand, and Yeona looks up at him, eyes full, dark, and determined—challenged accepted.

She shifts to all fours, pushing her body up with her stands and steadies herself on both feet. She wobbles, nearly toppling over, but manages to lift one leg in front of the other to take a small step. She wavers, left foot in front of right; she looks to her chubby feet, then the doll in her dad’s hand.

Yoongi shakes the plush again, egging her on, and with a focused nose scrunch, Yeona takes another step, and another, and another. And a few more before she becomes wobbly at his feet, and he swoops her in his arms before she hits the carpet again.

He sits her on his lap and gives her the pillow as a reward. Yoongi kisses her cheek and she seems to clap at her own accomplishment, “That’s my baby girl.”

#bangtannet #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts fake texts #bts dad au #bts smut #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #m:yoongi #au:dad #c:p&p

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Thank you again and still for all the help and support! I really truly can not imagine making it through the past couple days without it, considering I spent most of it awake and in the bathroom puking from the constant migraines that come with your head not being happy about its bones not being in the right place. Stress aggravates them, or at least my awareness of them, and because of how little work there is currently and how expensive being broke and disabled in LA is, let’s just say, there’s been stress, lol.

I’m feeling a bit better today, or at least I’m making myself pretend that and act like that since I’ve got another appointment at that clinic where I get my juicy and tasty IV bags of nutrients pumped into me since I barely even CAN eat, physically, which combined with the lack of sleep and the nausea, like, also not a great combination.

So, I mean it when I say your donations and support have absolutely been invaluable, everything from a couple dollars to an anonymous message, like, its all amazing and appreciated and invaluable. Yeah. I already said that, whoops, anyway, BUT I DIGRESS.

That’s about all of an update I have there, lol, so in other news, I should be around more today since like I said, I’m feeling a bit better and have possibly plateau-ed on this latest pain level. (My super-annoying superpower....ever since I was a kid I’ve been able to adapt to increases in pain like a pro. As in, being able to manage/function despite it. Course, I still feel it, but give me a day or two to adjust to a new norm in how much my body hates me currently, and then I can power through).

So, like I said, I should be around more today, and I’ll probably be random as hell. Like I’ve mentioned before, my blog is where I spew literally everything from inane thoughts to fandom feels, since its like.....my only social outlet these past couple years and the only way I get to interact with people who aren’t doctors. Expect no pattern in topics until I find whatever sticks and keeps me focused on it enough to serve as a distraction from, y’know, the broke body and broke bank account.

SO! Absolutely feel free to hit me up about anything and everything. ESPECIALLY if you’ve made a donation or sent me something. Like, I know some people who have sent money don’t even follow me or know me at all and are just generous spirits who saw my post somewhere, but for any of you who have sent any kind of support just cuz you like, like me and my rambles, lol, totally feel free to drop into my messages even on anon and say what kind of posts or content from me you really engage with and would love to see more of. I can’t make any promises or guarantees, unfortunately, given I didn’t expect or plan on crashing so hard these last couple days, bleh, and just....literally, like, writing more of the kind of stuff or posts people who have helped me stay alive is pretty much the only way I have of kinda giving at least something back, so I mean, I am happy to pounce on anything in that direction.

Again, just can’t make any guarantees given how unpredictable my life is and depending on how many people send requests or prompts or messages, etc, but I don’t delete anything of that nature and I usually get back around to stuff EVENTUALLY. For instance, I’m REALLY hoping to finish up two one-shots today, one that’s focused on Duke, Dick and Cass from that prompt you sent me a couple weeks ago, @zee-gee, and the other uh.....that umm, TW/X-Men fusion you commissioned way longer ago than my pride will allow me to admit in public @camelotpark, lol. And like, those posts you see me making to @russianspacegeckosexparty about the changelings project I talk about a lot, like.....Adam basically just sends me random thoughts and prompts about it all the time, and its like a running thread that’s easy for me to pick back up and sink into whenever I see a new one in my inbox and I’ve got enough spoons at the moment to dig in.

Also have a couple other things I want to respond to today while I have the energy and a destined-to-be-longer-than-it-needs-to-be meta about Dick’s positioning in narratives with various other characters and WHY I think it so usually works out that way, and I’m aiming to keep that more like....musing-esque than rant-errific, but uh, let’s see how that actually goes, lmfao.

Anyway, that’s what I have in mind for today, aside from my going to get my IV buffet at ten and emailing and calling people from listings about rooms to rent, but tbh, I might just end up being even more random and sporadic than usual, if I can’t focus on any of those long enough to stay sufficiently distracted today. (Like, my other annoying superpower as long-time followers have heard before, is my ridiculously fast metabolism. I know, “oh no, I’m so skinny, poor me,” but like....its never been about weight gain or loss for me, its about how fast my body processes various medications, meaning pretty much every painkiller I’ve ever tried is largely useless to me, or at most wears off in a couple hours.....whereas my ADHD meds actually provide me MORE relief from the pain than any of them. Basically, they let me actually focus on something OTHER than pain and not get interrupted/distracted by the occasional pain spike that likes to remind me its there and wants my attention......so I mean, I still feel everything that comes with my head being physically out of whack, but for the hours vyvanse is working for me, coupled with some heavy duty pain meds, I can like.....just sorta....not care about it for awhile. Like, it hasn’t gone away but its more shoved to the back of my mind at least. And all of that, I’m happy to stuff in a closet whenever I can, lol).

And that’s enough rambles for this post, I think. LOLOLOL, as if I have a quota. But yeah. Just wanted to express how much your support has meant and continues to mean, and like.....I’m still here and alive and crossing fingers that I’ll hear about an actual surgery date soon, but in the meanwhile like......I’m kinda stuck in a perpetual Limbo, one that’s largely confined to whatever is in hobbling distance from my bed of the day, and as much as donations help me physically, in remaining able to at least stay that way, just, any and all interactions on here help by keeping me engaged with the world on at least some level, and make it so I have stuff to think or talk about beyond my own situation and how I’m not a super huge fan of that.

(Okay, I shouldn’t say any and ALL interactions are appreciated, since I have my fun little runs of anon hate in my inbox, but I mean, all of the above is why they’re not really a big deal to me and never have been. Its like, dude, my own body has been trying to take me out for the past three years, and you think a few insults from an anonymous stranger are gonna do the trick? LOLOL, please. Tbh, the only real negative effect anon hate has on me is that it makes me a bit more snappish and quick to assume the worst than I’d like, when people @ me in a way that I misread as aggressive or in bad faith. I’m aware that my day-to-day temperment is a lot more irritable and open to fights than I usually like to be, as self-control is kinda a big deal to me, and my situation and stress and other shit kinda keep me constantly operating at a level best described as itchy, and none of that is an excuse for any times I read an interaction wrong and go for the throat. I just mean like.....I’m a very blunt and straight-forward person, and I do appreciate when people take a similar approach to me as it really helps keep those misreads to a minimum. Any time someone wants to engage with me in some way, I promise I am SO much easier to talk to if you just....put it out there, whatever it is. Its the games people play online (and in real life) that just frustrate the hell out of me and...yeah. Again, I’m not saying any of that as an excuse or a request for a free pass any time I fuck up an interaction or cross a line, I’m just saying, if anyone’s held back on interacting with me because they think I might snap at them or mistake it for them trying to start a fight, like......just be direct with me. Honestly, thats just....always gonna be more productive when it comes to me.)

But yeah. So that’s the current state of me and all that jazz. Again, I so appreciate everything everyone’s done to support me, not just these past couple days but over the course of these past three years as well. I notice and remember all of it, and its why even though I rant and complain and am critical about so much in society and fandoms and all that.....I really truly am a believer in the idea that there’s more good in people and the world than bad, and the bad just tends to be louder is all. It was especially loud for me the last couple days, the volume got way jacked up, but the goodwill from you guys has been more than enough to drown it out and give me some reprieve.

Alright, shutting up now. All done. The end.

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digimedial · 6 years

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Who's driving now? - DigiMediaL wrap up & consultation tips / 13th of December 2018

As the DigiMediaL_musik project is coming to an end by new years eve after nearly more than 10 years, this last Berliner Musiker*innen Treff offered a ceremonial project completion as well as a place for further consultation tips regarding the Berlin music scene.

We invited alumni, lecturers and cooperative partners from the past three years and also all interested people who would like to find their way around the consulting jungle in Berlin to come together.

Sandra Flachmann was guiding through a well organized variety of consulting opportunities in Berlin, (digital) networks and platforms, funding opportunities in music, information on workshops and lectures on music-related issues. So this time there was almost a two-hours program to be enjoyed.

First the OMA’s café was presented as it is still one of the last uncommercial spaces so close to Mitte and hosted us very friendly for the last couple of months. Also they are open to alternative uses of the space itself. The presentation and wrap up of the DigiMediaL-musik project and a brief introduction of cooperation partners and guests followed.

The talk opened up when alumni of the OnStage certificate course were joining the round, Lisa-Miriam Übel (OnStage IV) and Chrissy Möllers (OnStage II) sat down next to Sandra. For Chrissy it was most important, that OnStage opened the door to a variety of networks like Ramschakl or Tal der Verwirrung. As a result of these connections she created her own regular event series and doing bookings at the venue Klunkerkranich. She really liked the group work itself and the group dynamics and even though it was exhausting sometimes, it showed her how much potential a group can develope. Most problems she remembered of the processcame from dealing with their main event location as at that time the owners of the location were in the process of just forming their own group also. Reflecting the self inside a group was the biggest learning for her. Lisa told that she found it very interesting how the development was from the first meeting until the main event, as many creative heads ‘have strong personalities’ and they all didn’t know each other before. To manage this and combining very different tastes while fulfilling the tasks that needed to be done to get the event going was a challenge and at the same time showed her how much is possible in such a short time. Also for her own it was a push to really finally prepare a live set. Developing new friendships and collaborations, she said she took a lot of values from the OnStage course with her.

The first pitch was made by Maureen Noé of Musicboard Berlin. This is one of the biggest or maybe the central funding organization for pop music in Berlin. It covers nearly any genre, just no straightforward jazz or classical music. The Music Board tries to be very approachable and do consultings in English and German. They distribute financial support towards artists directly and to projects, organizers and festivals (in Berlin). ‘Karrieresprungbrett’ for example is a program to establish newcomers and ‘Pop im Kiez’ is raising awareness for the acceptance of live music in neighbourhoods. Most deadlines to apply for scholarships are around February (only for newcomers registered in Berlin, roughly 5000-10000 €). Above all you apply with music, next to a small project plan, CV of your artistic career and a small finance overview for the jury to decide. They are active in supporting more female*, non binary and trans artists.

Giuditta Panzieri of Music Pool Berlin followed. The non-profit organization exists since 2014 and offers a mix of think tank, consulting, education and networking. The aim is helping musicians to take a step forward and to be able to navigate inside the Berlin music industry. They offer 4h-workshops once a week (15€) on topics like e.g. marketing, branding, music licencing, DIY booking and similar to support independent artists. There are two types of consultation (all available in German and English): One for free and one that that offers you a ‘personal expertise’ (20€=1h). Once a month there is an event called ‘Community evening’, an easy going conference offering different topics and experts with changing locations every time. The other event of the Music Pool is the artist meetup, where artists are free to sign up for a slot and then do a pitch to show what they are doing at the moment as well as to ask for feedback and ressources.

The Berlin Music Commission was represented by Tim Joppien who first stated that this network and cooperative consists of 120 members with a background in labelwork, management, radio stations and booking agencies. They also do consultations but workshops and thinktank formats as well. Tim called the Music Commission a ‘music industry network’ which targets companies, but also more and more ‘individuals’. They were part of the ‘Most wanted: Music convention Berlin’ and do a monthly event called ‘Backstage’ which for example tries to bring together people who create music and other industries like the film industry. Their ‘Sprechstunde Musikwirtschaft’ is a consultation for basic music industry knowledge and there is a program for internationalisation called ‘Music Ambassador’. Via their platform ‘listen to berlin’ they are including compilations of newcomers and the applications usually open up around April.

After a short break Mona Katawi of the transnational counseling center ‘Landesmusikrat Berlin’ explained her offer, which she does in four different languages (German, Arabic, English, Turkish). She manages the program ‘Information about the music market’, making information available for people who just came to Berlin, especially for musicians in exile who just fled their country. It is mostly a very general consultation, like for example regarding “what is the KSK and how to I get in”. They also work together with Kulturförderpunkt and ver.di, accompanying people who mostly need translations and emotional support with bureaucratic appointments in Germany. Also they made a map visible on landesmusikrat-berlin.de/projekte/musikarbeitsmarkt which shows various institutions and locations regarding music. The program is funded by the ‘Senatsverwaltung für Kultur und Europa’.

Sebastian Hoffmann who is working inside the ‘touring artists’-advisory package of SMartDe Netzwerk für Kreative e.V. explained that they are open to all sectors of music and the music industry. They give advices regarding VISA, residential questions, transports, taxes, insurances and similar issues. Except German and English they offer some information in Polish, French, Dutch and some Italian. As they are funded from the federal government they offer free consultation via phone, in universities and through workshops. Mainly they focus on two ways of consultation: for people who just arrived to Germany and for people who want to travel outside Germany. The next workshop will be on January 15th in the afternoon from 2-6pm at Music Pool; an overall crashcourse on all topics shown on the website. Costs 15€.

Following this, Matthias Krebs of DigiMediaL_musik introduced the free online platform SKILLFRIED which is focussing on music projects and is all about connecting professional musicians as well as freelancers and creative heads. This is especially interesting for people who are already experienced in music-related projects and are searching for new partners or collaborateurs.

Last but not least the current initiative savemauerpark.de was given the space to make the situation visible by a delegate of busking.co; musician and (street) artists Laura Hoo. Not only being linked to other busking projects all over Europe, she is involved into founding the Verein related to streetmusicberlin.de, trying to help out street musicians in a time when more and more places are getting problematic and finally shut down. As the rules for busking are not really clear and visible in Berlin, buskers are threatened about losing their instrument through confiscation. Since summer weekly demonstrations in Mauerpark took place, as the situation got out of hand during summer with a lot of neighbour -and police troubles. To support the cause and buskers in their work, it’s about getting involved and spreading the word and awareness or simply get in contact to join the weekly meetings. At the moment, the initiative tries to do lobby work in Pankow/for Mauerpark but probably has to go for a berlinwide movement. Everybody signing the petition to create pressure on the authorities helps the cause!

Closing wrap up, Sandra mentioned some more institutions to find consultation and networks: -female:pressure -culture container -ALEX Offener Kanal Berlin -musicBwoman.de

Like always there was time for questions and networking and the evening was rounded off by a cosy talkative session from an audience that clearly appreciated the Berliner Musiker*innen Treff. Thanks & Good-bye! :-)

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