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jgracie · 8 days

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WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME?

masterlist | rules

♡ dedicated to giselle @pinkdiorluvr <3 our leo/ttpd/aphrodite parallels resulted in this epic crossover... love u sm !

in which leo was tame and gentle ‘til the circus life made him mean (alternatively, the one where you teach a son of aphrodite how to love again)

pairing son of aphrodite!leo valdez x roman!reader

warnings self-loathing (happy ending tho dw), ooc / dark!leo? idk tbh but this is a deep dive into his mind lowk 😭 also this is kinda long sorry in advance LMAO

on the radio . . . who’s afraid of little old me? (taylor swift), the only exception (paramore)

an aphrodite cabin leo my beloved… read the comments under this for a bit of context :) also in this they know the ghost of the battery is venus cz it fits w the story ok

If you looked up the word ‘tragedy’ in the dictionary, Leo was convinced you’d find his whole life there. It’d take up half the book, listing every event that’s ever happened in his life from the moment his mother died in that fire, her body so charred there was nothing to bury, until present time

It would talk about how after that, social services arrived, and how his aunt had refused to take him in, calling him a diablo and shouting at the social workers to take him themselves. It would talk about how none of his other relatives wanted him. It would talk about all the foster homes he’d run from, both the okay and the ugly (because they were never good. They didn’t want him either) opting to sleep under the Houston bridge for months instead. It would talk about how Leo was completely and utterly unloveable

Years of his life being this endless cycle of misery resulted in Leo toughening up. He was no longer the sweet boy who’d sit on his mother’s lap as she worked with pieces of metal, who’d run to get her a hammer or a screwdriver before she even asked for it, his heart so full of love for her he was close to exploding. No, this was a new Leo. This Leo learnt to deal with the bullies and the streets and everything else life decided to throw at him, his skin calloused and his heart cold. Sure, he was still elvish and scrawny, but he wasn’t afraid. That alone was enough

Eventually, he befriended Piper. She was nice. For once, he was around someone who didn’t seem to mind his company. But no matter how much Piper liked him, she still liked Jason more. Leo wasn’t an idiot, he knew from the moment Piper laid eyes on the perfect blond that this was her dream guy. And he was happy for her, she was his friend after all! However, he couldn’t help but resent her feelings towards him. He found himself left out again - unloveable Leonidas Valdez, that’s who he’d always be, now that his mom was gone

Then, he discovered a whole new world of Gods and monsters and for a moment in time, Leo thought everything might finally begin to click. He never fit in with the other kids in his foster homes because he wasn’t like them, he was a demigod, of course he couldn’t fit in. For the first time since his mother’s passing, Leo became an optimist. Maybe things would turn around? He’d get to meet his second parent and they’d explain it all, possibly even reward him for his perseverance? Leo toyed around with the idea, replaying the fantasy in his head. In the end, to him, just getting a glimpse of them would be enough

He got claimed as soon as he arrived. Usually, that would be considered incredibly lucky, and Leo really tried thinking of it in that way. Annabeth had told him some campers wait years for that symbol to float over their heads, to finally be able to move out of the crowded Hermes cabin and have people they can genuinely call siblings, a place they can genuinely call home

Leo would’ve been happy if his Godly parent wasn’t her. Aphrodite. What a sick joke. How could the Goddess of love be his mother? No one loved Leo, even Piper and Jason saw him as a nuisance at times. They tried to disguise it, but Leo knew. Years of being bullied had given him excellent training in reading the emotions of others. He knew that whenever the three of them were together, they wished they could be alone. He’d almost refused to sleep in cabin 10, but his new siblings grabbed him by the arms and dragged him over, excited to meet a fellow child of their mother’s

Luckily, it didn’t take Leo very long to get a quest. He, along with Piper and Jason, left Camp Half-Blood to go find and save Hera from the cage she was trapped in. Although the quest was hard and there were many times he’d come close to death, Leo was happier away from the cabin that reminded him of everything he should be and was not. The trio came back to camp just in time and immediately started planning their journey to Jason’s home, Camp Jupiter

The days Leo was building the Argo II were some of his happiest. He had an excuse to not sleep in his cabin (the Hephaestus cabin had kindly offered him bunker 9) and he was around the one thing he truly did love - machinery. The smell of oil and clang of metal reminded him of his mother, the one person who’d truly ever loved him. Sure, Leo did occasionally find himself yearning for human interaction, but every time he felt that ache in his chest, his fingertips longing to touch another, he’d push it down and continue his work. Just because he was a son of Aphrodite, doesn’t mean he deserved love. If he did deserve love, surely, he would’ve gotten it a long time ago

Soon enough, the ship was finished and Leo, Jason, Piper and Annabeth set sail for Camp Jupiter. On the boat, he felt less pressure to fit into the constraints of the stereotypical role of a child of Aphrodite, consequently becoming more like one. Away from land, he could shed the Leo Valdez who was tough and hard as stone, becoming as fluid as the sea instead. He wasn’t anywhere near as social as the others, but this time, he didn’t lock himself up in his room. He taught Annabeth about the mechanisms of the ship and teased Piper and Jason whenever he caught them kissing

From above, Aphrodite watched and hoped the Fates were feeling kindly towards her baby boy. It broke her heart watching him lose faith in love, but she couldn’t do anything about it - not with Zeus keeping a close eye on her

“Okay, I’ll show you the ship. Come with me,” Leo told Octavian - Camp Jupiter’s joke of an Oracle. The boy annoyed him, reminding Leo too much of some of the manipulative bullies he had to learn to fight back, but he knew giving him a tour of the Argo II was essential for gaining the Romans’ trust. Surprisingly, it was going well. Octavian was quiet as he examined it all, only making a few snide remarks about the ‘obviously Greek methods’ Leo had used

Then it happened. Leo felt his mind go blank and his limbs move against his will, heading for the ballistae. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. He fired on Camp Jupiter

Other than Jason, who had gotten hit by a brick and was currently passed out, everyone was fine. What wasn’t fine was the fact that the Romans were no longer on their side. The others gave him accusatory glances, even though he’d insisted didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Only Piper seemed to be on his side, but even she was a little hesitant, a little confused

You were the anomaly. Leo didn’t notice you - quiet and observant, wanting to see how this would play out - until you spoke up to defend him. You, a Roman who’d just had the only home she’s ever known destroyed, who’d just been labelled an outcast by all her friends and family thanks to him, had defended Leo

“Guys, I don’t think he meant any harm,” you said, immediately silencing the other six members of the Great Prophecy. Leo’s mouth was agape, unable to say anything as you continued, “why would he fire on Camp Jupiter on purpose?” You asked, “isn’t he a part of this eight, one of us?” Then, turning to Annabeth, you said, “isn’t he your friend? Why aren’t you defending him?” She blushed and looked down at her feet, unsure of what to say

You smiled, happy that another problem had been solved, “let’s not ruin this quest before it even starts, okay? We can’t save the world from Gaia if we don’t act as a team.”

For the first time since his mother’s death, Leo felt loved. However, he knew all too well how good things never last

Leo distanced himself from you, as well as everyone else on the ship. After that day, he’d decided to coop himself up in his room and work on upgrading the ship instead, only coming out when absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, you eagerly got to know everyone else who was part of the prophecy, intrigued about the differences between Greek and Roman demigods. The one person who you desperately wanted to know, though, was Leo

No matter how hard you tried, he always seemed to escape your clutches. You’d been worried for him ever since that first day on the ship, and after finding out he built it, you were dying to know more

“Venus only appeared when Reyna was alone, so I don’t think any men can come along,” Jason said. Yet again, you were splitting up for another quest. This time, it was seeking the ghost of the Battery, who you’d deduced was Venus, the goddess of love. Suddenly, you had an idea

“Shouldn’t Leo come along? He’s her son, isn’t he? She’d show up for him,” you said, giving the boy a kind glance, which he averted. He really didn’t want to meet his mom. She didn’t care for him, so neither did he for her. If she cared, she wouldn’t have left him to fend for himself all those years. She was no better than his Aunt Rosa

Unfortunately, everyone on the ship agreed with you. Venus would probably be more helpful if her son was there. It was settled, you and Leo would go find the ghost of the Battery

The walk was awkward. This was the first time the two of you had been together since the first day on the ship. You made small talk, asking him about the ship and Camp Half-Blood. He thanked you for that day, and when you’d given him a toothy grin, your eyes sparkling, Leo felt as if Cupid had shot an arrow right through his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He’d never been more overwhelmed with love

“Lady Venus?” You said, your voice tentative as you looked around, suddenly doubting your plan. Immediately, she appeared in front of you. She was beautiful, with curly brown locks and fiery brown eyes. Her smile was kind, making you feel a warmth spread throughout your body. Then she noticed Leo. Instantly, her fiery eyes became sad, and… were those tears?

She floated past you and towards Leo, cupping his face in her hands. He flinched, about to pull away before remembering she’s a Goddess and could easily smite him if she were in a bad mood. His eyebrows remained furrowed, the crease in his forehead only deepening when she said, “my boy, my Leo. You’ve grown so beautifully.”

You could tell Leo’s relationship with his mother was strained, despite never meeting her. He scoffed, gaining the courage to remove her soft hands from his rigid face

“I am not your Leo. I am Esperanza Valdez’s Leo. She’s dead, in case you can’t recall. She died and you did nothing to stop it, nothing to ease the pain. I will never be your Leo. I’m only here for the sake of the quest, so please just tell us what we need to do and we’ll be on our way,” with every word, you could tell Venus’ heart shattered into several tiny pieces. Never in a million years did you think you’d see a Goddess look so heartbroken

She tried to reach out for him again, but this time, Leo didn’t let her, inching closer to you instead. Sighing, Venus opted to use her words, “look, I’m really sorry. You have no idea how bad I feel. I wanted to help you, really, but Zeus–”

“It’s always Zeus with you Gods, isn’t it? No, you don’t get to tell me you feel bad. You wouldn’t have survived an hour in my childhood. Do you know how horrible it felt, being wanted by no one? Do you have any idea how much it hurt finding out your own mother, the Goddess of love, didn’t do a single thing to help, choosing to leave you feeling unlovable instead? If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have given up just because of Zeus.”

Venus was quiet after that. You looked up at the sky, afraid Jupiter would strike you with his lightning bolt at this very moment, but he didn’t. With tears in her eyes, she said what was necessary and as soon as she was done, Leo got up and began walking away. You, however, stayed. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the Goddess, even though Leo was in the right

“He likes you,” she said, breaking the silence, “but he thinks he’s incapable of love, and it’s all my fault, I know, but I beg of you, please save my son before it's too late.” Her hand was tightly gripping yours, and you gave her a sad smile before going to catch up with Leo

You found him crying behind a bush. He had his face in his hands and sat with his knees touching his chest as horrible, gut-wrenching sobs left his open lips, desperate for some air. Calmly, you sat next to Leo. You didn’t do anything - no stupid words, no trying to fix his issues, you knew that wasn’t what he needed. Leo just needed some love. So you wrapped an arm around him and let him let it out on your shoulder

With the grass leaving indents on your skin and the light breeze cooling your bodies, Leo opened up. He didn’t say everything, but you got the gist of it all. You also got that seeing Venus face-to-face and crying afterwards had taken a load off of his back. With every word he said, Leo’s face seemed to brighten, his curls gaining shape and his eyes becoming a warmer shade of mahogany. The realisation hit you like a truck: he looked just like his mother

As the days passed, you paired with Leo for quests more often. He was more comfortable around you than any of the other crew members, which didn’t go unnoticed by them. They were glad Leo had found someone he could let loose with. Your journey across the Mediterranean continued and your friendship blossomed and bloomed, every late night conversation proving to Leo that maybe love was something he could achieve in this lifetime after all

Despite this, he kept his distance. A part of him was scared you stayed out of pity. As a son of Aphrodite, he knew that wasn’t true - he could read people like a book, after all. But he would never forget how his life is an endless loop. Just as he’d think he was finally getting a break, the universe would greet him with the worst event he’s ever experienced. Soon enough, something awful would happen. Something that’d push you away. You should be afraid of him, an unstable boy with extreme detachment issues and a history of bad relationships. What was there to love?

Everything. To you, there was everything to love about Leo. From the way he always had a piece of scrap metal to fiddle with in case he got nervous, to the way his nose would scrunch up when he’d laugh. Leo Valdez had ripped your heart out of your body and decided to keep it, and you were okay with that

Your confession had happened after Percy and Annabeth fell into Tartarus. Everyone was absolutely gutted, of course, but no one more than Leo. He blamed himself for their descent into the deep pits of hell, and you began to see him slowly go back to the Leo he once was, the Leo he was used to being. The difference was that this time, you were there

You forced him to give you and the others some of the watch shifts he’d assigned to himself. You made sure he ate and drank water and took care of himself. You were there to pick the pieces back up again

One night, it was just you and him

“Why do you do this? Am I not a burden to you?” Leo had asked, just as you were about to leave his room. After finding him half asleep at the wheel, you dragged him to bed, tucking him in yourself and making him swear not to leave until the morning

You turned, your eyes holding a mix of fondness and hurt. Not for yourself, but for the boy who has never looked into the mirror and seen a person worthy of loving. Your voice as clear as the sky above, you said, “because I love you. You could never be a burden to me, because I want to do this.”

“Why? Why do you love me?”

Making your way over to his bed, you sat on the edge, cupping his face, just like his mother did during your first adventure together. This time, he didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to melt under your touch. You felt anguish in your heart at this - no matter how much Leo insisted he should be alone, he still craved another

“Because you’re you. You’re sweet and you’re loyal and most of all, you’re so deserving of love. That’s more than enough reason for me.”

As Artemis rode her moon chariot across the starry sky, you shared a tender kiss. You saw Leo for everything he was - a black dog, a broken boy, the definition of the word ‘tragedy’, and chose to love him anyway

You weren’t afraid

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez #leo valdez x fem reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #leo valdez fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #leo valdez drabble #aphrodite leo valdez #son of aphrodite leo valdez #aphrodite pjo #cynwrites

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sapphire-weapon · 8 months

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I've been thinking about this for the past few days, and one of the things that really bothers me about the whole "age gap" discourse re: EagleOne is that, by buying into it, you automatically erase a huge part of Leon's character.

Leon might have been on the planet for 27 years, but he still has the maturity of a 21 year old.

After Raccoon City, Leon basically falls out of time and space. He's all but completely removed from society and has his growth as an adult completely stunted by the CIA.

It isn't as though he's spent the last six years gaining practical wisdom and real-world life experience that puts him at some sort of advantage over Ashley and makes any relationship between them cunningly manipulative on Leon's part.

Leon wasn't out dating and socializing and learning the ways of the world and growing alongside heartbreaks and disappointments and setbacks and victories and achievements. Leon has spent the last six years locked in a room with Jack fucking Krauser and getting the shit beat out of him -- that is, when he wasn't being sent off to active war zones.

Like -- do people even realize the actual depths of what Leon's training entailed? Krauser wasn't just a sparring partner teaching him about edged blade combat. Leon was actually literally tortured in the most literal dictionary definition of the word. He had to be, in case he was ever caught and tortured by the enemy -- he had to be trained on how to take it and not crack.

Leon not actually being in STRATCOM is actually really important to his character. He wasn't sitting in a war room digging through intel and pursuing active leads in an investigation against Umbrella. Prior to the formation of the DSO, he was a military combat unit -- the most elite one that the US government has ever produced. He is a weapon in every sense of the word. He's probably had to go through boot camp with both Navy SEALs and Army Green Berets and then some.

Basically, Leon was an experiment conducted by the US government to see if it was possible to create a soldier capable of wiping out entire military units on his own (which is, incidentally, probably the how and why behind his involvement in Remake's version of Operation Javier. He was chosen to be sent in after Krauser's unit was wiped out for a reason.). He probably wasn't the only one to have been put through this gauntlet during this experiment, but he was the only one who made it through to the other side. He's an anomaly; he's the exception that proves the rule.

None of that is conducive to fostering his growth as an adult or as a human being -- and that was exactly the point. The idea was probably to try to strip him of as much of his humanity as possible in order to create a weapon who would mindlessly follow orders and never question the hows or whys. This is also probably why his "softness" was a huge point of contention for Krauser, who knew exactly what the intentions for Leon actually were. After all, he knew Leon's potential better than anyone.

That's why Leon is so stoic and serious and almost joyless at the start of RE4make. He hasn't lived as a human being living among other human beings in six years; he's been forged into a weapon instead. The last time that he felt like and acted like and lived like a person was when he was 21. He hasn't grown past that point.

That's why his reaction to and treatment of Ada is so goddamn immature.

And it's also why it's such a big deal when Ashley gets that first smile out of him. When Ashley brings out the sides of Leon that we haven't seen since early-to-mid RE2make, she's returning pieces of his humanity to him.

The government had Leon convinced that he wasn't the same person anymore -- that the kind-hearted guy who went into law enforcement out of a genuine desire to help and protect people was dead -- because he's been in an echo chamber and having that idea reinforced to him over and over and over again. Ada saw right through it and knew that the old Leon was still alive in there. And Ashley brought him to the surface and gave him a second chance at life.

On paper, Leon and Ashley have a seven year age gap. In practice and reality, there's only one year separating them. Ashley is 20, and Leon is still only 21.

Anyone who crows about an age gap between Leon and Ashley is outing themselves as someone who doesn't understand Leon's character at all and can be safely and thoroughly ignored.

#resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #eagleone #meta analysis

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christinesficrecs · 1 year

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I'm looking for stiles and Peter being sassy friends can you help? I love all your recommendations

Maybe these ones. Also, you can check the time travel fics.

Trust Fall by Stoney | 144.2K | Explicit

Stiles is fairly certain that a case could be made for every bad thing in his life coming back to Peter Hale. This time it's pissing off a powerful witch, who retaliated by swapping Stiles and Derek a la Freaky Friday, because sure. That makes sense. Um, there are GPAs on the line, not to mention the whole thing where his dad wants to shoot Derek on sight. Except who he sees as Derek is actually Stiles, and Stiles did not sign up for filicide.

Great. Wait...does this mean he's the Alpha until they figure this out? Holy. Shit.

Help Wanted (But Not Really) by reillyblack | 26K | Mature

"Stiles, I'll clear up your confusion about the position. Derek here needs someone to live with him. He's a difficult person to live with, so I won't sugarcoat that. But his responsibilities at the company right now make it impossible for him to actually take care of himself and his home. That would be your job," Laura explained.

Both Stiles and Derek objected at the same time.

The Awkward Love Life Of A Sheltered College Werewolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle | 30.1K | Explicit

Derek had been used to being home schooled. Being used to be surrounded by pack, and nothing but pack. When he decides he's going to attend college, like a normal person, his family has a fit. Derek goes anyway. It's scary and new and exciting. Then he meets Stiles. Then...Things get even more exciting.

Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 68.3K

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

A Wolf's Ribbon by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 36K | Explicit

Derek had been coached on how to approach the child heir apparent while hundreds of eyes watched him. He kept his eyes focused on the cradle, leaning over the edge as best he could to see the baby everyone had been talking about.

Stiles smiled when he saw Derek, kicking his legs out as he reached a hand up for him. He cooed at Derek, his fingers grabbing at the older boy in an attempt to touch him, all to no avail. He gurgled out a laugh when Derek reached a hand down into the cradle, snatching hold of his fingers as best he could.

Derek offered a small smile in response, allowing Stiles to playfully tug on his hand.

The two children made an adorable sight before the Court and their parents. That was the moment Queen Talia and King John decided to arrange their marriage. Every second was planned out without the voiced concern of the children.

Not Quite a Séance by ash_mcj | 5.4K

“We’re in the future,” Laura realized. “Like… literally, the future.”

“There’s still no flying cars,” Stiles told her solemnly. “We do have pretty cool cell phones, though.”

“What do you mean we should be dead?” Talia asked.

“Would you like a dictionary?” Peter offered. “I’m sure we have one around here somewhere.”

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi | 156.7K | Mature | Series

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

Of Eclipses, Ley Lines, and Full Shift Werewolves by tabbytabbytabby | 26.9K

Derek has been noticing his control slipping in the days leading up to the Solar Eclipse. When he goes to look over the Hale land with Peter something happens, forcing both him and Peter to shift into full wolves. Stiles finds them, discovering that Derek has been changed into a wolf pup with none of his memories, only able to recognize people by their scent. After a talk with Deaton Stiles discovers there are ley lines in Beacon Hills, specifically on the Hale property, which caused Derek and Peter to shift. Unfortunately for them there's nothing they can do to reverse it except sit and wait. Which is easier said than done when none of the pack can understand why Derek only wants to be around Stiles.

A Clerical Mix-Up by DiscontentedWinter

Imagine all the irritation when peter/sheriff and stiles/derek having a double wedding. "Would you mister stilinski marry mister hale?" // Imagine they send the wrong Hale to the sighning because they're late.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #itsangelofdarkness #good peter hale #stiles and peter brotp

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agonycrossbow · 2 months

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Leon might have been on the planet for 27 years, but he still has the maturity of a 21 year old.

After Raccoon City, Leon basically falls out of time and space. He's all but completely removed from society and has his growth as an adult completely stunted by the CIA.

That's why his reaction to and treatment of Ada is so goddamn immature.

On paper, Leon and Ashley have a seven year age gap. In practice and reality, there's only one year separating them. Ashley is 20, and Leon is still only 21.

Anyone who crows about an age gap between Leon and Ashley is outing themselves as someone who doesn't understand Leon's character at all and can be safely and thoroughly ignored.

#resident evil meta #leon characterization #eagleone analysis #remake RE analysis

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youkaigakkou-tl · 1 year

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I've been thinking about how the Gods 'cannot harm humans' but also how Haruaki's been hit, kicked and had wrestling moves done against him by a few Gods throughout the manga. Definitely for the humor of the manga (it is funny when it happens lol).

But I guess what I'm waiting to see is if Haru getting kicked around by Gods is just going to being a continuous gag, or if it is actually a hint that Haruaki (because he's a descendent of Abe no Seimei) isn't... entirely human. If it is a hint to that, I wonder if any of the known Gods noticed it.

Because I may be wrong, but it might be a Taboo that has a consequence against Gods that harm humans. Similar to what happened to Suzaku, but probably not to that same level of punishment as that, depending on the extent of harm done.

you know what this is kinda interesting to think about, there’s a few things that Might point to Haruaki not being entirely human, but I just don’t know if this is necessarily one of them, mainly because of 2 things:

Thing 1: Semantics

Every time this is brought up, very specific wording is used: not “gods cannot harm humans”, rather “gods cannot KILL humans”. (One exception: Ebisu in ch 91, he says gods cannot harm humans. But it's Ebisu so like…) I don’t know if that’s a hard rule, as in “gods can get away with any amount of harm as long as it doesn’t kill” but none of the gods we’ve seen are that interested in chasing loopholes regardless (in an actual serious way like torture or something).

(Also, judging by the fuujin and raijin’s dictionary entry, it probably isn’t)

The more I reread ch 90 and 93 the more baffled I am honestly. The gods in ch 93 seem to imply there’s a difference between killing a sinner and an innocent, but in ch 90 Byakko was talked down from killing Douman despite believing fully that Douman killed Seimei, which kinda implies Gods Are Not Allowed To Kill Humans, Period. (The exception being the specific situation where Seimei is some part youkai and therefore not under the general “gods protect humans” umbrella, which would fulfill both “Byakko believes Douman killed Seimei” and “Byakko believes he will be punished for killing Douman”)

Also, if it’s as Takahashi’s anecdote about dodomeki suggests, there’s other ways to turn a human into a youkai that don’t involve killing, so why did Suzaku specifically choose to kill Douman? Unless Takahashi’s story is just a cute story, and turning a human into a youkai does involve killing, just that killing sinners is okay OR the higher-up gods get to decide???

In any case, how this applies to Haruaki, since he’s evidently super hard to kill, is probably doing something irreversible to either his soul or body that he couldn’t come back from, something the four gods intended to do had their plan succeeded according to Byakko (since he says they've "thought this through"). Anything short of that, like we've seen, doesn't kill him.

(On that note, what exactly was their plan??? As far as is shown the shikigami papers are only able to summon something that already exists to where the paper is. How does it interact with a (ambiguously) human soul???)

If that’s true, this maneuver would be really stupid and also funny (well, considering they were ready for the worst case scenario of becoming youkai regardless…)

(UNLESS. It only applies to doing something irreversible to the soul?? In which case what is a soul and also why is Haruaki’s Like That. Both of these possibilities are Weird)

End of the day, there’s just not enough sample size: The only confirmed god on human murder is Suzaku and Douman, which itself is an edge case since we don’t know the full story of what happened to Seimei. And then we’re talking about Haruaki, who’s also an edge case considering he’s gotten his soul taken out 3 times (that we've seen) and walked it off every time. (Granted, we haven’t seen him take fatal damage physically)

And now, the second thing, way more simple:

Thing 2: It is still October

As of chapter 97, we are still in October, aka Kannazuki, aka “the month when gods aren’t here”. They have fucked off to Izumo. It’s just the four gods who stuck around in Kyoto for this plan of theirs. We’ve seen a handful of gods now, and none of them are all that omniscient or all-powerful, they probably have to be watching to be doing any smiting. In which case, if there is any consequences, we would have to wait until November in-universe to see.

(We actually do know what date chapter 97 happens on: October 18. Haru says Mame’s seat number matched the date, and I just remembered today that his seat number is shown in ch39 page 1)

#asks #rambles

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shintin · 2 years

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Her: A Memoir Chapter 3 (Saudade)

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

— Hey, Hi. How are you doing? I'm not sure who you are or where you live, but I didn't have anyone to tell my story to. You mind if I write it down for you? You have time to hear it?

Everything started from the day he became my best friend. My one and only. We grew up without a mother, father, and family except each other. We ate together, played together, and laughed together. On the cold nights of the orphanage, he was the one who lent me his blanket, and I was the one who kissed his wounds after every fight. His blue eyes smiled at me for 17 years, and my heart carried his love no question asked.

Life was no fairytale, but none of it mattered. I had him, and he had me. But it didn't last forever.

I could never forget that cold autumn afternoon. I stood in the crowded corridor of that hospital and cried over his test results. He had cancer, and my only thought was how to prevent death by doing us part.

You know, I was in love with him, and I was willing to do whatever it takes to keep that damn smile on his lips, even if I wasn't going to be able to see it anymore.

I have no regrets about the unforgiving things I did out of love.

I love him, and I had and held him, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, but … doesn't matter anymore.

Be happy with her, my Satoru.

Genre: heavy angst, cancer, modern au, (+18).

Tags/Warnings: nothing.

Author Note: When Satoru and Y/N were 12 years old.

Song Recommendation: Noah Kahan - Someone Like You

Chapter Index -> Next chapter

Year: 2010

23 days. It was the 23rd day she was staring at his empty seat two rows ahead of her. He still hadn't returned.

'What if he never comes back?'

She sighed and turned her dolorous eyes to her book, attempting to sketch a semblance of his spiky hair on its corner. But her pencil stopped as soon as those blues found their way to her memories. The pencil slid gently through her fingertips and fell on the desk. The droplets did not delay in wetting the pages of the book. She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes firmly, tightening her fists and turning her knuckles towards the white.

It wasn't fair. No way. She had missed him; his sweet tooth, his cocky grin, his foolish jokes, and…

No! Hold on a second. There was more to it. I wasn't just missing him. There should be a more appropriate phrase for that. Aha! How about Saudade? It's Portuguese. Unfortunately, there is no definition for this word in the Cambridge Dictionary. But they use it for someone in a deep state of sadness that comes from missing someone who used to be in their life. A deep emotional state of melancholic longing for an absent person. Yes. That's certainly what I felt then, even now.

She was surrounded by her classmates, and yet she felt alone. Well, of course, she would because he was her closest friend. The one who made her feel safe. A boy who made crossing the road like an adventure full of laughter and joy. Oh, God! He was annoying enough to drive her crazy, but also, he was soft, gentle, and kind. He was the only person who understood when she was quiet, when she was loud. He listened the whole time. He listened to her words and her silence. Then he held her hand to share his big world with her. He would do anything to see her smile. Anything.

More tears welled up in the corner of Y/N's eyes. The pit in her heart grew bigger and bigger. As big as it might tear her soul apart.

"Many water droplets formed together scatter sunlight, and you see a white could, but with a dark or gray cloud, the sunlight is scattered in all directions instead of reflected. The different types of clouds are cumulus, cirrus, stratus, and nimbus."

The teacher's voice could be heard. She rubbed her eyes and looked out the window. With a multitude of precious metal hues, snow clouds, silver and black, adorned the sky. It was about time for the snowflakes to take their place on the grounds.

Satoru had promised to return before the first snowfall, but she had not heard of him in weeks.

'Liar!'

Y/N diverted her gaze. She leaned her chin over her palm and tried to pay attention to the writings on the blackboard, but her eyes slipped from time to time into his empty seat.

'Perhaps he likes his new family this time.'

No. Even thinking about it hurt so much that suddenly the voices around her became dull silence, and the sound of her heart pushed her to the edge of deafness. The fear made her shudder, and cold sweats appeared on her forehead.

Every time the fear of losing him found me, I told myself that fear was simply a chain of chemical reactions in my amygdala. I did my best to analyze the situation and imagine it from the outside as if it were a movie instead of real life. Then I asked myself what my "character" should do.

Did you actually believe that? Did you really buy it? You think it's that simple? Nope. All I said was bollocks. Would you like to know the truth?

His absence pours gasoline on the spark of fear in my belly, and it fucking burns me alive! His absence has fashioned itself into a knife, stabbing me every night. And the funny thing is, I'm not doing anything to stop it. Pain is all I got left, and I embrace it with everything I am. I deserve it. Then I bleed with a smile, wondering if it's going to kill me this time. But as you can see, I remain alive until the day I die.

Nonetheless, the 12-year-old self was too young to be familiar with this pain. It was her first time.

"Stratus clouds look like a huge thick blanket covering the sky. These clouds are a sure sign of rain if it is warm and snow if it is cold. If stratus clouds are near the ground, they form fog."

The blood pounded in her ears. Her heart thudded in her chest.

'How come he's not coming back? Did they trick him with sweets and video games?'

Her breath was caught in her chest, like oxygen starvation filling the air. She tried to breathe, but it wasn't possible. Somebody was squeezing her throat, preventing her from breathing all the way. But there was nobody there. Tears started trickling down her eyes as she realized this might be her end. Her hands were trembling. Her feet were tingling. Her vision was disfigured as though she was looking through the rain-covered windows.

She stuck her fingernails into her palms. The breathing was rough. The air was a fugitive, and she was a hopeless marathoner. She had to move her paralyzed body. She couldn't stay there looking at that damn empty seat anymore. She couldn't stand it.

She tried to get up, but her body felt simultaneously like a ponderous rock yet a light leaf. What happened afterward was darker and more obscure than the snow clouds. Fear crippled her being and dispersed her thoughts. The voices around her became inaudible when she knocked down the floor like a sack of potatoes. Her fingers. She stared at them. They were shaking uncontrollably.

Y/N inhaled another airless breath. Then another and another. She was mimicking the act of breathing as she had done for 12 years, but her respiratory system was failing her. She had to sit. Too crowded. Too many people here were taking her air. She needed space. She had to crawl out there. Damn! The floor was so cold. The room was so bright. It was snowing out. Satoru wasn't around. The teacher was too close; she leaned down, telling her something. "Make a fist, Y/N."

She could see everything. She could feel everything. The information was too much, and because of that, she couldn't do anything. She was trapped in an unlimited void with no control over anything. "Somebody call the nurse, quick!"

She felt it would burst, her heart. Her chest might be crushed any minute. The torture was so intense and all-consuming that she no longer knew where she was. Lazy sun rays were piercing every inch of her skin. Her head was surely going to explode with pain. She wanted to scream more loudly than she'd ever screamed in her life, but no sound left her throat. She couldn't take it anymore. Fighting was meaningless. She surrendered and let it all disappear. Thank goodness! Now her brain could rest awhile.

It was never easy being an orphan. Particularly for me. I'd built my whole world around one person, and out of nowhere, a husband and wife showed up and decided to adopt (stole) my world with a goddamn smile. There was nothing I could do. And I hate being the same prat that I was back then.

Thirty minutes passed, then forty and fifty, and finally, the pain started pulling back like the tide going out. It left Y/N's fingers and slowly worked its way up her arm. Her head hurt too much. Her body hurt too much. It seemed that everything hurt too much. Slowly, her sense started to send reports back to her brain. But Y/N kept her eyes closed, not because she didn't want to see where she was, but because she thought it would hurt too much to open them.

She felt heavy, as if hefty weights were hanging all over her body, dragging her deep into an endless ocean. She slowly turned her neck left and right, and an odd soreness shook her whole spine. She cringed and opened her eyes. It shattered in her head with a blinding torment. It made her dizzy. It made her reel. The pain was like needles that had been dipped in alcohol had been jammed through her skin, like her brain had been replaced with ice and electricity wired straight into her spine.

Y/N was lying on the bed in the school clinic. Yep. She had struck the ground in the middle of the classroom; what a drama everyone would call her, but it was a problem for another time.

She was still light-headed but needed to get her brain back to the driver's seat.

'Breathe in, breathe out... Breathe in, breathe out.'

Now she could hear two people speaking outside. Their murmurings disturbed his ears like the noise of scratching the wall. She gently rubbed her forehead, trying to listen to the conversation between Ms. Suzuki and the nurse.

"… all I'm saying is that it's not normal for a middle schooler to have a panic attack."

"Thank you for your solicitude. Her best friend just got adopted. I think she has a difficult time with that. Can I bring her back to rest?"

Now, Y/N remembered what her mind was trying to conceal. Satoru hadn't gotten back yet, and she had a panic attack a few hours or minutes ago. She felt nothing else than the pain in her chest. With a tightening in her throat and a short intake of breath, a tear tickled her cheek. Perhaps it was time for her to learn to live without a world to revolve around.

She took a couple of deep breaths. Her lungs ached, making her tremble as she got off the bed. She leaned in and wore her shoes when Ms. Suzuki and the nurse showed up. Her head was like a giant bowling ball.

"Oh, you're up, Y/N. How are you now? Do you feel any pain?" The nurse asked kindly, giving her a glass. Y/N glanced at Ms. Suzuki's face, and her head nodding made her take the drink. She held it close to her mouth, allowing the cold fluid to soothe her tight throat, and ease her headache.

In response to the nurse's question, Y/N shook her head. Better to say, she lied. Of course, she was in pain, but she hated it there. She hated school. She hated herself. She hated anything that had a remanence of him. She was angry. So angry that she clenched her fists to hide her rage, to prevent herself from breaking everything in that unreasonably too bright room.

Ms. Suzuki went over and knelt before her. She caressed her soft hair and placed it behind her ear. "You're a strong one, Y/N." She brushed her cheeks with her tender hands.

Y/N locked her weary eyes with hers. Ms. Suzuki's touch was the closest thing to the maternal touch she had ever known in her life. So not only did she not object, but she leaned her face into her palms. Satoru was quite far away, and she needed warmth, a source of life.

The caretaker stood up, still keeping her hand on Y/N's shoulder. She led her steps from the clinic to the school corridors, from the hallways to the exit and the orphanage's car, while her head was lowered all the time, hiding her tearful eyes and trembling lips.

Even the daylight is frightening for you when you're scared of the sun. Even a sweet shower can be terrifying when you're afraid of the rain. On that day, I was scared to return to a building where his absence was more evident. I was worried that fear would come to my door, and when I would open it, Bang...bang...bang.

To tell you the truth, I never feared death. I've always been afraid not to see him again. Have you ever heard that a bad penny always turns up? Yeah. My worst nightmare finally caught up with me.

When the car stopped outside the orphanage, Y/N opened her eyes slowly, and her gaze fell upon the hunted building. She could feel the pit in her stomach again.

But being brave wasn't about being fearless. It was about taking action even though you were scared as hell. And I was one hell of a brazen bitch. Always. Even when I walked down those stairs and knocked on that door.

Y/N had to get out of the car finally. She did not expect the red carpet to be spread under her feet or the door to be opened. No. Those Hollywood bullshits were beyond an orphan's imagination. She put her hand on the car's handle. After all, she had no place to go except that cursed orphanage.

She got out of the car, and her feet struck the snow-covered ground. Her eyes fell upon the white, untouched snow beneath her feet. Cold. She smiled bitterly. Winter was here, but he wasn't.

She decided to remain there for a while to muster her courage enough to take another step. Snowflakes came to the earth from heaven in their playful swirl to make everything as pure as her heart.

Let me ask you, what happens when a pure heart desires? Yes, the angels fulfill their wishes.

Y/N blew into her hands and started walking inside when suddenly a snowball hit her back. Enough was enough. She exhaled furiously and turned her head to start a fight with the jerk who thought it was fun to pick on her, but she froze on the spot. A swarm of a thousand butterflies burst out of her stomach, causing a wave and a rush of emotions to flood her body. Their wings seemed to flutter inside her so fiercely that all the air pushed out of her body. All she could do was gasp for air. All she could think was holding on to reality. She was just barely able to hold it together. It was as if time had stopped for a moment.

"Snowball fight!" The white-haired boy shouted. "It took you so long to get back from school, Y/N. Have you become a nerd or something? I got bored."

With her eyes wide open, she watched as her snowman bent over to make another snowball. He was real, right? He had no carrot as a nose, no sticks as hands, but sapphires as eyes. Her feet subconsciously moved towards him, only stopping when her hands grabbed his collar and lifted him. Soon her arms were wrapped around him, and she felt warmth; she felt home; she felt peace. And just like that, fear ran away. Cold ran away. Every fucking sorrow ran away. From now on, if someone asks her where her house is, she will mention her name.

"Eh?" Satoru didn't have any clue about what was going on. At first, his eyes widened in surprise as he felt Y/N's embrace, but then he gave in. He closed his eyes, loosened his fingers, and the snowball dropped to the ground. The corners of his lips rose slowly, and a winsome smile blossomed on his face. He grabbed her by the waist and brought her closer. He liked being in her arms. It was a strange feeling, and it scared the shit out of him because he had never felt anything like this before; so beautiful. So genuine. So intense. So, so, so, so good. His heart started beating fast, yet he wanted to live in this moment forever.

"It took you so long, Shorty," she whispered, pulling back and looking down at him. They were at the age Y/N could use the advantage of being taller to make fun of him.

Satoru glared at her and promised himself to take revenge when he got taller than her. "I kept my word, but you made me wait for you the whole morning in this snowy weather! Shame on you, Y/N!" He didn't step back. Nope. He stood there and stared at her eyes with a righteous smugness. Oh, the audacity of this boy.

"Are you fucking serious? You made me wait three weeks, and you got the ass to talk?"

Frustration over 23 days of waiting, 23 days of staring at the orphanage's door, 23 days of watching an empty seat, 23 days of eating alone all meals, 23 days of not talking to her best friend, and 23 days of not having him manifested itself as a wave of relentless anger.

"I DID EVERYTHING I COULD TO GET BACK TO YOU! I smashed every plate and vase in their place and threw video games through the window! But it didn't work! I ended up having to shave the hair of their poor dog and put his fur in the pot for them to bring me back here!" He spat back while panting and squeezing his quivering hands. How could she not see what he went through every single day so he could go back and watch movies with her, sit on the benches beneath oak trees and share sweets with her, hear her laugh throughout the day, and catch her smile when she thought he didn't care. Was she an idiot or something?

"You… you shaved a dog?" She muttered, her eyes peering at his irritated face.

What was that shift in the direction of their discussions? However, he seized the opportunity because he didn't want to argue with her. He groaned and lowered his head. "Yes, I did, just because it seemed the only way around."

"Did the dog look ugly?" She didn't sound mad anymore; instead, her tone had traces of amusement.

Satoru raised his head and cast a hesitant glance at her. There was a smile on her face with other things. Things his dumb eyes couldn't catch up to this point. Dark circles, red nose, rosy cheeks, and her eyes. Oh, those eyes. Her eyes were shining, but the twinkle was lost. She had cried. A lot. How many drops? How many hours? Or how many days? He swallowed his guts, but couldn't find a remedy for her cuts. "Um… yeah," he mumbled.

She grinned. "You're the stupidest person I've ever met; did you know that?"

"Sorry I kept you waiting, Y/N. It won't happen again." Suddenly the words popped out of his mouth as if he were in a deep struggle with them. Then he looked at her face and saw firsthand how a miracle could occur. Her eyes crinkled at the edges and the corners of her lips turned upwards. Her smile, especially this one, was the prettiest thing he had ever seen, for it extended to her eyes and deep into her soul. She was the gentle touch, the honesty that was a purity, her childhood innocence so vibrant and free. There was nothing he loved more than making her smile. It never took long. A sarcastic remark, a joke, a musing about a rather voluptuous tree… Soon enough, she was smiling, and so was he.

"Promise me whatever happens, you'll still find a way back to me, Satoru."

Oh, it was easier than he expected. He lifted his pinkie and tilted it in front of her face. Then he grabbed her hand, raised her wrist, and locked her little finger with his. "We'll be friends always and forever, Y/N. Pinkie promises." His eyes were always gentle. They looked at her with a softness she had never encountered before. They held her close, and she was content. So Y/N stood there and let the happiness soak right into her bones. She wanted the feeling to still be there when she was old. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. For the first time in forever, her body and mind relaxed.

Across the orphanage's yard, the sound of Ms. Suzuki's shoes indicated that she was heading towards the window. She pulled back the curtain slightly to enjoy the view of the snow-covered trees, but instead of the landscape she sought, her eyes fell on a white-haired boy who loosened his scarf, got up on his toes, and tied it three times around the neck of the girl standing before him. Then he took her hands in his and blew to warm them.

Ms. Suzuki smiled. It wasn't as though she could witness something flourish beyond friendship every day.

A few knocks were heard from Ms. Suzuki's door. "Come in," she said, leaving the curtain open and facing the door. Yaga Masamichi entered with heavy treads and a file in his hand. He sat on the nearest chair, tossing the file on the table and rubbing his forehead. "What is with this gloomy face, Yaga?"

He turned his face in her direction. "In case you don't know, they sent back the Gojo kid. AGAIN!"

"And?" She asked calmly.

"And they wanted to file a report about the mischief that the boy had done!" He sighed. He looked older and older, although he was still in his forties.

"Did they?"

"Of course, no! It would drive Gakuganji nuts, so I didn't allow it."

"Good." She smiled while sitting across from Yaga, crossing one leg on the other and grabbing the file named Satoru Gojo.

"For crying out loud! It's not good at all! This is the fourth time I've handed this kid over to a family, and every time, after a few weeks, I had to plead with them not to complain about the orphanage!" He sighed and continued, "this lad has shaved their dogs! I don't know you, but to me, it's even worse than Y/N throwing her adoptive parents' books in the fireplace! I don't know why they go wild on their way out of the orphanage!"

Ms. Suzuki chuckled, but after seeing Yaga frown, she covered her mouth with her hand. "Ease up. They are just kids." She picked up the documents, got up, and walked to the filing cabinets. Along the way, she looked back at the two children making a snowman in the yard joyfully. As if one didn't have a panic attack this morning and the other wasn't scolded for hours. "By the way, neither you nor I nor anyone else can evict them when they have found their home," she added and opened the cabinet.

I'm aware of this part of the conversation because it was only last year that I met Ms. Suzuki out of despair, and she shared these memories with me. I never thought she had faith in us when we weren't even aware of it. She believed that Satoru and I would stay together forever. Of course, I didn't call her this year to tell her the bad news. I didn't want her old heart to go through a stroke...

Now let's get back to the main question. Tell me which dog I should shave for Satoru to return to me again?

Tag list: @pyschopotatomeme @fi106

Thank you for your support and kind comments. if you want to be on the tag list, please inform me.

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bleachbleachbleach · 2 years

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Chapter 065

I love this panel, because whenever I read the English translation my first instinct is to read it as Ichimaru and Zaraki not having adjutants at all, period, like that’s some kind of burn and as though Byakuya hasn’t had his current VC for a whole whopping paltry 2 months. I mean, that’s not how it’s supposed to be read, because of course they do have VCs, just not present with them currently. But does that change how I read it every single time? NO.

Beyond that, though, it’s just a fascinating panel. My personal translation of Byakuya’s line is:

Two captain-class shinigami out together, both without their adjutants. // What do you want with me?

Byakuya suggests that this is an unusual occurrence--for captains to be together? for captains to be without their VC? Probably not the latter, since it’s not as though Byakuya expects Renji to be attached to him. Surely it’s the combination of two captains in the same place at the same time (why?) and without their VCs, which I feel like the grammar supports. Byakuya lines these two ideas up to parallel each other, which I wanted to preserve that in my translation. Since the divisions heretofore operate so autonomously, any time more than one captain is in a place, it’s likely a formal occasion. He’s remarking upon the fact that not only are Ichimaru and Zaraki hanging out (and tag teaming him), especially since they haven’t brought the appropriate accoutrements (VCs), if this meeting of three captains was to be made reasonable.

So Byakuya’s like, clearly this is not a formal inquiry, so why are you here and why are you talking to me? I simp for arcane Gotei niceties/social expectations, so this FEEDS me.

Especially since in context, this is Byakuya’s greeting to these two, after they essentially come up behind him and accost with with metacommentary on his life:

Such composure, 6th Captain-san! // Splendid, splendid!

Ichimaru is both bubbles, even though they look like they’re being spoken by different people--different fonts (corresponding with different levels of formality), and in this case also different colors: The light blue bubble is normal (Kansai) speech, and then Ichimaru opts for the honorific form in the indigo bubble. He switches registers (and into a super serif font lol), which I think Byakuya reacts to more than the comment about his composure.

Because it’s laying it on a little thick, considering Ichimaru also continues, Your sister is going to die, yet that coolheadedness prevails. // Fittingly executed, 6th Captain-san. The perfect reflection of a shinigami!

This isn’t captured in my translation, so maybe there are better ways to do this, but the phrase さすが (sasuga) appears as ザッスが, which I read as vocal emphasis. Such praise big wow

Another thing that isn’t captured that I wish were is that the words Ichimaru uses for “composure” and “coolheadedness” both begin with 冷 (rei), for coldness, and I like that repetition.

I just feel like there’s interpersonal madness going on here. Is it respectful? Is it the exact opposite of respectful? Does every other conversation in Soul Society devolve into threat of imminent violence even before “wartime exceptions” are granted?

Byakuya then assures Ichimaru and Zaraki that none of this concerns them.

The idea of Byakuya referring to any captain, much less freakin’ Ichimaru and Zaraki, as his “brothers” absolutely cracks me up, but also... he kind of does? He uses the phrase 兄等 (keira) as a pronoun, which I’ve never seen before. 兄 (ani) does usually mean brother, and 等 (ra) is a grouping/pluralizing word. The dictionary says that it can be used as a masculine, respectful “you” and is homophonous with 卿, another archaic respectful “you.” Of course, Byakuya doesn’t choose 卿 but 兄, which seems to suggest he does understand Ichimaru and Zaraki to be close colleagues who, at least, are not strangers, with some suggestion of the fraternal? Like, this is a language choice he made.

The rest of the sentence isn’t overly formal--just speech between colleagues, though still in high contrast to Zaraki’s drawl--but Byakuya does use a lot of kanji for words that aren’t always written in kanji in manga, which makes his bubbles feel fancy. So re: his choice of address, it’s hard for me to say if he’s just being well-bred or if Byakuya actually does regard Ichimaru and Zaraki as...well, known entities, I guess I would say. Of course, he and Zaraki then get into a bitching match about social class and seem wont to draw blades, had Ichimaru not tied Zaraki up and run away. Idk, I went into some epic rabbitholes [x x x x] with this one, and as usual all this is beyond my ken. Blah blah usual disclaimer that I do not speak Japanese, etc.

It was really fun, though! And I’m kind of into the fact that this whole conversation is about Ichimaru’s commentary on Byakuya’s relationship with his sister, but also about what fraternity does or doesn’t even mean within the Gotei. Clearly the Gotei 13 is not a “we’re like a family!” workplace, lol, but the dance of relationalities between all these characters is my favorite thing in the whole world.

#HI HELLO IT'S BYAKUYA HOURS #have i mentioned that i love him #kuchiki byakuya #ichimaru gin #gotei 13 #shinigamiology #bleach language #bleach reread 2021 #bleach ��ラー #bleach #translation notes for myself so future me knows what was going through my head here #i went with 'yet that coolheadedness prevails' because i felt that it reflected the relationship ichimaru was drawing #between the two subjects and the assertiveness of his 'sa'#even if 'prevails' was not really part of the sentence originally #and went with 'perfect reflection' because the overall phrase seemed to be emphasizing the such wow factor #but i also wanted to keep some of the fact that the kanji used is 'mirror'#in case anyone was wondering (no one was wondering) this is also how i write bleach dialogue in fanfic #this is also why no one ever speaks

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pesterloglog · 2 months

Text

Rosebot, Dirk Strider

Page 29-31

ROSEBOT: Tidying all finished?

DIRK: In a manner of speaking.

DIRK: I've given Terezi the all clear.

DIRK: Or, I guess just kinda pissed her off enough to kick this whole thing off once and for all.

ROSEBOT: Okay.

ROSEBOT: ...

ROSEBOT: So, I guess today is finally the day everything's been heading towards.

DIRK: You could put it like that, yeah.

DIRK: At least, we're aiming to frame it that way.

DIRK: Our actions from this point on will form part of a crucial inner mechanism, tucked away behind the tightly sealed metallic service hatch of reality.

DIRK: One which will be of our own creation, but which by all practical considerations might as well have always been there.

DIRK: And if we're successful, the distinction won't be significant enough to matter to just about anybody.

DIRK: They'll be too busy getting their mind's dicks collectively blown.

ROSEBOT: Would you say that we're imploring people to "suck on this"?

DIRK: Oh absolutely. Get the hand-illuminated invitations ready on the fucking double.

ROSEBOT: Hilarious fellatioid imagery notwithstanding, there's something about today that feels...

DIRK: Exciting?

DIRK: I can understand that. We've been waiting a long time.

ROSEBOT: I was going to say "portentous".

ROSEBOT: With both the positive and negative connotations that word usually has.

DIRK: You've got misgivings, then.

ROSEBOT: I wouldn't even go so far as to call it that.

ROSEBOT: What I'm feeling is hard to explain to someone whose being is not inextricably linked with the very concept of fortune.

ROSEBOT: The sensation probably doesn't even have a name, come to think of it.

ROSEBOT: Not too many people have ever been in our position before.

DIRK: Just about none, I'd bet.

ROSEBOT: Right.

ROSEBOT: But if I had to describe it, I'd say that misgivings, hunches, doubts and so on are supported on a foundation of un-knowing.

ROSEBOT: And along with that absence of knowledge comes a commensurate feeling of dread or worry. Fear about the potential calamity yet to come.

ROSEBOT: On the other hand, while feelings of positive anticipation also tend to stem from a lack of certainty about the future,

ROSEBOT: The presumption of good fortune allows the uncertainty to become excitement.

ROSEBOT: It's the glee of a child who knows not what the gift contains, but can evaluate from prior experience that it's likely to be something good.

DIRK: Can't empathize.

ROSEBOT: Dirk, you are tragically capable of sucking all joy and convivial sentiment out of basically every situation you find yourself in.

DIRK: Thanks.

DIRK: Anyway, this feeling you were talking about. I take it that we're not dealing with either giddy enthusiasm or paranoid foreboding, then.

ROSEBOT: No. My point is that the present moment feels like neither of those two cases.

ROSEBOT: But crucially, it's not because there is nothing to anticipate. Far from it.

ROSEBOT: Instead, it feels like the very notion of fortune is simply out of the question as a means of describing the potential outcome.

ROSEBOT: As though in this moment, luck isn't either strictly real or not real, or somewhere inbetween, but absent of meaning completely.

ROSEBOT: Luck took one look at our itinerary from here on out and said you'll just have to go on without me.

DIRK: Luck rolled over the other side of the dictionary and said not tonight sweetheart, I've got a wicked fuckin' headache.

ROSEBOT: Exactly.

ROSEBOT: Except now I'm the one with the migraine.

DIRK: Well whatever that means, it doesn't sound good.

DIRK: I didn't know that robots could even get headaches.

ROSEBOT: I'd say it's more of an ontological, existential headache, but that already describes basically everything that's ever happened to us up until now.

ROSEBOT: And also sounds as fake as shit.

DIRK: Is there nothing I can say that'd take the weight off your mind?

DIRK: For what it's worth, I think we've got this plan riding at a level experts might describe as "pretty solid".

DIRK: We scanned for Sburban technology, so we know for sure this is the right planet. Wheels are already in motion and all that.

DIRK: This thing is on lock-down. Hermetically sealed, even.

DIRK: Shit's tighter than a pair of English-occupied micro-shorts.

ROSEBOT: You aren't going to believe this, but it turns out that the deranged horny ramblings of a spurned anime-obsessive have essentially no therapeutic properties whatsoever.

ROSEBOT: And contrary to common wisdom, talking about the problem doesn't seem to have eased my state of mind either.

ROSEBOT: I doubt you could say anything to make me feel better. If anything, I feel worse now than I already did.

ROSEBOT: It's like the notion I was trying to describe was so conceptually insubstantial, so resistant to concrete definition within any meaningful frame of reference, that even thinking about it as an idea made *me* somehow existentially unsound.

ROSEBOT: And not in the way I used to always feel, back before John made the choice to validate our canonical existences axiomatically.

ROSEBOT: Foreboding I can deal with. I'm a Seer. Sooths are mine to say.

ROSEBOT: But this is different.

DIRK: Well, if talking about it didn't help, maybe talking about how it felt to talk about it might just enlarge the problem geometrically.

ROSEBOT: Fair point.

DIRK: What's that noise I'm hearing.

DIRK: It sounds a little bit like a cat being caught in a ventilation fan. A sort of...

DIRK: Inhuman screeching, combined with the grinding of metal.

DIRK: Are we even going to make it to the ground?

ROSEBOT: Oh, no,

ROSEBOT: The ship's fine as far as I can tell.

ROSEBOT: That's just Terezi laughing.

DIRK: Oh.

DIRK: She's... enjoying this, isn't she.

ROSEBOT: I suppose so.

ROSEBOT: ...

ROSEBOT: Haha.

DIRK: What?

ROSEBOT: The mood is kind of infectious actually.

ROSEBOT: I suppose it's about time we had a little fun around here.

DIRK: Glad to hear it.

DIRK: ...

DIRK: Rose?

ROSEBOT: Yes Dirk.

DIRK: ...

DIRK: How do you feel about games?

#homestuck #homestuck^2 #rosebot #dirk strider #homestuck^2 act 1 #page 29 #page 30 #page 31

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mumbaiservice82 · 3 months

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inkandpen22 · 2 years

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Until This Night (10/?)

Pairing: Riff x Latina!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: FLUFF, swearing

Part Summary: It’s been a few days since their confession and Y/N and Riff continue to keep the truth hidden from everyone in order to prevent a war. Yet, when they have a run-in with someone... things get complicated...

Masterlist

Riff

In a million years I would’ve never imagined I would be waking up early to run down to Doc’s in search of the old broad’s help. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was necessary. To be in Y/N’s good graces I have to try and get along with the people she considers family, including Valentina. She’s not exactly buttered up to me yet, but she’s tolerating me more than before.

At a booth, while she counts up the money for the register, I scribble down some Spanish phrases on a notepad. Y/N knows both English and Spanish. All I got is English and even that’s a bit iffy. I know some Irish my parents and their friends taught me but that’s a few sentences.

I read off the next phrase on my list. “I wanna say ‘Morning, Doll’.”

“Buenos dias, Querida,” the old broad translates. “It’s not an exact translation but she’ll understand.”

“Okay cool, cool…” I’m quick to scribble down the sounds. I don’t know anything about spelling but I can get the sounds down. Ya know like they have in dictionaries. “And if I wanna say ‘I’ll love you forever?”

The woman pauses her task and peers at me with a narrowed gaze. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Uh…” I tap my pencil against the table as I try to count. “About two months now.”

She hums, resting her chin in her palm. “You don’t maybe want to say. ‘I’m excited to see where this goes. Let’s take it slow. Get to know each other better-”

“No, no,” I chuckle. I understand where she’s coming from, but in those two months I’ve observed and learned more about her than I have about anyone. “I do know her. I know that she can’t stand silence so that’s why she always has the juke going. She color coordinates the candy because she thinks it looks better than alphabetical. When she’s nervous she bites down on her lip. She absolutely hates lying but she’s great at it. Except when she does lie she fidgets. Her favorite place in the whole city is the roof of her building. She sits up there every morning and every night.” I realize I’m rambling yet I feel no shame in it. “I could go on if you need more.”

“What’s her favorite color?” The woman questions with a playful chuckle.

“Y/F/C,” I state without a moment's hesitation, much to her evident surprise.

I wasn’t lying or exaggerating, I know almost everything about Y/N and still, I wish to know more.

“Alright then,” she complies. “I will love you forever. Te amaré por siempre .”

I hurry and scribble down the words as she recites me. My spelling sure isn’t right but as long as I get the sounds down and I say it somewhat correctly none of that will matter. “And don’t tell her we’ve been doing this.”

“Oh wouldn’t dream of it!” Valentina snickers jokingly. “To show her that you care, what a Greek tragedy!”

“Ha...ha...” I laugh sarcastically but struggle to suppress my smirks. “Well, thanks for your help Little Empanadilla, but I gotta go,” I announce as I stuff my notebook into my jacket pocket and rise from the booth.

“Call me that again and I’ll wack you with the broom.” She warns, pointing a strong finger at me. “Where are you going?”

“I’m supposed to meet up with Y/N,” I explain, finding it difficult to hide my anticipation. “I’m taking her to the market, kinda owe her a new dress.”

“Well be careful!” She worries. “The last thing we need is Bernardo or any for that matter to find out.”

“Well, Tony knows,” I shrug. “He took it well.”

“He’s also doing you two a huge favor for not telling Maria!” She argues and starts to shuffle back toward the counter.

It takes me a minute, but I process her meaning. Then, my eyes grow wide. “Wait, they’re still...”

She gives me a knowing look as if it was supposed to be obvious. “Sí.”

Oh no, Y/N isn’t going to take this well. “But Y/N and I said-”

“You don’t think that’s a little hypocritical?” She counters with a witty smirk.

I take a deep breath and start to debate whether or not I should tell Y/N the truth. I rub my hand across the back of my neck, physically anxious.

“Where are you meeting her?” The woman inquires.

“Her place.”

Valentia raises her brows at me. “You mean you’re just going to waltz right in?!”

I laugh nervously. “No, are you kidding? I’m sneaking in through the fire escape.”

“You two are crazy!” She shakes her head disapprovingly. “If I don’t hear about your murder on the 5 o’clock news I’ll call it a miracle.”

I send her a wink and start backing up toward the door. “Wish me luck.”

“I wish her luck,” she corrects.

So, Tony and Maria huh? The old broad isn’t wrong, it is hypocritical of me to judge but on the only hand, Y/N doesn’t like the idea so I have to support her. Y/N and I have been careful, I can only hope those two are the same. The last thing we need is a war to break out.

____________________________

Y/N

As I finish getting ready, I have music going on the turntable. While I finish applying some lipstick at my vanity, my mind wanders.

These last few days have been... well... they haven’t felt real. Riff has been hanging around the store, much to Valentina’s annoyance but she tolerates it. Doc’s is the only place now where we don’t have to hide. After the other day, we talked about it and truly considered the risks of the Jets and the Sharks finding out the truth. It would be a full-on war. Riff was willing to take the chance and it took a lot of convincing from me that we should wait at least a little while. Tony has promised to keep our secret, even from Maria. In exchange, I won’t tell Bernardo or Anita about them. Tony desperately wants to tell Maria but I’m afraid she’d blab.

Almost every night since, Riff will walk me home from the store as per usual. Except now, while I go in the front door, he sneaks into my bedroom from the fire escape. Some nights we’ll sit on the roof and talk or lounge around in my room until we both fall asleep. I can’t imagine trying to sleep without him beside me now. He’s always gone before I wake up doing who knows what which makes me anxious. Yet, he’s always there on the corner to walk me to work at seven.

Even when he’s not with me I feel him everywhere. In every voice, in every glance, in every thought I have he’s there.

There’s a creak from my window and when I glance back through the mirror, I spot Riff sneaking in. I hurry and rise from my position to greet him.

He stands tall after emerging from the window and grins. “Hi ya.”

“Hola,” I giggle.

He cups my face and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. It’s overwhelming how much I can’t get enough of him. When he’s gone I wish he were here. When he’s here I wish he were closer. It’ll never be enough.

What starts as a quick ‘hello’ kiss grows in intensity. Riff walks me back into my desk and I scoot back onto the surface. He parts my legs to stand between them. No matter how many days pass, the eagerness to be together never fades. I touch him and even then I’m not close enough. He’s everything and more.

“We...should...go,” I giggle between pecks against his lips.

“Oh yeah, yeah!” Riff breaks from me and rests his forehead against mine. “You’re right.”

I snicker at the faint blushing forming on his cheeks. At least I know I’m not the only one filled with giddiness.

He turns to walk away, but I grab his wrist, pulling him back to me. He chuckles, resting his hands on my waist.

“But five more seconds,” I conclude, lifting my head up to meet his lips. “One... two...” I start to count playfully.

“No, no,” he smirks against my lips. “One one-thousand, two one-thousand...”

“Riff!” I giggle.

“Alright, alright, you’re right we should get goin’,” he complies, planting gone quick more peck to my lips before helping me down from my desk.

Never in all of my years did I imagine that I could ever love a gringo -- an American boy -- more than I love him. I never saw myself with a gringo. Now, I can’t imagine my life without him.

I fetch my purse from my dresser and start toward the window. It’s not ideal to sneak around, but it’s not as though we can walk out from the lobby together.

“Wait,” Riff abruptly wraps his arm around my waist and spins me to face him. “I want to give ya something first.”

I tilt my head to the side with curiosity. “And what is that?”

Riff lifts up his arm between us and begins to remove the gold chain that rests on his wrist. “It was my mom’s,” he tells me as he focuses on placing it around my wrist. “I don’t have the money for a necklace or ring for ya to prove I’m serious about us, but this is-”

Right as he clasps it, I plant my lips to his, capturing him by surprise. When we break apart, I remind him, “I love you.”

He releases a breathless laugh that carries hints of disbelief and satisfaction. “How much?”

“Oh, so much!” I express dramatically, sharing a laugh with him.

He lifts his head, peering down at me with a smirk. “How much?” He asks again.

I hum, pretending to think it over. Then, the words come to me. “Te amo mas que nada en el mundo.”

He caresses my cheek. “What’s that mean?”

“I love you more than anything in the world,” I repeat, and seeing the smirk form on his lips is an image I never wish to forget.

“What’s something I could call ya in Spanish?” He asks with a furrowed brow. “Ya know like how we say things in English like Baby, Doll, Darlin’, stuff like that.”

“Mi Cariña,” I name after a second of thought.

“Mi Car... Cariña?” He repeats, a bit hesitant.

“Sí, bien!” I snicker, it sounds so odd to hear him speak Spanish.

“What’s it mean?”

“My darling, my dear,” I describe.

“Mi Cariña,” he repeats, this time with a bit more familiarity as he snakes his arms around me.

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine.

“Y tu eres mi amor,” I whisper into the kiss.

______________________________________

Ice

I finish the last bit of my cigarette as I watch some of the boys run back and forth on the basketball court. It’s been days since any of us have seen or even heard from Riff. Ever since the dance, he’s been acting off. I thought after the antics with Y/N he finally got his head back in the game with our goal. I get he’s glad to have Tony back and wants to spend some time with him considering how close they are, but what about the rule that the Jets come first? Tony isn’t a Jet anymore. He’s no longer a brother. At the end of the day, the only thing that will be left standing in this neighborhood will be us.

My attention to redirected back to the group when a cluster of little kids accidentally toss their ball onto our court, away from their four square box. A-Rab catches the basketball and starts to dribble it.

“Hey, Mister!” One of the kids holds his hands up for A-Rab to toss it back.

“Oh, you want it back?” A-Rab questions them.

“Yeah!” The four of them say in unison.

“Tough shit,” A-Rab chuckles and tosses the ball to Diesel a few feet away.

Tiger pushes off the wall and shouts for Diesel to pass the ball.

The kids start to whine as the three Jets begin a game of monkey in the middle. All of the squeaking and whining from them is giving me a headache, plus the relentless heat today. The little bit of shade that the buildings surrounding the playground provide doesn’t do much for the humidity.

“Hey, just give it back to the kids,” I state, more like a command.

A-Rab huffs. “But-”

“Don’t be a dick,” I remark snappy.

A-Rabgrumbles my words under his breath, but nonetheless Tiger does what I ask and tosses the ball back to the group of boys.

“Yo, where’s Riff?” Action questions from his relaxed position against the brick.

“He’s coming, had to go talk to Tony or somethin’ I think,” I lie. I have no clue where he is these days.

“At least he’s not making us meet up at the convenient store at sunrise anymore,” Diesel pants, joining us in the small sliver of shade.

“Thank God for that!” Baby John adds.

“Oi, ain’t that him over there?” A-Rab perks up, pointing over toward the street.

“Oh yeah!” Joyboy chuckles, pushing off the wall. “There he-”

Baby John mumbles nervously. “Wait, Is that-”

Action appears over my shoulder. “Why’s Y/N with him?”

“Did we have a feathering 2.0 session I didn’t know about?” Mouthpiece rushes out.

Soon everyone is talking over each other like their brains are malfunctioning.

“Ice?” A-Rab directs everyone’s attention to me and I feel the walls closing in on me.

I know just as much as them it seems and I’m supposed to be second-in-command.

“I don’t know anything!” I snap unintentionally. Seeing Riff with that Spic... I have to keep my cool. “But I’m going to find out,” I announce and toss my cigarette to the cement before heading over toward the gate.

_____________________________

Riff

Y/N and I stroll down the sidewalk toward the outdoor market. It’ll be so busy that no one will even notice we’re together. It’s the perfect setting for what will be the first of many dates we’ll have beyond the walls of Doc’s.

“Imagine I’m holding your hand right now,” I instruct, glancing down at our arms as they rest beside each other.

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine with a content smile. “Someday.”

I nod. “Someday.”

Her features fall with a sigh. “For now, simply being out together is already enough of a risk.”

“I ain’t afraid of your brother and his henchmen,” I assure her with a chuckle.

“I know,” she tells me. “I’m afraid enough for the both of us.”

Before I have the chance to ease her mind, we’re interrupted by a familiar voice and the sound of rapid footsteps approaching. In seconds, Ice is standing before us.

“Hey there Daddy-O!” He greets.

Y/N is quick and shifts to cross the street, but Ice blocks her path. “Where you headed chica?” He eyes her up and down as he bites down his lip.

It takes every bit of me not to shove his ass to the pavement. He’s like a brother to me, but Y/N is my entire world. Knowing Ice, knowing the Jets, he means nothing but harm for her. I should know -- I used to share the same mindset.

“Trying to beat A-Rab for the biggest jerk award?” She fires back, unafraid.

He snickers, stepping closer until his face is mere inches from her’s. “I’ve missed your spicy attitude since our banishment from Doc’s. Know when we’ll be let back?”

“When you’re old, grey, and pee in a bag probably. That’s if you make it that long without getting killed,” Y/N hisses between her teeth, peering at him in disgust.

“A “I missed you too, Ice, Baby” would’ve been just fine.” He winks at her, unfazed by her disdain.

I place a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back. “What’s been going on?”

“Nothing exciting,” he shrugs, finally leaving Y/N alone. “Where ya been man?”

“Talkin’ to Tony,” I lie casually.

“For two days?” He questions with a curious brow. Then, his attention flickers back to Y/N.

Her eyes wander anywhere and everywhere anxiously as her arms cross in front of her.

“What are you doin’ with her?” Ice inquires.

“Nothin’ just walkin’,” I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He narrows his gaze into sharp slits. “Walkin’ and talkin’ huh?”

I hum, doing my best to keep it cool, and hope that Ice just drops the whole thing. After all, I am still the boss. I don’t pull the leader card often, especially when it comes to him, but I will for this.

Ice chuckles at me and snakes his arm around Y/N’s waist, keeping a close eye. on me. “How about you join us on the playground? You can root for my team...”

Y/N tenses up and reaches to shove his arm away, but he grabs her wrist.

“Cool it, Buddy Boy,” I state, sounding more like a warning.

“You come too. We’ve been needing a point guard, Tiger stinks.” He laughs wickedly and takes Y/N’s hand. “Let’s go, Mamacita.”

She attempts to protest, stepping back down the sidewalk. “No Ice, actually I-”

“Promise we won’t bite,” he smirks, guiding her toward the playground gate.

“Ha!” She mocks. “Your word is dirt to me.”

He yanks her forward into his chest, causing me to step forward to protest.

“Just five minutes,” he assures her. Then, he glances over at me with a smug grin. “You too Buddy Boy.” He spins on his heels and starts to lead Y/N toward the court.

She glances back at me and gives me a soft nod, practically telling me she’s alright. I know that she’d risk her safety if it meant preventing a war between us and the Sharks. I hate the idea of her anywhere near the boys, at least until they know the truth, that she’s not to be messed with anymore. I don’t trust them, not now.

__________________________

Ice

My arm remains across Y/N’s shoulders as we approach the Jets. “Boys, look who I found!”

They all snap their attention toward us, glancing between Y/N and Riff a few feet behind.

“Hey, Boss!” Baby John greets, jogging past me and Y/N toward Riff.

“What’s going on, Baby John?” He ruffles the kid’s hair with a chuckle.

“Waitin’ on you to show up again,” the youngest explains.

I steady to stop in front of the boys and Y/N shakes my arm off of her. I can’t help but be amused by her. If I wasn’t seeing Velma and maybe if she wasn’t a PR, I’d consider her.

A-Rab pushes off the wall and slithers up to a glaring Y/N. “Looks like you brought a bonus.”

“Oh bite me,” she scoffs, earning a series of ‘Oo’s’ and laughter from the Jets.

“Don’t tempt me, Señorita,” he mutters, glancing down at her lips.

I nudge him on the shoulder, causing him to take a few steps back. “Let’s just play the game boys, Y/N can watch,” I interject with a chuckle.

“Our own little cheerleader. What would Bernardo say?” Diesel teases as he passes by her to enter the court.

Y/N reaches up and tucks some strands of her hair behind her ear. That’s when I notice the gold chain hanging loosely around her wrist. I’ve seen it before. Then, it clicks. My eyes flicker to Riff’s wrist and it’s bare. In the years I’ve known him, he’s always had a gold chain around it.

Holy shit.

Y/N

“Would you like me to get my brother here and find out?” I challenge Diesel.

He may be the biggest Jet, but even he doesn’t scare me.

“You wouldn’t!” Baby John fusses, unable to mask his nerves.

“What? Scared Baby John?” I snicker, I can always depend on him to be a scaredy-cat.

“We ain’t scared of no PRs!” A-Rab barks, getting in my face.

“Is that why you’re staying clear of Doc’s?” I question, glancing at each of them before landing on Ice. His eyes seem focused on the pavement or something until I step closer to him, challenging him. “All because a little old lady told you to?”

He growls. “Listen here-”

“Hey!” A voice shouts, cutting Ice off.

All of us snap our heads toward the gate and that’s when my eyes land on Luis, Pepe, and Pepito marching up to us.

“¡Y/N, aléjate de ellos!” Pepito shouts. (Y/N, stay away from them!)

“Oh shit!” Riff mutters, causing me to glance in his direction.

His eyes meet mine and immediately I try to reason with my friends. I step ahead of the Jets, something I never thought I’d do. It’s all for Riff. “¡Espera, no chicos, está bien!” (Wait, no guys, it's fine!)

“¡Tiburones! ¡vamos!” Pepe yells, calling for the others. They mustn’t be far. (Sharks! Let’s go!)

He and the others don’t even acknowledge me. They shove right past me and despite being outnumbered, start brawling with the Jets. I yell for them to stop, but I know it’s no use. I’m shoved out of the way and stumble back. I lose sight of Riff as Sharks comes running from various directions to join in. This is exactly the nightmare I wanted to avoid. One day out in the world and already there’s a fight because Riff and I were together.

The playground is cleared, no children or other pedestrians in sight as utter chaos ensues.

“Can just leave our women alone can you, pig?” I hear Pepito shout amongst the screaming and brawling.

I scan the crowd, moving through the outskirts and that’s when I see Pepito gripping Riff’s collar. His hands are up beside either side of his head and I wish I could his words as he speaks to my brother’s friend calmly. In a second, Pepito’s fist collides with his stomach. Riff falls to the ground, clenching his stomach.

“Pepito!” I shout, running up to him.

My motion is halted as an arm slips around my waist. I whip my head around and Bernardo appears in front of me. “¿Estás bien?”

I grip his bicep’s pleading. “¡Estoy bien!” I attempt to peer over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Riff, but it’s no use.

“¿Qué estás haciendo aquí? Deberías estar en lo de Valentina!” (What are you doing here? You should be at Valentina's!)

“Es un lindo hoy. Ella me dio el día libre,” I rush out, eager to make all of this end and get Riff out of here. (It's a nice day today. She gave me the day off.)

My brother and I are interrupted when Riff suddenly appears between us.

His shirt is torn and his cheek bleeding, but I’m just relieved to see him. “Riff-”

Without a moment’s hesitation, despite my brother’s presence, he cups my face, evidently concerned. “Y/N, you need to get out of here-”

In one swift motion, Bernardo punches Riff clear across the face causing him to grunt and fall to the pavement.

“Stay away from my sister!” He warns, towering over him.

Riff

“No!” I hear Y/N scream right when Bernardo’s hand comes into contact with my jaw.

I’ve been punched many times in my life, but that one is definitely in the top five for most painful. It carries so much force and aggression that it causes me to lose my balance.

As soon as I hit the ground, I feel a weight on top of me. I mentally prepare to get hit against, assuming it’s Bernardo. When the pain never comes, my eyes flicker open and are met with Y/N’s. She’s put herself between me and her brother, blocking me.

Ice

“Y/N!” I hear Bernardo shout.

It pulls my attention away from the bloodied-up Spic I have lying on the court beneath me, my fist mid-punch.

My focus lands on a sight I never could’ve predicted. Bernardo towering over Riff and Y/N laying across his chest, peering up at her brother with an arm extended up to him. Bernardo tries to pry her away, pleading to her in Spanish. Riff props himself up onto his forearm and his arm snakes around her waist, everything starts to piece together in my head.

Oh... my... God...

“Y/N!” Bernardo scream.

“No! Nardo!” She fires back. She clings to Riff’s chest, hiding her face in his neck.

Out of my peripheral vision, I notice I’m not the only one taking notice of the scene. Slowly but surely, both Sharks and Jets start to realize what’s happening just a few feet away. Suddenly, fighting isn’t all that interesting anymore.

Y/N

I wish this would all just go away. I hide my face in Riff’s chest and I imagine all of this isn’t real. I hold onto him for dear life and his hand grips my waist. I didn’t plan on flinging myself across him to save him from my brother, it sort of just happened. Yet, I would do it all over again.

"¡Alejate de el!" My brother commands. (Get away from him!)

"¡No!" I refuse, finally peering up at Bernardo. “If you’re going to hurt him, you’ll have to hurt me too.”

"Hermana, tú más que nadie sabes lo que ha hecho!” Bernardo tries to reason with me. “Sabes qué tipo de hombre es". (Sister, you of all people know what he's done! You know what kind of man he is.)

"Tienes razón! He visto y tengo experiencia en lo que ha hecho!” I hiss between my teeth. “Sé quién es, tú no. La única persona a la que estaría dañando sería a mí mismo si no lo perdonara.” (You're right! I've seen and have experienced what he's done! I know who he is. It’s you who doesn’t understand. The only person I would be harming is myself if I didn't forgive him."

"¡Estás diciendo tonterías!" Bernardo dismisses and reaches for me again. (You're speaking nonsense!)

"¡Lo amo!" I finally confess impulsively, capturing myself by surprise. (I love him!)

Bernardo’s stern features falter to that of shock and disbelief. He stumbles back slightly. “Qué?”

“I love him, Nardo...” I repeat in almost a whisper and this time it’s intentional.

A silence falls upon the playground and that’s when the three of us notice we’ve gathered the attention of everyone. Jaws and eyes are open wide from both PRs and Jets. Soon, the echoing of sirens erupts in the distance.

______________________________

Masterlist

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#maria west side story #anita west side story #riff west side story #west side story #riff wss #wss #wss imagine #wss fanfic #rif #west side story riff #riff imagine #riff #mike faist #mike faist imagine #mike faist fanfic

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

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

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

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

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

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

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

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

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

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

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

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

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

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

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

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

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

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

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

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH MY GOODNESS

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

WHAT THE FUCK

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

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

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

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

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

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

oh my lord

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

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

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

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

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

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

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

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

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

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

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

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

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

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

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

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

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

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

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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srbachchan · 3 years

Text

DAY 4831

Jalsa, Mumbai May 20, 2021 Thu 9:14 PM

Birthday - Ef Gopi Sheth .. Ef Aish TVM .. Friday, May 21 .. our greetings and love on this special day .. be safe be well and be protected .. ❤️🌹

A dear friend sent me this article .. I thought it was a very good read and so thought of putting it here :

Write Tight

What is poetry? Etymology provides more questions than answers.

T. S. Eliot, who once famously called National Poetry Month the cruelest, was also one of many to point out the hopeless semantic tangles that ensue because “poetry” has two opposites. Poetry can be the lined stuff, often with rhymes, as opposed to sentences and paragraphs; poetry can also be the good stuff, as opposed to the plodding or simply informational. But if good prose can be poetic, a novel can be “pure poetry,” and poems can be prosaic, then it’s not clear what anyone is talking about, really. Or rather, it’s clear except to theorists trying to come up with definitions. Poetry is what’s thrilling, while a poem is that poor thing with eleven readers, eight of them members of the poet’s extended family.

Etymology doesn’t help—it only highlights that the apples and oranges here are how the thing is made and how it moves. Poetry is from the Greek poiein, “to make”: a poem is something made, or in English we would more naturally say crafted. Yet everyone agrees good prose is well crafted, too. Prose means, literally, “straightforward,” from the Latin prosa, proversus, “turned to face forward” (whereas verse is all wound up, twisty and snaky, “turned” in every direction except, apparently, forward). Yet we all know that poems can be clear and direct, too, especially when they’re songs.

Sidelining sonnets and quarantining quatrains in the poetry ghetto does produce a certain clarity. But of course it also creates problems when translating from languages that gerrymander poetry differently. In German, for example, writer is a word even more literal than the English “someone who writes”: it’s Schriftsteller, a put-down-on-paper-er (Schrift = “writing,” stellen = “to place, to put”). Autor is a word used a bit less often for pretty much the same thing, unlike in English, where there’s a difference: author expresses a professional and financial identity (there are no “unpublished authors,” unless maybe the manuscript is finished and the contract is signed), while a writer is someone pursuing an activity (published or not, paid or not, read or not).

And then there’s a Dichter, usually translated “poet” but meaning a creator of poetry in the grand sense. The verb dichten means “to write poetry, ” and a poem is a dichten-ed thing, a Gedicht, but dichten means more generally to write poetically and well. The good stuff. The writer as hero of the spirit. How do you say that in English? We don’t have heroes of the spirit.

At least not according to Grimm’s German Dictionary—the equivalent of the Oxford English Dictionary, and started by those same Brothers Grimm who brought us “Little Red Riding Hood.” It gloats that dichten means “to create poetically, filled with a higher intelligence,” and that “the word does not exist in French and English: they work around it with s’adonner à la poésie, faire des vers; to compose a poem, to make verses, to versify.” The OED can fire back all it wants—pleading that dight had “an extraordinary sense-development” in Middle English from its original “senses of literary dictation and composition,” to become “one of the most widely used words in the language”—but its efforts are in vain. From that whole extraordinary range of meanings we use exactly none anymore.

“To understand the word,” Grimm’s poetically goes on, “we must go back to an earlier time …” Dichten originally meant to write something down so it could be read or sung, something that had already been worked out in the mind (from the Latin dictare, “to say, to dictate”). It swerved into meaning the mental working-out, too, the originating creative act. A sixteenth-century saying already plays on the same double meaning that causes ambiguity in English: “A good enough rhyme-smith, but hardly a poet” (Reimschmiede genug, aber wenig Dichter). But from there, the word left the confines of verse. In German, you can still call someone a poet in the grand sense without consigning him to the poetry ghetto.

So what is a Dichter in prose? I have caved on occasion and translated Dichter as “poet,” in cases where the character in question may or may not be a poet (e.g., Robert Walser’s story “Letter from a Poet to a Gentleman”), or happens to be a poet even if that’s not really the point. Goethe was a poet, so the title of his autobiography, Dichtung und Wahrheit, can be translated as it usually is, Poetry and Truth, even though the book is not particularly about verse as opposed to other forms. His topic is actually Imagination and Truth, but imagination set down on paper. To put it anachronistically: Creative Writing and the Truth.

Sometimes, though, “poet” risks being downright misleading. A twentieth-century German writer named Uwe Johnson, known as the Dichter der beiden Deutschlands (the Dichter of both East and West Germany), wrote only prose. Call him the “poet of both Germanies” and people will think he’s a poet. He is more like “the voice of divided Germany,” or even “the bard,” despite being neither a songwriter nor Shakespeare. In English, we can get the grandeur (voice) or the job (writer, author, novelist), but not both.

There are cognates of dichten, from the same Latin dictare, but they never took on the same soaring spirit in English, at least since the demise of dight. Very much on the contrary. Our closest cognate, indite, “to put into words, write, compose, give literary form to,” was more or less completely swamped by what was once the same word, indict, “to write up charges, bring legal action against.” (Probably under interference from indicare, “to indicate, give evidence against”; and indicere, “to declare publicly,” compare Italian indicere, “to denounce.”) To translate Dichter as “inditer” won’t do. Even our least sarcastic Dichter is sarcastic about that: “Perhaps my best moments I never jot down; when they come I cannot afford to break the charm by inditing memoranda”—Walt Whitman.

Coincidentally, dicht in German also means “tight,” as in watertight or airtight (from Old Norse þéttr, apparently completely unrelated etymologically to dictare), and the verb dichten is also “to seal, caulk, make impermeable,” as well as “to make more dense or compact.” Ezra Pound played on the pun in his second most well-known slogan for what poetry does (after “Make it new”): dichten = condensare. An imagist manifesto in twenty characters: to write poetry is to condense and supercharge language. (Pound attributed the equation to the poet Basil Bunting “fumbling about with a German–Italian dictionary”; actually, Bunting knew what he was doing, and wasn’t exactly fumbling. Pound = condescendere.)

This may not be a less ambiguous definition of poetry, but it is a good challenge for the Dichters in our midst, in poetry or prose. Don’t just make it new: make it tight.

with admiration for the ones that read and feel read ..❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

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milkbaer · 3 years

Text

love to hate you | Part 1

“The prince of Prussia asks the princess of Bavaria for a dance; both absolutely hate it.”

💐 | masterlist | next

• Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Reader (Princess of Bavaria) • Word count: 2.8k • Warnings: none, except for spelling and grammar mistakes, and historical inaccuracy ✨ we alter history to make it fit the narrative ✨ • A/N: @netflixton on made me write it! Well, somehow. But I really have to thank both her and @onlymexsarah because they did not only bring me much joy with their stories but also lots of inspiration. Thank you so much! Really 🥺💖 I hope reading it brings you as much joy as I had writing it. Oh, and I had planned to post another Friedrich story first, but this one was faster. Ah and btw, I’m not Bavarian, sorry my dear Bavarian friends if I fuck up :’) • Small dictionary: Griaß di – informal, like Hello! or Greetings! Pfiad de – informal, goodbye Eure Hoheit – Your Highness Kruzifix – usually a plastic of Jesus hanging at the cross, but it’s also used as a way of cursing. Here it’s a curse.

Berlin, Prussia, 1812

To celebrate the birthday of her son Friedrich, Princess Frederica hosted a big soirée, a ball like usual. Her son might not be heir to the throne, well he was in line somewhere, but he needed a celebration worth a member of the royal family. If he was the son of the king this ball would be bigger and even more marvellous. For her son Frederica would do anything. So, she has had the ballroom decorated with his favourite flowers, colours and had adorned at least every window with candles. She had gotten the best Prussian musicians for him, and even the loveliest voices of Hanover.

Only the best for her son’s birthday.

With his constant travels to the British Isles Frederica often didn’t see him for at least a month. And she knew that he’d soon sail away again, maybe this time it would be Scotland or Ireland. She didn’t know exactly. But she knew that she wanted to see her son happy. When Friedrich was happy, Frederica was happy too. But she feared that if he’d marry an English lady, she’d see him even less.

Maybe she’d have to settle for England too …

Friedrich loved his mother and not only because she was the only parent left to him. He loved her dearly. It sounded cheesy but she was the best mother he could’ve ever wished for. He was thankful for the party; he knew how much work his mother has put in it. But this evening was delaying his departure for England by two days.

He loved his mother, really, he did. But instead of dancing with debutantes, daughters of family friends, and cousins, he wished to feel the rocky movement of a ship under his feet. Instead Friedrich had to be careful so that no feet would land on or under his.

After he had danced with three of his cousins, he was in desperate need of a break. Especially after having danced with his cousin Charlotte, who was a very passionate and fiery dancer. Instead of leading her, it felt like she was the one who swept him across the ballroom.

But as a prince, and birthday boy, it wasn’t easy to reach the plate filled with lemonade. Everyone needed to talk to him, and Friedrich was too polite to reject them. So, when he gulped down a glass of lemonade it felt like heaven trickling down his throat. He reached for another one, the glasses were far too tiny, when they announced the arrival of another “important” guest.

“Prince Karl of Bavaria and Princess Marie of Bavaria!” they announced when the couple entered the ballroom. Friedrich groaned, not because of them, but because of what, or better who, had to follow.

“And their daughter, Princess Y/N of Bavaria!”

The devil’s spawn.

Grunting in frustration Friedrich grabbed his glass and sprinted off, vanishing in the crowd. He needed to flee, before one of them saw him and decided to talk to him. Talking to the prince would be okay, but he wasn’t too keen on it either.

He needed to get away them – no, from you, as far and soon as possible.

Of course, his mother had invited them. They were her friends. But couldn’t they have left their daughter at home, far, far away in Bavaria?

Hiding amongst other men silently nipping at his drink, Friedrich hoped that he was invisible. He had avoided the middle of the room and the most obvious corners and pretended talking to other gentlemen. In his mind he was unable to be found.

“Griaß di Friedrich! We haven’t seen each other in ages.” Horrified Friedrich spit out his lemonade. Immediately apologizing to the gentleman, who’s coat he just had stained with the sugary drink.

How the hell did you find him?!

He could hear you laughing, maliciously laughing at him.

Your high, gleeful laughter made his skin prickle with anger, and yes, embarrassment. Only by the sound of your voice he could perfectly imagine how you must look like right now. And when he turned around, gritting teeth, he was absolutely right. You wore the same sly grin and superior face as usual.

Of course, he could tell by your sound how you looked like.

You always looked like this.

Looked at him like that when you met.

Usually Friedrich wasn’t petty when people didn’t follow the etiquette. He preferred not to be addressed as your Highness or Eure Hoheit actually. But he hated that you never addressed him correctly. Since he could remember you called him by his Christian name, always.

He hated how you said his name Friedrich, lightly pronounced with your Bavarian accent and hint of mockery. Especially the way how you rolled the first R made him furious. And it appeared to him, that you knew that and only did that to bother him.

“Eure Hoheit, good to see you,” Friedrich lied through gritted teeth. He never understood why he couldn’t bring himself to call you by your baptized name. According to court, he also bowed to you, but only lightly. He would never fully bow down or worse, kneel for you.

“Hm, the pleasure is all mine,” you replied, but your voice said the opposite. You weren’t pleased to be here, he knew that. But he wouldn’t be pleased to be in Bavaria to face you either.

Oh, and you never curtsied for him. You curtsied for his mother and everyone else but not for him.

“The ball looks lovely,” you said and didn’t sound malicious at all. To his surprise you sounded like you meant it. But he wouldn’t trust you, he wouldn’t do that mistake again. Deep inside he knew that this wasn’t all you had to say. You always had something to add.

Always.

Wary he nodded. “Indeed.”

“It’s good to see that one of you has taste,” you said, examining the decorations with a smile. Frederica made an amazing choice with adorning the windows with candles and adding flowers to the room that matched its colours. You really liked it. Friedrich knew that he was meant by your words. To you he had no taste at all.

His frustration slowly grew to anger. Silently raging with gritted teeth, a strong grip on his glass and a forced smile on his face, he asked you. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

Why couldn’t he believe you?

“Just formal greetings. And now my deed is done. So, pfiad de Friedrich!” You bid him goodbye in a singsong with wiggling fingers..

Before Friedrich could say anything in return, you walked off to god knows where. Gulping down his drink, again, in anger he watched you waddle off, until you merged with the crowd. Friedrich sighed in relief; he hadn’t even realized that he was holding his breath. Frustrated he rubbed his free hand slowly down his face.

Why was interacting with you always so exhausting?

Friedrich wished to enjoy his birthday; he did. Not only for him but also for his mother, Frederica put so much effort in this evening and she was bursting with joy. But with Y/N of Bavaria attending he couldn’t relax. Even now, standing beside his mother, it was impossible for him to loosen up. Somewhere in the back of his mind was you, cackling like the witch you were, constantly reminding him that he did not want to encounter you again.

“I know you wanted to depart for England today,” Frederica suddenly said. “I’m sorry.”

Her apology took him by surprise. She doesn’t need to, sure he had had different plans, but he was enjoying his feast in the presence of his mother.

“For what?”

She smiled sadly at him, looking up at her taller son. “For keeping you here when you could be in England instead.”

Frederica warmed his heart, she always did. He clasped his mother’s hands in his. “Mother, I love it. England will still be there in two days or a week. It can wait but my mother cannot, you’re more important to me.”

Giggling she slapped his arm in a friendly, loving manner. “Oh, you. – I see you’re becoming a real charmer.”

Friedrich laughed at that. He didn’t know if he was that charming.

Princess Frederica looked proudly at her son, a warm smile tugged at her face. His father hadn’t been the best and their marriage a disaster, but she was proud of what Friedrich has become. He was so different than him. She just hoped that Friedrich didn’t end up like them and found love, and happiness in marriage.

The party was going on for hours, and the prince slowly grew tired. His unwanted meeting with Y/N and the fiery dances with his cousin Charlotte, after the second dance she accused him of being a bad dancer, tired him out. Tonight, Friedrich had talked a lot, danced a lot, bowed and kissed hands a lot. He was tired and hoped to retire soon. Maybe if he talked to his mother …

But to his resentment she had a different plan in mind.

“Do me a favour,” Frederica said and pushed his arm towards the crowd. “And please ask Y/N to dance, will you? – She didn’t get to dance a lot, I can’t let the poor thing leave like that.”

Her son snorted, rolling his eyes. You were everything but definitely not poor.

The last person he wished to see was you, but he was too tired to protest so he marched unenthusiastically to the crowd. It took him some time to find you, to be fair, Friedrich didn’t do his best to find you. His subconscious led him the wrong ways, so he wouldn’t have to dance with you.

But there you were, standing beside your mother and looking almost as tired as he felt. He had no idea if you had arrived this day or yesterday at Prussia, and he didn’t care, but it sure must have been tiring. Sluggishly he approached you and greeted both you and your mother with a friendly fake smile. By the look of your eyes he could see that you were surprised to see him, and as uninterested as he was.

He took your hand, no, he had to grab it and hold it firmly for pretending to kiss it. The day his lips would touch your hands, or any other part of your body, would be the end of the world. Some sort of apocalyptic scenario. As soon as he had taken your hands in his, he had felt a small tug from your arm. You had wanted to pull your hand away, and still wanted to do so. But to your dismay, his grip was too tight.

Annoyed you pressed your lips together, which delighted Friedrich. Most of the time he despised you, but he loved it when he managed to irritate you. Oh, he’d surely frame this picture in his mind and put it to his gallery of ‘Y/N vexed faces’.

“I’d be more than honoured if you’d dance with me,” he lied, and you knew.

“No.” was all you said. And for a second, he taught that it was done, and he could retire to his mother. But your mother, Marie of Bavaria had other plans.

“She’d loved to, more than anything else.” She shot you, her daughter, a chiding look and shoved you right into his arms. Which mother would let the opportunity slide for her daughter to dance with a prince, even if she was a princess herself?

Both young adults groaned but didn’t object. Friedrich rolled his eyes in annoyance when he dragged you to the dance floor. And yes, he really had to drag you. You put much effort in not entering the dance floor.

To both of your dismay the following dance was a waltz.

Grunting he put himself into the right position, squeezing your hands in his and tugging it with him. His grip was a bit too strong for your liking, but you showed no signs of it. You didn’t even wince. You’d would rather chop of your hand than give him the satisfaction of having power. So, you returned his action, and gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“We don’t have to dance,” you said a bit glum.

Friedrich shared the same excitement, but he had – more or less – made a promise to his mother. It was more of a silent promise.

“Yes, we do,” he grunted. “I gave my word to my mother.”

So, this was all Princess Frederica’s fault? You huffed in annoyance. You liked that woman but maybe not so much anymore. But how could you fool? You’d never despise his mother, for that Frederica was way too nice, unlike her son.

“I forgot that you’re a good son,” you mocked him with a perfectly surprised voice. As if he’d usually disappoint his mother. He’d never.

Following the music and other dancers twirled Friedrich you around, savouring that one second of freedom. But far too soon where you back in his arms and the fight for the strongest grip continued. Friedrich knew that he was squeezing hard, even a bit too hard. But your face showed no signs, not even a flinch. You seemed unbothered by it. And he hated it.

So, he changed his grip, squeezed your hand a tad different and harder. You gasped, not able to contain yourself any longer.

Damn Prussian.

“Pardon me, your Highness. I fear my grip was too strong.” Friedrich apologized smoothly with a charming grin. You gritted your teeth; you knew that it wasn’t an accident. He smiled, enjoying his small moment of triumph.

“You did this on purpose,” you snarled. All your dance partner did was feigning his innocence.

“I would never.”

Friedrich twirled you around again. Your mother might have partnered you together but none of you bothered to pretend enjoying this. You only did it because of them.

You two followed the flow of music, the sound and rhythm, which didn’t reflect your emotions. The tune was elegant and yet cheerful, switching from strong and louds chords to gentle and hush. Waltzing to the song would’ve been lotsof fun if you were only dancing with the right man.

Friedrich flinched slightly, pressing his lips together, when you suddenly trod on his toes. Usually his boots would protect him of the stomps of a light, delicate lady. But you tod on his feet with force, with all your power.

“My mother said you were a good dancer,” he said, ignoring his slightly throbbing toes.

Your foot accidentally hit his leg.

He tried not to flinch.

“I never thought of her as a liar, but maybe she did exaggerate your dancing skills.”

Your foot flew against his other shin.

“Oh, I am,” you assured him with an innocent smile, which he knew wasn’t innocent at all. “I think it might be my partner. A dancer is only as good as the one who leads. – Ow!”

“Kruzifix!” you cursed under your breath.

Now it was Friedrich turn to tod on your foot. Thanks to his boots and physiques, and your shoes, he needn’t much to coax out a reaction from you. He sighed theatrical. “I think you might be right.”

And looked at you with a certain grin, you wished to wipe from his face, stepping on your other toes. You glared at him. If eyes could kill, he would’ve been stabbed a dozen times by now.

“It is me who is the bad dancer. But as you said.” Following the tune, he pulled you towards him, making you gasp in surprise, your chests almost touching. You knew that this move was coming but his movements were so abrupt it surprised you. “It is the leader who has the other in their hands.”

According to the rhythm you had to break of, bring some air between you, only to come together again. This time it was you who stepped on the other’s foot again. Your dance was more of a fight and continued until the end. There was a lot of treading, kicking, and squeezing involved but neither of you thought of surrender. Surely several parts of your body would be bruised blue tomorrow.

When the music grew silent, prince and princess were glad that the dance was over. Except for a formal farewell they said nothing to each other. Worn out did Prince Friedrich returned to his mother and Princess Y/N shuffled grimly to hers. The prince was more than relieved that this farce was over.

In two days, he’d be off to England and Y/N would be stuck far, far away in Bavaria. You and your spite would be far away from him. Friedrich probably had to encounter you next year, at his birthday, again but he’d make sure to never dance with you ever again.

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #prince friedrich imagines #prince friedrich x reader #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #prince friedrich fanfiction #own fanfic #lmao I'm nervous :'D #love to hate you

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.

Whatever, really.

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies.

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.

She’s positive about that, at least.

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate.

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why.

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really.

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.

She’s happy for Scarlet, really.

They won the game.

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier.

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously.

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.

And yet.

He sticks his hand out.

It’s disarmingly earnest.

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.

She takes his hand.

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later.

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.

When the Yankees make the postseason.

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.

Much like the goddamn fireworks.

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault.

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either.

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them.

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand.

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter.

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart.

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs.

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open.

They both jump.

So, that’s something.

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of.

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being.

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby.

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected.

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead.

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together.

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.

She does her very best to memorize the movement.

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable.

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.

Emma included. Emma, especially.

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins.

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then.

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now.

Got drafted, technically.

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

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prongsy · 3 years

Text

“ Did you just…. propose to me?”

I saw this prompt and I just had to write something even though it’s two am right now. Hope you guys like it. Please be gentle. :)

Remus was having a strange day.

When he woke up in the morning the weather was fine.His breakfast was fine. Everything was fine and so quiet. Peaceful even.

He was immediately on edge.

Don’t get him wrong, he liked the peace, but it was completely out of the ordinary. His friends and boyfriend were loud and spontaneous and……. absolutely nowhere to be found.

He woke up that morning and they were all already out of bed so assumed that he would be seeing them in the Great Hall for breakfast.

Nope.

Nada.

He really started to get worried when none of them showed up to their morning classes. The most surprising thing was that none of the professors took notice. Not even McGonagall. When he asked Lily between classes if she knew where the boys were, she just smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye and walked away.

Now he was panicking. When the students were sent out to lunch he didn't follow. He started to go towards the dorms, intent on grabbing the map and finding those three idiot boys and giving them a dressing down they would never forget, when he felt a hand on his arm.

“What?” He says as he turns to look at Lily, whose hand drops from his arm at the movement.

She’s silent as she grabs his hand and walks him to the Great Hall. He tries to stop her and continue on his search for his boys, but she won’t budge. She shoulders on as she continues to walk him toward the Great Hall. He eventually relents and lets her lead him, all while he questions her weird behavior.

“Why are you so determined to take me to the Great Hall? Sirius, James and Peter have been missing all day and I honestly doubt I’ll even be able to eat anything until I find out what exactly they’ve been up to all morning.” He says, a small furrow forming in between his eyebrow as his face scrunches in confusion.

“I just think that this is a lunch you aren’t gonna want to miss.” She insists with a coy smirk across her lips. She’s been spending too much time with James. And Sirius. And himself if he’s being honest.

He looks at her for a moment, feeling an odd mixture of pride and trepidation, before looking away and pouting slightly. Everyone seems to know what is going on except for him and he is not having it. Not one bit.

They finally make it to the Great Hall with Remus still pouting and Lily still smirking. The Hall is quiet, which is strange for a large group of 7th years, and everyone at the professors table seems to be watching him a little too closely. Remus sort of shuffles his way to the Gryffindor table, acutely aware of the empty seats surrounding him and the weird tension of the rest of the members of the table.

He’s about to start filling his plate with food when hears someone clear their throat at the front of the room. He turned to see that Dumbledor had stood up at the center of the Great Hall’s stage and seemed to be prepping for a speech. Remus turned to pay attention, as did every other student.

“I would like to apologize for interrupting your lunch, but as a lot of us know someone has something very important to ask someone here and has asked to be able to make this announcement right now.” Dumbledor says, smiling in the vague direction of the Gryffindor and causing Lily to squeal excitedly whilst clapping her hands.

“Come on boys, the floor is yours,” he says as he sits back down at his chair, looking to the left.

Remus follows his line of sight to see James and Peter walking out in muggle tuxes. Peter has on a black tux with a white dress shirt and a black tie, his hair slicked back nicely, and in his hand he is holding a white rose. James is dressed similarly, except his hair is an absolute mess as always. He is also holding a white rose.

Both of them walk towards the Gryffindor table and so right in front of him. Remus has never been so confused in his life. They both smile at him, faces brimming with happiness, and drop the roses into his hand. He looks at them in utter confusion, but they both just smile widely at him and step back to form the beginning of a horizontal line across from Remus.

Remus opens his mouth to ask what the bloody hell was happening when he heard more footsteps. He looks over to find the entirety of the Gryffindor Quidditch team walking towards him, all dressed just as sharply as Peter and James, and all holding a single white rose.

Just like James and Peter did, they all drop the rose into his arms and step back into the line. Remus is absolutely flabbergasted and the entire Great Hall is vibrating it seems.

“What the he-“ Remus cuts himself off as he feels his breath hitch and his heart start beating a harsh tattoo in his chest.

Merlin, he thinks, this cannot be real. Walking towards him is Sirius Black, his boyfriend of three years and his best friend of seven, dressed in a beautiful dark marine blue suit that makes his eyes look absolutely stunning. His long, dark hair is pulled back into a french braid with pieces framing his face. His finger nails are elegantly painted in a marine blue shade that matches his tuxedo.

He’s beautiful, so heart wrenchingly beautiful and Remus can’t breathe. Remus can’t breathe because Sirius is beautiful and he’s smiling that Sirius Black grin and making his way towards him with a single red rose in his hand and Merlin, Remus can’t breathe.

Sirius finally reaches Remus and stops right in front of him, just like the other did. Except Sirius doesn’t step back. He stands there nervously, red rose in his hand, before reaching for Remus’ hand and pulling him up. Remus lays the roses on the table and stands instantly, still staring at Sirius, always staring at Sirius.

He watches as Sirius shifts a bit before he feels him place the red rose in Remus’ now free hands. He sees Sirius take a deep breath before he hears him speak.

“Remus, I love you,” he starts and Remus can feel his throat closing up.

“ You have been my best friend since I was eleven and I will never be able to thank you enough for that. You have given me things that I didn’t even know I needed and have made me feel things I didn’t even know a person could feel. You have shown me what it feels like to fall in love, what it feels like to trust and be trusted in return. You have been there during my worst moment and you have let me be there for yours. You are the first thing I see when I wake up and the last touch I feel before I fall asleep. You are truly one of the only things I’m sure of and there is nothing I want more than to see you in every part of my life, no matter where I turn. I love you,” he chokes out as tears start to fill his eyes. Remus is surprised by the tears that have already escaped his eyes and made their way down his cheek.

Sirius sniffles a bit before he continues.

“James and the Potters might have shown me what a family feels like, but you Remus Lupin have never felt like anything other than home. Would you please, please do me the honor of spending the rest of your life with me?” He starts to get on his knees and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small burgundy box.

“Remus Lupin, will you marry me?” He looks up at Remus with the most hopeful eyes whilst he opens up the small box to reveal the ring, and Remus can’t breathe.

Remus can’t hear anything other than his heartbeat thumping in his ear as he looks down at the love of his life. The love of his life that just asked him to marry him and has gone suspiciously silent and is looking a little bit worried,

Oh right, he thinks, I need to answer.

He tries to speak. Tries to open his mouth and say yes yes yes! What comes out instead is:

“Did you just…. propose to me?”

Remus wants to hit himself. Over the head. With a dictionary. Hard.

“Um...yes?” Sirius looks two words away from fainting as he says this.

“Oh, then yes” Remus breathes out, feeling stupid, but oh so very happy.

“Yes?” Sirius asks even as the grin starts to make its way across his face again.

“ Yes. Yes!” Remus can’t help but laugh a little.

Sirius scrambles up to his feet and sweeps Remus up into his arms. He spins the both of them around a bit while the rest of the student body explodes into applause.

Sirius puts him down before reaching for his face and pulling him down. Remus meets him halfway as he wraps his arms around his waist and kisses him deeply. They can hear James wolf whistling in the background, but neither of them care, too wrapped up in the moment to focus on anything other than in each other.

They pull back, grinning at each other happily. Remus lifts up his hand and wiggles his fingers at Sirius to remind him to put a ring on it. Sirius reaches down to pick up the box he dropped in his excitement, blushing all the while. They both giggle as Sirius takes his hand and slides the ring on his finger before planting a kiss on it.

Remus finally looks at the ring and he can feel tears fill his eyes once more. It’s a simple gold band with a beautiful engraving of a wolf and a dog laying with each other under the full moon. Remus looks into Sirius’ soft grey eyes and feels tears make their way back down Remus’ face.

Sirius brings his hands up to wipe Remus’ face before pressing their foreheads together.

“So this is what you were planning all morning, huh?” He whispers into the space between them.

“Of course, only the best for my fiancé.” Sirius whispers back with a lovesick smile on his face.

Fiancé, wow.

Scratch that, Remus Lupin was having the best day.

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