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holykillercake · 3 years

Text

Emergency Light

ᴋᴏʙʏ x ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

word count: 2.6k

summary:

Female reader developed a crush on Koby since he stood up against Akainu in Marineford. Someday at a party at the marine´s, you get drunk, too drunk. Koby takes you to your room before a disaster happens. You two get stuck in the elevator while everyone is busy partying.

highlight: You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now.

warning: 1. ¨Do not press random buttons.¨ - LAW, Trafalgar; 2. Trafalgar Law is not part of this story, but his wise words are worth of quotation.

notes: *knock knock* Hi, guys! After a terrible writing block, I finally finished @pure-kirarin´s lovely lovely request, which I used as summary since it was really good! I really hope you like it! <3 A little disclaimer! At some point, the ¨too drunk¨ part vanished from my brain, so our reader is just... drunk, hahaha.

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖!

¨Y/N-san!¨

You were wiping a sweat drop from your forehead when the pink-haired boy appeared beside you, offering an isotonic drink and a warm smile.

You did your best to hide the tiny heart attack you had.

¨Koby-san!¨ you shouted, smiling awkwardly. ¨Oh... is it for me?¨

¨Of course! You have been working really hard these days.¨

¨Thanks.¨ you took the drink from his hands. The heat and condensation caused a layer of cold sweat to wrap the bottle. ¨I just don´t know why they are making us help prepare this party. They have a team for this, Koby-san! Besides, we´re Captains now.¨ you pouted the last bit.

¨Yeah...¨ he scratched the back of his neck. ¨well, at least we get to spend some time together!¨

¨I know, I just-¨ you stopped talking as his words processed in your brain.

You felt your blood vessels dilating on your cheeks, leaving a hot sensation on your face.

Perhaps he was just being polite, or maybe you were making a big deal out of this, but you couldn´t help. You have been fond of him for a while now, and you couldn't stop that involuntary reaction of your body when he said such lovely things.

Koby realized the words that came out of his mouth, and the scene that followed made even your spirit giggle. His eyes opened wide, and you could almost feel his throat running dry with all his stuttering.

If that was a blushing competition, you would be down to the second place.

¨W-We´ve been on separate missions for ten months, right? I m-mean... and it´s not dangerous or anything, and-¨

¨Yeah, you´re right, Koby-san.¨ a smitten smile blossomed on your lips, and you tried to hide it by sipping the refreshing drink.

As stated by the boy, you had spent almost a year in different locations of the Grand Line, leading missions of your own. That was the kind of thing you had to do as promoted Captains.

You had no idea where Koby ended up going. These subjects could not be discussed over snail transponders, just for precaution. In fact, you barely spoke to him during this time. There were only a few nights when you would exchange coded messages.

Since you became Captains, your tasks have kept you apart for much longer than before. You couldn't help but miss him and wonder how he must be doing during those times.

You have already met thousands of Marines. Some even stronger and more agile than him, but no one had his willpower. You would put your hands on the fire for that.

Whenever you felt unmotivated or helpless, the memory of the boy standing up against Sakazuki, putting his life on the line to honor his fallen comrades made your blood burn hotter.

He did what no one else had the guts to do.

Too blinded by the bloodshed, in the end, the number of casualties made it clear that accomplishing the task was no reason to celebrate.

When the sole of your shoes stained with blood and the blade of your sword sliced through anyone who didn´t wear the justice symbol on their back, you questioned if the Marines had finally lost their purpose.

You should be civilized and do justice, but not at the expense of soldiers who had families to return to. If the target had already been eliminated, why were you still fighting?

A chill ran down your spine when, for the first time, you looked up and faced the massacre. It was as if before, you could look at everything and, at the same time, see nothing.

If Koby hadn´t stood up at that moment, you wouldn´t be here today. Maybe for leaving, maybe for dying. But his act of braveness and courage returned a bit of your hope.

You wanted to see how far he could go, and hopefully, you would be by his side.

Before, you used to watch him, along with his colleague Helmeppo, getting beat up and beat up by Garp and always put himself back on his feet.

You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now.

From your room, you had a perfect view of the training circuit, so you could see the cycle repeating itself over and over again. Boys, seduced by the idea of absolute justice, strength, and power to fight bad guys, came to Marineford willing to prove their worth. They would fall a few times before the sparkle in their eyes started to fade.

Eventually, they would fade too.

Those boys, however, fell and fell, being punched to a pulp, then patched back together only to suffer on Garp´s hands again. Watching them became your late-night entertainment, and seeing their improvements and growth turned out to warm your heart.

At some point, you were assigned to be their opponent, and from that moment on, your days became brighter. They would share the craziest stories and tell the funniest jokes. Or not so much tell jokes. They were naturally clumsy and fun.

Although, if you could choose, you would prefer to spend more time with Koby. Nothing against Helmeppo, he was just too much sometimes. But apparently, they came in a two-for-one pack.

***

It has been only a few hours since the party started and you reached the jackpot. You had taken all your frustrations on alcohol and rice cakes, and it showed.

Every ten seconds, the memory of what you wanted to do disappeared, and that was somehow hilarious, making you explode in laughter and cause commotions. So for every ten seconds during the first hours, one of the last remaining sober in the enclosure had tiny cardiac arrests.

Everyone was drunk enough to have a good time without causing any trouble. But the detail worth mentioning was that your party had started a little earlier, under the statement that you needed a little incentive to help you through the night.

It meant that your energetically loud phase was close to reaching its end, giving place for your sleepy and distracted persona. Your eyes felt heavier by the second, light dizziness fogging your brain, but it felt relaxing.

¨You know Koby is a type of meat?¨ you said, resting your chin on the table and giggling to yourself.

¨Y/N-san, I-I don´t think that´s the name of it.¨ his face turned red as he shifted on the cushion, adjusting his posture.

¨Ugh, you´re so nervous Koby, you should relax.¨ you sang the last syllable. ¨Look at Meppo, he´s relaxing.¨

Your lips bent in a goofy smile as you watched your comrades building an okaki tower on Helmeppo´s head. The blonde had passed out on the table a few minutes earlier, too exhausted and drunk. He looked so peaceful in his sleep that a yawn escaped your mouth, catching Koby´s attention.

¨Y/N-san, you should go to bed already. Y-You look tired.¨ his voice trembled when he took sight of your sparkling but sleepy eyes, rosy face, and messy hair.

¨Hmm, no... I´m still good.¨

Another yawn.

¨Come, I can walk you to your room before you relax like Helmeppo.¨

Your brain was working in slow motion, so by the time you thought of answering him, your grip was already tight in his. A little tighter than necessary, but you were afraid your wobbly legs would cease, and honestly, he didn't object at all.

The air outside the salon made your nostrils hurt within every breath, not because it was freezing cold but because the alcohol made your body run hotter than usual. Your ears felt like they were clogged, but that was merely the tingling silence on the empty hall.

When he guided you inside of the elevator and pressed the corresponding button to your floor, your gasp, which echoed through the narrow walls, made Koby jump back, scanning for any sign of danger.

¨Oh my God, look at this, Koby!¨

He watched you walk closer to the panel, completely mesmerized. ¨Uh... what, Y/N-san?¨

¨Wow! They never did this before!¨ you shouted, falling on your knees and leaning in like a child on an ice cream shop showcase.

The boy kept staring at you, who pressed the buttons in a row with shimmering eyes. What was in that saké?

¨They never did...?¨

¨Look!¨ you clicked some more. ¨When I press the buttons... they light up!¨

A moment of silence fell upon the two of you, and although Koby always felt comfortable in your presence, he wasn´t sure what to do now.

You, on the other hand, didn´t seem to mind, too focused on your groundbreaking discovery.

¨Y/N-san, they have always...¨

¨This is so cool!¨

¨Y/N-san... I don´t think you should...¨

¨What does this one do-¨

A loud shriek escaped your mouth when the shaking of the elevator took you off balance, making your butt meet the floor in a thump. The lights flashed a few times before everything in your sight was pitch black.

You heard Koby call your name, asking if you were hurt, but all you could do was hold still, fearing for your life. The alcohol made the bouncing feel like a devastating earthquake.

¨Y/N-san!¨ you felt light pats on your shoes. ¨Are you ok? I can´t see anything!¨

Koby crawled on the floor, using your foot as a way to locate you.

¨Koby, stop moving.¨ you whispered, but he seemed not to hear, lost in his rumbles. ¨Koby, stop moving!. We´re going to fall.¨

¨Wh-no! Y/N-san, are you hurt?¨

¨No, I don´t think so.¨ you answered, head swirling and heart racing in your chest.

¨Y/N-san, did you press the emergency button?¨

¨No!¨ you stopped for a second, failing to hold your drunken giggles for yourself. ¨But that´d be a great idea right now. I think I remember where it is!¨

You twisted your body towards the panel, ignoring Koby´s attempts to stop you, and started to touch the many buttons, searching for the emergency one.

Click.

Click, click, click.

¨It´s not worki-¨ you squealed when the elevator struck again, piercing sound of creaking metal cooling every disc in your spine.

¨Y/N-san, please stop pressing the buttons!¨ Koby cried.

The feeling was too strange. You felt everything rocking slightly, no light was coming in, and the adrenaline made it difficult for you to calm down and adapt to the darkness.

Your breathing had already become irregular and heavier when the emergency light turned on. It was dim and greenish but better than nothing.

¨Oh, no.¨ he said.

¨No, no. Don´t say oh, no.¨ You shook your head.

¨Y/N-san, that´s the emergency light.¨

¨Yeah, so...?¨

¨So the elevators are not a priority now.¨

¨And that´s bad...?¨

¨Well, yes, because the energy is being used somewhere else.¨

You stared at him for a few seconds. All of his words made total sense, and in a normal situation, you would be able to handle it without further complications.

¨Koby, I don´t know if you´re getting somewhere...¨

¨Y/N-san, there was probably a problem with the generators, and they had to redirect the energy consumption.¨ you nodded, starting to connect some dots in your head. ¨I think they are sending everything to the kitchen beca-¨

¨Wait.¨ you said with a terrified expression painted all over your face. ¨We´re stuck?¨

He saw the panic grow in your eyes.

¨Y-Yes. B-But it should be back soon, don´t worry. Someone will come.¨

You remained in silence for the first hour, mainly because you kept falling asleep.

Little by little, the effects of the alcohol on your body began to cease and your temperature to cool down. Added to that, the darker the night fell, the chillier it got. So at some point, you couldn´t sleep anymore because your bones wouldn´t stop shivering.

Koby handed you his coat as soon as he took notice of your discomfort.

¨No, you don´t have to-¨

¨Y/N-san, you´ll end up getting sick.¨ he spoke, leaning a bit forward so you could take the piece of clothing.

¨Thanks.¨

A huge smile rose on your lips when the coat fell on your shoulders. It was incredibly warm and had his soothing laundry fresh smell.

Maybe with a hint of meat from the party.

It served you like a cape, so you pulled the collars closer to your body and curled up to retain the warmth. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel like it was him.

That granted you another nap.

Still, after about twenty minutes, something woke you up. This time it was a sneeze from Koby, who leaned against the wall, hugging his legs close to his body.

Guilt hit you right in the guts.

You crawled towards him, gently poking his leg.

¨Koby-san...¨

He raised his head and mumbled something you didn't understand. Maybe he asked if you were ok.

¨I... I´m still a little cold... c-can I sit by your side?¨

¨Uh? Yes, of course.¨ he shifted on the same spot, only to return to the previous position.

His voice was a little nasal and rasped, probably from the cold. You hoped he wouldn´t get a sore throat.

The coat became a blanket that you used to cover both of your legs, although he made sure you had gotten the bottom end since it had more fabric.

¨Are you feeling better, Y/N-san?¨

¨I am, thank you.¨ you whispered.

¨Y-You can lay on my shoulder... if you want.¨

You smiled and did as he suggested, curling up closer to him. It took you very little to fall asleep once you rested your head on his shoulder. His body began to feel warmer, and he even asked if you wanted to hook your arm with his to maintain warmth.

Using the last bit of boldness provided by the saké, you reached for his hand. You had this sensation, deep down, that the feelings you carried for him were reciprocated. But you could deal with this some other time. For now, you focused on calming down the fireworks inside of your chest.

[EXTRA SCENE]

A roaring noise followed by a ray of light fished you out of whatever dreams you were having. You pulled the blanket up to cover your eyes and snuggled deeper into the warm body in front of you.

Nothing crossed his mind at that moment. All you wanted to do was get rid of the light and have a few more hours to sleep. However, a sound like a throat clearing caught your attention.

You blinked a few times, images of last night taking form in your memory. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was you leaning against Koby.

I must have slipped to the floor at some point.

Your hands were wrapped in a turquoise fabric, and it didn't take long for you to realize that the fabric was wrapped around someone.

Koby's scarf.

Koby!

You ended up lying in front of each other, sharing his uniform. Your face a few centimeters from his chest.

After yawning a couple of times, you opened a distance to look at him.

His face was wrinkled, brows furrowed, and lips turned into a pout. The round glasses were no longer on his head, and the bandana, like his hair, was frowzy.

So adorable.

A louder throat clearing made you turn your head. The groggy smile on your lips disappeared instantly with the image of the elevator repairer, Garp, and dozens of other marines staring at the two of you.

#one piece #oneshot #opfanfic #Marines #Koby #koby x reader #coby?#sakazuki #sengoku #monkey d garp #helmeppo

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illogicalpunkwrites · 4 years

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Diplomacy

Hello! Hope everyone is doing well! This is another McCoy fic and I’ve got one for Scotty in the works. Enjoy and thank you so much for reading!

Pairings: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: Smut, cursing, jealousy, angst, fluff, the whole works

Words: 4.3k

Tags: @bloodangelballerina @theweepingvulcan91

You groaned as you read the message from Jim, already trying to find a way out of it.

All commanding officers were to go to a Gala on the metropolitan planet of TIbbea. Meaning, you’d have to dress up and attempt to kiss ass to uphold the reputation of Star Fleet.

Fantastic.

XXXXXX

You sat next to Leonard as you sipped the brandy he’d pulled out from his cabinet, some oldies playing in the background. You and Leonard had grown close, surprising everyone by becoming good friends despite the rocky beginnings. Bickering had given way to teasing, but that wasn’t to say that the bickering ended.

“So I take it you’re not looking forward to tomorrow?” He asked and you snorted.

“Absolutely not. They also still haven’t given me a new dress uniform so I’ve got to wear the most uncomfortable thing on the planet. Thankfully, it’s just black but I prefer slacks over that thing any day.”

“Hey, I hate that monkey suit. I think I’d rather wear a dress.” You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder.

“We can always switch.”

“Nah, I don’t think I could pull it off.” He replied and you two simply listened to the music. While ancient country wasn’t your taste, you had made Leonard watch enough of your movies that you owed him some of your time. “At least you can dance, right?”

“Can you?” He made a more or less sign. “I don’t really like to. I’ll stay near the bar and appetizers. Maybe you’ll meet some nice Orion girl to dance with.”

“I’ll just stay at the bar with you, darlin;. Maybe a Ferengi will woo you off your feet.” You snickered into your drink.

“If they buy me a drink, sure.” There was a comfortable silence between the two of you, but you didn’t notice Leonard’s heart nearly beating out of his chest. You only noticed something was off when he dragged his hand over his face. “You alright?”

“Uh, yeah. I was actually wondering if any of the other officers asked you to be their...accompany them to the gala?”

“No, why?”

“How about you go with me? Seems like we both want the same thing of staying out of the way and drinking them out of the house.” He joked. You hoped he didn’t notice your cheeks heating up as you looked back down into your glass.

“Sounds great, Len.”

Stars, he loved it when he called you that.

XXXXXX

The hall was ornately decorated with white walls and gold accents, a grand staircase, and breathtaking portraits of previous rulers of the planet. It seemed like it was something out of a fairy tale or a palace from Europe. Star Fleet took you to so many places but you never thought you would be in as nice a place as this.

You squirmed a little outside of the grand hall, the straps of your heels digging into your ankles, the garter belt that held your phaser chafing against your other thigh. Nyota and Janice had a lot of fun helping you get ready, an unspoken giddiness between the two. When you probed them as to why they were so adamant about getting you ready, they simply smiled and said “no reason”. Luckily for them, Spock had chosen to take Nyota as his date and Hikaru had kindly asked Janice to be his.

You had to admit they had done a great job but you weren’t surprised. Their makeup and hair were always impeccable.

You didn’t notice Leonard standing behind you and staring at you. He was in awe of how you looked. He always thought you looked beautiful but seeing you in your onyx gown was something else. It hugged you in the right places, showed off your shoulders with the loose sleeves, and the slit up your leg made you look like a goddess.

Dear God you were going to be the death of him.

You fixed your hair a little before you felt a tap on your shoulder. You spun to see Leonard in his dress uniform. While you knew he hated the monkey suit, he looked so handsome. His eyes were even brighter than usual and he had run just a little bit more gel through his hair.

“Hello there.” You greeted. He looked you up and down and you ran your hands over the silky material of the skirt. “Told you it was awful.”

“What’re you talking about? You look...you look gorgeous, darlin’.” Your eyes widened and you knew he saw the blush on your chest and cheeks.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” He offered you his arm and you took it, walking into the grand hall and looking out for your crewmates. You took note of the many different races that were there and the line to great the king and queen.

“Jim needs a chair like that.” You commented, looking at the throne that was decorated with the overarching symbol of the national Tibbean religion. It was imposing to say the least and you wondered if it would even fit in the transporter room.

“What? So his ego can get bigger?” You both chuckled and made your way down the stairs and towards the bar.

“I see we’re sticking to the plan?” You asked.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Old fashioned, right?” You smiled, loving how he remembered your favorite cocktail.

“Yes please.” He ordered that for you and boulevardier for him. One of the bartenders quickly made them and slid them over to the two of you, the glasses heavy and almost a little gaudy.

“To drinking them out of the house!” He toasted and you chuckled.

“To drinking them out of their palace.” You corrected. You sipped your cocktail and, though you had many before, it was the best old fashioned you’d ever had. “Damn that’s good. I gotta figure out what bourbon they used.”

“I doubt you’d be able to afford it, darlin’.”

“Hey, if I take more credits from Scotty in poker I just might.” He scooted closer to you so you were practically resting against him.

“You gotta teach me your tricks.” “What? And let you take away my credits? I don’t think so.” You responded cheekily. You watched as Jim approached the king and queen, supposedly thanking them for their invite and talking up Star Fleet.

“It isn’t even a game for you anymore! You win every time.” He complained and you laughed.

“Doctor McCoy, I don’t play games. Poker is just a means to an end to be able to get everyone’s credits.”

“Never took you for a scrooge. You can tell me something”

“I never realized you were so whiny.” You replied and his jaw dropped in feigned shock. “Oh shut it, you know it’s true. ‘Jim, I’m a doctor not a brick layer. Spock you realize this is impossible. (Y/N) you need to be more careful’. Dammit Jim can’t you-” He elbowed you a little and you laughed, his arm going around your shoulders.

“You two certainly look like you’re having fun.” Jim said as he approached with the other members of the crew that had beamed down. You both sipped on your drinks as the others talked about how beautiful the planet was. Scotty was impressed with their liquor selection just like you were, Janice couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the paintings, Nyota was in awe of the poetic music that played, and Hikaru was obsessed with the native plants that nearly glowed with color.

“Please Spock, dance with me.” Nyota begged, already a little tipsy. She was always a lightweight, ever since meeting her your first day on the Enterprise.

“Of course, ashayam.” He replied and held out his arm for her to take and lead her to the floor. You and Leonard looked at each other, hardly believing the Vulcan could be so smooth.

“Miss Rand, if I may.” Sulu offered his hand, Janice laughing as she took it. Scotty lead Lieutenant Mira, Jim grabbed Carol, which eaft you and Leonard against the bar still. You were feeling the effects of your second old fashioned and decided “to hell with it”.

“Len, come dance with me.” He sputtered into his drink and quickly wiped his chin.

“Uh, I thought you didn’t dance.”

“I never said that, I just never answered your question. So will you dance with me?” You replied, placing your glass down and reaching to grab his hands. “Well...Look darlin’-”

“I’ll dance with you.” A deep voice called. You turned to see a Daliwakan leaning against the bar near you. “I’m Ivvoid, junior ambassador to the Daliwakans.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself and your rank aboard the Enterprise.

“Dr. McCoy, CMO of the Enterprise.” He introduced and you didn’t fail to miss how his chest seemed to literally puff up.

“Come, Commander. Indulge in me a little and dance.” Before you could object, he grabbed your elbow and led you to the floor. His other hand quickly went to your waist as you stepped in time to the music.

“You have to forgive me, I’m not a talented dancer.” You told him sheepishly, keeping in mind you had to keep up a diplomatic presence. You wished Leonard was with you instead.

“To be honest, neither am I. But who ever heard of an ambassador who couldn’t dance?” You laughed softly at him as he lead the little waltz you were having. You could practically feel Leonard’s eyes on you. “Who is the CMO to you?”

“What?”

“Who is he to you? Just a crewmate?” He replied and you furrowed your brows at him.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, if I wish to get to know you better I would want to know whether you are spoken for or not.” He replied bluntly. You were a little stunned, something unusual for you. You didn’t realize that was a trait amongst the Daliwakans.

“Well, he is my date for the night.” You explained and you saw the ridges on his forehead raise.

“Just for the night then? You two aren’t together?”

“Well no, I don’t suppose we are.” You replied honestly.

“Fantastic! You know, back on my planet women-”

XXXXXX

Nyota looked over at Spock’s shoulder to see Leonard still leaning against the bar while you danced with someone else. She knew that there was something going on between the two of you, but you were both too stubborn and blind to do anything. If he wasn’t going to do anything, she would just have to push him.

“Spock, let’s move near Doctor McCoy.”

“Are you planning something?” Nyota smiled up at him and he did as she asked. “Doctor.”

“Spock, Uhura.” Leonard replied as he sipped on his third drink of the night. He saw how flustered you were getting and couldn’t help the pang of jealousy in his chest.

“Leonard, why don’t you go over there? She obviously doesn’t want to be there.”

“What’re you talking about? She’s laughing at everything he says and hasn’t stopped dancing with him.” He grumbled.

“Perhaps she is merely trying to be diplomatic. It’s hard to reject an offer from an ambassador.” Spock replied and Nyota grabbed his hand in a Vulcan kiss, showing that he had done a good job.

“Nah, she likes him.” She looked over again and saw how stiff you were. Sometimes she really wanted to slap Leonard for not catching on to the obvious things.

“Really? You think so? Maybe she just needs someone else to go save her, be assertive! Go over there!” Leonard polished off his glass and moved away from the bar.

“Nah, leave her be.” She looked up at Spock and he led her back to the dance floor, hoping to lift her spirits again. Nyota looked across to Janice who sported a disappointed look on her face. XXXXXX

You looked away from the ambassador to see Leonard going back up the stairs of the grand hall. Your eyes widened and you mouth went slightly agape. You let go of the ambassador’s hand and, against his protests, quickly made your way through the crowd.

“Wait, Commander!”

“I’m sorry, I have to go!” You caught Leonard going around a corner and followed him, wondering where he could possibly be going. He went up another set of stairs and you followed, but he had gone into one of the many rooms before you could see which one. You opened each one, looking around, before you found a study. You saw his back turned towards you as he leaned with his palms against a desk. The window in front of him showing the dark purple sky with triple moons illuminating his figure.

“Dammit.” He sighed to himself and you quietly closed the door behind you.

“Hey, I thought we were going to drink the entire bar?” You joked but he didn’t laugh. You approached him and rubbed his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He bit back. You stepped back a little but your hands didn’t leave him. “I’m sorry. Go back downstairs, have fun.”

“I was having fun with you.”

“You were having fun with the ambassador.” He replied and you rolled your eyes.

“He was cocky and dull.”

“You laughed an awful lot.” He scoffed. You pulled away from him and crossed your arms across your chest.

“Doctor McCoy, are you jealous?” You teased, but your teasing nature went away when he didn’t say anything. “Len-”

“Darlin’, I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

“No you don’t.” He turned to see you. Again, he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful you looked against the purple light. “What’s going on? We were having fun, I asked you to dance with me and you didn’t want to, the ambassador didn’t even really ask just took me over, now you’re upset.”

“I never said I didn’t want to dance with you.” He said. “I just didn’t have the...”

“Balls?” He finally laughed a little at that.

“Yeah. He kinda stepped in before I could finally get some.” You heard the music lightly coming through the door and walked over to him, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist and you locked yours around his neck.

“There we go. That’s better.” You said. He rested his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes. You swayed together to the faint music, breathing in his musky cologne and your warm and spicy perfume. His arms tightened around you so the tips of your noses touched. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. While he was someone who didn’t particularly like dancing, he didn’t mind it with you. “You don’t have to be jealous, y’know.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else.” His breath hitched as one of your hands slid down to cup his jaw.

“Darlin’, don’t play games.”

“You heard me earlier. I don’t play games.” You closed the gap between the two of you and kissed him softly. One of the hands wrapped around your waist went up to the back of your neck to pull you impossibly closer. It didn’t take him long to start kissing you back, taking your bottom lip between his. His lips were a little chapped but damn did he know how to kiss. You felt your entire body melting into him as every nerve ending fired. You had to keep yourself from whining when he pulled away.

“I’ve been wanting that to happen a long time.”

“Me too.” He leaned down to kiss you again, fiercer this time as he lead you against the desk. His hands went up to cup your jaw as you grabbed at his back, the dress uniform’s scratchy fabric unpleasant against your fingernails. His tongue darted into your mouth and you welcomed him as he teased you. His hands started moving all over you, wanting to feel as much of you as possible. His mouth moved against your jaw, down to you neck and stopped there. Your breathing had picked up as he kissed against the juncture of your neck and collarbone. “Len-” You gasped out when he kissed, sucked the skin into his mouth. You didn’t care about the mark that would be left there as his lips pressed a soft kiss to the red spot he had created. He pulled away to look at you, his lips slightly swollen.

“Darlin’ I need you to tell me to stop if you don’t want this. I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted to kiss you, to taste you, to feel you.” Your breathing picked up even more as you were rendered speechless. “I just need you to tell me to stop and I will.”

“I don’t want you to. Please Len, don’t stop.” you whispered, pulling at the short hair at the back of his head. You leaned forward and pulled the collar of his shirt down and leaned to give him the same mark he had given you. His hand went to your exposed thigh, feeling the garter that held your phaser. “Always have to be prepared.” You joked, breaking some of the tension. He smiled and pulled the phaser to set it on the chair behind the desk. His hand slid up your thigh again and you jumped a little as he finally reached your panties. His fingers creeped in to find that bundle of nerves that was screaming for attention.

“Shit.” He cursed when he felt how wet you were. He started slowly circling it and your hands went to his biceps, squeezing tightly. His finger moved away from your clit and into your core, quickly joined by a second finger. You were tight around his fingers and you wondered how tight you would feel around his cock. He moved his fingers around a little until he found the spot that made you clench around him and moan into his mouth.

“Yes!” You sighed, his thumb going to rub your clit has his fingers curled inside of you. You messed with his shirt with shaky hands, trying to open it to feel at least some of his skin. When you succeeded, you ran your hands down his chest to reach for his slacks. You pressed your lips together when you felt the bit of wetness at the bulge. You unzipped his pants and pushed them and his underwear down his hips enough to free his cock that slapped against his belly. You both moaned to each other as you ran the palm of your hand over his tip. You encircled him and started jerking him off slowly. The coil in your belly was growing tighter as he continually tapped against you while rubbing the most sensitive part of you. While you always secretly admired his hands, you had underestimated how good his fingers would be. “Shit wait, I don’t want to come yet.”

“What do you need? Whatever you want.” He replied desperately.

“I need you inside me now. I can’t wait anymore.” He cured under his breath and you bunched up your skirt so it wouldn’t get ruined. He pulled his fingers and you swore you could’ve come just from watching him smear your wetness over his cock. He wrapped one of his arms back around your waist with the other holding it, your arms going to grip at his shoulders. His cock caught at your entrance and he grasped the base of himself before slowly starting to push in. Both of your mouths dropped open as he sank into you with small rolls of his hips.

“Fuck you feel too damn good.” You mewled as his accent came out even more. He finally bottomed out inside of you and he felt your grip tighten on his shoulders. “You alright?”

“Perfect, you feel perfect.” You two stayed like that for a moment or two, basking in each other before your hips started to roll as best as they could against him. One of his hands left you to grip the edge of the desk as he pulled out to the tip to push back into you roughly. You could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold back as much as he wanted to as your body bounced against him and the desk creaked underneath you and the fact that you knew the grip he had on your hip would leave bruises. You hooked one of your legs higher around his waist and he gasped out when he sunk even deeper into you. The angle allowed for him to hit the spot that he had found earlier and if it wasn’t for him you would’ve collapsed against the desk. You muffled your cries against his shoulder, still cognisant that you were at a gala.

“Shit, darlin’ I’m not gonna last much longer.” You shook your head against him.

“Me neither.”

“Rub your clit, c’mon.” He groaned into your ear and one of you shaky hands reached down to sloppily circle your clit. He cursed and bit his lip when he felt you clench around him tighter. “C’mon honey, come for me.” Your legs started shaking around him and you felt that coil turning even tighter. “Please come for me.” He whined and you felt that resolve snap inside of you, tingling through every part of your body as your back bowed to press your breasts against him. He kissed you to swallow your cries as your body convulsed. He was soon grunting and groaning loader before you felt hotness cover your walls and his thrusts becoming shorter and deeper. His knuckles were blanched as they went to move your hair out of your face, feeling the imprints the lines of the desk made on his fingers and his breath puffing out against you. Your hands went to feel his pecs, to feel his heart beating wildly.

“See? Told ya you didn’t need to be jealous.” You panted and he chuckled against you, the sound reverberating through you. He leaned down to give you a sweet kiss against your forehead and nuzzled against you.

“We should probably get cleaned up.” He pulled up your panties and you stood up from the desk, squirming when you felt come slide out of you. “Maybe that’ll keep you from dancing with someone else.” You rolled your eyes lovingly and grabbed your phaser to put it back in your garter. You helped him look presentable again and kissed his cheek before going to the door. He grabbed your hand and pulled your back to his chest. “This wasn’t the way I thought that this would happen, but I’m glad it did.”

“How did you want it to happen?” He looked down at you and rubbed his thumb over the mark he had made on your shoulder.

“I would’ve taken you out first once I’d finally gotten the courage to ask you out. Maybe I’d take you to a nice restaurant on a planet like this to get some real food, not replicated. I might take you to a place where you could see the stars because you love ‘em so damn much even though you’re constantly surrounded by them. I was actually trying to track down an old movie you loved so that we could watch it together. I was thinking I would make my move then.” You smiled up at him and played with the medals on his shirt.

“Those things can still happen, y’know. We can still do all of that.” You said. “I would really like to.”

“Me too.” He gave you another kiss before you both left the room, hoping you didn’t leave behind too big of a mess.

XXXXXX

“Janice, I thought it would happen too.” Nyota consoled the yeoman as they wondered where the two of you had went. They had assumed you had both beamed back to the ship after realizing the other was busy either dancing or wallowing.

“But it was perfect! It was just like those sappy vids! Pretty dresses, dancing, two people who won’t admit they’re in love! I just want them to be happy.” “Plus it doesn’t help that we have a bet going.” Hikaru interjected. “If they didn’t get together tonight then she owes me fifty credits.” Nyota shook her head incredulously.

“You two are-” She stopped when she saw the two of you walk back down the stairs together again. “Oh stars-”

“Yes!” Janice celebrated. “Pay up, Hikaru!”

“Wait, that’s not proof of anything!” He whined.

“Think again, hickey at three o’clock.” Hikaru leaned against the table near him and groaned.

“What’s going on?” You asked and they didn’t miss how Leonard had his arm around your waist.

“Oh nothing, we’re just about to toast.” They grabbed some bubbly by a waiter walking by. “To new beginnings and old bets!” Your brows furrowed but you drank from the flute anyway.

You’d figure out what they meant later. For now, you relished being with your doctor and friends.

“C’mon, I owe you a dance.” He said in your ear, leading you away from your friends. Unlike before, you assumed a more formal position with your hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and his other on your hip.

“Glad to see you finally made it out!” Jim chuffed. “Must’ve had enough bourbon.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Leonard replied and you chuckled. Leonard’s eyes suddenly narrowed over your shoulder before you heard a familiar voice.

“Commander, glad to see you made it back! May I steal you for a moment?” The ambassador asked and you sighed.

“No, you may not.”

“But-”

“She said no. Go chase an asteroid.” Leonard replied and you were surprised at the way he talked.

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse us.” You replied and pushed Leonard away from the ambassador before a diplomatic incident occurred. “Y’know, we’re trying to suck up here.”

“Never was one for kissing ass.” He mused.

“Ah, always with that southern charm.”

“It got you, darlin’.”

#leonard mccoy x reader #Leonard McCoy #star trek #star trek aos #star trek TOS #Star Trek Fanfiction

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dorki-c · 3 years

Text

My Guardian Demon |Chapter 1, Part 2: Two Dreams

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X (Reader)

Rating: 16+

A/N: Hey! Hey! Hey! Everybody! I just wanted to let you all know that in the beginning of this series like prologue story arc wise, I will only be highlighting the main points of said story arc.

TW: Suffocation and depiction of injury!

[Masterlist] [<--- Previous| Next --->]

(Song reccomendation for this chapter: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé)

PROMPT QUESTION FOR THIS STORY ARC: Are all demons ‘bad’?

When leaving the school gates with a silent warning that he gave to (y/n), there were a few minor details bothering him when traversing through the empty streets leading home.

At least he was able to walk alone to clear the commotion of todays events.

Sure, Izuku was used to Bakugou’s harassment towards him. For the most part, his mind always filtered out the nasty phrases that were thrown at him for the longest time.

However, what Bakugou had said was completely out of line.

Telling Izuku to commit suicide? Wow, what a great friend he was (if you could even call him that…).

Though the green-haired boy could easily say that about (y/n) as well. Even though its him and his stupid demon against society.

Was he sure that something may happen today? No, absolutely not. Even when turning a corner of the semi-suburban area that was closest to Aldera Junior High school, Izuku isn’t clairvoyant to anything that involves him.

Nope, not at all.

Even when making his way under the dark tunnel (to which he ignores his demon trying to hold him back from going in there, saying something along the lines of “W-w-wait! I don’t want to go down this way…”), Izuku still holds his head up high and ventures down the tunnel.

Like I said before, the green-haired boy isn’t clairvoyant that involves around him.

Plus, that shouldn’t exempt him from being cautious about what might lurk in the shadows.

Until this point, (y/n) only spoke in short sentences, though the only thing that caught Izuku off guard was the shaky utterance of “Izuku…L-Look behind you!”

He regrets looking behind him; A thing manifesting as a large murky green glob, paired with two large eyes and razor layered teeth (that scarcely resembled shark teeth), loomed over the 14 year old’s body.

I-I-It’s a villain!

As soon as Izuku blinked, one moment he was free and scrambling to his feet (fearful of the sludge villain) and the next, his body was trapped in something slimy… The green sludge body dripped with viscous thick globs as it wrapped like a vice around the boy. With a waterfall of pleading cut short and shown through desperate green eyes as Izuku squirmed annoyingly to the villain, there was no chance of escaping because he would be dead “in a minute” tops.

In a vain attempt to free Izuku from the grasps of the villain, the demon’s futile attempts to scratch away at the slime, only resulted in their misty hands to pass through the slime like their hand was non-existent.

Fuck—If a damn hero isn’t going to save Izuku, then it has to be his demon’s duty to do so.

Though it’s quite challenging for (y/n) to grip Izuku’s shoulders and pull him forward, it doesn’t have enough energy to stall for time.

Was fate cursing (y/n) again? The sun was up high in the sky, yet it always deceived the unguarded and weakest of them all. Didn’t it? If it wasn’t for the saving grace of a frisbee object hitting the villain in the eye, the sludge villain recoiled backwards and (thankfully) released its hostage, where the boy’s limp body met face first into the pavement.

Staying close to Izuku’s unconscious body, (y/n) watched as the pro-hero blatantly invaded their owner’s space and didn’t hear their screeching of something along the words of “DISGUSTING!!!” and “AAAAAAAH BEGONE! BEGONE! BEGONE!!” And the boy wasn’t woken up because of the cheek slaps, it was because of (y/n)’s obnoxious protests of the pro-hero’s cheek slaps.

Let’s not forget the loudest sigh released by the demon when one, Izuku (finally) woke himself up, and two, when that (god forsaken flimsy, annoying, outrageous) hero, was actually the number 1 hero, has retracted his hand from the demon’s owner.

(And (y/n) definitely called the number one hero “a filthy maggot that is followed by an equally filthy contra-” before they were tuned out of Izuku’s ears.)

“Ah! Thought we lost you there!” Announced the hero (to nobody in particular).

This, unfortunately, caused Izuku to pale- where it practically looked like his whole face lost all of its colour, including his eyes- and for (y/n) to think (if they even have thoughts in the first place…) that if there was a camera pointed straight at their face, it would show the most horrifying deadpanned expression on the demon’s non-existent face which would break the camera lens.

Screaming and scampering backwards, Izuku only managed to utter the words “C-C-CAN I HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH!!” before seeing his notebook (which was coincidently fish food a couple of minutes ago) signed by the hero and bowing to said hero out of gratefulness, although knowing their owner; (y/n) figured that Izuku would obviously cherish this autograph as a ‘family heirloom’.

(Izuku may or may not have blurted that out in the moment. Oh well. You can’t take everything you say back.)

“I have a question…” Murmured the green haired boy as the hero turned tail to “deliver this villain to the police station!” Sadly, the hero didn’t hear him and was about to leave the boy, where his demon was shaking their head in disappointment- “Why bother asking him?” Whispered (y/n), leaving the faint trace of their empty temperature to scarcely brush his cheek, “The man in front of you is a mere façade of bravery.” - it’s not like Izuku cares about his demon’s opinion.

Even when it’s in situations like this.

(And by situations, I mean when Izuku and his demon are clutching for dear life on the infamous hero’s legs when flying more than fifty feet above the ground.)

Looking below his feet, Izuku is always reminded that great power also has a greater price to it.

And well, All Might would probably agree (if it weren’t for being airborne).

Additionally, why did it look like you were enjoying him scream in fear for his life, when you know that if he dies, you die too.

(Was his demon secretly a sadist?!)

The landing was rocky and rough, but at least his feet managed to stand on their own after a few moments of wobbling and the small rub of your hand against his to beckon him to stand “tall and proud for being uniquely him”.

Glancing towards the hero, (y/n) scoffed in disgust at the retreating soldier whereas Izuku only begged him to “Wait,” continuing along with an unspoken prayer casted off to the sky and “one second!” to remain.

“No!”

It’s typical of a hero to say that word, but situations like this aren’t.

“I don’t have any time.” --- “I have to know!” --- “Why do you bother with him, Izuku?”

The years of quirklessness weren’t new to him. Though he wanted more.

“Even if everyone thinks I’m useless…” Izuku wanted more fulfilment for himself.

“Despite what anybody thinks.” (Y/n) wanted freedom for themself.

“I need to know.” The two of them had dreams.

“Is It possible to become a hero, without a quirk?” Even with a fearless grin, the man before the aftermath was the symbol of peace.

Well to put it simply, the embodiment of peace was secretly a human coat hanger. Now, how would the murky red demon and green haired boy react to said human coat hanger?

Uh…Yeah, they’re both screaming; Izuku was doing it out of horror, (y/n) was doing it out of disgust.

(This is a typical occurrence.)

“WHERE’S ALLMIGHT?!” The worn-down skeleton of a man looked like a couple of popsicle sticks were stuck together with Elmer’s glue as the artist called it a day. Looking left to right, then again, and finally- just for good luck- glanced left and right, as society always said, “Third time is the charm”.

“You! You’re not him!” Izuku profoundly screeched, where in fact both his demon and scrawny adult rolled their eyes. “Izuku, you don’t even have his birth certificate to prove that he—” Though poor (y/n) got cut off by Allmight proclaiming “You know how guys at pools like to suck in their muscles and flex at the same time?” The flaxen haired male then said “I’m kind of like that…” which did nothing to soothe the teenager’s shock.

“What! No! Allmight isn’t some scrawny—old—depressed looking human being!” Oh boy, your owner was as stubborn as an old mule.

“Izuku, stop what your—” Again, (y/n) was cut off by another person, “All Might’s is a hero with a fearless grin who beats every obstacle!”

“Kid, there’s plenty of fear behind a smile. Don’t be fooled.” The rustling of a white shirt caught the attention of the demon and human alike. And what it revealed…well…it was pretty nauseating.

“Pretty gross, isn’t it?”

The merged sickening stitching of skin pulled together in a makeshift attempt to preserve as the hero’s body, at the epicentre of the wound was a thick encircled glob of pink that seemed to allow an abundance of conjoined violet speckles to extend outwards in an attempt to infect the rest of his body.

“I got this in a fight around five years ago.” Relaxing his body, and moving the shirt downwards, the hero continued, “My respiratory system was destroyed, I lost my stomach, and the rest is history.” Even if his shitty joke didn’t lift the depressing tone of reality, all Izuku could do is stand there in shock—maybe a tad bit of horror— however he would’ve never thought that the one and only top hero of Japan had an injury!

(Izuku’s naïve thinking always rubbed his demon the wrong way sometimes.)

“W-wait! Does that mean Toxic Chainsaw gave you this injury!” Chuckling and turning his glance to the side, All Might shook his head. “I’m impressed, you know your stuff- however, that punk couldn’t land a couple hits on me, even if they wanted to.” “Most of the world wouldn’t have known about this fight, regardless of how much you dug through any news articles.”

(And most of the world would’ve never known about the deadly purple miasma growing on their precious hero’s body.) .

“This job isn’t easy, and to be nice—” At least Izuku would listen to All Might, whereas he ignored you at least 50% of the time, “—I think you would be better off picking a better profession, like a Police officer!”

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

“I mean he is right…” (Y/n) said to Izuku, as they continued their trek back home, with the boy loathful to agree at the red mist’s statement.

“Heroism isn’t easy.” Maybe he should give up his dream?

“You saw how disgusting his wound was.” He could be horribly injuried like All Might if he tries. “It’s practically oozing with miasma.” But Izuku can’t bring himself to give up his dream.

And if Izuku ever asked you to give up your dream of freedom, you would answer back with defiance.

“I know it isn’t easy (y/n).”

“I know I could die or get a wound like that.”

“But I’m not giving up on my dream, if you aren’t going to give up on yours.”

Alas, the gloriously golden sun highlighted the features of the old dusk that was soon turning into their new dawn.

(And might I say, if society got in their way, they will pay their dues the hard way.)

Taglist:

@glitterfreezed, @izukubabe, @sweater-weather-seven, @nyanyabisjjj, @quietlegends, @dragonsdreamoffire, @candybabey, @honeylavender13

CREDITS:

All content and art used within this story belongs to their respective owners. PLAGARISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!

Art credits: Dorki-C and @glitterfreezed

[MASTERLIST OF “My Guardian Demon”] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

#Izuku midoriya bnha #Izuku midoriya mha #Izuku midoriya #Izuku midoriya x y/n #Mha Au #Bnha au #Toshinori Yagi #Toshinori Yagi mha #All Might bnha #All Might mha #mha x reader #Mha x y/n #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #Izuku Midoriya X Reader

55 notes · View notes

esmealux · 3 years

Note

Could you do 31 and 23 for the prompts?

I absolutely loved this prompt, thank you! <3

This got a lot longer (1.8K) and a lot angstier than I intended. But fret not, it's hurt/comfort at its core and it's Deckerstar stargazing. And also,

ANTI-SPOILER ALERT: This piece takes place after 5a/during 5b. I have not watched the trailer, nor will I. I therefore have no idea what is going to happen in 5b, or if what this fic suggests is remotely close to what is hinted at in the trailer—and I would like remain oblivious. *Looks at you with puppy eyes* So please don't mention anything from the trailer in the comments? It would mean a lot to me ❤ (And yes, I do realise I could've waited two days before posting this, but I wanted to give you guys a little something while you wait.)

Rated M, just to be safe.

Enjoy, my loves!

31. Lost in the middle of nowhere + 23. ‘Hey, at least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

He gets in his car, and he drives.

He has no destination in mind, nowhere but ‘away’. Away from Him. From feelings he can’t contain. From eons of neglect. From pain.

Far away.

He drives till there’s no more gas and ends up stranded where the streets have no name, in the moonlit desert.

The car shudders and comes to a halt. With ridiculously shaky hands, Lucifer brings a cigarette and a lighter to his lips, desperately needing the distraction. He flicks the lighter repeatedly, chaotically, but the fire won’t bite, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating, and both cig and lighter are sent flying through the brisk night air.

He roars into the dark void of the night. The thunderous sound resonating off the distant mountain walls startles him like an unexpected ghost. It sounds like him, but not like him. Not like Lucifer, Devil, fallen angel. It sounds like Samael, falling angel—screaming into the abyss as he plummets towards fire and brimstone, his fate and punishment, dealt by Dad.

Lucifer suddenly can’t get out of the car fast enough. He leans against the trunk, his chest heaving rapidly, his lungs fighting for air. He’d thought he was healing, that he was actually starting to put millennia of trauma behind him. And maybe he was. But then He waltzed down and ripped the wound right open.

Such a pestilent, tyrannous prick.

Lucifer needs a drink.

He finds a bottle of something strong and amber in the glove box and brings it back to the trunk. It’s only half-full, and he’d need at least five more bottles to just get tipsy, but it’ll have to do. He wasn’t looking to get shitfaced, anyway. He just wants to take his mind off things, to breathe. And right now, (now that his chance of having a smoke is lying somewhere in the sand) a couple of sips from a mildly exquisite whiskey and the ensuant burn in his throat are the best way to do that.

She finds him like that—because of course she finds him—sitting on the trunk of his car with the near-empty bottle in his hand and looking absolutely wrecked.

She’s tentative as she approaches him, afraid she’s not welcome, that he really did want to be alone. But as she gets close and he looks up at her, dark eyes glistening in the moonlight, she knows being alone is the last thing he needs.

Without a word, neither from her nor from him, she gets up on back of the car and scoots close to him, still keeping some air between them.

‘I thought you could use a friend,’ she says with a slight smile, exactly like she did all those years ago. Now, however, the last word isn’t an overwhelming, meaningful declaration, but a cosmic understatement, and Lucifer can’t help but snort.

Reaching over, Chloe grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. ‘Also, I wasn’t gonna let my partner get lost in the middle of nowhere alone.’

‘I’m not lost,’ he objects, but his voice, hollow and lined with despair, betrays him. He may know the way back to LA, but he is definitely lost.

Sensing he doesn't want to talk about it, Chloe gestures towards the bottle still dangling from his fingers and asks for a sip. His lips tug up into the smallest of smirks as he hands over the bottle with a half-hearted ‘Be my guest’.

She leans her head back, eyes turning to the night sky as she takes a swig (just a nip; one of them still has to drive home at some point). It tastes like evening kisses. Occassionally, morning kisses too.

A cool breeze whirls around them, and Chloe snuggles closer to Lucifer. She does have a plaid in the car, and she will get it in a minute, but right now, she settles for stealing some body heat, hoping her seatmate doesn’t mind too much. She hands him back the bottle and snakes a hand under his layers, up his bare back. He sighs shakily, the taut muscles beneath Chloe’s hand loosening up. It tugs at something in her chest—the way he’s calmed by her touch alone.

Chloe looks up again, at the tiny, abundant jewels glimmering against the dark sky. ‘At least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

In the middle of downing the last drops of whiskey, Lucifer absent-mindedly replies with a ‘Hm?’

‘Stars,’ Chloe repeats. ‘They’re beautiful.’

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, Lucifer lets his eyes glide up. He’s quiet as he takes it in, the black canopy adorned with white, pearlescent specks. His gaze is somewhat distant, reminiscent. Wistful.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, not as a vocative, but as an eureka. She’s said his name so many times before, screamed it, whispered it, cried it—with passion and pain and everything in between—but now is the first time she says it actually knowing what it means. Or at least she’s pretty sure she does.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asks him with a whisper, more in awe than accusatory, and the soft, melancholic smile he gives her is answer enough. ‘You let there be light.’ It’s not a question this time, just an overwhelming realisation spoken out loud.

‘Well, technically,’ Lucifer corrects, glancing over at her, ‘it was Dad who created Light.’ His gaze turns upwards again, eyes suddenly twinkling with pride. ‘The almighty wanker was just too lazy to hang it up there himself.’

Stunned, Chloe stares at the sky with new reverence. It’s breath-taking, both the sight itself—diamonds and sparkling dust sprinkled across a sea of nothing—and the fact that Lucifer made that. He literally hung the stars in the sky.

The fact that he hasn’t mentioned this before, that he hasn’t boasted about it, hasn’t proudly told everyone he’s the artist behind the original Starry Night also says something.

Peering up at him from where her head is now resting against his shoulder, Chloe sees a look on his face she can only describe as ‘homesick’.

‘They remind you of your dad’s love for you,’ she realises, voice quiet.

Lucifer scoffs, but there’s no humour in it. Just pain. ‘What love?’

Chloe doesn’t blame him for doubting. With all the light God (apparently) gave Lucifer, He gave him a thousand times more darkness. (And she is going to talk to Him about that. Later. When she’s hugged the living shit out of His son). But Chloe can tell He, despite everything, does love Lucifer—and that Lucifer is using this resentment towards Him to avoid facing the fact that he, still, loathes himself just as much. If not more.

The thought makes Chloe sick, and she suddenly feels the need to tell him, ‘You’re worthy, you know?’

He looks down at her. A wet streak on his cheek catches the silvery light of the moon. ‘I do?’ The insecurity in his voice is a sharp jab in her chest. But again, she doesn’t blame him.

‘You are,’ she states again for emphasis, holding his gaze. ‘You’re worthy of love, and light.’ With her free hand, the one that isn’t stroking the small of his back beneath his shirt and jacket, she cups his face and swipes her thumb across his stubble. ‘You deserve it. You deserve happiness, more than any other person in this world.’

He doesn’t say anything in return, but he doesn’t have to. The smile he gives her in return, warming and breaking her heart at the same time, speaks for itself. Just to get her point across, she leans up and kisses him. It’s teary and tender, and it’s a promise. To always love him—both the light and the dark, and all the colours in between.

They lean their foreheads against each other’s when they break apart, eyes still closed.

After a long, needed moment, Chloe lets her hand drop from Lucifer’s cheek to his thigh.

‘So,’ she breathes, the pall from their prior conversation vanishing into the night with her light, playful tone, ‘constellations?’

He chuckles beside her, the sound low and warm in her ear. ‘Not what you humans make them out to be.’

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at his ‘you humans’, and asks, intrigued, ‘No Big Dipper?’

‘No.’ He clicks his tongue. 'But there is a Big Pecker somewhere.’

She glares at him. ‘You drew a dick in the sky?’

His lips spread into a proud grin. ‘And a pair of boobs, if you have a little imagination.’ He points to a distant spot above them. ‘Those seven points there, the brighter ones—they form a symbol in my mother tongue. A message for my dear twin.’

‘Oh?’ Lucifer rarely ever speaks of, much less in the celestial language. It’s another part of his past Chloe hasn’t learned much about. But hopefully, over time, she will.

‘Yes, it means… how would you say?’ He thinks for a second—or pretends to—and eventually concludes, ‘Cunt, I believe, would be the appropriate translation.’

This time, Chloe doesn’t resist rolling her eyes—because nothing about that is ‘appropriate’. Maybe except for the fact that it was directed at Michael.

‘I know,’ he says, like he’s reading her mind. But he really isn’t, because he follows up with, ‘An insult to the temple of pleasure I value more than any other organ.’

Having met the guy, Chloe doesn’t disagree; Michael definitely lives up to more vile name-calling than ‘cunt’. (Also, she's pretty sure Lucifer is wrong about it being his favourite body part. She’s pretty sure the organ he values more than any other is his own Big Pecker, because she’s seen the way he looks at himself in the shower, and all the other places she finds him naked; the vain idiot is practically obsessed with his own meat. Not that she blames him.) But before she has the chance to tell him that, he says-

‘You have to forgive me. I was only a couple of thousand years old.’ There’s a glint in his eye, and Chloe can’t help but laugh, because it’s true what Linda said; he really is the oldest, most immature person in the world.

Chloe tells him as much.

He simply smirks in return. ‘I may be old, Detective, but I’m more vigorous in bed than any mortal man, old or young, and you know it.’

It only proves her point, about him being immature, and obsessed with his penis. But frankly, Chloe does know it, and for once, she feels like stroking his ego (among other things). So she grabs him by the hand, leads him into the car, onto plush leather, onto her, and as the stars twinkle and gleam above them, they put that vigour of his to good use.

#deckerstar fanfiction #writing #two part drabble game #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer x chloe #chloe x lucifer #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer on netflix #angst #hurt comfort #deckerstar #lucifer makes stars #post 5a #during 5b

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snowflake-of-destruction · 4 years

Note

let's hear about FFVIII seifer, if you're still doing this XD

Why I like them: You know my tastes. A green-eyed man is introduced throwing fireballs around, is kind of a condescending jerk but in a fun way, instigates deep conversations on high ground while staring at the sunset...Well, before we even get to villainy, immolation, and redemption arc, I start going “Is this a favorite character?” I’m joking...kind of. Some of that does factor in, even the fire.

Okay, so my favorite thing about Seifer’s arc is that, in the limited focus he’s given, he’s complex and layered from the beginning, and his villain arc is a clear and fascinating illustration of “No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks” ….with a side of brainwashing.

Let’s break this down:

What are some of the words used to describe him by those that know him (by himself, by Squall, by Fuu and Rai)? Romantic. Idealistic. Sensitive. He is the one who believes in making a difference in the world--not just as a wish or goal, but as an imperative to do what your heart says is right even if it’s going to cost you--where Squall is just follow-the-orders-and-do-the-job. If you’re already reading this and objecting, I’m not saying Squall doesn’t care...obviously he does, defrosting Mr. Go Talk to a Wall and getting him to a place where he admits how many layers of mask he wears is his character development...but Seifer isn’t just a hothead. He wears his heart on his sleeve.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to deny that Seifer can be an abrasive, self-serving, hypocritical jackass sometimes, who can fight dirty, wants to “wreak some havoc,” and has a history as a bully--though, gentlefolk of the jury, I submit to the courts that he puts on a tough act like Squall does and they are both different flavors of trying to mimic toxic alpha male--but let’s not forget that some of his establishing character moments are throwing out his future to disobey orders because he sees that the higher-ups have possibly misjudged the situation and civilians could be in danger, and, again, going AWOL because he thinks Squall and Rinoa could be killed. And he calls himself the white knight and holds up a code of honor until the end, even though it gets twisted. He is about duty and honor, with honor even over duty.

Oh, this was only going to be the beginning. I haven’t even begun to touch on what I would want to touch on--this is just surface personality and the beginning of the game before we even get to joining Sorceress Edea, and even then not all I would say-- but this post isn’t actually supposed to be my Ted talk on what you missed if you just think of Seifer as a recurring boss fight. Let’s move on.

ONE MORE THING ACTUALLY. Even though we see a lot of Seifer at his worst, you can use Fujin and Raijin as a mirror. What do they say near the end of the game if we paraphrase/summarize? They knew pretty early on, before even the senseless slaughter and torture era that Seifer was going down a dark path with the sorceress, but they knew it wasn’t him and stayed with him, not because they agreed with his actions, wanted power, or out of fear, but to take care of him and try to break through to him--and not because they are saints, but because he, despite what had happened in the past year, is the type of person who deserves and inspires that kind of loyalty. Let’s think on that.

Now the rest goes under a read more, because I am going to keep rambling and be wordy

Why I don’t: He can be an asshole, and he’s an asshole in an embarrassing way. As in, if one is trying to say he’s not the little punk his KH counterpart is, you remember he still uses the insult chickenwuss (though that is a legacy insult/nickname since he’s known Zell since childhood--and, fyi, Squall uses it too) and he had a little gang in school. Even once he’s a military commander of an evil army set on world domination, he has some moments where his level of petty undermines him.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): The Dollet mission

Favorite line: Sorry, not sorry that the following is my favorite exchange of lines and that the prison torture scene is another of my favorite scenes. For context, Seifer has captured Squall, has him hanging up on the wall in crucified hero imagery, implied to be shirtless even though his character model isn’t because they talk about scar tissue or lack thereof from a recent shoulder injury/Squall being stabbed in the chest/shoulder area. Seifer has been electrocuting Squall for information. By this point, I might as well have put the whole scene here. Also, I am now going to blame Squall and Seifer text boxes in FFVIII for my own abuses of ellipses...

Seifer: " I was hoping you'd be there, Squall. So... how'd I look in my moment of triumph? My childhood dream, fulfilled. I've become the sorceress' knight."

Squall: [internal monologue] ...Sorceress' knight... ...His...romantic dream...? But... Seifer... Now, you're just a…[Out loud] "... torturer."

[Squall passes out.]

Seifer: "What did you say? [Steps closer] Passed out cold, eh? This is the scene where you swear your undying hatred for me! The tale of the evil mercenary versus the sorceress' knight!”

This isn’t just me all “mmm, tension.” Seifer has passed the moral event horizon, and it’s not just faceless NPCs that are collateral damage anymore. We’ve seen him on screen torture the protagonist, who is also one of the only people who he’s shown to have a real bond with that goes beyond superficial. Then we get this and see Seifer thinks he’s the good guy still, on a noble mission where he’s had to make painful sacrifices, and Squall is a representative of the power-hungry evil. Seifer’s been playing a different game, and had his will twisted via magic.

Favorite outfit: The Amano art where the white coat is cast off and he’s wearing the simple black shirt and black jeans under it. Symbolic? Maybe. I wouldn’t give up the coat though. I love the long white/gray coat, the outer embodiment of wanting to wear the white hat, but the desire easily getting tarnished, and the red cross that turns into a sword and becomes Seifer’s symbol and soon to appear other places, emblazoned nice and big on the sleeve. It’s the Cross of Saint James. TRADITIONALLY red represents the blood of Christ, the three lilies represent the honor of the apostle and reference Christ as lily of the valley, and the sword shape represents the torture that St.James suffered before his murder. HOWEVER, my opinion is that here it’s more vague/altered symbolism (For starters, there are other gods not the Christian God in this world) with a side of “looks cool.” We still have something that clearly calls to mind a mission from on high, innocence in the lilies, blood and blood cost, and then war/violence with the sword. And I love it.

OTP: Seifer/Squall. I should not even start, but lest you think I am just in it for kinky torture scenes: We have these two who, in the beginning, are generally callous or mocking toward everyone, but make each other laugh/smile, see who each other are underneath and describe each other in “soft” terms even if they tease each other for it, repeatedly check in on each other to see if the other is okay, respect each other’s opinion and skills, and...you get the idea. In the words of Zell Dincht, I thought you two were rivals, but you’re all buddy-buddy.

Pause for a second and let’s just say first impression. That opening fight where they scar each other’s faces? It takes place outside Balamb Garden and the area is shown so we see they are alone. Squall passes out. Squall wakes up in the infirmary within the Garden base. Squall has to explain what happened; people don’t already know. This kind of implies after Squall passed out, Seifer, bleeding from a head wound himself, picked Squall up and carried him home, allowing himself to collapse only when Squall was being safely tended to, because he’s that extra. This is his first (okay, second, after fireballs and face slashing) action in the game even though it’s offscreen. I mean, he could have also just called for help/ran for help, but that’s less fun.

Seifer is so concerned with being a badass, but he’s admits to Squall all he’s ever wanted was to be the fairytale knight, not a mere soldier. Vulnerability and confession he wants romance....with the first time it’s brought up in game being while they are watching the sun set together, the traditional Square Red Sunset of Shipping.

Seifer hesitates to defy orders, not for himself, but until he sees Squall is with him. Even though there were other “children of destiny” who all came from the same orphanage, Squall and Seifer were the ones who were never apart, never adopted until it was by a military/mercenary training program, and, even though it may speak more to brotherly than romantic from some angles, there’s a feeling of being the same, knowing each other down to the atoms, adopting an us against the world mindset that trumps trying to best each other when it comes down to it because they are the only constant. When Squall has his breakdown/ breakthrough of why he pushes people away/doesn’t let himself care/tries not to need anyone because people leave/are taken from him and he is scared he isn’t worthy of love and happiness until Rinoa challenges him, this may seem like a dismissal of Seifer, but you can also look at it from “I had no friends or family. I didn’t even have interest in speaking to anyone. I strived to be an unfeeling machine, because all emotion is pain...But also I couldn’t go 48 hours without seeing Seifer.”

Yeah, yeah, we know their main form of hanging out was beating the tar out of each other, but sometimes, especially in older media, this was its own brand of subtext. For more on how Seifer miiiight just view sparring let’s point out that “Isn’t this ROMANTIC?” and “Kneel” as a less easily interpreted as innuendo version of “I want you on your knees” are battle quotes even in Kingdom Hearts sooo draw your own conclusion.

We get a line where Squall makes it clear these were friendly matches looked at as pushing their limits beyond what they are allowed to in sanctioned spars, and he feels prepared to take on anything now because of Seifer. Is it healthy communication in real life? No! Is this real life? No! Plus, the facial scar was an accident, pretty clearly...on Seifer’s side...I could write another essay on how Seifer draws first blood, but it’s because on Squall’s failed block, AND THEN SQUALL GETS ANGRY AND RETALIATES WITH CLEAR PURPOSE AND MAKES THE OPENING SHOT INTO THE FIRST SIGN GOOD VERSUS BAD GUY ISN’T SO CLEAR CUT (even though they both shouldn’t have been going so hard in a friendly training match to begin with).

Seifer’s later, repeated threats/expressed desire to give Squall additional scars once he goes evil? That is a different animal, and a horrible one, objectively. Not objectively? No comment. Okay, one comment. Mark you as mine. Two comments. He knows Squall’s lost some memories and he can’t stomach being the next thing forgotten so Squall needs physical reminders.

Hmmm, I was supposed to be talking about the ship, not just the sparring and scars. We can wrap it up with a Marge Simpson. “I just think they’re neat”

BUT ONE MORE THING

Squall’s jacket when he becomes Leon in Kingdom Hearts. His outfit is mostly the same, right? Except the back of the jacket now has a red patch of an emblem (of Rinoa’s angel wings, not Seifer’s cross...for the OT3 feel), and his fight with Sora he throws a fireball like Seifer’s signature. Just, you know, if you want bonus references/feeling.

Brotp: Fuu and Rai. They are willing to commit war crimes with this man, nurse him back from death’s door, and go into exile with him if he can’t return to a normal life even after a redemption arc. This section deserves to be long, but I am beginning to get talked out. Don’t take that as devaluing the friendship though. I’m glad he was allowed to keep his ride or dies in Kingdom Hearts. FRIENDSHIP! They love him, ya know?

Head Canon: What we see of him at the end of the game is a temporary situation and after he heals and refreshes for awhile he’d go back to Balamb and face consequences for his actions, and probably insist on consequences instead of leaning into “an evil sorceress bespelled me and slowly took my free will.” No hiding away in the wilderness. No crossing into and living his life in Esthar. No, “but in the end I broke free and would have been an active, onscreen part of saving the world if Square had let me join the party!” He would insist on being cast into a deep, dark cell. Squall uses pull to get him pardoned, but not before just, flat out, yelling at him for being a martyr.

Unpopular opinion: He did love Rinoa. It may have been a “shallow love,” but he wasn’t just dating her to pass time or because she played into his damsel who needs a hero mindset. There was emotion. He was prepared to die for her and Squall in Timber, and almost did--only being saved by Sorceress Edea...which wasn’t a kindness, but it all worked out in the end. Sure, he gets mind-controlled into using Rinoa as, basically, a human sacrifice and it isn’t Rinoa he wants stripped and brought to his room when we’re taking prisoners, but he cared about her. He does taunt her about their past relationship, but we’ve already established this is just part of his communication skillset. Yes, I will elaborate more if asked, though it’s more feeling based than text based.

A wish: If there’s ever a sequel, let him have put out the good in the world that was his dream and be seen as a hero. Let us see a matured and peaceful Seifer.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: My one fear if they ever remake FFVIII instead of just porting it, is that some of the creative team have said they like the fan theory where you are dead part way through the game and the rest is a dying dream or purgatory. It’s creative stuff; I will say that. It’s not my favorite, and I don’t agree, but those kinds of fan interpretations when they go in depth are super cool. PLEASE LET THE INTEREST IN IT JUST BE THE SAME AS MINE OF THINKING IT’S CREATIVE BECAUSE MAKING THIS CANON WOULD BE SO, SO BAD FOR EVERY CHARACTER.

5 words to best describe them: stubborn, misguided, paladin, romantic, petty

My nickname for them: I don’t really have one

#seifer almasy #seifer x squall #squall x seifer #such a long post and still not all or even communicated that well probably #you don't have all the facts the facts are i love him #tina-nina

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens - “A Christmas Without Santa” (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock comes home from school, he's in a foul mood. Through a little sleuthing, Nanny finds out that her young charge has been confronted by an unfortunate truth. And she gets to deal with the aftermath. (2299 words)

Notes: Written for the wonderful @theantichristmaszine 2020 :)

Read on AO3.

Warlock comes home from school in a foul mood.

He’s in a foul mood because he’s had a foul day.

He stomps up the walk after his chauffeur drops him home, completely bypassing the inflatable snowman, the animatronic skating penguins, the singing elves, and the laughing Santa in his giant snow globe. Nanny watches him from the kitchen window as he scowls at the cheery decorations, blowing by them when he would normally stop a moment and stare in awe. Mrs. Dowling told Nanny Ashtoreth that Warlock had picked out those decorations himself, and that the Santa snow globe had been his particular favorite. Indeed Nanny has seen him sit cross-legged in the snow to stare at it. He’d be there for hours on end if Nanny didn’t scoop him up and make him change into dry clothes.

But now he seems angry at it, and Nanny cannot imagine why.

“Hello, dearest,” she greets him as he marches through the door. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, taking off his backpack and tossing it in a corner. The zipper opens when it lands, a corner of his math book having wedged between the teeth. She hears his bedroom door open, then slam shut. She should take him his afternoon snack - a glass of milk and a plate of chocolate biscuits. But she holds back a moment, eyes fixed on the backpack, its contents spilled over the floor.

Nanny isn’t snooping. She’s tidying. There’s a difference. Mrs. Dowling would be cross if she came in and saw Warlock’s things on the ground. And with the day he’s had? He doesn’t need disciplining right now. Nanny doesn’t necessarily object to snooping, especially where the Dowlings are concerned. In her mission for Hell, it’s sort of expected. But she isn’t snooping nonetheless. And while she’s not snooping, she comes across a note.

A note that makes her blood boil and her amber eyes burn red.

She finishes her tidying, then takes the note, clenched in her fist, and heads out the door.

“Brother Francis!” she calls out, picking her way through a once green garden covered in a rare blanket of snow. “Brother Francis! Where the Heaven are you?” She spots his beige coat-covered rotund figure waddling out by the hedges. He’s heaping layers of mulch on the spot where the dahlia tubers are hiding below ground, to keep them warm till the spring thaw. Nanny stamps her foot and turns up her nose. Brother Francis is doing exactly as he should, but he didn’t ask for her advice. He looked it up for himself in one of those gardening books he brought along with him when he was hired.

Typical.

“Brother Francis!” She waves to get his attention. When he smiles and waves back, she calls out, “May I have a word?”

“For you, my dear? Two.” He lays his shovel against a wheelbarrow filled with composted bark, steam rising from the mound into the crisp, winter air.

“How very gracious.” Her words shake, which, if asked, she’ll blame on the cold when, in fact, she doesn’t feel it a bit. The tremble in her voice comes entirely from watching Brother Francis perform anything that even hints at hard labor. He has the sleeves of his coat rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms not normally visible through his disguise.

Bulging, muscular forearms that belong entirely to the angel hiding underneath.

Seeing them like this raises Nanny’s temperature enough to melt the snow around her into a puddle.

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks, misreading the pinched expression on her face. “Is it Warlock? Is he ill?”

“Here!” She thrusts the note in his hands when she can’t string together a coherent sentence. “I found this in Warlock’s school bag.”

Brother Francis begins to read, but an anxious Nanny doesn’t let him get far. “They called him a baby! And a few other things for believing in Santa Claus! They all signed it, the little plague rats!”

“That’s very organized of them considering they’re only eight. Surprisingly neat penmanship, too.” Francis tsks. Children. How can they be so cruel? Who teaches them to behave this way? Where’s the sense in sending Warlock to a fancy, expensive school if this is the caliber of student that attends? “What have you done about this?”

“Nothing yet. But I swear to you, revenge will be swift!”

“Nanny, no …”

“Their class has a pet. A rabbit that bit Warlock once so I don’t think he’d be upset if I boiled the blasted thing in oil and left its skin hanging from the blackboard.”

“Nanny, dearest …”

“Oh, I won’t let Warlock see. I’ll take him to the zoo that day, go visit the jackals, the lions, other animals he likes, while we plan the personal take down of every student who put their name on that blasted note!”

“Nanny! That’s not what I mean! What did you tell Warlock?”

Ashtoreth looks at him and grimaces. “What do I tell him?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You have to tell him the truth.”

“And what’s that? Hmm? That the world is a cruel place where nothing magical ever happens even though both you and I are, in fact, supernatural, and could snap up a jolly fat man in a red suit because we have powers!?”

“I understand how you feel, my dear ...”

“Do you!?” she snaps. “Because last I checked, the gardener isn’t expected to take care of Warlock! I am! I feed him his dinner! I help him with his homework! I tuck him in at night! And when it comes down to it, the dirty deed falls on me here, doesn’t it?”

Francis sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You are going to bear the brunt of this. But I’m willing to help in any way I can.”

Francis peeks up at Nanny with apologetic eyes, and she softens. “That’s very kind of you.” She reaches out and gives his arm an indulgent squeeze. “But I have a plan.”

***

Nanny Ashtoreth’s plan is more of a tactic.

She decides there will be no problem if they simply ignore it.

If they don’t talk about it, it’ll go away.

If she can get Warlock caught up in the excitement of Christmas, then maybe he’ll forget the whole sordid affair.

Nanny does everything she can think of to distract Warlock.

They color.

They drink cocoa.

Lots of cocoa.

They finish making Mr. and Mrs. Dowling’s presents.

They bake cookies.

And even though Nanny consistently reminds Warlock that tonight is Christmas Eve with all the enthusiasm she can muster, she knows the poor boy’s heart isn’t into it.

When the time comes to tuck her charge in that night, she caves. “Warlock? Is there something troubling you? You don’t seem at all yourself today.”

Warlock stares at his red tartan comforter, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, wearing the look of a person preparing to make a choice they know they’ll regret. “Nanny? Is there a Santa Claus?”

“Warlock …” Nanny sits on the edge of his bed and leans in close “… I’m going to be completely honest with you. Because you’re a smart boy, and you deserve no less than the truth.”

Warlock’s breath hitches. “That means no … doesn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “But there is a silver lining to this.”

“Yeah?” Warlock sniffs. “What’s that?”

“Now that you know, you get to carry on the tradition.”

“Of what? Lying to kids?”

“No, my dear. Of being Santa Claus.”

Warlock stares at Nanny with puppy-dog eyes.

The saddest eyes Ashtoreth has ever seen.

“I don’t understand, Nanny.”

“Santa Claus isn’t so much a person. He’s a symbol. He represents everything that’s good about the holiday season. Everything that’s good about humanity, too.”

“B-but how am I supposed to be Santa Claus?” he asks, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I’m only eight!”

“Every culture has had a Saint Nicholas of sorts - a kindly gentleman who hands out presents to those who deserve them. So when you give a present, what does that make you?”

Warlock stares at her in confusion. But when he catches on, he squeezes his eyelids shut and shakes his head, looking more angry than comforted.

“But why do adults do it? Why do they lie?”

Nanny sighs. She is at an impasse, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Her duty to Hell versus doing what’s right for Warlock.

As a demon, Nanny knows this conversation should go in an entirely different direction. She should be sowing seeds of resentment in the boy so that he grows to distrust and distance himself from his mortal parents. That would be an easy way to reap his soul for the Master, put him on his path to his inevitable destiny.

But Warlock, anti-Christ or not, is a little boy. A sweet, innocent boy … for the time being. And tonight is Christmas Eve. It’s a time of love and joy and family … even if God herself handed her only son over to the masses to be nailed to a cross.

But that’s a story for another holiday.

Nanny can always sow seeds of hatred and resentment on a less family-centric occasion, like bank holidays or Guy Fawkes Day.

“Because you need to believe in something, Warlock. It makes this world we live in tolerable, gives us a reason to wake up in the morning.”

“So … there is no Santa?” Warlock asks with the sad finality that comes with acceptance.

“No, dearest. I’m sorry. There’s only one man in a red suit in your life, I’m afraid.”

“And who’s that?” Warlock asks, looking at Ashtoreth with watery eyes.

“Your father.”

Warlock sniffles. Then his eyes twinkle, his face screwing up with laughter. “You’re so weird!”

“Oh, my little love,” Ashtoreth says, leaning forward to rub their noses together, “you have no idea.”

Footsteps on the roof capture their attention, causing Nanny and Warlock to freeze.

“What was that?” Warlock whispers, lower lip trembling with fear but his eyes bright with hope.

A hope that Nanny is wrong, that there really is a man in a red suit who travels all around the world giving out presents to good girls and boys. And that Warlock, even with his B-minus in math and his propensity to ‘forget’ to make his bed in the morning no matter how many times he’s told, may be among them.

Nanny startles for a second until the golden threads of a familiar holy aura rankles her senses. “That, my dear, is questionable decision making, I’m afraid.”

The footsteps continue their way across the shingles, heading for the gutters over Warlock’s window while a resounding “Ho, ho, ho!” announces their arrival. Nanny and Warlock sit still, listening as they progress. “Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho! Ho … ho … ho-no, no, no, no … aaahhh!”

Nanny and Warlock’s heads snap towards the window where a bulbous red blur streaks through the drift of falling snow, landing somewhere out of sight below the sill with a painful-sounding thud. Warlock’s eyes go wide with shock while Nanny’s head finds the palms of her hands and buries itself there.

“Nanny? If there’s no Santa, who’s that then?”

“That, my love, is an idiot. But he’s our idiot.” Nanny plants a blood red kiss to the boy’s pale forehead. “Everything will be all right,” she whispers earnestly. “I promise you. Get some sleep. And when you wake …”

“Everything will be different.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she says without thinking, a lump forming in her throat when the words sink in.

“Goodnight, Nanny,” Warlock says, rolling onto his side as Ashtoreth gets up and begins to leave.

“Goodnight, Warlock.” She turns back and catches Warlock staring at the window, smiling like the child he was on Christmas Eve last year.

She holds her breath and prays (for the first time in centuries) that smile lasts.

***

“What are you doing!?” Nanny whisper-yells as she races through the snow towards a reddish lump buried under a foot-and-a-half of snow.

“I’m stuck,” Francis mumbles, rocking back and forth in an effort to free himself.

“I can see that.” Ashtoreth snaps her fingers, sitting Brother Francis bolt upright.

“Oof! Thank you, my dear,” he says, brushing at his arms. “Big help that.”

“What were you thinking!? I thought we were meant to tell him the truth! That there is no Santa Claus!”

“Well, yes,” Francis says sheepishly, twiddling the thumbs of his thick, fleece mittens. “But I got to thinking - he’s still such a youngin, and believing in Santa is so much fun! The anticipation, presents underneath a tree full to bursting on Christmas Day, the stockings, the pudding!” Francis’s eyes twinkle so heartily when he speaks, Nanny wonders if he’s ever imagined what it would be like to be a boy growing up in a human household, experiencing the wonders of Christmas firsthand. “B-but I think the way you handled it was better. You always manage to do what’s best, r-regardless of your job description.”

“I don’t know that I did or not,” Ashtoreth admits. “Either way, I think your little stunt helped buy him another coupla years of what if. So huzzah! The magic of Christmas is saved, and we didn’t have to use a single miracle to do it.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes,” she says fondly. “It’s a very good thing.”

“Well then,” he says, gleefully patting the snow, “I suspect I should get out of this kit, eh?”

Ashtoreth grins. “Don’t. you. dare!” she demands, putting both hands on his chest and pressing him back into the snow. “I do believe I have a thing for men in red suits.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley

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marshmallowprotection · 4 years

Text

I’m out here speculating what kind of chocolate cake can Unknown be eating. Yes, you can say that it’s just a Devil’s Food cake. It is a good match with both the name and the fact that it’s a chocolate cake. But that’s just it. An old and boring chocolate cake that everyone knows. I want to overcomplicate things, and no one can stop me.

Alright, let us begin! Pictures found on google just so yall can get hungry for chocolate cake.

So, the cake is completely covered in either chocolate ganache or just chocolate cream. Can be both, but I’m gonna bet on the ganache just because I like ganache more :)

Maybe we’re dealing with a chocolate grasshopper cake? You know, mint and chocolate? Mint Eye? Get it? GET IT???????

Probably not. If I were to make a grasshopper cake, I wouldn’t completely cover it in chocolate to showcase the mint-green layers. And even if you decided to cover it in chocolate, like on the picture above, you’d decorate it with something that indicates that this cake is minty, green, and fresh. Not black roses. (Okay, whose idea was it to decorate a chocolate cake with BLACK roses and dark/milk chocolate petals? Like, Unknown, dear, I get it that you’re edgy and want to symbolize death or something, but for the love of Lila, get some contrast. At least, use the color red in the other cake decorations, if you want to so desperately keep those roses.) I know that Unknown wants to see us suffer but I really want to believe that Ray didn’t let Unknown get minty cake and decorate it with black roses. Oh, how much I want to believe this.

Maybe, Unknown is having a chocolate fudge cake. It would be somewhat fitting. It is, generally speaking, covered in chocolate cream. But fudge isn’t as elegant as what we see in the game illustration. Fudge is more of a cake that you’d bake at home with your parents/siblings/friends/SO because you don’t want to spend a lot of money on a professionally made cake. That’s totally understandable and respectable because those cakes are expensive AS FUCK. Like, a simple 8-inch chocolate cake costs ~$44 at the place I used to work. And those cakes aren’t even that good, tbh. Also, baking a cake is a great bonding experience. 10/10.

I got sidetracked yet again. Oops. So, no fudge because the chocolate topping is way too careful for a fudge cake and Unknown totally wouldn’t engage in quality bonding time with his brother :(

Chocolate ganache cake? Close. This cake may be completely topped with ganache and be a chocolate cake but I doubt that this is it. Generally, ganache cakes are quite dense, and the cake on the illustration is a rather tall one. Ganache is too heavy to make a cake with this shape. You can. But why the hell would you spend your time and money on something that would be a) very heavy and b) way too dense to be able to enjoy it. Too much of one thing isn’t that great. So, no for the ganache.

Oh! I just noticed a bottle in the background of the picture. Maybe it’s a hint that the cake may contain liqueur? Probably, it’s just a random bottle of wine but I am losing my mind, so, it’s gonna be a hint cuz I see it as such. Well, Schwarzwald has Kirsch. But you are insane if you’re trying to cover all that cream with chocolate. An objectively bad idea. No for the Black Forest.

The bottle may be Creme de Cassis (blackcurrant liqueur). And such a cake exists. And it is covered in chocolate. But most recipes call for a dense cake. So, no Caesar stabbing for you, Cassius, Creme de Cassis cake.

I know! Chocolate truffle cake! It isn’t that dense, so, you can make a somewhat tall cake! And it is covered in chocolate! And you can add any liqueur to it to make a drunken! AND you can cover it in dark chocolate with black chocolate and it’ll be fitting! So, it’s a win-win for chocolate and for the edgy aesthetics. But, please, add contrast to your cake, my guy, I’m begging you.

From the look of the bottle, I’d say it’s can be a wild plum or blackcurrant liqueur, but Kait had spoken. TIS GONNA BE POMEGRANATE LIQUEUR! Which also is red and proVIDES CONTRAST TO THE BLACK OF THE CAKE DID YOU HEAR THAT UNKNOWN CONTRAST!!!!!!!

With this, I conclude my descend into madness. Thank you for reading this till the end. I love you :) - submission.

C A K E

I cannot believe you just sent me a whole long post analysis of a cake and I love it. God. I love everyone that follows me because I get stuff like this all the time and it makes me smile to know that you guys are just as fixated on this as I am and bless it. FOR THE LOVE OF LILA. I'm gonna start using that. Honestly! There needs to be a pop of color! Not a muted tone! You know that Lila wouldn't do him like that. She would gladly lean towards something light and fresh like angel food or fruity.

Honestly? My theory is Rika made it. She would go for simple and with something dark to match the devil and darkness of paradise. It just fits for me but I could be wrong. Unknown could have made it himself but he isn't the type to enjoy his own birthday.

My theory is Rika is the one giving him a "party" and she's using it on the guise of reminding him of why he's strong, why she "needs" him, and why this reminder will keep him working towards destroying everything that ever hurt him so his next birthday...

He'll celebrate his revenge and victory.

I really love this. What the fuck. The red and black would fit Unknown's color scheme a lot more and make the photo pop! I don't think it is meant to pop though, given what I think the posing of the photo is for. I see the throne room and everything. But God. I want cake now and I need him.

Welcome to their twisted mind, where they deduced cake and fruit in a matter of a few hours and we admire it.

#mod kait #mysme #ask #saeran choi #that russian gal #choi saeran #mysticmessenger #mystic messenger #mm saeran #saeran mystic messenger #mysme saeran #saeran mysme #saeran mm #mystic messenger saeran #i love this wtf shdmjfdkdjdo #character analysis #submission

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Little Red Bow

This is a Blossutch fic that showcases their daughter.

Pairing: Blossutch. (really about their daughter though)

Fandom: Powerpuff Girls

lol dont hate me if you cry :) Hope you enjoy

“Rosebud could you go get me a pair of socks?” Butch asked his five year old daughter who was coloring. “We wanna make sure we aren’t late for dinner.”

“Okay daddy!” Briar grinned before skipping towards her dad’s bedroom.

The closet was vast and filled with a ton of clothes. She looked around before spotting the sock drawer.

Briar rummaged through his socks. Her little hands searched around for a pair that matched, a pair daddy would like. She smiled as she found two black socks and held them up next to each other.

“Same size!” She giggled and put the rest of the socks back into the drawer. She turned to leave, ready to go see her cousins and maybe Auntie Bubbles made her favorite cookies.

She was excited to go to the family party, she hadn’t been to one in years and daddy did buy her this brand new dress. It was black with a fluffy tutu and a red ribbon that went around the waist. She had begged to get it the moment she saw it in the store. Mommy would love it too and it would be a shame if she didn’t get to twirl and dance around in it.

Her hair was down and scattered in her face. Her thick black locks always caused her trouble. Mommy was so good with her hair but daddy does his best. She thinks it funny when he stretches the hair tie too much making it break or fling across the room.

But this was a special occasion. She would be starting second grade this fall and was a big girl. No more baby stuff. She wanted her hair up, just like mommy but it was missing something.

She went to the vanity that was in the closet. Earrings and necklaces were in a box but she couldn’t wear those, maybe when she was older. Maybe daddy would get her some small clip ons, she would like that.

Briar shrugged and blew some hair out of her face before making sure she had the socks for her dad. As she was leaving the closet she saw a box at the top shelf, its lid slightly open and something spilling out of it slightly.

She looked towards the door then back to the box where the lid was off slightly. She knew she shouldn’t be peeking. Daddy always said not to peek or at least don’t get caught. Her mother would have tapped daddy on the arm and told him not to corrupt her, but she was a big girl. She knew how not to get caught.

And if she did get caught, she would bat her pretty little eyelashes and get out of trouble, just like Uncle Brick said. If she told Uncle Brick he would be proud.

She threw the socks to the ground and floated up to where the box laid on the top shelf. She brought it to the floor before wiping off a thin layer of dust. Carefully she opened it up and looked inside. It seemed to be a collection of things from her mom and dad’s childhood.

A Polaroid photo of her mom and dad was in her hands. In the background was the ocean and mommy had a big smile on her face as her daddy kissed her cheek. She smiled softly at it and placed it on the floor. Another one had her mother in a sparkly deep red dress. Her father held her close as his tie matched and at the bottom ‘senior prom’ was written.

She found other things too. A set of letters and even more pictures. A fluffy sweater and even an empty perfume bottle. A tube of lipstick and a hockey puck. Funny items.

A small black box was inside and she flipped the latch before looking at the small ring inside. “Oooo pretty!” She grinned before placing it next to the other things.

She was about to close the box when she spotted the object that sparked her curiosity. She took it in her hands and ran her thumb across the soft fabric. Its color was bright and matched her dress sash.

An idea popped in her head and she closed the box, flying to the vanity and grabbing her hairbrush she kept in here. She pulled her dark locks up and tried to remember how mommy had taught her. After a few minutes she flashed a toothy grin at her reflection and added the final touches.

“Briar? Do you need help?” She heard her father call but he was already stepping through the closet door and picked up the socks she had gathered. “Honey are you ready-” His breath caught in his throat as he looked at the items splayed on the floor.

“Daddy look!” He tore his eyes from the pictures and looked at his daughter who was spinning in her dress. “I’m going to be the prettiest girl at the party!”

He felt a cold chill run up his spine as he sank to his knees. She ran up to him. Pure innocence shined through her eyes. Those sparkly pink eyes. He remembers when he held her for the first time. She blinked and revealed the soft baby pink eyes that were given by her mother.

Butch looked at the memories on the floor then back at her. He felt small fingers wipe away tears he didn’t know were falling and he hugged her close before placing a kiss on her forehead. His thumb stroked her cheek as she stared at him with adoration and a vivid smile that showed her missing tooth.

“You look beautiful baby.” He said before picking her up and kissing her cheek.

He made sure to grab his socks before he looked back at the box, then closed the door.

“Do you think they will like my outfit?” She asked as he buckled her into her car seat.

“I know they will love it.” He gave her a soft smile before getting into the driver's seat.

---

Bubbles looked at the clock on the stove and smiled as she took the garlic bread out and set it on the counter. “Honey could you grab the silverware for me?” She said to Brick as he bounced his 8 month year old in his arms.

He nodded before handing his son to Buttercup and getting the table set up.

“Smells good sis.” Buttercup said before cooing at the baby whose light blue eyes blinked up at her.

In the living room they could hear the five other children tackle Boomer. “Kids don’t hurt your father too bad.” Buttercup tossed over her shoulder as she kept her eyes on the baby. “Man, I miss when they were this small.”

“Feel free to come and change diapers then.” Brick laughed as he finished. “Bella, punch him in the gut!” Brick called out to his seven year old daughter who was now on Boomers back.

“Bella do not punch your uncle!” Bubbles sang as she set everything in the dining room. “Alright, now we are just waiting on Butch.” She said. “Alright kids go wash your hands.” She clapped and soon five kids rushed to the small bathroom down the hallway.

“Thank god.” Boomer said as he stood and brushed off his shirt. “Little demons.”

They all gathered in the kitchen grabbing the rest of the things. “Dad go sit down.” Bubbles shooed him.

The professor laughed before taking his grandson from Buttercup’s arms. “Alright dear, but I’m sitting at the end with the kids.”

“As if we expected you to sit anywhere else.” Bubbles kissed his cheek.

They heard the front door open and Butch telling Briar to go wash her hands.

“No daddy, I want them to see!” She protested and before he could say anything she flew to the kitchen and walked through. “Auntie look at my new dress!”

Bubbles giggled as she turned around with a plate in hand. “Its so pretty-” Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the little girl in front of her. The plate slipped from her hands as Brick caught her before her knees hit the ground.

The rest of them fell silent as Briar stood looking at the smashed plate. Butch came from behind her, an unreadable expression on his face.

Bubbles hand covered her mouth as tears brimmed her eyes and she choked out a sob. “Shes-shes.” tear dripped down her cheeks as Brick tried to ease her.

Buttercup leaned down next to her, avoiding the glass on the ground. “You found her bow.” She whispered as she touched the fabric in her hair. It was almost uncanny. Even with the dark locks, she resembles her sister so much. The bow stood proudly on her head and she was transported back to the days where she was this young. She missed those days. She missed her sister.

“I heard something break, is everyone okay.” The professor asked and saw Briar. His eyes trailed to the bow and he felt his heart squeeze tight. She turned and floated up to him, eye bright and wide. “You look just like Blossom.” He said.

Briar blinked up at him. “Really? Do you think mommy would like it?”

“Oh I think she would love it Cupcake.” He looked towards Butch who was smiling softly.

“I miss her.” Briar spoke as she wiped her face. “I want mommy back.”

“I know honey, we all do.” Butch took her from the professor’s arms and kissed her temple.

Boomer patted her head as he walked by. “I think we should all start dinner.”He looked towards the floor. “And clean this mess.”

The dinner was calm and smooth, as calm and smooth as six children plus a baby could be. They ate and every so often someone would look towards the bow. It was years of memories weaved into the red fibers. The amount of monster attacks and fights it had seen.

The damage it had taken and the ups and downs. It was there through it all. It was almost too much to see it now.

It was hardest for Butch to see it. He remembers everything so vividly, down to the point of when it was last worn. Like the end of an era, it was gone. It was a symbol of justice and peace, a symbol of love and laughter. But it had faded over the years.

The kids were in their own world as the front door opened. All eyes looked to see Blossom walking in the door. Her hair was cut to her shoulders and she kicked off her shoes. “Hi everyone!” She smiled.

“Blossom?” Butch said. “I thought you were coming home next week?” He stood and met her at the door. His wife giggled as she kissed his cheek.

“Well I am so good at my job that I finished my case early.” She simply shrugged. “I'm just mad it kept me away from you all for two months.”

In a flash her daughter was in her arms and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Mommy look!” She pointed to her hair.

Blossom laughed a little before hugging her close. “Oh I see you found my old bow.” She gave a small frown. “It's kinda faded and smells dusty. Tell you what when we get home I’ll give you one of my new bows and we can tie this onto your bear daddy since it's a little worn.”

She carried her towards the table before kissing her husband and setting Briar down. She looked at Bubbles and saw the red under her eyes and others. “Have you all been crying?” She asked as she took a seat and Boomer handed her a plate.

“Maybe.” Bubbles whispered.

Brick rolled his eyes and wiped some sauce off of his daughter's face. “They saw her in your bow and broke down. You all cried as if Blossom was dead geez.”

“It was cute!” Buttercup yelled. “And I'm six months pregnant so I'm allowed to be sad.”

Blossom giggled and turned to Butch. “Did you cry?” She smirked and he glared at her.

“Of course I did. Look at my little angel.” He pointed to Briar who was holding a noodle over her mouth with her hands. “Precious.”

“Maybe I’ll grow my hair out again.” She said. “I miss the bows.” She touched her hair.

“I’m just saying no one cried when I gave my hat to my kids.” Brick pouted.

They all turned towards him. “No one cares about your hat bro.” Boomer said as he shoved some bread in his mouth.”

Bubbles patted her husband’s hand. “I thought it was sweet. It was also five years ago so the moment is gone dear” She smiled sweetly.

They all laughed at Brick who was still pouting and Blossom looked over to see her daughter laughing with her cousins. She remembers a time where she never left the house without her signature bow. It held good and bad memories but now it just gave her pure joy to see her daughter wearing it proudly.

---

hahahaha no shes not dead lol. sorry if you cried. to be fair i was gonna make her dead but i got really sad and decided to spare the feels.

#Blossom x Butch #blossutch #blossutch fic #blossutch kid #blossom ppg #butch rrb #butch x blossom #ppg fics #thewritingstar

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jehans-flower-pot · 4 years

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Y'know? I know nothing about Spring Awakening,, but I want to hear you talk about it,,, Tell me your thoughts and opinions on Spring Awakening,, 💐🎀✨🍪

cfjjhgd dude 💖💖💖💖🥺 Okay so, i should probably summarize before i go on about like character development or smth. So it’s about a bunch of like 14 y/olds in Germany in the 1890s. And i’m gonna try to not spoil too much of it. But theres this girl named Wendla, and the play starts off on her fourteenth birthday (unimportant but good to remember) and her mother refuses to tell her about like sex and how babies are made and shit and lets just say that goes badly. Then theres Melchior whos like ‘the protagonist’ but we get a hateable and morally grey protagonist who does some objectively horrible shit and its amazing because character development!!! and he’s having like a constant existential crisis. Oh also theyre all Christians(?) but he’s an Atheist and needs everyone to know about it. Also Moritz. In the musical he’s kinda just Depressed and Angsty™, but in the play he gets a lot more character and nuance and he’s actually intelligent despite the fact he’s failing school. And thats the three main characters. Also they’re all horny but like i just kinda ignore that part.

Oh also probably important Frank Wedekind wrote the play and Steven Sater wrote the book for the musical.

People try to either turn Melchior into either the villain of the story or they try to lessen what he did (cough cough Steven Sater), but both of those just weaken the message and the story and the characters. The original musical, in workshops, had a lot of the original plot and characterizations, and it kept a lot of that when it was off broadway, but when they brought it to broadway they changed a lot to make it more palatable to wider audiences, and that included changing melchior and wendla’s story to make it more. Consensual. Which should not have happened, a likeable protagonist is not needed, plus melchior, especially because he was played by Jonathan Groff on broadway, is already likeable in the beginning. He’s charismatic and ‘intelligent’ and is the only person who doesn’t lie to Moritz, and feeling conflicted about a character is a good thing.

Also there’s the vineyard scene, which is like the happiest part of the show, and it’s this romantic moment between Ernst and Hanschen. By todays standards it’s like definitely not very good representation, seeing as the only canon LGBTQ+ couple gets one scene, but keep in mind this was written in the 1890s and they’re actually happy normal people. In the play the scene is like very sweet and not even slightly manipulative. But. In the musical. Fucking Steven Sater. Took that scene and he made it the comedic relief. He takes the one happy couple, and makes Hanschen manipulative and mocking.

Deaf West Spring Awakening. Deaf West Spring Awakening. They took a show about communication issues and added a whole other layer and made it accessible to deaf audiences and provided opportunities to deaf actors and they did a fucking amazing job (besides the vineyard scene which came out a little very ableist but we’ve learned no one can make that version of that scene good.) But they made Wendla and Moritz (and a bunch of the side characters including Ernst) deaf, and they have those characters double casted so each one has a voice, which is a whole new layer of symbolism to read into and its so good and it makes it so much more powerful when bad stuff happens because their voices either betray them or get torn away from them. Also i think that the only character who has a voice other characters can hear (everythings signed) is Thea, because her voice is actually a character (her sister).

The next part is fully just my interpretation:

Ooh paragraph two on dwsa because i love it so much. Martha, one off the side characters who is deaf in dwsa, is abused by her father. And one of the ways they represent her trauma is by having her voice always separated from her. Wendla and her voice are super close, only separated when theyre torn apart, and her voice kinda can represent her conscience and confidence, making her ask her mother about reproduction and having her give her mother an incriminating letter melchior wrote her. Then theres moritz’s voice. All i can say about moritz’s voice is GOD DAMN IT. But also like he represents moritz’s depression and self hatred, theyre extremely close but in a very toxic way, and it’s so well done and hgyvhbjkjou.

The choreography. The fucking choreography. They shouldve gotten that tony and they werent even nominated. The way the sign is integrated into the choreo and it all advances the plot and characters in ways that are independent from what they’re actually saying.

Sorry this is so long but. last thing. Steven sater ruined the fucking timeline of the show for no reason and it makes me so much angrier than it should. It took me like five reads of the play to finally get it down, then the musical goes and fucking mentions november twenty seventh. NO. thats not where it goes! He also changed the paintings mentioned very briefly for no reason. I just want consistency-

#sorry i started writing then i couldnt stop writing #<3 #minor cw for abuse mentions

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tanoraqui · 5 years

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*chinhands* so tell me about guinevere being gay and doing crimes in space

There are three rules that an e-space* Navigator lives by:

Know who you are

Know where you’re going

Know where home is (just in case)

*“espace”, more often; hyphens don’t survive casual parlance; it’s short for “extra-space” because scientists aren’t always good at naming things. just thank god for the one physicist who raised an early objection to “subspace”, even though in early models of layered reality, what came to be known as “espace” was, indeed, below our space.)

The third is easiest, because it’s drilled into every recruit from the second they’re brought to the Lighthouse - which is usually at an age so young they’ll forget having lived anywhere else before. There might be an official name for the headquarters of the Navigators’ Guild on paperwork somewhere, but inside the space station’s halls and outside it, on every ship and planet and empty space between stars in the galaxy, it’s the Lighthouse. There’s a general understanding of why: it’s where navigators call home, where they can look to for aid and succor when the seas turn rough, in this space and the other.

Most people don’t understand, though. Because most people are not navigators: they have never stayed awake while every other mind in the ship was sent very carefully and very deeply into sleep, while the ship passed across a crackling boundary between this reality and another. They have never held themselves together in a world where up was not quite down because neither of those terms applied, where colors were tastes were neither, where time and space were both only suggestions, and the map is a matter of focus in your mind.

You are lost as the default, in espace. Or, “lost” isn’t a term that applies, because all reference points are only in your mind, and if you don’t have your destination absolutely clear, you will be lost in the metaphorical sense as well as not quite the literal. So the politer, more bureaucratic line is that navigators (orphans, usually) are taken in so that their training can begin as early as possible, the truest truth is that it is so that when they begin their training, they will have somewhere to come back to. (Their very secretive training; it’s not, allegedly, sink or swim, but the Guild protects the secret of how it trains its navigators more closely than it guards anything.) So that no matter what, if they lose track of their destination - too unfamiliar, or even unwanted - they can always remember the Lighthouse. The bunkbeds and warm corridors of the dormitories; the creatively placed asteroid ring, more for agility practice in dart-fliers than anything else; the iconic long body of the station itself, modeled half-seriously after a lighthouse of old (symbols can matter in espace), floating amidst darkness and a starry background, the nearest planet several standard-orbits away for the sake of autonomy…the navigator’s last and truest port in a storm.

The earlier a young navigator-to-be can fix that in their heart, so surely that they’ll know the exact moment its closest, to fire the engines to make the jump back, the more likely they are to, indeed, return home.

The second has been touched on! Navigation in espace is a matter of focus and knowledge, intuition, sense of the shape of a world without shape and essence of a world - or rather, a very specific part of a world - in which its rarely manifest. Many navigators dabble in art of some kind - painting, sculpture, crochet, poetry - because it helps them capture what cannot otherwise be captured. Or maybe so much time in espace means they can’t help but see this world differently as well, and need an outlet…opinions differ. Among navigators. Person to person, you know?

Anyway, because of this quirk of interstellar travel, most planets have, gloriously from a worldbuilding perspectively, entirely in-canon motivation to have highly specific unique traits. The easier a planet or station is to remember, itself and only itself, the less likely ships are to be lost on the way to it. So there’s a planet in Alpha Centauri renowned for its deserts, and its annual global competition, bringing thousands of would-be bakers, confectioners, and more each year. There’s a space station circling Rigel where every citizen proudly gets a new tattoo each year, and so does the station itself, vast stenciled artworks commissioned by the ruling council and drawn by artists in space suits. There’s old Red Mars itself, now more a tourist trap than anything but still just as proudly rust-colored, the closest any interstellar ship is allowed to the nature reserve of Earth.

So, know where you’re going, because going back to the Lighthouse gets you safe, but it doesn’t get you paid. The Guild cares for its navigators, it really truly does…on average. But there are bureaucrats and business managers in there, too, and they know they’re sitting on the galaxy’s most valuable monopoly.

And first: know who you are. Nothing in espace is real the way it is in standard space, including the self. Don’t worry about the crew or the passengers, or even the materiality of the ship itself - the ship AI will keep track of them, as well as of time as it should be passing. Nothing determinedly holds to numerical time like a digital mind. They’ll keep track of the navigator’s physicality as well - that’s what the biotagging chip is for. But most navigators do some sort of dance, martial art, or other exercise as well, to give themselves a better sense of, well, themselves - it’s always good to have a backup. Any passengers and crew are so unconscious that they may as well be inanimate, which is why an AI can keep track of them jus fine - the navigator, of course, is awake for the whole voyage.

So, the woman who in another life might be named Guinevere…

Her first name is Djinn, because a lot of navigator orphans are named after mythical creatures or heroes, from one culture or another, that can fly. A lot others are named after mythical heroes or creatures known for sight. The people in charge of children at the Lighthouse are a bunch of nerds, really, or they were once, and tradition stuck.

Her last name is probably Navigator, because being named after your profession is as old as civilization, and there are fewer things its easy to be proud of than being an official Guild-licensed navigator. You get to choose a surname when you get your license, and like many before her, Djinn chose that.

Once a navigator has their license, they’re more or less loosed unto the galaxy, if they want to be. You’re welcome to work as an independent contractor, so long as you still pay your percentage back to the guild of every navigating fee, and don’t undercharge the Guild minimum.

Djinn elected not to do that, actually. She wanted to travel, of course, to fly, to spend as much time as possible in hte giddy twistedness of espace. But she didn’t want to manage her own business, and she didn’t mind the Guild taking a little higher percentage to have jobs lined up for her. And she was good, oh, she was good, so it wasn’t long before she was flying precious cargos and even passenger ships - small ones, to start, and not particularly pricey (not used by the affluent, that is, who would pay more for a more experienced navigator, with more successful trips under their belt). But still, a very promising career, and she was comfortable.

She always has a sketchbook, luxurious paper so she can save or destroy the drawings as she wants, rather than wipe them clean from a laminate. Physical rather than digital, because she’s drawing this world, she says, so it has to have real mass - but she almost only ever uses pale colors. Bright things, she saves for paint, when she has time and space and money for an easel, and that art is twisting and bright and incomprehensible to everyone but a fellow navigator - and even then, most understand what she means, but now how she’s representing it. No one really experiences espace the same way.

She’s short of stature and of hair, skin probably #C26604-ish? and walks with a dreaminess in her eyes and the confidence of someone who knows she’s weird - as most navigators do. Also, definitely practices some science fiction equivalent of judo. Has slightly more energy than she needs at any given moment, and when she decides to move fast, will do so. Physically, emotionally, and in terms of decision-making - will put off decisions if they’re unpleasant, but will make them quickly if they’re not, and commit 100%. Stubborn or determined, however you want to phrase it; holds grudges…but if pushed to reconsider something, will do so, and will willingly change her mind. Often in the 100% opposite direction from before.

(It’s hazardous to go into espace unsure of what you want in life.)

Also, she’s not actually a licensed navigator anymore, by Guild rule. See, I said she was good, right? Really good? So, most navigators have a seat on the bridge - they don’t really need to be there, but it feels right - and that’s where they stay for the duration of the espace journey. Easier to focus if you don’t need to move, don’t need to think about anything but where to go and when (”when” maintained by the ship’s clocks) exactly to make the jump back to get there. There are probably IV tubes and catheters and everything, because it can be a several subjective hours sometimes, and better safe than sorry.

But Djinn was good, oh, she was really good, and she didn’t need that stuff. She didn’t want that stuff. Always a little more energy than necessary for the moment, remember? So her knee jiggled, and that was fine. She stood and stretched, and that was fine. She paced the bridge, alone save for the AI, and thought about the swirling patterns on the outer skin of that one station, or the best donut she’d ever tasted on that one planet (she always wanted to be more of a sweet tooth than she actually was.)

None of this was per regulation, but it was the sort of thing that got comfortably ignored by the Guild, if you admitted it - and you were encouraged to, for your own safety as a navigator and that of your ship, and in the interest of more data gained about espace travel. And then not reported on to whoever’d chartered the navigator, so long as the nav was back in their seat by the end and got the ship to its destination just fine, because what the layperson didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

But, well…

It doesn’t get much harder to hold yourself and everything under your care together as they are the longer you’re in espace - additionally, but not multiplicatively, much less exponentially. Time and space still function in a way, so trips between this planet and that are known to have a certain average amount of time, but it’s flexible. If a navigator can confidently know themselves through, and the ship AI has a confident grasp on everything else, there’s no reason she shouldn’t pause in her destination-seeking, or at least not focus quite so hard, and just…wander the ship for a while. See the sights (that aren’t quite, here.) Enjoy the upsideways-tasting sensations.

So, Djinn met an AI with whom she really got along, did a couple trips in a row on that ship specifically, and then talked them into covering for her while she stole stuff from the passengers. More for fun than anything, honestly. But she got…well, she got caught, mostly, more than she got anything particularly valuable (probably?). (She got away with it like a dozen times, first, though.) And stealing from passengers while traveling through espace, while nearly unprecedented, is illegal by the laws of every place of origin she flew from…which is what applies on-ship until the destination is reached, by interstellar law.

More importantly, it was against Guild rules. They claimed precedent, because the Navigators’ Guild looks after its own, so Djinn wasn’t imprisoned anywhere. But her license was revoked for 7 years.

We meet her sometime in year 4, maybe 5 of that probably, I think on the equivalent of Jackson’s Whole.

#uhhhh #my fic #original fic #science fiction #arthurian legend #astria et al #hermionehair goylebrain

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theorynexus · 5 years

Text

Fifty and Four sends us cresting over the hill, if we weren’t already. How long until we hit the bottom?

Oh ho? Jane’s perspective again, huh? ‘t’s been a while.

EEEHHHH?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, that is not good!

Rrrrgh, she does not need to be building up a habit like that! The consequences of such use are far too severe and unpredictable, even if you don’t consider the potential negatives to one’s psychological health. >.< Gosh... even with her Life aspect probably protecting her a little bit from its sugary after-effects, reading that makes me feel sick. > ~~~ <

Figures that a Cherub would be biased in favor of it. At least Alt!Calliope is willing distance herself and try to be objective, though.

***giggles uncontrollably, even though this honestly shouldn’t be funny***

Very politically-minded, but it also sortof sounds like the excuse-making that an addict would engage in, so I am not convinced that this is a legitimate argument. Yeah, shoring up your base is important, but doing something that could strongly alienate swing voters is not necessarily wise, either. I suspect she knows this too, but is in denial about the fact of the matter, because she enjoys the benefits of Trickster Mode too much. It is quite interesting that the human kingdom’s subjects appreciate it so much~

HAAAAA. Oh my fricking gosh, Alt!Calliope is a Cherub Supremacist! XD

(Sortof makes sense, based on the mindsets that were described in Aranea’s [?] talk about the Cherubs’ origins, though. Might be biologically-driven, honestly.) Also, it’s quite interesting to see Jane interacting with Alt!Calliope like that, but it is hardly unique or overly-noteworthy, all things considered... at least, most likely. Quite a few other characters have responded to narration in a similar manner.

... Honestly, I was about to freak out about the Juju getting covered in dirt and grime, but the way she tossed away probably significant keepsakes, trophies, or the like for the sake of honoring it is... quite disturbing, and speaks to a danger in her presumably worsening compulsion/habit. Though they might just be cookies.

Dirk displays surprising wisdom/good judgment, here, and amusingly alludes to the fact that his voice is being otherwise suppressed. His actually talking in a scene represents a nice sort of loophole, but not one by which he can utilize such control as he would otherwise be capable. ... And yes, her burning out is a very legitimate concern, which speaks to the fact that Dirk definitely+legitimately cares about the things that serve his purposes and/or agendas. They, he is willing to more gently guard, comparatively, it would seem.

It feels like this is a reference to something, probably from the 1980s or early 90s, but I can’t place my finger on it. Oh well.

This is very amusing, honestly.

Deeeeeerp. (Yet another example of why it is difficult to take his attempt at super-godhood seriously... or at least find it anything better than dreadful. Dirk is great at juggling many things at once, but not as great as he’d need to be. )

Oh, and I appreciate Jane’s concern for Dirk. She is indeed correct in saying that he is usually much better at it than my previous comment might have suggested. But I am not entirely being unfair, insofar as this is true: the greater the responsibility one wields, the greater the level of competence one must have in order to pass proper muster. He was failing in his attempt. I didn’t really give him all that much of a chance to sway me, honestly, but my own demeanor in dealing with him had nothing to do with the actual quality of his work.

This must be really concerning to Jane. And... honestly, yes he is. They are very, very similar. Dirk is just more obvious with his intelligence, more controlled, and more mature. They are both highly ambitious, crave challenges, enjoy art, have quite a bit of masculine pride, and have a shared appreciation for irony, riddles, and absurdist humor. Caliborn was likely very, very influenced by Dirk in particular, both of them received Yaldabaoth as their Denizen due to their personality and prowess, and both of them are highly manipulative men of questionable morality. Also, their sexual interests seem to be somewhat similar, but that is a debatable matter. Lord English has Lil’ Hal integrated as part of his soul, Lil’ Cal has played a profound part in both of their (multiple) life cycles. Finally: as of the Epilogue and his attempted control of the narrative seen therein, Dirk essentially has pursued the same goal that LE did: domination of Paradox Space through his will controlling the natural flow of events. Dirk and Caliborn are in truth extremely alike.

I do so very much like where this is going. It would seem that we will soon find out precisely what Dirk is planning. “Diminishes and ascends” has an interesting ring to it, as well. That red rifle: Is it the one that launches portals? Honestly, Dirk is indeed quite clever, by the way. He has the seeds of great potential. It’s simply that it has not fully bloomed, yet, and he is a little bit overly full of himself, and arrogant in what he believes he can do. And yes, he is indeed temperamental when people interfere with his plans, it seems.

There’s the scheming politician we’ve all been waiting for. Way to go, thinking in such calculated manners and considering backstabbing ones you care about, Jane. Somewhat petty, and certainly rather dangerous, all things considered (things are a bit more explosive, where gods are involved), but closer to the political ideal which I would hope for if she were to be portrayed as competent. (Of course, I am actually disgusted with that sort of behavior. It’s one of the things I dislike about politics. I’ll recognize that it at least paints her in a slightly better light than the previous samplings of her thought process and tactical capacity has; thus, I generally like and dislike where this is going.)

Yep. Angelic purity with sexual potency/desire. There has always been this sort of tension in Hope’s nature. Just like the fact that angels are, in Biblical texts, both symbols of terror and destruction as well as hope and salvation. All (almost all?) the important positive interactions with heavenly beings start with fear on the part of mortals, followed by a “Fear not!” to suggest they come in peace. Otherwise, they come bringing judgment and wrath, and thus don’t tend to bother much with formalities.

Is that sarcasm, Jane? If not, there’s certainly a heavy layer of irony. Do remember what just happened with Jane when she invited Jape Jake over for a friendly visit, not too long ago, my good audience members.

... ***twitches, and tries very hard to hold in the inappropriate laughter***

If only I had someone so dependable to tell me when I was not dwelling far enough into the land of Always Woke. Perhaps then I would be able to avoid the inevitable scandals that would result from Foot-in-the-Mouth-itis. Oh, wait, no politician can avoid being attacked for various probably minor accidents on their part as the populace naturally over-reacts to what honestly may not actually reflect their character so much as them being accident prone or ignorant? What’s that about manipulation of audio/video recordings for the sake of generating useful sound bites that might be used in an attempt to impugn the honor of any prospective candidate? Oh. I see. Thank you for that important bit of knowledge that I otherwise might not have had access to, imaginary adviser. (Note: I do not actually believe that one should try to be as careful as possible with regards to what one says; nor that one should ignore or scorn important social issues. I am utilizing exaggeration and mockery for the sake of comedy.) ... Alt!Calliope’s description of Dirk holding the rifle is quite elegant and beautiful.

This is indeed a beautiful irony, seeing the situation with regards to Dirk and Alt!Calliope’s tendencies toward bias being reversed.

***snickers*** Magnifique.

It is strange to see Alt!Calliope teasing and egging him on. It may be unintentional. Hard to say.

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sasskarian · 5 years

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The Mostly-Complete Rise of Skywalker semi-liveblog and reaction list that literally no one asked for

I really dig the parallels between Exegol and Korriban. The way both places felt massive and cramped at the same time, all ominous and tomb-like. Both of them are desolate, devoid of all life. They both feel barren, but not just barren. Korriban feels like history crumbling beneath your fingertips. Exegol feels like a place that’s actively trying to wound you with its desolation, like it’s sucking the life out of you to try and renew itself. (Which, given that Palpatine is there and what he does later, yeah, that tracks.)

When Palps tells Kylo to kill Rey, you can see the micro expression in his eyes. The way the muscles in his face tighten up for a second, the brows drawing down in an expression of disdain and repulsion. If we could have seen his mouth, I’d lay money down on there being a sneer flash across his face for a moment. And damn if Adam isn’t a good actor for being able to portray something that subtle.

There were definitely a few moments where Chewie bitches at Poe for the stunts he’s pulling, including a very definitive accusation of “Rey would never do this to me or the Falcon,” or something along those lines. (This is when Poe snarls, “Yeah, well, Rey’s not here right now, is she?”)

Kylo reaching out into the Force. We’re supposed to think he’s trying to reach Anakin/Vader, but I don’t think that’s what happened at all. I think that he reached for Rey specifically, possibly as a self-soothing gesture. The need to feel her alive, reassure himself. And because of Rey’s feelings and connections to his own family, he’s clearly struggling with his more monstrous acts, and with seeing Luke and Han as intrusive thoughts.

Rey failing the training course because of him makes perfect sense. Notice that this is also when she gets angry.

The Kintsugi vibe given off by Ren’s helmet repairs are fascinating.

Given the way Pryde keeps focusing on Hux during the meeting, I feel like he suspects Hux.

I find it interesting that Finn seems to be the peacekeeper in the OT3. Poe is definitely a hothead, even though he’s matured since TFA and TLJ. And Rey snaps back at him, indignant that he’s snapping at her. And Finn is the one doing the “Guys, guYS, we don’t have TIME for this” routine.

I like the quiet horror of Rey recognizing Exegol’s name. Whether it’s Force shenanigans, or from reading Luke’s books, or from the vision, whatever. The recognition followed by horror is Good Fucking Acting.

I wish that there’d been a little more of Luke or Leia reassuring Rey that a name is just a name. That the legacy is what you make it. And that as the children of Anakin Skywalker, they know that better than anyone. I feel like that would have been a good tie-in and highlight for the way the surnames are treated in the movies. Ben shunning both Organa and Solo, Rey having a last name at last but one that carries the same kind of stigma and Dark past.

I… kind of wonder if Ren surrounded himself in atrocities as a means of self-punishment. We know it’s canon that he keeps being pulled to the Light, and that every time he does, he tries something Dark. Maybe it’s his way of reminding himself how far he’s fallen and that he can’t ever go back home again (which we know is bullshit, but hey, abuse fucks your brain up, and Snoke was abusive af). Like, again, I know it’s mostly just in the comics so far, but we see him a lot saying, “I never wanted this,” “I don’t want to do this.”

The Pasaana dance in the festival seems pretty clearly modeled after tribal dances, and that makes me wonder if powerful dances like the Dha Werda and the Ancestor Dance shown in the film send ripples through the Force. And what that might be like.

I… kind of like the idea of Ben and Kylo struggling for control? I need to finish reading TLJ and read TRoS when it comes out, but there are things Kylo does—the almost-gentle banter with Rey, the way he reaches out in TLJ when she’s on Ahch-To, warning her about Palps—that doesn’t make sense from a purely Kylo perspective. I mean, I’m also an angst gremlin who enjoys the idea of Kylo losing more ground to Ben Solo, and having serious identity clashes.

The bond between Rey and Kylo has grown exponentially. Each movie, it gets bigger and more powerful. In TFA, it allowed her to look into his head. And he wasn’t able to really bring himself to hurt her. In TLJ, it bridges impossible distances of space, even so far as transporting physical objects across the distance. And in TRoS, we see that it’s gotten so strong, it literally blocks out the rest of the physical world. You could argue that the darkness in the bond is what’s overshadowing it, but I don’t count it that way. Rey’s surroundings on Pasaana are slowed down and muted, as if only Ren is her focus.

The trio is so drift compatible, it hurts.

The way the trio grabs for each other, though. It was beautiful. Disney may have decided that Poe/Finn wasn’t a thing, which we all know is a damn lie, but this movie ships the OT3 so hard. The way Poe catches Rey as she falls, the way they both turn at almost the same time to look for Finn. The casual touching.

Childish though it was, I did enjoy the “mine’s bigger” joke with Rey’s lightsaber vs Poe’s flashlight.

Rey shows an affinity for Animal Empathy. Ren has used Stasis more than once. I could even argue that there’s been some subtle Battle Meditation going on throughout the series. And I kind of? Like that we’re seeing some of the more obscure and subtle Force powers.

Also? The snakey slow-blink? I love.

Rey seems to have some psychometry abilities. And I love it.

The way Rey says “I’ll be right behind you” isn’t what it sounds like. It has a lot of layers to it. (Just like Han’s “I know” in ESB) It’s declaration of intent (“I’ll handle this”), it’s a request (“Trust me”), and it’s consolation and reassurance (“I’ll be fine.”). The way all that is conveyed with five simple words is. Ugh. My heart.

As Finn gets stronger in the Force, I’m enjoying seeing his instincts kick in. He senses Ren’s approach, which is a nice completion of the parallel to TFA when Ren sensed him as the traitor.

I don’t know who’s read the Rise of Kylo comic, but the way she slices his ship to bring him down is a direct parallel to the shot he made when he escaped the destroyed Temple. (I love all the tie-ins, honestly)

Rey was doing okay with trying to pull the transport down until Kylo stepped in to push her. The most likely scenario is less “force lightning is genetic” (because that’s crap) but more that anger clouded her mind and she already had a direct Force ability going.

When I asked my roommate why she thought Rey couldn’t sense Chewie’s life force, she gave me an interesting theory. Well, a few, but one I think makes a lot of sense. The first was that Chewie was already off-world and thus too far away (later debunked by her sensing him as the Destroyer is in orbit). Or that maybe the transports were shielded against Force Abilities, but given that they’re so rare in this era, I don’t think that’s the case. I agree with my roomie in saying that it’s more likely that Rey burnt out part of her senses and basically put herself in shock due to the feedback of casting a powerful and traditionally dark side ability for the first time.

The first couple of times I watched the movie, the entire Threepio arc bothered me. Why didn’t they just plug him into the navicomputer, the way they’d done before? Why the angst build-up? Then I remembered that they left the Falcon on Pasaana, and it’s possible that L3 is more equipped to talk to Threepio’s forbidden memory banks than a post-TCW era ship that’s almost certainly out of date.

…Zorii and Poe have A Past. I’d put money on them having banged like screen doors in a hurricane at least a few times.

“Who are you hanging out with that spEAKS SITH?!?”

I? love? Babu?

“Does she do that to us?” had me in tears.

Oh my God, the sheer #aesthetic and foreshadowing of her duel with Ren. The red fruit (cherries?) spilling across the floor, the stark color against the too-bright white. The way Vader’s helmet thunks on the ground like a sour note in a song, the way the pedestal shatters with their combined strikes. Vader falling from Ren’s worship (as the truth is revealed that it was Snoke/Palps messing with his mind and he never heard Vader), the dark glass shattering the same way the darkness in Ren dies with him.

Finn is… kind of a gossipy biddy and I love it. The way Jannah hands him the part and he just flat out abandons the work to talk, the body language as he hoists himself up to sit on the ledge. I love it. He’s precious.

I wonder if the Death Star echoes in the Force. So many brutal deaths in those halls. So many restless ghosts.

…okay, I’m not sure how to feel about the dagger lining up with the fallen DS’s architecture. Because like. There’s so many layers to that? That suggests that Palps had the dagger created after Endor/RoTJ. Which suggests that he may have had the Wayfinders created then too (though it seemed pretty comfy in the Vault, so maybe he already had them?) (Also, there was one on Mustafar. Was it planted there? Did Vader know about Exegol? I need more information than this!) And like. The Death Star is sitting in a violent sea. It’s going to degrade eventually. What if the horizon line had changed? What then? It seems flimsy, for all that it was dramatic and cool.

The sheer aesthetic in this movie, though. The symbolism is everywhere. Like Rey taking the skimmer. I love the aesthetic choices of her struggling against these giant, furious waves as a fantastic visual analogy of her struggle against the emotions churning away inside her. And how Despair and Fear and even Anger threaten to overwhelm her and drown her, but she keeps holding tight to that little skimmer the same way she’s clinging to Luke’s teachings and Leia’s love and faith in her. Their belief in her.

“You don’t know what she’s fighting.” “And you do?” I wonder if, as a Force Adept, Finn can sense the bond between Rey and Ren, and that she’s struggling against it. As well as the Palpatine name.

Theory (that may or may not have been explored in the Legends EU): Any place steeped in enough Dark emotion can become a place of visions like the Mirror Cave and Dagobah’s Cave. Rey comes face to face with her worst fear on the Death Star.

Speaking of, I wonder if some small part of Rey enjoyed the vision of her and Kylo as Emperor and Empress. I wonder if that’s where the abject horror comes from.

Speaking of more aesthetic, the on-screen contrast and history of the window where Vader and Luke dueled, and the shot of Palps’ throne over Rey’s shoulder. Sorry not sorry but I’m going to be forever in love with the cinematography in this movie.

Ren seems… almost exasperated that she’s still drawing her saber on him. That has fic potential.

That. Entire. Fucking. Duel. That entire battle. Just… oof. OOF. My heart. It blew everything in me wide open. Looking with the eyes of a writer and SW expert instead of the wide-eyed “my hEaRt!” first reaction, I saw So Much. Like Rey and Ren trading battle stances. IDK if anyone else noticed, and it’s happened before (the throne room battle in TLJ, notably, but also their duel in Ren’s quarters). But here, it’s so clear. They gave and took from each other as they fought, and that broke my heart. It threw me back to KotOR II’s echani battles, and the fight between Sun and Mun in Sense8. Here, unlike TLJ, they weren’t fighting in tandem with each other. This was back and forth. Rey starts out saber up, in what looks like shii-cho. Kylo, like always, starts out in Ataru, with heavy, powerful strikes trying to bludgeon down her defense. Rey switches to an offensive, then to fast, agile strikes holding her lightsaber Ahsoka style. Kylo then switches to shii-cho, and Rey enters Ataru, with the aggressive offensive. The way they switched between each other was fantastic.

Near the end, Rey starts giving up. You can see it. Her movements get sluggish, like she’s just going through the motions. Like she’s so tired of fighting the bond in her head, her reluctant pull to him, like she’s just. So Fucking Tired. She’s resigned.

Kylo Ren dying by his own lightsaber while Ben’s mother called to him. That symbolism. That symbolism, though.

The way he looks around, like he’s in shock. The way the battle just stops, and he’s sitting there, dying. You can see the change in him, as Ben wakes up and Kylo dies. There’s so much shell-shock and disorientation, like someone who’s been asleep for too long, waking up confused. And I’d like to believe that Rey healing him poured not just healing but maybe a little Light into him, and that, along with Leia reaching for him, is what gave Ben the strength to rise over Kylo and overpower him. (See also, my love of internal power struggles)

“I did want to take your hand. Ben’s hand.” Excuse you, I did not sign up for this feels trip.

Rey running away. I have… conflicted feelings on? Did she run away because she was grieving? To escape her own history? Did she run because she gave into the dark and struck down Kylo in anger? Or because she was tempted by Ben?

I know everyone says that Han was just a memory but I prefer to believe that Han’s just too stubborn to be a proper Force Ghost. And Disney and Lucasarts can pry Force Sensitive Han Solo out of my cold dead hands.

Luke, materializing out of the air and catching the saber. My heart screamed. Especially when he chided her (and himself) that a lightsaber deserves more respect.

“Leia didn’t tell me.” I think… I think Leia was trying to, without saying the words, “Rey, you’re a Palpatine.” She said, “Never be afraid of who you are.” And oh, God, that’s something Leia would know. In the EU she struggles with being Anakin’s daughter, with the legacy of Vader hanging over her. She struggles with it so much. And finally comes to terms with it. So if anyone knows what that’s like, it’s going to be her.

"She sensed the death of her son at the end of her Jedi path." So... she had nearly thirty years to plan for it. Yoda says, “Always in motion, the future is.” I don’t believe for a single instant that Leia Organa shrugged her shoulders and said “Welp, guess my kid’s gonna die.”

Luke KNEW Ben would go to Exegol. He knew and no one will ever convince me otherwise. “Take both sabers.” She’d need one for Ben.

I wonder if Lando looks at the Falcon and sees all the little pieces of Han.

So. The arrival order at Exegol threw me for a while. Rey gets there, in Red 5. Using the toasted Wayfinder. Then the Resistance arrives, following her trail. We see Ben arrive in a TIE fighter. But… how? Rey’s trail was given to the Resistance on what I can only imagine is an encrypted wave data burst. We know it was technically given to Lando, so that the people joining the battle could find them. But Ben’s in a TIE fighter. Did he get the message from Lando? Were the coordinates already programmed into the TIE via the Final Order? Did he memorize the path from before (given that he’s a stellar pilot like Han)? Did Rey give it to him?

I hate Palps being a one-trick pony in the movies. We see him in TCW having other abilities, and mad saber skills. But in the movies, his schtick is the same every time: He seduces people to the Dark and makes them feel like they don’t have a choice, usually by dangling, “Look, you can SAVE THEM” in front of everyone. And then once he has them, he keeps them by constantly belittling them and reminding them that there’s nowhere else for them to go, because they burnt all their bridges. (Ex: Vader being reminded of what he did to Padme, and Kylo being reminded via Snoke of his own actions)

WEDGE. WEDGE ANTILLES. WEDGE.

Rey felt Ben’s approach, and you can see the change in her body language.

THAT IS THE MOST HAN SOLO THING I HAVE EVER SEEN AND IT’S NOT EVEN HAN SOLO. Watching the changes in Ben (vs Kylo) is so fucking great. He’s lighter, he’s faster. He skids (Han/Death Star), shoots behind him (Han/TFA), and the Solo Shrug. Ugh. Seeing Leia and Han blended in Ben with the Solo swagger, and Leia’s grace is fantastic.

Also: he looks so Soft. And so much younger.

I wonder if they’re communicating through the bond? He knows she can see him, because he nods at her to give him the saber. And unless I didn’t see correctly, she mouthed/whispered his name. And again, we see the connections between them in the fighting style. They’re still acting and reacting like extensions of each other.

The way they meet, the relief on their faces. Relief that melts into stubbornness and determination. Also, the way they take up their sabers in the same stance, the same expression. It’s delicious.

We were ROBBED of seeing the Jedi around Rey. ROBBED.

I’m STILL SALTY that they weren’t there for Ben (that we can see anyway).

Ben proceeded to completely shatter my heart. When he pulls Rey into his lap, he looks around like he’s waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He’s actively seeking guidance and help. And because we don’t have an in to Ben’s head, we don’t know if someone told him what to do or how to do it, or if anyone comforted him. But we do see his face go from disbelief to despair to acceptance.

The face touch. Stop breaking my damn heart.

When the Core ships arrive, I’m almost positive I saw The Razorcrest and the Ghost. I need to check the disc where I can pause it, but I’d put money on it that I saw them.

The way the trio grabs for each other at the end is more movie-shipping-OT3. Finn holding the two people he loves most in the world, right where he can see them. Poe taking Rey’s hand. They don’t know what happened in the Citadel, but I’m pretty sure Finn can feel how tired Rey is, how wounded she is. And they’re There For Her.

Rey burying the sabers on Tatooine has so many emotions attached to it. Tatooine, where Anakin Skywalker was born of the Force, where Luke spent his formative years. Luke and Leia resting together in the Force, as their student moves on and tries to find her way in the galaxy. And the parallels and tie ins from TFA to now, like Rey building a dual saber from parts of her quarterstaff, the sand sliding, and the OT callback to the protag being silhouetted by the twin suns, were satisfying.

Rey’s saber being yellow is something I find… interesting. If you look at the newer movies, whenever a blue or green saber crosses with a red one, the light sparks and blending of the plasma fields look yellow. And Kyber crystals (in the new canon) aren’t colored. They take on a color when the jedi awakes the force in them. So for her color to resonate yellow as someone balanced in light and dark makes a lot of sense.

I have… Opinions on the surname controversy that I’m still trying to sort through. And I definitely have Opinions on Ben sacrificing himself (mostly that the entire sequel trilogy spent two and a half movies harping on about balance only to kill off half the balance and leave a Force Wound in their protag)

***

Was Rise of Skywalker a good movie? Eh. That depends a lot on your criteria.

Was it a successful Star Wars movie? That also depends on your criteria.

But for me, it felt like Star Wars. It felt like an ending to the Skywalker saga. Did I get everything I wanted? No. Am I salty about parts of it? Absolutely. Are there plot holes I could drive a Death Star through? You betcha. Were we robbed of a better, more cohesive movie based on the leaks from JJ’s crew? YUP.

But I found things to enjoy. I got things I wanted (OT3! Force Sensitive Finn! Bendemption! Lando! Hope for the galaxy!), didn’t know I wanted (Master Leia! D-O the anxiety droid! Generals Finn and Poe!), and things I definitely didn’t want.

#star wars #Star Wars Spoilers #Rise of Skywalker #Rise of Skywalker Spoilers #TRoS Spoilers #Episode IX spoilers #Episode Nine Spoilers #Reylo #Rey/Ben #Rey #Ben Solo #I will Cut a Bitch over a Skywalker #Sher does Star Wars #long post #look I have a lot of feelings okay

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welcometohashihigh · 5 years

Text

What I Fear Most: Yu

“Oh, so you all do have Personas. Our master was right.” A gruff voice echoed through the place, bringing Yu back from gawking at Arisato and the Persona summoned with the gun in his hands. They all turned to the new person who had just appeared while they were summoning. Kurusu pulled his mask off his face, his gray eyes threatening. The new person was tall and build strongly, wearing a cloak of black and white squares layered atop each other in a chaotic pattern. His face was covered in a flat black mask with an odd oval symbol across the front. “Our master does hate to be disappointed.”

“Who the hell are you?” Sakamoto glared at the newcomer, clutching his bat. Yu hefted his long sword, the white lights glinting threateningly onto the man. The man laughed, the monsters at his feet surging back to life. Yu instantly bent into a fighting stance, his grip tightening on the sword hilt. As he looked around, he saw that everyone else was ready to fight.

“You’re all so angry. Just give in to our master’s will and everything will be fine.” The man’s eyes almost glowed behind the mask. The monsters at his feet lunged forward, taking the forms of three feline like creatures. “Just let these Shadows absorb you and we’ll be on our way.”

“Like that’ll happen. Arsene!” That Persona of Kusuru’s blazed to life in a grand flourish. What a showoff. Yu lunged forward too, Izanagi raising his polearm to slash through the Shadows. Arisato popped himself in the head again, his Persona Orpheus ready to unleash a hellstorm upon their enemies.

“Izanagi!” A white hot bolt of lightning slammed into the Shadow closest to Yu, arcs of electricity crackling over its body. Yu didn’t wait to see if it would get back up or if the other two were dealing with the other Shadows, instead racing forward and slashing through the knocked down Shadow. It dissolved into nothing, filling Yu with satisfaction. He turned to see the other two Shadows dissolve under the weapons of Arisato and Kurusu. The cloaked man stumbled backwards, though his voice was angry instead of fearful.

“You’ll regret not giving in when you had the chance!” The man stumbled away, vanishing into the black and white lights. Yu sighed as Izanagi returned to him, sheathing his sword away. He wanted to run after the man but he wasn’t as used to his Persona as before. His swing was weak too, as he hadn’t been working out as much ever since the last case of the Investigation Team.

“That was close. You guys all need to practice more, I could feel how weak all your swings were from here.” Yu turned to see what was making the irritating noise and ended up face to face with a strange cat-monster.

“I’ll show you how strong my swing really is, you monster.” Arisato walked up next to Yu and glared at the thing in front of them. Kurusu rolled his eyes and crouched next to the thing, placing his hand upon its head.

“I know he doesn’t look like it, but this is Morgana. It’s good to know you’ll be able to understand him in the real world too.” Sarcasm edged Kurusu’s voice, along with some kind of hostility. Yu narrowed his eyes at Morgana, who returned the glare right back. “I’m surprised his cognitive form is what shows up here though.”

“Cognitive?”

Kurusu stood back up and tucked his hands into his pockets. “It’s hard to explain. I think we should leave for today and come back later. It’s clear we aren’t-”

“I don’t think you should be telling us what to do.” Yu fixed his gaze on Kurusu, who returned the piercing stare from behind his mask. He didn’t want to admit that he also thought they should rest, but the way Kurusu was so commanding angered him. “The Investigation Team takes orders from me. So we’ll be heading back through that window.” Yosuke muttered out a “sorry” as he walked by the Phantom Thieves, following Yu as he walked back to the window.

Once back inside Yosuke’s room, Yu slumped against the wall. Why do I feel so weak? His muscles ached and his head was pounding with vehemence. He held his hand up over his eyes. Yu was so focused on his headache that he didn’t pay mind to the Phantom Thieves and S.E.E.S. slipping back through the window. There were a few words exchanged, but after that all that was left in the room was the Investigation Team.

“Yu, partner, you ok?” Yosuke rested a hand on Yu’s shoulder. His head had stopped pounding and gone down to a dull ache, but there was still soreness in his limbs. “Jeez, I didn’t even do much and I feel exhausted. I think I got Jiraiya back though.”

Yu looked up at Yosuke. He smiled softly despite his exhaustion. “Yeah. Yosuke, I think I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he went to his room and flopped down onto his bed, exhausted. His gray eyes swept over the dark city through the window, the bright lights so innocent and free. How amusing. Yu chuckled to himself. No one down there knew about the window, the world behind it, or the three groups and their terrifying power. There was someone out there, someone who was filled with malicious intent to kill.

He rolled over onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. Makoto had apologized for Kurusu, but the way he acted like he was in charge… it didn’t quite sit well with him. And Arisato was so rude and headstrong… He didn’t like them, either of them. But he was stuck here anyway.

Yu didn’t remember when he went to sleep, but when he woke up, the day was bright. The tall buildings of Shibuya soared on either side of him, almost too tall. How did I get here? He started walking down the street, people around him making way for the tall boy. A strange force pulled him towards a shadowy part of the street, the bustling crowd thinning out as he got closer and closer. The lights got dimmer and dimmer, though his eyes were adjusting to the bleak light. There was no one near him.

Something brushed against his leg. Yu looked down to see a black and white object right next to him, and as he looked at it, it became clear that the thing was wrapped in the same cloak that the person from the window world was wearing. A cold chill raced down his spine as he nudged the thing over. It was bare chested, and that same oval symbol that was on the window looked like it had been branded there. Yu started shaking. Oh god no. The hood was pulled over the face, and while Yu didn’t want to pull it off he reached down and yanked it free.

He couldn’t stop shaking as his eyes frantically searched the face and its agonizingly familiar features. Oh god no.

The light brown hair was messy and a little burnt, but Yu recognized the color easily. Only one eye was open, and despite how it was glazed over, the dark brown was so familiar. Yu fell to his knees, panic lashing across every single nerve. His hands shook as he reached out to grab the large black and orange headphones from around Yosuke’s neck. The corpse’s other eye opened as many many voices all spoke as one.

“We’ll all die…. It’s your fault.You could have saved us. But you can’t. We’ll all, we’ll all, we’re dead and it’s your fault Yu Narukami!”

Yu sat bolt upright in his bed, a shout leaving him as he resurfaced from the nightmare. “Yosuke!” He panted, the voice of dead Yosuke still fresh in his mind. He was shivering feverishly, despite how warm he felt. What the hell was that nightmare? He had a lot of nightmares after dealing with Ameno-Sagiri and Izanami, but this was so different from those, especially with the robes and the symbol.

“Yu?” There was a knock at the door. He breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Yosuke’s voice. He slowly got out of bed and opened the door. “Yu, dude, you look like hell. I heard you scream my name.”

“Ah, yeah. I had a bad dream. I’m fine, I promise.” He wasn’t sure if that was the entire truth though, considering how shaken he still was. It’s just my nerves. I’ll be fine later. Yu gave Yosuke a reassuring smile. “We were given the day off today, right?” A part of him wanted to meet with S.E.E.S. and the Phantom Thieves, but his pride didn’t want to admit the Investigation Team needed help.

Yosuke nodded. “Yeah…” He looked a little sheepish. “Yu, after you left, Ryuji, er, Sakamoto came by my room. He was asking if you were ok. I told him you were tired and we ended up talking.” Yu couldn’t deny the spark of animosity towards Kurusu’s partner, though he knew it wasn’t Sakamoto’s fault. “He said that Sakura looked more into the murders and talked to Naoto and Kirijo. Apparently they always have that symbol we saw on the window. The snake.”

Yu frowned. He wanted to solve this thing himself, but if even Naoto was talking with the others he guessed he had to as well. “We should probably meet up in that room and talk. I’ll apologize for just up and leaving…”

Yosuke shook his head. “The Thieves have already left to go find their informant in Shibuya. Ryuji invited me along but I said that I’d wait for you. Naoto went with them.” Yu chewed on the inside of his lip. It made perfect sense that they’d have an informant, though he thought that Sakura would have been the provider.

“Fine. We can go scope out Shibuya.”

#persona #persona 3 #persona 4 #persona 5 #yu narukami #minato arisato #akira kurusu #hashi high

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roseategales · 5 years

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WHERE FIELDS OF FLOWERS BLOOM — CHAPTER ONE: ENAL’SAL

fic summary: we all know how tragic loves go. they are stories we’re familiar with, in a myriad of forms, all embedded into our hearts. from the way they sing of regrets to the way they give us hope. they are like flowers we’ve seen bloom and wither, over and over again, in a never ending cycle we’ll hold close forever. here, there is yet another form. and this is how it’s told: through a dalish woman and an apostate mage, the herald of andraste and fen’harel, eludysia lavellan and solas, and the fleeting, sacred light they shared in the midst of their fight. author’s notes: the first chapter of my “between the scenes” longfic. it’s not so much a retelling as it is a series of scenes following the critical path, woven together, to chart my lavellan’s relationship with the one dread wolf, and told through their POVs. | enal'sal — repeating, beginning again, re-emerging. translation by fenxshiral.

ACT ONE.

some flowers bloom where the green grass grows our praise is not for them but the ones who bloom in the bitter snow we raise our cups to them

— we raise our cups, hadestown.

Haven. That’s what they called it. Formerly an unmapped village in the winding Frostback Mountains, rededicated to serving the Maker and Andraste—and now, the Inquisition rebirthed. It was built on snow-kept land, that had been purposed through and through to provide refuge, calm in the core of chaos, a hope that the hands of divinity would reveal themselves to those faithful. Countless people had congregated within it, waiting amidst the Chantry and the huts and tents built. Some doubted still, others seemed eager to believe. All were pledged to the cause of sealing the Breach and finding resolution to the current war between the templars and mages.

Yet what Eludysia held in her beliefs, she wasn’t certain of.

She was certain they had to close the looming Breach, find who and what was responsible. She was certain they had to find a path towards peace if they could, or die trying. But a Dalish elf as the Herald of Andraste? Saved by the prophet and liberator herself? Chosen by the Maker? Marked with an unknown magic from unknown circumstances? There could be no certainty in those things, for her and her people. What lay in the future would only be as tumultuous as the torn sky.

Perhaps she should have been praying to the Elven gods, invoking the name of Mythal for protection. But she was never certain they would hear either.

A sigh left her lips, visible through the winter chill. Thin and light as the parchment in her hand was, the weight of it tensed her muscles, her chest. Along with missives from several others, it had come bound to a packet of healing herbs, having just been delivered by Leliana’s agents this morning, and handed over to her not fifteen minutes ago. Yet already she had read through it one, two, three times over.

Walking from the Chantry’s doors back to her given hut, she unfolded it a fourth.

The script inked was familiar, well-trained and steady in the way of years and experience. Her thumb traced the edges of them. As she did, she could almost hear Keeper Deshanna’s voice arise—silver and sharp as a blade, carefully wielded with the balmlike inflections of required diplomacy.

Nevertheless, if you need aid, send word, and we are with you.

Eludysia’s motions stopped at this sentence. It was the last of the message, the Keeper’s formal signature just beneath. She could glean the meanings layered upon it, the intents. Diplomacy was like the Elven language itself, where a single word, a single sentence could envelop what was hidden and overt. It was a hand extended; not just for aid, but for warning, to the Inquisition, to her. It was a rebuke, too. In her mind, she could see how the older woman would have been sat—bent over a wooden makeshift table, composing with the same severity used in their argument before she had left.

She was First, a mage. The Conclave was two weeks away. Perhaps three, if the weather was foul and afflicted. But it was for those reasons and more that Eludysia insisted and insisted she be the one to journey, that it was her responsibility to lead where she was able and keep those in the clan safe. They had lost enough people to the war between the Templars and mages. Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers—her parents included—had become numbered among the innumerable ashened casualties. No, she would not let another lose those they loved. She would go, and it was settled. Seeing no breaking of her will, Keeper Deshanna acquiesced, and a prayer to Ghilan’nain was made for Eludysia the next morn. She wished it was from her father instead. Or even her mother, to the Maker. Thus her feet were set forth, alone.

A gust of wind blew at her back. It scraped at her skin and made the parchment shiver. She drew a breath, folding and pressing the material between her fingertips according to creases earlier formed. Half, and half again, whilst she resumed walking. Down the sloping path, she was careful to side-step and avoid the sheets of ice. Passerbys who noticed her nodded, their crowns bowing deep, “Herald” and “Your Worship” falling from their lips. Eludysia offered uneasy nods in return. That was how it was, those days—if it wasn’t “Herald,” it was “heretic”; if it wasn’t “Your Worship,” it was “rabbit” or “knife-ear.” She was a symbol, rather than a person, to the people in Haven and watching Thedas either way. Perhaps, even to one whom she thought might’ve understood.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, to see him emerge from a tent where the paths diverged. More and more, he had been drawn away from the secluded corner at the far end of the village, to which he was poised to return, his gait even and deliberate as he warmed his hands, slender and scarred. But he was a creature who kept by his lonesome, she knew. Akin to herself. It was both nature and wisdom. And so she had not thought she would catch sight of him.

Deciding to walk in his direction, Eludysia called out, “helping Adan again?”

Hearing her voice, Solas halted and turned. The way his brows raised, it seemed he had not expected to see her either. “Word of the Inquisition is spreading,” he explained when she neared. “Each day, more people flock here, hoping to find safety and lend their aid. Many come sick or injured. Adan and his people do what they can, but they have fewer hands between them than is needed.”

“Well, it’s very kind of you to offer yours,” she said. She knew the Templars watched Solas as they did her, and the absence of a ‘divine’ Mark meant those who lacked common empathy saw a better prey to hunt in him and in the few other elves and mages around. To reach out was to risk, and to risk was to brave. She would commend that.

“Thank you,” he said. “Hopefully, we can gather the support necessary to seal the Breach, and what is done will not be in vain.”

“Hopefully,” she echoed. “Leliana’s scouts have gone ahead to seek out the Mother who contacted her. Preparations are being made for Cullen’s soldiers to escort us once she’s found.”

Solas inclined his head, as if he hadn’t quite heard what was spoken. “I am surprised you still wish for me to accompany you.”

“There’s no one else here with your particular knowledge,” she said, taking a sharp, cold-burned breath. Absently, her thumb ran over the scarring on her palm. “Having you join me would be of value, should Mother Giselle ask for an explanation or anything—unexpected occur.”

“I did not think you still valued my knowledge,” he said, blunt.

It was inevitable they would return to this.

“I do,” she said.

“Oh? Then why was it you left our previous discussion so abruptly?” He asked.

Eludysia’s fingers curled, tightening around the letter in hand.

“I believe you know why.”

She watched Solas shift his shoulder blades, his spine steeled, jaw set, and his hands clasping behind him, fluid.

“Because you perceived what I said as an insult,” he said.

“And you think the fault is mine?”

“It was you who asked for my opinion and insight, and turned away when I offered it.”

Was that how he saw it, truly?

“Mocking the Dalish and calling them children hardly qualifies as insight and opinion, Solas,” was her response, a shuddering of a scoff bitten down behind the press of a smile.

“What would have had me say?” He questioned, a flash of ire upon his eyes, the timbre of his voice. “Would you rather I had sweetened the truth with lies and allowed it to rot? What I say of the Dalish is no mockery or insult if they insult themselves by spurning knowledge in their pride and continue clinging onto their ruins, furthering the mangling of their histories, while there is still so much for them to learn.”

“You’re right. There is much for us to learn,” she said, advancing a step closer to him, her voice rising to meet his. “But has it never occurred to you that there is a reason the Dalish cling so tightly to what we have? After all we’ve lost? Cultivated?”

“You would defend such foolish behaviour? Though it would lead to ignorance, superstition? The narrowing of their minds?”

“I would appeal to you to give your understanding!”

Face to face, eye to eye, they stood in appraisal of each other. He, appearing to summon an argument. She, awaiting to counter it. But the silence that resulted between them gave way to the murmurs now hitting their ears. He glanced in their direction, as did she. Standing near to the row of tents behind and the tavern just beside, where people passed to come and go, they had attracted the attention of clustered hosts, who averted their stares and whispers when the objects of their scrutiny caught them, as if they were unwitting intruders to unspeakable privacy. Two elves, the Herald of Andraste and an apostate hedge-mage, throwing pointed barbs at each other in broken light.

Heated blood coursed through Eludysia, stained her cheeks. Her shoulders stiffened. Fool, she wanted to curse. Fenedhis, Eludysia, you thoughtless fool. Whatever derogative judgements the humans had about elves, about them, would have doubtless been compounded by such an avoidable display. And as she turned to look back at Solas, she half-expected him to blame her or the Dalish by her again. But she was met with much worse: The proud lines of his face, so often impassive even if his words were not, had fractured into a pained expression.

Had it been like that before? If she was blind to it, she truly was a fool.

Shame lowered her head. Quieter now, just for him to hear, she added, “though I am in no place to do so, after refusing mine to you.” After all, he, too, was alone. Akin to herself. “Ir abelas, lethallin.”

His eyes found hers. He swallowed, and looked as if to tense again, before his stance and his mouth eased. “No, the fault is mine. You are right,” he said. “Perhaps I had expected too much from the Dalish. Ir abelas, lethallan.”

Lethallan. No insult, but an apology, a response in kindness. Recognition of personhood, familiarity. She stepped back. Surprise lit her face, and the soft laugh that sounded from parted lips—that was joined by a startling chuckle from his.

She wondered, then, how many of her assumptions of him had been wrong, how many would still be.

Yet she did not speak. Neither did he. For a few transient moments, they simply enjoyed each other’s company, comfortable, warmed in their restored entente. Sea-grey gaze meeting with forest-green.

And there they might have stayed, but for the cold and reaching winds.

“I ought to tell Adan his patient has been tended to,” said Solas, at last, tugging at the edges of his woolen sweater sleeves.

“Of course,” Eludysia said. She then remembered the rustling letter in her hand, and held it up for him to see. “I’ll need to pack and take care of this anyway.”

“Is that from your clan?” He asked.

“Yes,” she replied, smoothing the material out with her fingertips, slightly wary still, hesitant to explain. “Keeper Deshanna is—concerned,” was all that was offered. It was true, at least.

Solas paused, considering. “That is to be expected,” he said. “Not many Dalish Firsts leave their clans, and you would have returned to yours by this time, were it not for the Breach.”

Shrugging, Eludysia said, “it’s likely I won’t be First any longer when I do return. Harea, our clan’s Second, will have to have taken over in my absence, now.”

Another pause. Solas’ eyes narrowed, and he asked, “why did your Keeper send you to the Conclave? Of all the members in your clan?” He cocked his head to the side. “With the risk it would have taken to travel here… It could hardly be that she would have given you up.”

“It’s a long story. And I won’t keep you,” said Eludysia, tucking a straying wisp behind her ear. “But—I would still like to hear about your insights on Elven history, Solas.” She smiled, true and gleaming this time. “As you said, there is much to learn.”

“It would be my pleasure to share what I know with you,” he said, smiling, too.

“No mockery?” She asked, half teasing, half testing.

He caught on, and answered, “it would be ill-mannered of me—though I will speak the truth.”

“Well, then, I’ll come find you later.”

“All right.”

The two of them smiled. With that, Solas turned to part from her. She stood and watched him go, until he had crossed the bend past the tavern and the trees, pondering on their exchange, what they might both learn next in the midst of this fight. What new perspectives might they see? What new histories? What other uncertainties? Of the world? The Breach? Of each other? These were thoughts she bore, walking back on her intended path, down the snow-kept slopes again, past the many watchful eyes, back towards her given hut.

The strong scent of wood always struck her after the door was closed. It was no warmer within the walls of the hut than it was outside, the winds whistling through. The hearth had gone out. Its flames were reduced to sparks and fading embers, waiting to be rekindled by magic or by hand. A simple gesture was all Eludysia needed for it to come to life again. Her boots echoed on the stone floor as she moved about, trying to ignore the strange feeling that still came with having such a place. So used to living in forests, fields and outskirts, she had never known what it would have been like. But here—there was a desk in the far righthand corner, with a cushioned seat to go with it, a shelf above. At the opposite end, there was a bedframe, bearing a mattress and pillows stuffed with straw, covered by a thick blanket. The hearth was built between, firewood stocked for her beside.

There were other things, too. Remnants of an unknown inhabitant, left behind when the village was abandoned years ago, before the Chantry came. Such as paintings, of a field, a woman. Barrels, crates, and well-shaped vases. A bookshelf that was set against the wall opposite the bed, filled with books and scrolls that Eludysia had taken to reading when time allowed or when sleep eluded her.

In the past weeks, sleep was elusive. She would toss and turn on the mattress, thoughts wandering to what ifs and could bes, questions like vultures overhead, her back disturbed and uncomfortable. Eventually, there were even nights where she’d take a pillow and strip the blanket from the bed, sleep on the rug near the fire, and put things as they were the next morn. No one would be the wiser, that this was what their Dalish Herald did. They would see what they wanted to, as long as she let them.

Feet firm, Eludysia moved to pluck her pack from the desk and place it on the bed, to prepare for the trip. She didn’t have much to bring—a flask, the three sets of clothes she came with, some coin in case, and a staff, armour, and a few more sets of clothes courtesy of the Inquisition—so this part would thankfully be quick. But before she began, she first tucked the Keeper’s letter inside of a pillowcase, where she kept the first inquiry after her as well. She took care in this, as they were hers, not the Inquisition’s or the Herald’s. Hers, to be kept safe.

#dragon age fic #solavellan fanfic #solavellan fic #dragon age inquisition #solavellan hell #the solavellan archive #mine.#my fics.#dragon age.#fic : where fields of flowers bloom.#solas.#inquisitor : eludysia lavellan.#ship : solas & lavellan. in another world.#okay we're in the deep end now #as a reward to myself i shall now gif solas drinking tea #and not write for the rest of the day

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boglog · 6 years

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HILL HOUSE NOTES !!

Objectively speaking, I like the show as a weird crossover between Transparent and American Horror Story but there are always some cons :/ One thing I will say is that I find it hard to review horror bc I'm too busy swimming in cortisol to notice plot holes but I watched the scary scenes w subtitles and no audio and that will have to do!!!

Cons:

The diologue is occasionally awful.

Scratch that it's terrible and the more the show goes on the more it nears Grey's Anatomy levels of nauseating

Firstly, there are way too many name drops esp when there are only two characters in the room, sometimes even one sentence after another, it's exhausting.

i.e. 'Stay right here, honey. I'm going to talk to the police now sweetie, I'll be right back.' // 'You eat people, Steve. You are a parasite, Steve.'

Second of all, 'Don't do that ever again. Don't do that. Where were you? I thought the house thingy got you.' kids don't talk like this. I know irl children tend to imitate the adults around them but the sheer amount of stock cliches these child actors are required to say is incredible

And honestly overall there's too much talking period. There are dozens of scenes where a character monologues for almost five minutes!!!!

I loved mind doppelgänger Leigh's speech but really let's tally it up: we've got Mrs Dudley's monologue, Olivia monologues a few times, Theo's monologue, Luke 2 or three monologues, one from Shirley, Hugh is not much of a talker so thank god they were consistent. And of course a lot of these are important to the story and even close to entertaining (see also: Nell yelling at Steve) but it's way too much and anything actually significant is diluted in this deluge of info-dump-y speeches

Why god??? Why?

Like this is television not radio but I guess it's another case of Forced Diegesis when summarising w flashbacks would actually be way easier on my psyche but Tacky for these Kinematic Auteurs

I would've liked a more in depth exploration of Olivia and her childhood experiences of paranormal tragedy to give us a better context for her morally grey slip into an evil mother

Still somewhat peeved at how, bc of supernatural instinct, we can justify Theo and CPS taking a child away from her home. Obviously the show can't waste so much time on what's only supposed to be a quick detour into Theo's character and it works within the world of the show given that the guy did confess but portrayals of police, first responders, social workers, ad nauseum making snap descisions like that is Not Good for people's real world perception of their rights. Just sayin.

Maybe a scene where Steve and Hugh apologise for being garbage humans or something idk that would've been nice

This show has many layers and interpretations which could either skew towards clever ambiguity or clumsy indescision and while I'm leaning toward the former, I will say it does go a little all over the place for me.

Are the Crains' superpowers genetic, from their mother? Did it come from the house? Why is the house was so vindictive? What does it want? Or is it more symbolic of the emptiness inside the characters? Why is Olivia decidedly an over controlling mother but Nell is an innocent? Is really the only thing Steve had to do to save his marriage was reverse the vasectomy? Nell died of her own paradoxical haunting that began when she was six so was the cause ultimately a sadness within herself before the house of strictly the house's pull?

Like it's v unclear (probably deliberately) wether or not the story was Psychosis All Along or it was the house's vendetta or bc the Crains specifically are a supernatural mutant family

We never find out what Nell does for a living and I'm curious

Finally: it's really white sometimes. Like. Painfully white. Granted, the Crains come close to my favourite kind of white person, the quirky dysfunctional family of adult children scattered all over the country who only reunite at their dead sister's funeral. Still, the POC tally up to two love interests (one of which DIES), one cop, one naïve widow, and one poor daughter-less foster parent. One could argue only a middle class white family would stay in a haunted house for so long ://

Pros

The show juggles seven characters and two plots flawlessly. Each character is recognisable w a distinct personality after about only two episodes, the nonlinear structure as we alternate between the present day frame story and the main plot in flashbacks before ultimately converging when the family reunites at the house for the last time is not only clear but parses its information in way that's not only not confusing but strengthens the tension and dread. Even while they show the flashbacks' ending (w Olivia and later Nell's death) as well as the epilogue, the build up still feels entirely justified. This is peak plotting right there.

Furthermore, Nell's ghost still manages to be in the spotlight with some jumpscares even after we know who she is

My soul pretty much left my body when Nell's ghost attempts to bond w her sisters via screaming as they argue in the car

A quintessential microcosm of the show's representation of time and memory is Nell's final speech: whimsically disjointed at first, poignant and clear by the end

It's a horror show that is completely dedicated to its characters (and I'm sure some of you already know my love of dysfunctional families) and centres around human themes of connection, mourning, and trauma and the necessity of vulnerability and letting go in order to live a full life. That's very rare in horror where we usually get gratuitous gore with a small spattering of sentimental scenes to further the gore.

Olivia's Forever House served as an excellent symbol for her need to control, the house's monicker implying her fear of change.

An incomplete but not bad portrayal of trauma, a decent addition to the topical and ever-expanding mental illness discourse

Also ft. meta commentary on writers

In the beginning, Olivia really was portrayed as a concerned mother who was always trying to be considerate of her children's emotional well-being despite her occasional snaps. One has to wonder wether her slip into an irrational need to control might reflect society's paradoxically oppressive expectations of motherhood: to have absolute control of your children while also being a benevolent saviour to them 24/7. I mean in all fairness to Olivia, she was working and raising 5 kids. I'd lose my marbles too.

Or maybe I'm giving the creators too much credit and they were only angling for an Other Mother thing. I like this Foucaultian nihilism though so we're gonna go w that.

The show's acknowledgment of Useless Dad and Entitled Eldest Son syndrome.

Spat my tea when doppelgänger Leigh ripped Steve a new one, and since she's a representation of his psyche maybe that means that Steve himself has gained some self awareness. (He should still... apologise to his family....)

I mean they were really spot-on with how birth order family drama goes.

Human portrayal of a lesbian as an adult and a child! As tumblr user Lesbeet said, this is very rare and deftly done!

Theo doing literally anything

Shirl is p adorable

Theo and Shirl: the comedy duo we absolutely need in our lives

Arthur and Nell's romance is joining Up's prologue in the golden vault of world's greatest ten minute love montages. (Both of which ended in tragédie. ☹️)

Shirl's AU dream sequence, which unlike the others, presents us with an extramarital faux pas that we were not previously aware of, manages to seem totally appropriate for her character

The set and costume design are perfect for the primordial fear of the unknown aesthetic the show was going for. Fairy flappers! Gothic stairwells! Punk rock leather gloves! A McMansion that doubles as a funeral home! Motels! A curvilinear LA mansion! The absolutely insane brutalist million dollar rehab centre! Oh boy!!!

Accurate mortician portrayal: they really do gotta wire the corpses' mouths shut. Those damn chatty dead people.

Tldr:

Diologue is lengthy and cheesy while the characters are Too White. The rare portrayals of POC and how social services work were lacklustre. 👎

The show's incredible ambition and dedication to its characters and themes of trauma, dysfunctional family relationships, and the consequences of coping via trying to control your life is amazing. Theo, especially, is amazing. It's a very goth show with clinically depressed ghosts.👍

#the haunting of hill house #haunting of hill house #hohh #thohh #mike flanagan #hohh spoilers #onion post #colour text #u #c

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