#time to deep dive into my google docs for the night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chososdiscordkitten · 6 months

Text

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt3

pt 2 here content: Choso refers to reader as his gf- other than that no use of pronouns. mention of reader wearing lipstick, obsessive crush to stalker arc :>

(a.n) this is slowly becoming a fic and I don't hate it. I felt lack of inspo last night and did a deep dive into what stalkers do- the red flags before they start the actual stalking lol

taglist: @flam3bird

Obsessive!Choso who almost felt his heart burst when he saw you wave hi at him when you walked into class. Smile on your lips as you walk down to your seat. Hearing your friend speak a little louder than a whisper while taking a practice test, seeing you look back at him and make a face almost asking him, ‘can you believe what she's saying?’ before turning around again, watching your friend lean in close to you and keep pestering you. His eyes watching you turn your phone on under your desk, ‘During a test? What are you thinking-’ he thought, mentally scolding you.

Obsessive!Choso who almost died when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, pulling it out and seeing that you had texted him. ‘can u hear her from all the way over there ?’ reading it and hearing your voice. The realization of, ‘you were thinking of me?’ making him slouch in his seat, feeling his heavily pieced ears start to warm. Staring at your text, looking down at you, noticing you had the conversation still open. ‘Are you waiting for me?’ he asked you in his mind. Quickly screenshotting the notification before opening it, ‘yeah, i can.’ he typed, sending it and seeing you turn your head and smile at him. Seeing you look down at your phone, his heart beating quickly when he saw the typing bubble show up. ‘she keeps asking me what the answers are’, smiling when he saw that your auto capitalization was off, another thing you two had in common. ‘is this not a practice test?’ he typed, thinking how crazy it is that he was talking to you. To you! Person of his dreams, everything he wanted in a partner. You. The person who always greets him with a warm smile, who's always nice to him.

Obsessive!Choso whose heart skipped a beat when he saw you move your shoulders, indicating that you were trying not to laugh. ‘I make you laugh?’ looking down at his phone and seeing you had texted again. ‘dont think she knows that’ you replied, putting your phone away and getting back to the paper in front of you. Making sure to remember to ask you why you're friends with someone like that. ‘You're not the same kind of person- or even on the same level mentally. So why would you be friends with someone who does nothing but bother you?’ Thinking he knew everything about your friendship with this person.

Obsessive!Choso who went to the campus coffee shop, in hopes that maybe you'd be there. Knowing from your instagram stories that you usually came to pick up a coffee after one of your classes. Only this time you weren't here. Pulling out his trifold wallet before paying, looking to see he didn't have any cash, trying to find his card. “Pretty girlfriend.” the cashier said, breaking the awkward silence while looking at the photo of you in his wallet. “Sorry?” he asked, looking at them when he found the piece of plastic. “Your girlfriend-” they continued, eyes pointing at the picture. The sentence made him flustered, not paying attention that some people notice small things like that. Smile on his face as he mumbled a quiet ‘I know.’ before tapping his card onto the screen.

Obsessive!Choso kept those few words in his mind whenever he caught a glimpse of his wallpaper. ‘My girlfriend.’ he'd think, smile on his lips when he would refer to you as that.

Obsessive!Choso saw a picture of your laptop and a notebook next to it in your story. Knowing you were home, knowing that you were waiting for him to text you, you had to be right? Opening the google doc on his computer, seeing that you were on it as well. A few minutes of him watching your cursor type a sentence and delete it. Before seeing a message from the upper right corner of his screen. A message from you, ‘Hey, I know it's late. But I hit a wall with this stupid project- could I call you?’ he read, eyes widening at how right he was. Clearing his throat at how forward you were being. Call? As in on the phone with you?

Obsessive!Choso who almost choked when he heard your voice on the phone. Pressing the phone closely to his ear, closing his eyes with a smile when he heard you say- “Heyyyy”, not being able to find the words to say to you. A small ‘hi’ leaving his throat. Hearing you let out a small giggle before hearing you place your phone down. “So i'm on the doc- and I saw you were on it too-” you started, Choso pictured you. Sitting in front of your laptop, smile on your face while speaking. He could tell by just your voice that you were smiling, smiling while talking to him.

Obsessive!Choso who desperately wanted to record the conversation- well, more like record your voice. He wasn't the one speaking a whole lot. You had gotten used to filling the silences he left in the air, being able to tell that he wasn't much of a talker. But little did you know that he was thinking longer replies, but only thinking them. Smiling when he’d hear you ask a question. You started reading aloud what you had written- making sure it sounded right. Choso accidentally let out a low ‘Mhm’ while hearing you read, closing his eyes in regret when he heard you stop. “You sound so different on the phone-” you started, almost a whisper. He exhaled quietly in relief when he heard your fingers start to press onto the keys of your computer. The call didn't last longer than 20 minutes, you just wanted to ask him his opinion on if what you had so far sounded smart or not. But in his mind, the only real reason you called was to speak to him- to hear him.

Obsessive!Choso who felt like he could die when you told him ‘thank you’ for his help. But when you mumbled a tired, “Goodnight Choso-” before you hung up, made his cheeks flush and his heart pound in his chest. The first time you had ever said his name. Immediate regret filling his gut when he remembered he didn't record it. But he would always remember it, always keep it close to his heart in memory.

Obsessive!Choso was walking to the campus coffee shop after class. Seeing you speaking to some guy- probably one of the so called friends you choose to surround yourself with. Slowing his pace when he saw you slowly backing away from him- and nodding no at him. Seeing this guy, reach for your arm, speaking over you as he stepped closer. Even from a distance he could see your face look uncomfortable. At that moment, Choso didn't know what came over him. He walked over- more like storming over. His face full of anger, slapping a sweet smile onto it when he saw you look over at him. “I was just about to go find you.” Making sure to keep a sweet tinge in his tone when he spoke to you. Smile of relief on your face when you saw him. Dark eyeshadow and combat boots almost making you feel safe. A quiet ‘hey’ trailed from your lips, feeling the stranger's hand fall from your arm, taking a step back. “Me too, I wanted to bring up-” you started. Rambling about what the professor had taught today, noticing the guy back off before walking away. Seeing you exhale before looking at his face. “Thank you.” you whispered, looking down at your shoes. “A friend?” he asked, his tone deeper than before. Using the same tone he spoke to you while on the phone. “Absolutely not-” you smiled, looking back up at him. “Just some guy from my public speaking class. He's been bothering me since the first day.” You laughed, seeing him crack a small smile, his hands fidgeting with his rings. “Are you busy? I was just about to go grab a coffee-” you started, looking away from him in the direction of the same coffee shop he was going to.

Obsessive!Choso who thought; ‘Aren't you forward. Trying to spend more time with me?’ as he nodded no, “I'm not.” he replied, his hands in his pockets.

Obsessive!Choso who was convinced you were starting to feel the same way he did, even if it was only a week since they paired you together. I mean, who would ask someone if they wanted to have coffee with you? “Sorry if you had plans- or whatever.” you started, walking slowly next to him. “I didn't.” he mumbled, hearing his boots drag onto the concrete. “The least I could do is buy you a coffee!” you exclaimed, ‘No need to thank me- who else but me will protect you from all the horrible men in the world?’ Choso thought, looking over to see you, remembering all the people who have been broken by men who didn't love them. Knowing that you would never have to worry about those silly things with him.

Obsessive!Choso who purposefully switched the two coffees you had paid for- in hopes he'd be able to share an indirect kiss with you. Knowing if he tried to pay, you'd see the picture of yourself he had in his wallet. Sitting down at one of the round tables, heavily ringed hands around the cup as he looked at you pick up his coffee. Making a face when the sour taste hits your tongue. “I think they switched our cups-” You smiled, pushing his cup towards him. Seeing him mutter a feigned ‘Oh’ as he gave you the correct cup. His eyes focused on the light print of lipstick you had left on the black lid. “I could get you a new one- I know some people are huge germaphobes.” You smiled, taking a sip from your cup to wash the bitter taste from your mouth. “There are worse things in the world than sharing a drink with someone.” He murmured, slouching in his seat, seeing you give him a sweet smile in return.

Obsessive!Choso who took one sip of his coffee, only to assure you that it was okay that you had drank from it. Who felt his knee start to bounce with anticipation when he felt the satiny feeling of your lipstick on his bottom lip. Hearing words falling from your mouth, but not listening to them. Thoughts of how technically that was your first kiss with him. Seeing your phone light up on the table, hearing you sigh loudly. And it continued to light up- repeatedly. “Jesus- this girl doesn’t know how to take a hint.” You exhaled, picking up your phone and typing something. ‘Must be the girl from class.’ he thought.

Obsessive!Choso whose lips moved before his brain could process what he was saying. “The girl from class?” he asked, seeing you look up at him and smile. “Yeah- she keeps trying to come over to my house for a sleepover.” You placed your phone down, “That girl is the epitome of peaked in highschool.” You mumbled, Choso finally found an opportunity to ask you. “Why are you friends with her?” he questioned, seeing you inhale at his words. “I chose this college to get away from all the bullies and all the pretentious people who would live the same boring suburban lives.” You started, “And to become myself- to find myself.” You mumbled, looking away from him. “Imagine my disappointment when I got here and it was full of superficial delta chi’s-” You laughed, seeing him return a smile to you. Humming in response to your words. “I was never good with confrontation- The idea makes me anxious and uneasy.” seeing him look at you with his head in his hand. Eyes half lidded while listening to you. His pointer finger tracing doodles onto the table. Liking the way you opened up to him, letting him get to know you. Being able to hear your unfiltered thoughts, not the bullshit you over thought before you posted on your story.

Obsessive!Choso who paid close attention to what you were saying, hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. Feeling yourself cringe at how you just aired out your business to someone who was practically a stranger, not knowing why it was so easy to speak to him. Somehow never sensing any judgment or lack of interest in what you said. Feeling a wave of relief whenever you were able to speak to him- a real person who didn't care about people's opinions. “Honestly I don't know why I'm still friends with her- I've tried to sit in other seats, hoping she wouldn't sit next to me in that class anymore.” You spoke, finally answering his question. ‘I know. I watched you every time you moved seats.’ Choso replied to your words mentally. “I think the reason I'm failing that class- is that I can't focus on what is being taught because she's in my ear the entire time.” You smiled, easing up on the heavy topic. ‘Aha. I knew you were failing- just like me.’

Obsessive!Choso wanted to suggest that you to sit next to him, knowing your childish friend won't follow you if you did. “Failing?” he asked, eyes scanning your features. “Yeah, I was hoping this-” You sighed, “stupid project would help my grade at least a little.” Closing your eyes and leaning back into your chair. ‘Ask me. Ask me and I'm yours. Ask me to help you.’ he thought, fighting off his excitement when you looked at him. Lightbulb practically popped up above your head, “You're doing good in class, aren't you?” you asked, smile on your lips as he nodded yes without thinking. “I know that we were only paired for this assignment- but would you be ok with helping me study?” You smiled, eyes so bright he swore he could see the universe in them. “Of course.” He smiled, seeing you exhale and look down at the table with a smile.

Obsessive!Choso who almost let out a small giggle when he saw your face flush. ‘Are you- blushing?’ he asked himself. The question you asked him didn't make him nervous. He understood most of what was being taught, but he didn't have the energy to physically write the essays, and besides- Choso preferred spending his free time thinking of you. Not of the stupid course work that he didn't need for real life. Trying to get to know you better through your social media. Dissecting every single photo you posted. Zooming into the background of your bedroom, seeing if he could find anything worth researching. A band poster, a shirt on the floor, a stranded bottle of nail polish he could buy so he would match with you- anything that would let him see you. The real you- not the person that you pretended to be with the fake friends you had. The person he saw a flicker of that day at the cafe. The person you came to this college to become.

pt 4 here

(PLS LET ME KNOW IF U WANNA BE TAGGED IN THE NEXT PART PLSSSS) omg thank god I posted this. I am alr writing pt 4 I don't CARE. this is my new passion, wrote this while listening to 'Such Small Hands- La Dispute' Choso thinks this is all fun and games, what happens when he sees I am crazier than he is ?

#jjk #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso my beloved #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #college au #non curse au #emo choso #sfw jjk

544 notes · View notes

astralfandoms · 29 days

Note

GIVE ME THE HCS I WANNA HEAR EVERYTHANGG

okay so

*cracks open google doc*

i'll just go through the areas because my brain formats better talking about the different cogs like that

also i'm not going to include the factory managers, the satellite investors, C.O.O, or Chairman because i have yet to develop their full mental image in my brain (but it will eventually happen asdfiopj)

also this is going to be long as hell so warning you

Toontown Central

Derrick Man (William Boar)

Transmasc Bisexual (He/Oil/Drum)

Autistic

Grew up in a family that was extremely focused on how they looked to the public, and was "match-made" with Misty at an early age, but they ended up just seeing each other as annoying siblings. Both sees Misty as an annoyance and as a friend, but doesn't like to admit that second part, especially to Misty herself.

Is crushing hard on both Alton and Rain and is being tsundere about it

Duck Shuffler (Buck Ruffler, Card Shark, Blackjack)

Transmasc Demiromantic Homosexual (He/They/Quack/Slot/Luck/Seven/7/🦆/🎰/⚙️/🍒 [Buck], They/It [Card Shark], It/Its [Blackjack])

Bipolar, DID (Buck [Host], Card Shark [Emotion Dampener], Blackjack [Nonverbal Trauma Holder])

Grew up in Toontown Central surrounded by Toons and later moved into Suitopia as an adult, working as a day trader and gambling on the weekends to help relax. At a casino night, Chris spotted him and offered him a position at C.O.G.S under him. And Buck accepted mostly because he realized he had nothing to lose if he applied.

Dating Dave and has a crush on Brian as well as Eerie Descent

Prethinker (Brian Wiseman)

He/It/Study/Thought/Brain/King/♟️/🧠/📖/💭

Trans Gay

Paranoid Personality Disorder, Avoidant Personality Disorder

Grew up in a family where his parents were usually not home a lot of time and thought that if he got to the top of his class and graduated with honors, then his parents would actually acknowledge him. But that...never happened. So, after college, he drifted around, not knowing what to do before he applied to C.O.G.S in desperation, so ended up overcompensating to make sure that his place in the company was secured leading to...a lot of mess ups. Also transitioned after entering college, renaming himself, but doesn't like mentioning his last name because he's embarrassed that he picked that for himself.

Is dating Benjamin and is crushing heavily on Mac and Buck

Barnacle Boatyard

Land Acquisition Architect (Alton S. Crow)

Cis Bisexual (He/They/Hazard)

Anxiety, Paranoid Personality Disorder

Country boys make do. That's like. Pretty much it. Grew up in a large family, had to start working at a young age to help support the family, and now has trouble knowing when to stop working.

Crushing on William real bad due to them being hired around the same time

Deep Diver (Mary Anna)

Intersex Bigender Bisexual

He/She/Ocean/Wave/Dive/Sea/Marine/🌊/🪸/🤿/🛟/⚓/🪝

Autistic

Grew up with two moms who encouraged his love of marine life, to the point of her deciding that was going to be oceans career. Immediately was rivals with Holly due to both of them thinking they knew more about the others' specialty.

Dating Misty and keeps denying waves crush on Holly

Rainmaker (Misty Monsoon)

Trans Lesbian (She/Rain/Cloud/Storm/Fog/☔/☁️/🌧️/⛈️/🌦️)

Depression, Anxiety, Autism

Similarly to William, grew up in a family focused on how they look in the public eye, and became hyper attached to William because he was the first person who ever treated her nicely and was the one who she first told that she was trans and a lesbian to. Is hurt about the fact that he won't really talk to her anymore but thinks that it's because they're working in opposing departments.

Is dating Mary and Holly and wishes that the two would just get admit that they like each other already

Ye Ol' Toontown Time

Public Relations Representative (Winston Byrd)

Genderfluid Biromantic Homosexual (All Pronouns)

Anxiety, Autism, PTSD, Depression, Paranoid Personality Disorder

Was a close friend of Tawney's before everything went down. Was eventually snuck out of the dungeons by a blue and white cat toon before getting smuggled to Daffodil Gardens where he got restored to his previous state.

Currently isn't seeing anyone but is yearning to have a partner again

Gatekeeper (Holly Grayelle)

Holypaladin (Xenogender) Bisexual Lesbian (She/Holy/Gold/Knight/Shield)

Autism, ADHD

Grew up being told that she was extremely good at being a leader and so holy has it engrained in gold that knight can’t be any position other than a leadership one and so tends to clash with anyone who challenges that view. And/or fall in love with them. Luck of the draw.

Dating Misty and keeps denying knights crush on Mary. Used to have a crush on Prester until shield found out that he was gay.

Witch Hunter (Prester Virgil)

Transmasc Gay (He/Him)

Depression, PTSD

Grew up in an extremely strict, religious house with a doormat of a father and extremely religious mother, which caused him to have a lot of internalized homophobia, even after he transitioned, and takes it out on people who are extremely secure in their sexualities (ex. Diane, Holly). Also has both a fear and affinity for fire due to being shamed growing up as draconic-descended cog.

Dating Cosmo and sorta kinda dating the Satellite Investors. Also Diane's cousin.

Daffodil Gardens

Vice President (Allan Bravecog)

Cis Polyamorous Bisexual (He/Bulb/Radio/Static)

Narcissistic Personality Disorder, PTSD

Grew up having people constantly trying to befriend him because he was extremely good at making connections, so tends to have people who he doesn't trust at arms length but pretends that they're closer. Married his college sweetheart Norman Bravecog (OC) and had Cathal around when they founded C.O.G.S along the other Chief Officers after they graduated college. Dotes on Cathal heavily because Cathal was the only child of theirs that survived through infancy.

Married to Norman and has an on-and-off-again thing with both Craig and Chris.

Bellringer (Benjamin Biggs)

Transmasc Salmacian Bisexual Gay (He/Ring/Bell/🔔/🛎️)

Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Autism

Grew up being praised for his healing ability but shamed for rings need to feed on oil, so has an energy of “I am perfect and if anyone argues that I am going to kill them and then myself”. Oh yeah, Benjamin is a vampire (sorta kinda) due to having vague leech-based programing and needing more oil than the average cog to allow for bells healing ability (has two oil tanks for that very reason).

Dating Brian and is a bit jealous of Mac and Winn (also is low-key crushing on them but shh).

Multislacker (Cathal Ray Toby Bravecog)

Genderapathetic Aroflux Cassexual (He/They/Tech/TV/📺)

Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Autism, ADHD

Grew up extremely coddled by his father for reasons mentioned above and quickly realized that it didn’t matter how hard they worked because everyone would assume that techs work was just tvs fathers, so became very tired and just decided to roll with it.

Has a friends with benefits relationship with High Roller and ends up developing feelings for Chip and Graham.

Mezzo Merryland

Chief Financial Officer (Chris P. Dollair)

Trans Bisexual Man (He/It/Cash/Coin/Bank/💸/💵/💰/🪙)

Paranoid Personality Disorder, OCD

Grew up extremely poor so has a lot of trust issues and money insecurity (will swing from penny pinching to splurging).

Is heavily crushing on Allan and Craig, while hooking up with Craig sometimes.

Mouthpiece (Belle Dama)

Transfemme Bisexual (She/Chatter)

Autistic

Has had a relatively boring life and works to help her husband, who is too disabled to work, and keep them afloat with help from their children. Visits her husband on the weekend but lives in Mezzo Merryland during the weeks. Is confused by her son's taste in men but is very supportive.

Has a husband named Peter and two kids: Tartarus (huh i wonder who that could be /sillly) and Emily (OC), as well as several grandchildren, with her favourite being Cassidy “Cassie” Dama, one of Emily’s children.

Major Player (Dave Brubot)

Melodyboy (Xenogender) Pan (He/Melody/Hymn)

ADHD, Autism

Grew up in a very large, musically inclined family so naturally drifted towards music as his main aspiration. Extremely extroverted and is the one who usually gets his friends to socialize.

Is dating Buck and is trying to encourage Buck to talk with Brian and Eerie.

The Brrgh

Chief Legal Officer (Diane Morsecode)

Cis Bi Lesbian (She/Legal/Law)

ADHD, Autism

Grew up similarly to Prester, but was the "star" child, but because of that, whenever she fails to do something, it hits extremely hard. Is both extremely annoyed at and extremely worried about Prester.

Is currently single, but isn't looking for anyone. As mentioned, is Prester's cousin.

Firestarter (Flint Bonpyre)

He/Fire/Flame/🔥/🧯

Transmasc Gay (He/Fire/Flame/🔥/🧯)

Anxiety, Depression, Scoliosis

Had a pretty normal childhood, growing from a weird girl into a weird boy. Met Graham first in high school and dated pre-transition and then met again in sophmore year in college post-transition and started dating (had a nice laugh about the fact that fate kept bringing them together).

Is dating Graham and used to date Chip in college (but still has lingering feelings about him)

Plutocrat (Cosmo Kuiper)

Cis Bisexual (He/Star/Constellation/Meteor/Planet/🌟/⭐/🌠/✨/💫/🪐)

ADHD, Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Grew up in a mob family and would have stayed only attached to it if C.O.G.S didn’t take over the town that he was the head of, leading to star reluctantly joining C.O.G.S. Took one look at Prester and went "oh i NEED to date that man".

Dating Prester and constellations investors, often showering them in gifts to let them know that meteor loves them.

Acorn Acres

Chief Executive Officer (Craig Edgar Oilcan)

Transmasc Genderfaun (He/It/They [Collective], He/Oil/One/Fore [Craig], It/Its [Justice], Edgar [He/They/Golf])

Narcissistic Personality Disorder, DID (Host: N/A, Headmates: Craig [Persecutor, Protector], Justice [Emotional Funnel], Edgar [Guilt Holder, Trauma Holder])

Grew up in an extremely cut throat family where it was essentially "succeed or get scrapped" which caused his system to form at an extremely young age. Applies that motto to a lot of its life, which is why they turned a blind eye to everything involving Chip.

Is deep in denial about the fact that he cares about Allan and Chris (doesn't want to admit that he's attached) and "rationalizes" it by hooking up with Chris and having a good business relationship with Allan.

Treekiller (Spruce Campbell)

Cis Gay Man (He/Wood/Gnaw/Log/Chop)

ADHD

Grew up in a large, relaxed family who were the types to encourage friends stay for dinner before they headed back home (especially when it came to Chip and his family). Is so worried about Chip, especially with how little he tells him about work nowadays.

Is single.

Chainsaw Consultant (Chip Revvington)

Boyflux (Chip) Agender (Override) Demi Bisexual Gay (Chip) Pan (Override) (He/Rev/Chainsaw/Saw [Chip], It/Its [Override])

Autism, DID (Headmates: Chip [Host], Override [Protector, Persecutor, Prosecutor, Emotional Funnel])

As mentioned in this post, grew up in a very oppressive, strict household that punished him for any sort of autistic behavior, leading towards Override to form to help mask revs autistic traits.

Chip is still not over Flint while Override is head over heels for Cathal, with their difference in romance causing a bit of a struggle in the system.

Drowsy Dreamland

Featherbedder (Tawney C. Esta)

Cis Gay (He/Sleep/Snore/Nap/Rest/Bed/Dream/💭/💤/🛏️)

Cis Gay

Insomnia, Depression

Grew up pretty ordinarily, but got depressed after his husband passed, but is now slowly healing from that.

Had a husband, and has grandchildren as well. Also has a bit of a “are they dating or just good friends” thing going on with Doppel (OC)

Pacesetter (Graham Ness Payser)

Transmasc Genderfast (Xenogender) Gay (He/Speed/Fast)

Transmasc Genderfast Gay

ADHD, Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Literally does not remember his childhood other than the fact that he had dated Flint in highschool. Only remembers his life post-transition, which is pretty ordinary and standard.

Is dating Flint and has a rivalry/crush thing going on with Multislacker.

So there you go!! That took. way too long but I hope you like!! Also if you have any questions please ask 'em!! This is a lot of fun to do :3

#arynn rambles #i am not tagging all of the managers i am so sorry #toontown corporate clash #ttcc #toontown

14 notes · View notes

dayslily · 2 years

Text

hosting events in your server 💌 you might find a few scattered posts on my blog about how i handle events in my groups — i’m here to present my two favorite methods to you. first, an event center channel (my personal favorite method). second, an event center category. find a deep dive of these methods beneath the cut. please like or reblog if you find this helpful!

— p.s. find a tag full of my discord advice here.

* — general notes about how i approach events.

one of the big appeals of discord groups is the seemingly more lax activity expectations. with this in mind, you’ll need to make events last a bit longer than usual! events in my server last 2 weeks minimum — even then, i host a poll towards the end of the event to see if the group would like it extended.

u may be wondering: doesn’t this interrupt the flow of your group? honestly, not really! i think that might deal with the two methods i’ll mention below. keeping events separate from day-to-day interactions in the group has been so beneficial. this way, if members don’t like events, they don’t have to participate but they can still interact.

u also may be wondering: doesn’t this ruin the impact of the event? also... not really! since events usually last 1 day ic, we’ll distinguish that day in the event notes — usually my members will bring those “ic real time reactions” to the ic chats so it’s like the event is still hitting just as much as if we paused the rp for it!

* — method a: EVENT CENTER CHANNEL.

as i mentioned in the intro, this is my current favorite way of hosting events within the server. it’s neat, compact, and seems to work well in the flow of my group.

the event center channel is a channel that i un-private whenever an event is happening. i think i described it best in the channel notes of my server:

“the event center channel is a dedicated event hub that members are encouraged to make use of during the duration of ongoing events. here, you’ll find useful threads (outfits / playlist / group thread) + a space to add threads as you build interactions through the night.”

here is an overview of the channel:

here are the aforementioned threads:

the “outfits” thread is a place where members can post outfit edits.

the “playlist” thread is a place where members can post songs that fit the event or (if it fits the event) characters can make ic song requests.

the “group thread” (..) thread is a place where members can participate in a group thread if they choose to!

what comes after the threads, you ask? event info! any time an event is starting, i send a message with the event info. and then (as you can see), members are welcome to start creating threads within that channel.

* — method b: EVENT CENTER CATEGORY.

if i am being honest with u... this is the exact same thing as the above method, except instead of tucking the threads into a channel... you add them to a category!

it ends up looking something like this:

in information, you post the event info. the other channels match up with the threads mentioned above! then, members add channels to that category.

i switched over to the channel method because it kept my server’s channel list from seeming so overwhelming.

* — what happens when the event is over?

thank u for asking ... i present to u: the archive channel.

when an event ends, i re-private the event center channel/category. just so our members can look back on their threads, i copy/paste them all into a google doc. i cannot lie to u: this is a bit tedious. but it makes my brain happy when it’s done <3

the archive channel ends up looking something like this:

once everything is archived, i will delete the threads from the event that way the channel is all ready to go for the next event.

#discord by dayslily #rph #rpt #discord rp #discord rph #anon who asked about adminning a discord rp #this is 1 of many upcoming posts FJAOSDFIJDAS

79 notes · View notes

perseusjackson-jasongrace · 7 months

Text

summary

The gang meet up at a restaurant. They have business to discuss. Things to do. They have to see each other. That's the only way the world stays whole. (who's been writing for 10 years and still can't do summaries? this writer! anywaayy please read the six prettiest demigods you know being all over each other and also terrifying to the outside world I love them)

beginning notes

this is for my jana (@disappearsreappears) who loved the other group (cough polycule cough) fic of these six troublemakers so much. you are everything bright in my universe jana bear <3 I hope you enjoy this (p.s. fun fact the google doc title for this fic is simply "for jana") first thing I've written in like two months LMAO girl????? and my darling pjo readers have beeeeeennnn getting the brunt of my dry spell cause I've written here and there for other fandoms but my pjo writing has been at the lowest possible output this year. UGH I'm sorry my sweet angels, uni life really gives you no time to deep dive into your favourite chaos bears. anyway I hope you enjoy this ! I wrote it in a night and a half, and honestly it's a little loose and if you expect any kind of coherent plot I'm going to need you to lower your expectations to exactly negative one million. but you will find my usual mess of a writing style and good old unedited fun. if you see a mistake, make a wish! they all come true on my birthday i promise MWAH! songs for this one: closer to you by jungkook (title) (FUCK. THIS EXISTS NOW????) yes or no by jungkook (WHAT THE FUCK I CAN SAY THAT WHAT THE FUCK I LOVE THE WORLD) aphrodite by RINI 24/7, 365 by elijah woods guilty by taemin call d by NCT U the weekend by Stormzy and RAYE for us by V (im so normal about this entire list by the way) no content warnings this time. if you think something should be flagged let me know, but i think this is pretty tame so we should be good.

i love you forever, please enjoy!

#pjo #hoo #pjjg fanfic #jana things #jason grace #percy jackson #annabeth chase #piper mclean #leo valdez #reyna avila ramirez arellano

12 notes · View notes

screadingchallenge · 2 years

Text

Behind the Keyboard Volume 37

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

If you'd like to do an interview, let me know!

Let’s meet our next author:

@demora00 / Demora00

How many fics have you written?

I have 16 published fics. A few for SC aren’t published anywhere and many more for other fandoms have died with ancient websites or disappeared the way physical notebooks have a way of during various moves.

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

January 7th, 2022

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3.

First thing, if it’s a line, or a quote, or a picture, I’ll open my prompt folder and just stick it in there to marinate and come back to when I know how to use it.

A few times, I’ve been lucky enough to go “oh wait” and open a brand new doc right away and just start writing. Sometimes I’ll take voice notes or send voice memos to friends if I’m driving and tag them #carthoughts for quick reference.

I rarely write in order. Most of the time, I'll start a scene, get stuck but know how I want another to go, so I'll swap. More often than not there's some frankensteining. I'll moan and whine about it to @doug-judys-blog or Trickiwoo about it throughout. I know it's finished when I've edited it so much I hate it. Finally one or both of them will beta. @doug-judys-blog is the best cheerleader I could have dreamed of. They always know how to get me out of a "no words just vibes" spiral.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

The last fic I wrote that wasn’t a drabble was about selective mutism. [Some things I still can't tel you] It’s a physical manifestation of anxiety that isn’t often spoken about except as a trauma response and I feel like I managed to capture all the other little things that come along with it in a very tangible way. I love that Patrick, who is still a person used to struggling in private with so many things, can trust David and show vulnerability without it being a stress point for their relationship. There's something really soft about that kind of trust that ultimately very romantic to me.

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Do it. Get a beta. Get a cheerleader. (One can do both!) Hell, ask that compatible weirdo you kinda sorta vibe with in that fandom space to be a sounding board. Our fandom is so welcoming and talented, there's always someone willing to help.

In your mind, what’s the most important element of good writing?

I need writing to make me feel things otherwise what’s the point? I don't mean 'tear out my heart' intensity every time, but if the writing doesn't evoke something for me, I'll be hard pressed to keep reading.

Tell me about a story that you wish you could write but that you’re not quite ready to tackle.

The last night Ted and Alexis have together and the aftermath of that. Really deep dive into Alexis' feels and sit with it for a while. It's somehow more tragic because we as the audience know that they are incompatible, but the love they have is real. But sometimes love isn't enough, and it's a real sign of growth for both of them, if a tragic way of doing it.

Weirdest thing you’ve googled as research for a story?

Cowboy and rodeo terms. I don’t know that that’s weird in and of itself, but the reasons for the research were unorthodox.

Outlines - yes or no?

Yes, if not in a classic way. I usually do just point forms and terrible broken sentences, vibes, placeholders with attached comments and that works just fine. Sometimes whole conversations that need to happen but I don’t know quite where to put yet.

Tell me about your current WIP if you have one.

I have a few I’m working on and flip between as my attention span wanes, but I’m most involved in my first long fic. I don't want to give too much away, but it's a cerebral sci-fi mystery with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind vibes. I started working on it a few weeks ago and it's taken over. It's completely different than anything I've done so I'm quite nervous about it, but I've been reassured it could be as amazing as I see it in my head. I’ve already written myself into and out of a corner, so you could say it’s going well lol.

#behind the keyboard #meet the authors #sc fanfic #schitts creek #schitt's creek

14 notes · View notes

thexanwillshine · 3 years

Text

a;lskfjdk

Author: thexanwillshine (twitter, ao3) Pairings: Levi x Hange Cross-Postings: AO3 Notes: made for Day 2: Confessions of Levihan Week 2021

“But Levi,” Hange whines as she slumps her head on the back of her sofa and closes her eyes. “Kissing scenes are so tricky to write.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s almost 5:30 in the morning. It could also be because he's tired from lack of sleep. Whatever the case, Levi Ackerman’s filter completely disappears when he asks, “Do you need a demonstration?”

Levi Ackerman can argue that every writer he’s met is always a little bit more eccentric than the average person, but no one proves his theory more than Hange Zoë.

Hange wakes him up in the middle of the night, voice screeching on the phone in her excitement. He responds groggily—as one does when their sleep is disturbed at an ungodly hour by an overly-excited author who acts as if they’ve just found out the answers to the universe—and tries to keep himself sober enough to understand what in the goddamn fuck Hange was talking about this time.

“Levaaiiii,” she says, drawling out his name in a manner that was both annoying and endearing, “I’ve figured it out!”

He can almost imagine the look on her face: starry-eyed in her joy, mouth stretched wide into a grin, fingers shaking as she bounces in glee, shifting her weight from the heels of her feet to the tips of her toes . . .

And Levi exhales in both relief and the tiniest hint of delight, because this is exactly how he wants Hange to be: happy .

Nevertheless, he replies “Figured what out?” snarkily.

Hange’s response comes out quickly, as if she needed to say everything that had to be said in the span of five seconds or less. “So you know how I’ve been trying to write a fiction novel because I wanted to get out of my comfort zone?”

Levi hums in acknowledgement as he fixes the covers over his legs before turning on his bedside lamp. He leans back on the bed frame and closes his eyes to listen to her ramble.

“So I was thinking, I wanted to write a romance novel, because you know how people fall in love and stuff?”

“No Hange, I’ve never heard of that concept in my entire life,” Levi says in a deadpan voice.

Hange laughs, because of course she would know that’s his pathetic attempt at lighthearted conversation. Levi is glad that she knows him better than most people, and it is this sense of familiarity that made him feel particularly comfortable when graced with her presence.

“Just because you’ve never fallen in love before doesn’t mean it’s not real, Levi!” Hange tells him in jest.

Wrong, Levi thinks.

“After all, you’ve probably never wanted to kiss someone your entire life!”

Wrong, Levi thinks.

“Sure, Hange.”

He rolls his eyes at her teasing, because yes, Levi has fallen in love—and maybe, just maybe, he’s still on the road to understanding what it meant to treasure someone far more than just a regular friend.

He shakes off such thoughts before maneuvering Hange back to the initial reason why she had called. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“I finished,” she proclaims on the phone, her voice proud, “I finished writing the first ten chapters.”

Levi blinks in confusion before sitting straight up, the information processing in his mind that was still a bit drunk with sleep. “You what?” “I couldn’t stop writing,” Hange told him sheepishly, detecting the slightest hint of concern in her editor’s voice, “I’ve been writing for the past 24 or so hours. Maybe more.”

Levi grunts in annoyance, pulling the covers away from his body and jumping out of his unmade bed. He runs a hand through his dark locks, sighing. “Four-eyes, you need to get some sleep.”

“But Levi,” Hange says in protest, “I need you to read my draft. There are some parts I just don’t think are super natural.”

“And I was sleeping like a regular human being,” Levi retorted as he shrugged off his shorts. After that, he put on jeans that he had recently washed before patting down the shirt he was wearing in a pathetic attempt to get rid of the wrinkles that had accumulated while he tossed and turned in bed.

“Oh my gosh, Levi, I didn’t realize the time!” Hange replies, and he can almost feel her guilt starting to set in. “You should go back to sleep,” she immediately adds. “Take care of yourself!”

Levi slips on his rubber shoes and grabs his umbrella before answering. “Coming from you? Not that credible.”

Hange laughs light-heartedly, and his heart flutters just a tiny bit. Levi pushes the feeling away almost as quickly as it had come.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, almost dreading the reply.

There was none.

“Hange,” he calls, but there’s still no response. “Hange. Answer me,” he says firmly, prodding her on. “Have you eaten?”

The laughter that comes out from the other end is nervous. “Woops.”

Levi sighs. He opens his car door and slips inside smoothly, grabbing his keys from his pocket and starting the engine. “Hange, you’re supposed to eat.”

“Sorry,” she tells him honestly. “I really didn’t want to ruin my momentum. I can’t believe I forgot.” She mumbles her second sentence, sounding almost deep in thought. “I’ll go find food now! Want me to email you the working draft? You can look at it in the morning when you wake up.”

“No need,” Levi tells her, placing his phone on his dashboard and accelerating his car. “I’m on the way.”

“Levi!” Hange exclaimed excitedly as she heard her doorbell ring at around four in the morning.

She rushes to the door in delight, opening it to reveal Levi standing in front of her, a paper bag in his hand and a jacket half-heartedly slung over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he greets calmly, before walking inside and letting himself in.

Inwardly, Hange thanks whatever god is out there for her foresight. Her unit was relatively clean since she hadn’t really done anything since Levi’s last visit. The place seemed to pass Levi’s health protocols, since he sat on her couch and placed the paper bag on the table right across from him.

“Eat,” he tells her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hange grins, before plopping down beside him and opening the paper bag. “What did you get me?”

“You’ll see.”

She raises an eyebrow at his ambiguity, before taking a glimpse inside the paper bag.

The smell of quesadillas immediately fills the room, and Hange lets out a soft squeal, taking out the food from the bag quickly.

“Oh my gosh,” Hange says as she nudges him on the shoulder. “You also got me onion rings! You know me too well, Levi.”

“Unfortunately,” Levi responds sarcastically, and Hange laughs almost automatically.

As Hange hums in glee, picking apart the paper wrapped around the food items, Levi maintains his silence. They stay like that as Hange eats. Every so often, she would comment about how the amount of cheese was perfect and how the onion rings just about melted in her mouth. Levi alternates between watching her eat and scrolls through his phone placidly.

Soon, he chooses to break the silence. “So where’s your draft?”

Hange is munching on her last piece of quesadilla when she glances in his direction. “Oh, it’s on my laptop! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you, this food was just so good.”

Levi stands up and heads on over to Hange’s room, gently pushing the door open and scanning the area for her laptop. On top of her unmade bed was a half open Macbook Pro, which he gently took before returning to his seat beside Hange.

Without hesitation, Levi opens the laptop and inputs the password. For some reason, Hange made it his birthday—1225—because she claimed that no one would guess such a random date. He is greeted with a blaring Google Docs document entitled “a;lskfjdk.”

“Nice title you got there,” he comments, and Hange chuckles.

“I didn’t want to think of a title yet, okay!” Hange pouts, and Levi nudges her foot gently in an attempt to comfort her from his own teasing.

He scans the document first before reading it. Hange is a good writer, but fiction is an entirely new genre for her. Immediately, he notices common habits from writing research papers leak into her new work: overexplaining, using words that are too formal for her target audience, sentences a little bit void from emotion.

He takes note of these comments on her notes app before going over her draft again, this time more meticulously than he had done previously. During this time, Hange finishes eating, wraps her trash and tosses them all inside the paper bag before standing up and dumping the entire thing inside her garbage bin.

“Levi,” she calls as she washes her hands through the sink faucet. Levi gives her the smallest hint that he’s listening by raising his eyebrow, but he doesn’t take his gaze away from her laptop. “I’m going to take a shower,” she announces, and he waves his hand dismissively.

Hange smiles to herself. Levi is always nagging her whenever she would accidentally hyperfixate on her writing, but he acts the same way when reading her works.

When Hange stepped inside the shower, Levi was already conducting a deep dive in her third chapter. The gears in his head slowly begin to turn as he begins to analyze her work.

The story revolved around the tales of the people who went to the clinic. The first chapter was a brief introduction on who the main characters were: There’s Janelle, a bright-eyed psychologist whose passion influenced the people around her. Together with El and Bea, her trusted assistants studying under her guidance, they would aid the people who went to the Hopiatria Clinic seeking care.

Meanwhile, the second chapter featured a child who felt as if she was being blamed for the death of her mother by her father. Her mother had died in a plane crash shortly after the young girl wished that her mom could go home on her sixth birthday. Janelle talks to the child gently while El and Bea provide emotional support, offering the child toys and biscuits whenever the need arises.

The third chapter was trickier, and it was there that Levi noticed a twist in Hange’s writing. The story revolved around a boy busy getting her doctorate, and a young girl who had been in love with him ever since they were in college. It’s the young girl who comes to Janelle’s office, and she relays the tale of her unrequited childhood romance to the psychologist.

The young girl is passionate, and wanted to take a step forward in order to guide her towards falling out of love with her best friend. Janelle presents two suggestions: (1) confession, while being fully-open to the possibility of rejection, and (2) accepting rejection without confession. The young girl decides to go with the first option, but to her surprise, the boy returns her feelings.

Everything seemed well-written up until the end of the chapter, where Hange had written,

And then they kissed.

Levi scrolled down the page, tilting his head to the side in slight confusion. That’s it? He thought, trying to find the rest.

Everything had been so well-described; from the girl’s internal turmoil—caused by her fear of destroying their friendship and the pain that came with unrequited love—to the boy confessing his own emotions for her.

The ending was anticlimactic, to say the least.

As he blinked at the google document in confusion, already typing out his comment on her notes app, Hange emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, wet from her shower. Wrapped around her waist is his bathrobe, which she had borrowed from him long ago and never bothered to return it.

Levi scoffs as he glances in her direction. Here she was, parading with the cloth on and rubbing that specific fact in his face.

“Hey,” Hange greeted, smiling as she ran a hand through her brown locks, “How’s the reading going?”

“It was okay until the third chapter,” Levi says honestly, pointing the laptop screen in her direction. “The ending’s anticlimactic.”

Hange hummed, pursing her lips together. “Yeah. I didn’t really know how to end it,” she tells him as she opens her cabinet and grabs a few pieces of clothing. “Give me a bit, I’m going to change.”

She disappears into her room and Levi focuses on her story, trying to think of a way to spur Hange on and perhaps actively improve the ending’s writing.

Hange emerges in a loose t-shirt (which was, once again, his) and shorts. She sits down right beside him, leaning over his shoulder to glance at her laptop and read the specific line that particularly irked Levi.

“It’s that one, right?” Hange asks, pointing at the last sentence. “And then they kissed.”

“Yeah,” Levi responds, shaking his head. “Everything was so well-written up ‘till that point. You were able to describe the emotions perfectly, and the narration’s not that bad . . save for a few paragraphs that maybe should’ve stayed in your research papers.”

Hange chuckles. “Old habits die hard,” she responds, before taking her Macbook from his lap and transferring it to hers. “So what should I write?”

Levi shrugs. “I’m just your editor. You’re the writer.”

Hange pouts. “Yeah, but I don’t know how to make this better.”

“Maybe describe the scene more,” Levi suggests. “Everything ended so abruptly. Every emotion you’ve created and built disappeared in that one line.”

She nods in agreement. “But Levi,” Hange whines as she slumps her head on the back of her sofa and closes her eyes. “Kissing scenes are so tricky to write.”

Hange’s eyes shoot open immediately, and Levi’s face turns red just as quickly.

“F-Forget it,” he says, interrupting her just when he saw Hange open her mouth to speak. Any semblance of calm in his body disappears immediately, and his heart starts pounding against his chest in a rhythm that reminds him too much of a beating drum.

Hange, however, looks elated.

“You want to kiss me?” she tells him in excitement, blinking at him. “I’d like that. It could help me write this scene, you know.”

Levi looks away. “It was just a spur of the moment question.”

“So, you’re not going to kiss me?”

He actively avoids her gaze because he can already see from his peripheral vision that she looks sad, disappointed even. He grunts in response, closing his eyes and focusing his attention on a random spot on the wall.

“Oh,” Hange replies, “Well, I thought it was a good idea.”

Contrary to popular belief, Levi does want to kiss Hange. More than anything.

There were many reasons why: Because she looks so handsome and beautiful at the same time, and her very smile could light up any room she’d walk into. Because she says his name in the most endearing way. Because she understands his flaws. Because she has one of the kindest hearts he’s ever seen. Because she welcomes him with open arms, not a single thread of hesitation in her mind.

Most of all, it was simply because she was Hange.

He steals a glance in her direction, and she’s slightly fiddling with the hem of his shirt, her head downcast. Her sad expression tugs at hi

Levi thinks he’s already in this too deep, so he decides to speak.

“Did you want me to kiss you?”

From his periphery, he sees her look up at him so quickly he thought her neck would break. “What would you do if I said yes?”

He doesn’t dare turn his head in her direction when he replies quietly, “What do you think?”

“Would you kiss me?” Hange asks inquisitively, tilting her head to the side.

Levi’s heart skips a beat.

“Maybe,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “If you’d let me.”

Hange is silent for a moment, and Levi thinks this is it, I’m going to be rejected, but he feels a gentle finger touch his chin and turn his head in Hange’s direction.

He is met with her brown orbs, shining just a bit in what seemed like hidden glee. He cocks an eyebrow at her then, confused.

“I’m letting you,” Hange says, laughing. “Kiss me, I mean.” Her face is already slowly nearing his, and he can almost see the way her thick lashes brushed against her skin.

Slowly, Levi raises his head just a tiny bit and responds against her lips, “Okay.”

Hange smiles and closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck as he does the same around her waist. She tastes like the peppermint of her toothpaste, smells like his shampoo (which he had kept in her apartment since he always found himself staying over), and felt warm as her skin made contact with his. Hange's lips are gentle, slow, and a little shy—so different from how she usually is. Levi knows it’s because she doesn’t want to scare him off, so he makes the first move and nips at her lower lip, taking it between his teeth and sucking it gently.

She lets out a moan, and Levi takes this as a sign to continue. He slides his hand over her back, and she shudders and deepens the kiss at the same time. Her tongue meets his, and they battle for dominance. Hange’s hand sweeps over his undercut and pushes him towards him, and it is then that he lets out a sound that vaguely resembles pleasure.

After a few minutes, Hange whispers “Levi,” as her lips make contact with his. He hums in response, pulling his lips away from her and connecting his forehead with hers.

“Hange,” he says, breathless.

“Is this you telling me you like me?” Hange asks, closing her eyes.

He doesn’t form a reply through words, but he nods and closes his eyes as well.

“Great,” Hange tells him, pecking his lips with her own. “Because I like you too. Ever since I met you, I’ve liked you. Even though you were so rude to me on the first day of college.”

He chuckles silently in relief, pulling her closer to him before placing his chin on her shoulder. “Think you’ll be able to write the ending now that you know what a kiss feels like?”

Hange laughs, and it vibrates against his shoulder as she hugs him tighter. “It’s exhilarating. I probably wouldn’t be able to put into words how good I feel that you like me back.”

“Try,” Levi teases.

“Well . . . you know that alternative title I wrote for the fictional novel?”

Levi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The keyboard smash?”

Hange nods. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I feel like right now.”

a;lskfjdk.

#levihan #levi x hange #levihanweek 2021 #LHW 2021 #LHWeek Day 2

134 notes · View notes

betweenlands · 3 years

Text

sleepwalk

hey it’s buy one get one free at the eldritch impulse sale for the Scattered AU (you know, the one by @hermitcraftheadcanons).

bit more of a content warnings for this one. slightly more detailed drowning, some artistic repetition, a sizable dash of in-universe unreality for good measure (it might as well be my brand by now)

this one’s a bit longer so you can also read it on google docs [HERE]

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

Drowning doesn’t even hurt anymore.

Out air. In water. Death message in chat. Repeat. It’s old hat by now. The novelty and deep-seated fear of an eternal death loop has long since faded, too. Yeah, sure, the others haven’t found him yet, might never find him. The terror has worn off. Out air. In water.

Something is glowing.

He’s about halfway through actively drowning when he notices the strange glow. Not where it’s coming from, just that something is glowing. It’s the kind of glowing that happens in deep dark waters, barely visible to the naked eye, from somewhere far deeper down than where the guardian temple is located.

When he comes to from drowning again, Impulse heads downwards. Away from the surface. Out air. In water. Towards the glinting lights. It feels closer now, but his lungs ache and his body gives out first. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but he feels something when he dies this time. Mild disappointment. He was so close.

Out air. In water. He closes his eyes and stays perfectly still, waiting for the lights. This time, they don’t come. Death message in chat. He’d sigh if it didn’t use precious energy. Is this a useless goal? Probably, yes. He doubts it’s going to prevent him from dying again. But it is a goal of some kind, or at least a diversion from the monotony of an eternal death loop.

The lights are here. He dives down, under the monument, towards them. The sea grows darker around him, dark enough that he can’t see the surface of the water anymore. Somehow, this doesn’t bother him. The water is colder around him, but the light around him glows warmly. It feels comfortable. Not safe, but not getting lasered to pieces by a guardian either.

He realizes distantly that he’s actually very tired. The type of tired that comes from overwork and bashing your head against a problem over and over. Out air. In water. The lights dance around him and he pretends that instead of drowning again, he’s just… taking a nap. Going to sleep for a little bit.

(If anyone was able to read chat, they’d see Impulse went to sleep. Sweet dreams! amid the many death messages. Several people noticed the night abruptly stopping, in fact. Most people chalked it up to another glitch.)

When he wakes up -- out air, in water -- something feels different. He’s not in the temple anymore. Or he is, but it’s not the part of it that he used to spawn in. The corridors are larger, not the two-high cramped mazes anymore. He moves through the space easily until he realizes he’s still underwater. He can’t even see the lights anymore.

Drowning feels like a failure this time, for the first time in a while. Maybe that’s good. Maybe that means he’s coming back to himself a little bit. He opens his eyes and is surprised to see that he’s respawned in the same dark space as before. His spawn must have moved somehow.

The novelty is nice. He manages to crack a faint smile at nothing in particular, and then the lights are back, dancing around him. Glowsquids maybe? Only they aren’t supposed to actually emit light. It might as well not matter, though, considering this entire situation isn’t supposed to actually happen. Out air. In water. He barely notices his own weightlessness, now. Just follows dark, pale light through corridors.

It takes a while for Impulse to notice that he’s lost. That faint glow is still everywhere around him, but the rooms look different now, the spaces feel different again. The architecture around him doesn’t look right, doesn’t exactly make sense anymore. He can’t muster up panic at it, though, not when it isn’t killing him. Anything that isn’t immediate death is something he’s not going to nitpick.

Wait. He’s underwater still. The realization crashes down on him along with the pressure of impossible tons of water. Drowning actually hurts this time.

He hangs limply in the dark space he wakes up in. Maybe this is worse than the monument. At least there he could see the sky. Out air. In water. Death message in chat. Lights dancing around him. He follows weakly, more out of obligation to motion than any actual desire.

It’s all very pretty. Glowing lights here and there from no discernable source, downright maddening angles that would anger even the most postmodern of architects, and what could almost be music. He seems to drown whenever he questions what’s happening to him, so this time he makes the conscious decision to treat all this as dream logic. It’s downright comforting when he looks at it that way.

The lights lead him to a cavernous room, downright gigantic, where the light doesn’t shine as brightly, and he curls up in the center, braced against the cold by pale light. He’s bone-tired now, exhausted on every level. It’d be nice to drift off again. The dancing lights around him aren’t his fellow Hermits, but it still feels like he’s surrounded by friends.

Out water. In water. Impulse opens his eyes to the same cavern, only it’s dancing with life this time. Tiny cave-fish darting around, other deepwater creatures that only exist in dreams (of course he’s still dreaming, right?), some of them emitting that glow. He smiles again. It doesn’t feel like home, no, but maybe it could. He still misses his friends, but…

Out water, in water. It’s like puzzle pieces clicking together. He’s not himself right now. Well, he is, but he also isn’t. And that’s alright, really, given the situation it’s perfectly justifiable. He checks chat and the text looks like garbled nonsense that he can read anyway. The other Hermits need help. He could help.

The room flares with pale light, flooding everything in sight. He lets it wash over him, even as he closes his eyes and it seeps through his eyelids, staining his thoughts. Maybe a few sets of countless deaths ago, this would have bothered him immensely. Now it doesn’t.

The journey through countless corridors used to take ages. Now it takes a few seconds at most. The hallways are his. The ocean monument above him is his with a little reclamation too, a few tweaks here and there. Maybe he’s just thinking about it. Maybe he’s actually going through the motions -- out water, in water, a shame there’s not an advancement for getting a conduit up and running.

The guardians don’t shoot at him anymore. Their eyes follow him, but they keep their distance and they don’t superheat the water around him with their glares. The ocean monument doesn’t need draining if he has enough power flowing through it. Impulse tightens his grip on the space around him, breathes light and water.

There’s a cave immediately below the monument that leads into the Deep Dark. Normally that’d be a frightening prospect, but his eyes have adjusted well to darkness. One of the Wardens wanders too close to his territory and he drags it away, pulls it into range of the conduits without a second thought. A distant strain of song informs him he’s completed a challenge. He wonders distantly what the other Hermits think of the message in chat.

...The other Hermits. They still need help. And the water might feel like home to him by now, but not everyone can have gotten as lucky. This can still be home base, but he needs to leave. People -- his other friends -- need him.

(When Impulse drags himself out of the water, it takes him a while to get used to breathing on land again. When night sets and nearly every mob pointedly ignores him, he knows better than to assume it’s just good luck.)

#scattered au #OOPS IT HAPPENED AGAIN SORRY #yt #txt #orig #hermits #you know what they say about things that are sleeping under the ocean right? :]#solar scraps #solar scrawls

148 notes · View notes

buckyskorpion · 4 years

Text

11 hours - part three

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: we got some spicy things happening this chapter folks!! a lot of natasha too and plot and a tiny bit of fluff at the end. i hope you enjoy!! let me know what you think. i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

part one | part two

Mrs Shoreditch had agreed to meet you at the cafe you’d been inhabiting daily as you kept watch on Steve’s shop, and you’re waiting for her now at your usual table with unusual trepidation. Your leg is bouncing under the table, you’re darting looks left and right down the street trying to catch sight of her. You have to finish this job - seeing Bucky last night confirmed that. Looking into his friends and his life feels wrong, and you want to end it as soon as possible. It’s none of your business unless Bucky wants it to be.

She’s late, one o’clock ticking by and then some, anxiety hiking with every passing minute. The file on her husband sits unremarkable on the table in front of you, and you drum your fingers against it unconsciously. The sooner this meeting is over the sooner you can move on with your day, maybe go see your dad, take on some normal clients who don’t have eery connections to your personal life and keep you up at night.

Someone approaches the table and you’re about to feel relieved, until you look up and instead of seeing Mrs Shoreditch apologising for her tardiness you find Natasha standing before you. She blocks out the sun, a ring of red wisps escaping her ponytail lit up like a halo behind her head but the calculating look in her eyes is nowhere near angelic. She looks nothing like the girl you met at the party - gone is the sundress, replaced by an outfit weirdly similar to yours. Leather jacket, skinny jeans, Docs and chipped black nail polish you catch as she wiggles her fingers at you in that same, condescending wave.

“Natasha?” You can’t believe she’s caught you, but you’re technically not doing anything wrong right now - you just feel like you are, with the way she’s looking at you like a ‘gotcha’ moment not gone your way.

Natasha nods, smirking, and says, “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, but you know neither of you believe it. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Steve,” she says. It takes everything in you not to glance over at the tattoo shop, giving yourself away. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your eyes trained on hers, furrowing your brows in an approximation of confusion. She waits a beat, you don’t think you’ve convinced her, but then she says, ”He works over there.”

She jerks a thumb to the tattoo shop and you nod, following her finger with bone-deep relief. It doesn’t last long, tension eating it’s way back up your spine as she asks, “What about you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Been here every day, lady, you think, but say with a tap to the folder on the table, “Work. Meeting a client.”

“Oh?” she asks, an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t question you further, but that in itself is suspicious. Everyone always presses for more with your vague answers - client? For what? Announcing you’re a private investigator kind of ruins your confidential reputation so you often have to work a lot harder than this to keep your work life private. Natasha doesn’t press it, though. Like she already knows. Dread curls low and heavy in your gut.

At that moment, Mrs Shoreditch finally shows up. She doesn’t seem harried, out of breath, or concerned she’s late in any way, shape, or form. She takes the seat opposite you, offering you a smile and placing her ridiculously expensive handbag on the table. With blonde hair tossed over one shoulder, to your absolute horror she looks up to Natasha and smiles at her, too. Recognition, as Natasha returns it.

“You should come over to the shop when you’re done,” Natasha says to you but it sounds more like a demand than a request, shattering the silence with a sledgehammer. You’d miscalculated, somewhere. Something isn’t right.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, making eye contact with Mrs Shoreditch and hoping Natasha understands. You hardly think Mrs Shoreditch would want you going in there after you reveal that’s the place her husband has been shovelling her money into for months. Mrs Shoreditch avoids your gaze, however, picking at her perfect manicure. It clicks, then. You’re so fucking stupid.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha says, ignoring what you said entirely with a sparkle in her eyes that doesn’t bode well for you. She crosses the street, gone in a second, and you turn back to Mrs Shoreditch as a numbness creeps into your veins.

She’s a typical socialite, perfectly up-kept in every aspect and dressed to the nines even for a rubbish cafe in Red Hook. You didn’t think she was capable of hoodwinking you, and maybe that’s where you first went wrong. She finally meets your eyes, apologetic and almost tearful. She reaches a hand out, resting it on the file you’d prepared as if she realises last minute trying to touch you is a bad fucking idea.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I’ve been wasting your time-“

“Natasha hired you to hire me,” you say, cutting her off with the coldness in your voice. She nods mutely, retracting her hand back to her lap as if burned. “You already knew about Mike’s other bank account.”

“Yes,” she admits, rolling her lips together. At least she has the decency to look ashamed. “Ms Romanoff said she’d pay off an instalment of Mike’s debt if I hired you, and I- I didn’t ask questions. I’m so sorry, you seem lovely-“

You don’t wait to hear her finish, standing from the table and leaving your useless file behind without a second glance. You head across the street, for the first time approaching the front door of the tattoo parlour. Natasha knew you’d come here eventually, knew you’d see Steve and start putting dots together. She baited you here, but why? You were Bucky’s fuck buddy, nothing more. Why play this game at all?

You take a deep breath before shouldering the door open, entering the permanent twilight of the shop you’d come to know so well through the lens of your camera. It’s cool in here, the street noise dampened so all you can hear is pop-punk playing low through speakers and the buzz of the tattoo gun. Steve is at the back, bent over someone’s arm and doesn’t break concentration when the bell above the door rings, announcing your entrance. Natasha waits, however, hip propped up against the counter and smiling as she sees you stop at the door, not daring to enter further.

“What do you want?” you ask, calling out across the shop. It draws the attention of the two guys in leather, Steve’s regulars, sitting on the couch in the waiting area. They eye you suspiciously, as does the kid who mans the cash register you often see doing homework instead of his job. Natasha pushes off the counter, beckoning you to the back of the store where you know Steve’s office to be. You follow, heart in your mouth, aware you’re walking further into the trap you hadn’t even known had been set for you.

Natasha closes the door behind you and takes a seat at the desk, covered in stencil designs and files which she seems to entirely disregard as she crosses her feet on top of them, dirt smears be damned. You sit in the chair opposite, back ramrod straight with how uncomfortable you are, and wait for an answer.

“You’re smart,” she says, which is not what you were expecting. You blink, confused by the compliment, and Natasha smirks. “And a lot more observant than Bucky gives you credit for.”

“It’s my job,” you say, unsure of what to give away. Obviously she knows you’re a private investigator or you wouldn’t be in this mess, but she doesn’t know what you know. Not yet, anyway.

“I know,” she says, inclining her head, “I googled you.”

That makes you uncomfortable. Bucky doesn’t even know your last name, how does she? All that she would’ve found is your business website because you’re not stupid enough to put your life online, but still, the thought that she had been trying to look into you makes your blood run cold. You’re starting to really regret going to that party with Bucky - if Natasha’s weird behaviour then wasn’t a tip off, then your deep-dive into their secret lives has clearly shown you there’s a lot more to Bucky than he was ever intending of letting on. Natasha’s intervention in your job merely confirms what you’d already figured out.

“Why did you get Mrs Shoreditch to hire me?” you ask. Natasha regards you for a second, thinking, and it’s a look that reminds you eerily of Bucky.

“I wanted to see what you’d find,” she says. You feel your jaw clench, despite yourself - she’s being evasive even now, and it’s like she can read your frustration because she smiles then, says, “And I wanted to see if Bucky’s choice to trust you was a wise one.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” you say, defensive, too quick. She raises her eyebrows. Frustrated at this cryptic and frankly dramatic conversation, you ask, “Can you just tell me what you want? You’ve wasted weeks of my time and I think I deserve to know why.”

“As I said,” Natasha said slowly, clearly amused at the rise she’s managed to get out of you, “I want to see what you found.”

“Are you going to pay for it?” you snap. You don’t want to tell her - you don’t know why. Clearly, she already knows far more than you ever will, but this is the only thing you have over her and it feels like the most important thing in the world in this moment.

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll be well compensated, don’t worry.”

You have a small stare off with the red head before you huff, conceding. That was a fight you were destined to lose, anyway. You grab your laptop from your bag and send a quick email of everything you’d collected to Steve’s business email. His monitor pings with a notification and and you raise your eyebrows towards it, watching Natasha unfold her legs off the desk and lean forward to start reading. You don’t trust her with your laptop as far as you can throw it, so you make sure it’s shut down completely before placing it back in your bag.

Natasha reads for a long time, because you’d found a lot. Her eyes dart across the screen almost too-fast, the set of her mouth growing tenser and tenser as each silent minute passes. You feel a weird, sick sense of satisfaction at that - clearly, you’d surpassed her expectations.

You had been thorough. Pictures of Steve, the kid working the counter, the regulars who park their bikes at the back, the bikes themselves, the inside of the shop from your window vantage point, Sam at one point, Natasha at others, meetings they held and rough angles of deals gone on inside the shop. You couldn’t get a clear shot, but you saw them exchanging money with leather-clad strangers for something. The long hours after closing they spend at the tattoo shop doing everything but tattooing is all captured and saved on your computer. You’d written up a run-sheet of the shop’s routines as well, based on what you’d observed from your little cafe spot - Natasha spends longer looking at that then anything else, mouse hovering over the word you’d written at the bottom. Gang?

You’d researched them all, except for Bucky. He never appeared at the shop while you were watching it, and it gave you the perfect out to leave him alone in your investigation. Steve and Sam had wrap sheets longer than your arm, and Natasha notably had nothing online at all. None of them had social media, which is weird, and the only photo you could find dated back to a highschool cross country picture of Steve and Sam, first and second medals respectively. You refused to look for Bucky. It made you sick just thinking about what you’d find on him, so you decided you just didn’t want to know. Not like that, behind a computer screen in your apartment with a bottle of red-wine half gone beside you. Bucky doesn’t belong there.

You could have kept digging, given more time. It had been eating at you, though, consuming the hours you were supposed to be sleeping and waking you up when you finally closed your eyes. It didn’t matter how much you found, ten more questions would arise from it, and you were becoming obsessed. So you decided to end it. Clearly, you’d come to that conclusion a bit too late.

“Bucky doesn’t know your last name,” Natasha says, suddenly, shocking you enough to flinch. She doesn’t look away from the screen, but goes on, “He doesn’t know you’re a PI, where you live, what you do in your spare time. He knows noting about you, but he doesn’t seem to care. I told him that was stupid.”

You swallow past the hard lump in your throat. You knew Natasha hadn’t exactly warmed to you at that party but you hadn’t expected this level of- what would you even call it? A threat? You feel threatened, a metaphorical knife to your throat as Natasha finally looks at you again, pinning you down with a cold green stare.

“He’s not in any of this,” she says, tapping a fingernail on the keyboard to emphasis your research. It’s not a question, but you know what she’s asking.

“I wasn’t hired to look into Bucky,” you say, refraining from adding because I have self control and I don’t need to invade his privacy to have sex with him. “Anything I need to know, I can get from him.”

Natasha is silent for a long time, staring at you, and you don’t dare look away. This, too, is a test. After god-knows how much time has passed, she stands and you do too, hurrying to grab your bag and meet her at the office door she holds open for you. Conversation over, you suppose - you’re starting to get used to Natasha’s cryptic ways even if they piss you off beyond belief.

“Delete everything you just sent me,” she says. You scoff, rolling your eyes at her, but she stares you down with the darkest, scariest look you’ve ever received from someone who’s a head shorter than you. You think about that word you’d written in your notes, gang, after one too many red wines and thinking back to the way Natasha looked at you when you described them all as a family. Maybe you shouldn’t argue with her, given everything you’d experienced today.

“I’d cover that window if I were you,” you say, instead of answering. A muscle ticks in her jaw but she says nothing else, so you take your leave. Steve waves awkwardly as you go but you ignore him, shouldering out of the shop and practically running down the street.

Energy burns in your muscles that you can’t seem to get rid of, even as you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment which takes over an hour. It’s anger, you realise, fisting your hair and pacing around your apartment like a crazy person. Uncontrollable rage at being played with, tested at every turn, and for what? You never asked to be a part of this game. You’d never done anything but exactly what Bucky asked and it still wasn’t enough.

Your phone begins to ring, Bucky’s name flashing across the screen, and with a scream of pure frustration you throw it full-force into the nearest wall. It makes a dent in the drywall, falls to the ground and the impact shatters the screen but that won’t stop it vibrating uselessly against the floorboards as Bucky rings and rings and rings.

You won’t pick up. This time, or ever again. And not just because you’ve now fucked your phone beyond repair, either. You never asked to play this game, so now you’ll take yourself out of it.

***

This is exactly why you keep yourself so guarded - cutting people out is easy when they have nothing to hold onto. You change your phone number when you go to get it fixed, and it’s like Bucky never even existed. He doesn’t know where you work, where you live, and you don’t go back to any of the bars you went to with him. It’s easier than breathing to remove him from your life.

The same cannot be said about removing Bucky from you.

He’d crawled inside your ribcage and stayed there, burnt a cigarette hole in your heart to claim it as his and you hate that. You never allowed him to do that. So he might not be physically in your life anymore but he’s still there, a ghost of a hand on your throat and an ache that might mean you miss him.

His friends are crazy and he’s in a gang, you tell yourself daily, like it’ll help. Like you believe it even slightly. It’s better this way.

“You’re quiet, kroshka,” you dad says, handing you a cup of tea. You remove your thumb from your mouth where you’d been gnawing at a hangnail to take it, smiling up at him in thanks. He doesn’t go back to his armchair, though, rather kicking a cushion off the couch to sit beside you. You dip with his added weight, closer to him, and he allows you to rest your head on his shoulder while you both blow on your teas in unintentional tandem.

“Kroshka is tired,” you mumble. He clicks his tongue at you, which is fair. Shit excuse, anyway. You sit up, twisting to face him, and ask, “How do I know if I’m overreacting to something?”

“With you, overreacting is baseline,” your dad says, grinning as you slap him on the arm. He takes a sip of tea and says, “Tell me.”

“No,” you say, aware you’re being a brat, but what are you going to say? This woman tricked me and she’s smarter than me so I cut the guy I like out of my life because I can’t let anyone in or I feel like I’m going to die? Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.

“Well,” he says, giving you an unimpressed look, “If you’re questioning whether you’re overreacting, I would say there might be some truth to the feeling. It’s not like you to be unsure, though. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Yes, papa,” you sigh, going back to leaning on his shoulder. He might have a point. “You’ve just raised an idiot.”

“I did no such thing,” he says, placing his tea on the side table to pull you into a hug. You feel small, like you’re a little girl again, and you close your eyes against your father’s chest. Maybe you can just stay here and forget about the mess you’ve made of your life. He rubs circles into your back and says, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya, luna,” you say softly. I love you, moon. You’ve been saying this since before you can remember, your dad whispering it into your hair when he tucked you in at night or you calling across the playground when he’d drop you off at school. In your secret language so no one else knows, a message just for him - from you to your entire world.

“Lyublyu tetbya bol’she, zvedzdy,” he responds, kissing your hair. Love you more, stars.

He sends you off with a bag of donut holes, an obvious reminder you’re both not actually Russian but New Yorker to the bone, and you eat two on the subway ride home while you think. Deleting Bucky from your life is instinct, protection - he’d gotten too close. But really, when you allow yourself to examine the tight knot of feelings sitting in the base of your throat, what’s making you run is guilt.

You crossed a line, investigating his friends. You pried into the life he very purposefully kept you away from and you’d changed your number not because you didn’t want Bucky contacting you anymore, but because he might decide not to and you couldn’t live with watching your phone for a notification that would never come. Natasha will have told him everything by now, probably even showed him, and he’ll never trust you now. You’d blown it. You could be angry at Natasha for baiting you into doing it, but she never would have felt the need to if you had just been honest.

You stuff another donut hole in your mouth to stop yourself from crying. It works only a little bit.

The apartment feels colder, lonelier than it ever has even though being alone was what you thought you wanted. It just allows you to think of Bucky some more, curled up on your couch with the bag of donut holes now empty on the coffee table, sniffling into the sleeve of your hoodie. His smell, the way he always runs hot, the callouses on his hands probably from working in his garage you’ll never get to see now. Stubble, short-shaven hair, tattoos all down his left arm you never gave proper attention to. You can’t remember them all. Just the star, red and big in the middle of his deltoid. You thought you had more time.

“Fuck it,” you say, fishing your phone out of your jeans pocket. Bucky might not have your number anymore but you have his. Maybe if you just called him and heard his voice for a second, just that rumbly ‘hello,’ it might scratch the itch driving you insane. Before you can dial though, you get a notification from your banking app - a deposit from a new contact.

Natasha Romanoff jumps out at you, stopping your heart in your chest. Does she have a sixth sense for any time you so much as think about Bucky? She’s transferred you an obscene amount of money, and it takes you far too long to realise she’s paying you for the Shoreditch case that turned out to be one giant trust test you spectacularly failed. The reason you’re being a pathetic mess alone in your apartment pining over a guy who, as Natasha said herself, doesn’t even know your last name. Get a grip, Jesus Christ.

You open up the notification just to check it’s real and she really did triple the quote you’d given Mrs Shoreditch. That’s when you read what she’s written as the name of the transaction - an address for somewhere in Queens. You should probably at least think about jumping up, grabbing your jacket and practically sprinting from your apartment to an address sent to you by someone you’re 99% sure is part of a biker gang, but you don’t. You have a pretty good idea of what that address means, and curiosity is your biggest vice. Natasha’s sending you a cryptic message and you might not quite understand what it means just yet, but you’re certainly not going to ignore it.

Half an hour later you’re standing across the street from White Wolf Mechanics, hiding in the gaps between street lights and watching Bucky fix up a motorbike. The three huge roller doors are all open, letting light spill out onto the street as well as the thump of a baseline from a song you recognise, because you showed him it. Natasha sits on the work bench cross legged, scrolling on her phone and occasionally handing Bucky tools as he asks for them. He stands, wipes his hands on his skintight black t-shirt and says something into the depth of the shop. Sam appears, grinning wide and tossing a greasy rag at Bucky’s head which he catches easily.

He seems well, and that makes you happy. It’s only been a couple of days since you last saw him but it might as well have been months from how much you’ve spiralled. He might not have even noticed you’d separated yourself from him, and that thought makes you sick. You should go. You need to go. But your feet carry you across the street, jogging into the shadows so they don’t see you. You’ll hear his voice and then you’ll go.

You linger by the farthest roller door from them, sticking outside the pool of light and half-hiding behind the wall of the shop. You can still see them, though, Bucky’s face now turned towards you as he learns over the bike. Brow furrowed in concentration, and you want to smooth out the dent between them with your thumb but that’s not for you anymore. It never was.

“Have you talked Sam about it?” Natasha asks Bucky. You watch him glare at the part he’s holding in his hands and his whole body stiffens. He keeps his back to Natasha so you can see the anger play across his face clear as day.

“What’s there to tell?” he snaps. “You’ve taken care of everything, fuck what I want, so what’s the point?”

“Cut it out, James,” Natasha snaps back, “You know I was protecting you.”

“When did I ask,” Bucky grits out through a clenched jaw, throwing the part to the ground so the clang of metal on stone echoes out onto the empty street, making you jump. He balls his fists up at his sides and says, “You were out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says evenly. She unfolds herself from the table with an unfair amount of grace and steps behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bucky sighs, shoulders curling in and tension leaking out of his body. You want to hug him, but you will yourself to stay where you are.

Eventually, Bucky shrugs off Natasha’s touch and says, like a moody teenager, “Whatever.” Natasha rolls her eyes, watching him go back to work on the bike with a bit too much aggression that is strictly necessary. She hands him the part he threw silently, and it takes him a beat to unclench his fists and take it. A peace offering, you suppose, in Natasha’s strange language. She doesn’t go back to the workbench, rather staying by Bucky’s side despite his annoyed grumble.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she says, “You proved me wrong, and I’m not too proud to realise that. I am sorry.”

Bucky looks up at her, as confused as you feel because where the fuck did that come from, and says, “Proved you- have you completely lost it?”

But Natasha isn’t look at him anymore. She’s looking at you.

Busted, you think, and you consider turning around and running before Bucky can see you. It’s a bit late for that, though, so you step into the light of the shop and halfheartedly return Natasha’s welcoming grin. It takes Bucky a second, snapping his fingers in front of Natasha’s face like he’s worried she’s actually gone in insane before he follows her eyeline and lands on you.

You’ve never seen Bucky shocked before, but he looks it now as for the second time the spare part he’s holding hits concrete with an ear-grating clang. You flinch at the sound despite yourself, and that seems to shock Bucky back into action. He whips around to glare at Natasha, pointing at you as he does.

“What did you do,” he demands. Maybe coming here really was a bad idea after all.

Natasha, ignoring Bucky completely, walks over to hold out her hand for you to shake. I’m lost, you think, as she says, “Let’s start again. I’m Natasha, James is the only family I have and I’m neurotically protective of him. He’s right to trust you, as much as it pains me to say I’m sorry for meddling in your relationship.”

You don’t take her hand. You’re not entirely sure you want to forgive her just yet, even if she did extend the olive branch to get you here. You fold your arms over your chest and say, “Next time, if you want to know something about me, just ask.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, retracting her hand back to her side and you hate the way she always seems to be laughing at you. Natasha ducks her head, smirks, and disappears into some back office without another word. It’s just you and Bucky, the body of a bike between you as well as the weight of all the things you never said that’s all out in the open now. You’re looking at each other like you never have before, eyes open to the vast chasm of secrets you’ve both been keeping, and for the first time since you met Bucky you keep your distance.

“So,” he says, folding this arms over his giant chest. Not fair, you think, as his biceps flex against the tight sleeve of his t-shirt. Bucky averts his eyes to somewhere beyond your head and says, “You’re a private investigator.”

“You’re in a biker gang,” you reply, mimicking his folded-arms tight-lipped expression. He raises his eyebrows in a silent touché, and now that it’s out in the open you feel something inside you break off, slide down the tense hunch of your shoulders until you feel weightless. You should want to lock up tight, keep Bucky out because he’s gotten far too close already - you should use this blight as an escape. Somehow, though, having Bucky see you like no one else really has doesn’t feel as scary as you thought it would. Maybe because you have something of him, too, tucked against your head and healing that metaphorical cigarette burn. A secret for a secret. You can work with that.

“You changed your number,” Bucky says, and he’s walking over to you now. Guard dropped, hands by his sides, pinning you in place with his eyes on yours for the first time in what feels like centuries.

“I was scared,” you say, coming out more like a breath than a sentence, too transfixed with Bucky being so close to you when you never thought you’d get this again. He smells like car oil and sweat, but you’ll take any gross combination over nothing at all. He places his greasy hands either side of your neck, pulling you closer so practically standing between his legs.

“You know,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over the protrusion of your collarbone like he’s trying to turn your brain and legs into jelly, “Nat doesn’t have a high opinion of a lot of people. She means a lot to me.”

“She’s terrifying,” you say, and Bucky throws his head back in a laugh that has you grinning like an idiot. That sound settles warm in the pit of your stomach, spreading through all the dirty guilt and fear you’d been living in for the past few days. Biting your lip as you sober slightly, you say, “I’m sorry for prying, I should’ve just-“

“Don’t,” Bucky says, stern, shutting you up pretty effectively. “I’m sorry Nat is a nosy bitch-“

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice comes from the back office, startling you both into laughing even as Bucky turns to face the door with a murderous glare on his face.

“Don’t you have anything better to do!” Bucky yells, voice thundering through the echoey garage. He waits few beats for absolute silence, neither of you convinced Natasha had actually left, but it’s the best you’re going to get. He turns back to you, small smile on his face so at odds with how rough and messy he looks. Hulking muscle and scars and tattoos and you should be cautious, should be running, shouldn’t be letting him back you up until you hit the wall and he can pin you there with his hips pressed into yours.

But you’ve never been one to ignore something as intriguing and mysterious as Bucky Barnes, no matter how dangerous it might be. Bucky slides one hand up from your neck to splay across your jaw, fingers pressing almost too tight into the soft skin, and you should run from this, too. A reminder, a promise, a warning. You let him.

“Are we even?” Bucky asks, mumbled into the minuscule space between you. You can’t find your voice so you just nod, and Bucky cocks his head to the side as he asks, “You can still leave, y’know. I’ll understand.”

“No way,” you say with a vigorous shake of your head, probably too quickly if Bucky’s amused smirk is anything to go by. You shut him up real quick with a roll of your hips into his, watching with a sense of victory as his expression darkens and he tightens his grip on you. You say, eyebrows raised, “I’ve still got way too many questions.”

“Like what?” Bucky asks, but he’s not got his full attention on what you’re saying anymore, too busy using his grip on your jaw to tug your head to the side and kiss up your neck, warm and open-mouthed with just a bit of teeth.

You nod your head towards the bike he was fixing before, drawing his attention for a second as he flicks his eyes in its direction before resuming his trail of bruising kisses. A bit breathy maybe, you say, “Ever fucked someone on a motorbike before?”

“Absolutely not!” you hear a male voice practically scream, and soon enough Sam is practically running out of the back office with a smirking Natasha on his tail. “This is our place of work! It’s sacred!”

“Go home, Sam,” Bucky says into your skin, still loud enough for them to hear but he doesn’t get off you. You’re blushing, making eye contact with Bucky’s friends and wishing the ground will swallow you whole but Bucky just digs his teeth into the crook of your jaw and grins as he watches your eyes flutter shut. This mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated horniness is making your brain short-circuit.

“My eyes!” Sam cries as Natasha grabs him by the wrist and drags him from the garage. Not without a wink sent your way, and you’ll find time to be humiliated by that later. Right now, you’ve got Bucky’s mouth on yours to contend with and it’s going to take all of your attention.

Part 4

~~~

let me know what yall think of this part!! THANK YOU

#bucky barnse x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #biker!bucky #biker!bucky au #11 hours #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #reader insert fic #pov fic #pov #avengers au

803 notes · View notes

maggotmouth · 3 years

Text

hillo sexthy legends !! i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !! x o x

* CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

— born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

— its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

— margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

— for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

— at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

— she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

— a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.

— she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away. it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

— after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.

— she works at summer camps coaching junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

— enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment.

— she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

— used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

— was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

— nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

— has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

— she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

— calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

— stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

— lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

— constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

— frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you, indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine.

TLDR: angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

#aaaaaaa #we back boys #irvingintro #hmu for plots bayybeyyy

10 notes · View notes

thoughtsaboutshows · 3 years

Text

Prompt

Okay so I swear this was asked/commented somewhere but for the life of me I can’t find the ask or whatever it is. It was in my prompt google doc so I’m assuming I’m not crazy and it’s real...whatever.

This comes from a Post Part 4 world but things ended differently. VERY differently. Anyways, enjoy!

26. “I love you, but you need to shut up.”

The Sanctum was a mess. When Zelda Spellman had asked Nick to take point on reorganizing the books in the library, he had jumped at the chance. The High Priestess had wanted the ancient texts catalogued and arranged in a way that made sense now that the Coven was the Order or Hecate rather than the Church of Night. Nick had thought it sounded incredible, spending his days among the old books that had been his first friends when he arrived at the Academy. The scent of old books and ripples of deep-rooted magic were familiar and made him buzz with excitement.

But despite the warlock’s love for reading and learning, he completely forgot just how vast the library was and how the piles and stacks of books seemed to never end. By the end of the week and having spent nearly all day and all night in the dark space, Nick was starting to regret agreeing to the task. He had hardly seen the light of day in the last week and he hadn’t much crossed paths with his light of day, Sabrina Spellman. His beautiful girlfriend.

Nick hadn’t spent close to a night out of her bed since she’d given herself to him for the first time and nearly merged with Sabrina Morningstar. He’d become a near permanent resident in the Mortuary once the Void had been closed. Nick had never held her so tightly as when she was bleeding and barely breathing, close to death, but alive all the same. He’d muttered every clotting and transfusion spell he could think of until her skin had rid itself of its ashy color and become warm again. He hadn’t left her side since.

That was until he’d agreed to the Book Mission From Hell. The hours he spent working ran late so most times he found himself crashing in his old room at the Academy or a Sanctum couch when he was too tired to walk or teleport.

He was in an exhausted frenzy, separating books about ancient gods by year, when he heard footsteps approaching. He hadn’t had much human contact, conjuring food when needed, determined to get this job done so he could return to spending all of his time with Sabrina.

“Hey there.” Her soft voice pulled him from his focus. Sabrina was dressed down today, in jeans and a simple top, but to him she was a vision. Alive. She was like a mirage, an oasis in the desert of the pile of books he’d been trapped in.

“Hey there.” He answered her and kept his eyes on her movements as she kicked off the door and moved to hop on the table he was sitting at.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just started blurting out everything he was thinking. No one had really come to see him, so he had no one to bounce ideas off of. Did he put Lucifer in the history section? Which rituals were the focus now? Did they really need six copies of the false god’s book?

“Sabrina there’s just so much to go through.” Nick muttered on and on. Sabrina watched him with a quirked brow as the boy she loved rattled on about books she had never read. His face was contorted and she could feel his heart beating and lungs working in overdrive. He was in his work mode, and while she found it incredibly attractive that he was throwing himself headfirst into something and it reminded her of the days when he went diving in the ocean for a manifesto, she missed her boyfriend. She missed the comfort of his arms at night and the way he drew a sigh from her with a simple brush of his nose against hers. “And there’s books here, Spellman, that even I haven’t read. I think I’m gonna be in here all month. And don’t get me wrong, I have a stack going of books I’m going to take and study but there’s just so much we still don’t know and so much to learn and-”

“Nick.” Sabrina tried but the boy kept rambling. She used his full name then, knowing she only used it when she was serious or he was in trouble. “Nicholas.”

That pulled him from his rambling as he looked at her with tired and bloodshot eyes.

“I love you, but you need to shut up.” The corner of her mouth was turned up as she said it. She’d kissed his smirk enough times that one had found a home on her lips as well, and she wore it proudly. He was dumbfounded and stared at her so she hopped off the table and sat in his lap instead. When she rolled her fingers through his curls, Nick felt the tension in his muscles disappear immediately. He had no idea one person could be a never ending sense of calmness for him, but she was it, and she anchored him back to reality a million times over. “You need a break, and I need my boyfriend back.”

“Sabrina, there’s so much to be done.” He tried to tell her, but she brushed her lips against his temple and he felt himself losing resolve already.

“Yes, and it’ll still be there tomorrow.” Her fingertips danced across his face and she took a moment to count his freckles. When he’d leaned over her before going into the void, she was certain she’d seen the last of them. Now that they’d all survived, she counted them every day. “What good are you if your mind is in a million places. Imagine the books you’ll put in the wrong place.”

“I’d never do that.” Nick deadpanned with his typical charm and confidence. The Nick she loved was creeping back and she hoped he’d creep back to the mortuary with her. If only for a night.

“Even so, I miss you.” She shifted his face and held both of his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him. It was soft and delicate, but still filled him to the brim with love.

“I guess calling it early just this once couldn’t hurt.” She had swayed him and her bright smile lit up the dark corners of the Sanctum. “Let’s go home.”

She kissed him again and he could taste the smile against his lips. He knew she liked when he called the Mortuary home, so he’d say it over and over. The Mortuary was lovely, filled with warmth and homemade biscuits and laughter. But it wasn’t the building that was home. It was the witch that was kissing him and holding him tight.

The witch he had almost lost.

She was home.

And that home was forever.

#nabrina #otp prompt #fix it #part four didn't end in tragedy #he'll read books forever #Nicholas Scratch #sabrina spellman

27 notes · View notes

sailing-elitsha · 3 years

Text

WE DID IT!!!!!!!!

Our first ocean crossing is a fact!!

The last miles were draining. Running with constantly changing winds, crossing waves and without spinnaker is not funny. I was not seasick this time, but caught an ear infection, which I thought will be okay after a while, because I got antibiotic from Doctor Josephine in St Helena for my leg infection. Without consulting a doc in St Helena again, we left. The crossing waves and light wind made me nauseous because my ear was blocked. The night watches drained but the spirit of the crew, Dick and I, maintained unbroken positive and happy. We caught a tuna and a barracuda. The swordfish, when we finally had him close to Elitsha, went back to the sea. The line broke and he is now the coolest fish in the South Atlantic with a hip piercing on his sword nose. The barracuda, I caught on my watch. Dick was sleeping and I got him close, which was not easy, but then I saw his teeth, I knew, this I won’t do on my own. Together we got him in. Even though I was not feeling well, I baked several breads, cooked tuna curry, and did my watches. Dick took the more difficult watches and let me sleep a little bit longer each night. I rest much more then he did. So, you can imagine, we both looked forward to having a good sleep after arriving in Fernando. Bob the aircraft engineer was close to us, but they wanted to continue their way to the Caribbean straight forward. Going ashore in Fernando de Noronha was not allowed, so all Yachties skip the island. We were hoping on getting water and to be allowed to just sleep 3 nights at the anchorage and continue sailing afterwards.

Immensely proud and happy on Friday the 30th of April at 5 am after having sailed 1812 nautical miles we arrived at Fernando de Noronha, a small Island and Nature Reserve at the Brazilian Coast. Dick and I were both a bit emotional: WE DID IT!!!!!! Its always special to arrive after a long sail. First you hear and see birds, then lights, then the shape of land, then you smell something different……… But this time is was special special. We arrived at the other side of a very very big and deep (4000+ m deep) ocean.

40 meters of anchor chain and we lay in front of a beautiful beach in a beautiful bay. This Island is a Nature Reserve and so so beautiful. We were the only yachties. Nobody is allowed to enter the island from sea. we could smell the cocktails, but were nut allowed to grab them.....made our owns though....Due to humanitarian reasons they have to allow us to buy fresh supplies and water, which we needed to continue the rest of our voyage. After we arrived, our yellow Checkers cloth and the Brazilian flag went up the mast. Nothing happened. Dick was swimming with zebrafish and sharks in the meantime. After half a day waiting and asking harbour control again and again on the radio we finally got an answer. At 3 o clock we got picked up and the harbour master welcomed us together with the police. The police would escort us to the shops and the next day we have to leave. Zora pictured out a scenario of Dick and I in handcuffs in de shops grabbing 5 l canisters of water and apples under supervision of the police officers, when we told her. (There is a photo of Alex, the police officer, faking to arrest Dick. That photo was especially taken for Zora.)

But it went differently. We were very fortunate to meet Alex, a Brazilian federal policeman from Brasilia, the only English-speaking person on this island. They all try google translate, but internet is a crime here. So Alex was the solution. He told us that the extra days of sleep could only been allowed if I would get a doctor’s attest and then he drove with us to the hospital, translated, then to the Pharmacia, then to the harbour again to explain that I was even sicker than I thought, and the doctor wants to see me every day till Monday. He and his colleagues wrote reports, spoke to their boss, to make it happen for us to stay longer. This way we not only were allowed to stay 3 nights, but we were also allowed to explore the island. The police brought our 60 l water and fresh supplies to the boat and gave us very valuable tips for sightseeing, bus routes, the best bars and best meals of the islands: platter federale ( a seafood food platter the chef always creates for the federal police men and Caipirinha pinto. They gave us a branche with well 12 coconuts on it. Uii, lekker. We ate a special bean soup with quail eggs…….. Alex was and still is our hero and became a friend. We had a very special time at Fernando de Noronha. Again, everybody knew us, helped and was friendly.

Traveling during Corona is not easy, but at the same time very special. People are happy with every single tourist; it is not full and overcrowded. Covid in Brazil is hectic. In Fernando they have not one case. Its so normal to sanitize and wear masks. Fortunately, we will not get a Brazilian stamp in our passport, which is good. This stamp could close some borders for us. So, we visited a little piece of Brazil, met a lot of Brazilians from Brasilia, Sao Paulo, Recife and other Brazilian Cities, and got information and a little bit of insights in the culture.

We ate delicious Brazilian food, but officially we have never been in Brazil. How is that?Traveling in the Caribbean with a South African flag is a problem we were told, because of the racist history. That was one of the reasons why we choose a German registration. But sailing with a German flag in Brazil was also a thingy: 7:1, the water taxi captain said when he saw the black/red/gold. I apologized and promised, that we (the Germans) would never beat them (soccer WC 2014) again in a semi-final in their own country with 7:1. That was good, then.

Even though it was great and relaxing. It was quite expensive to stay on an Eco Island. For 3 days we paid 200 dollars. When we wanted to go to a beach at the other end of the island today, they wanted us to pay another 100 dollars (a 9 day valid ticket for three beaches). We rather went back to the for-free-harbour-beach with the bus again and saw turtles, lemon sharks and a lot of other beautiful fish. Wrong!!! Dick saw them. I am not allowed to snorkel. Grrrrrr. My ears!!!! So, we didn’t need a 100-dollar beach. From here we could even see Elitsha waving towards us.

From Elitsha we see dolphins around us spinning in the morning, zebra fish all around and the trumpet fish from St. Helena followed us to Fernando.

Our last water taxi was a luxe motor yacht with fancy leather seating. Dick and I felt like Crockett and Tubbs in Miami Vice. So funny.

Last evening at Fernando. Tomorrow we lift our anchor and off we go again. The doldrums are waiting for us and then the north east trades to lift us to Suriname. Can’t wait to explore the rainbow forest that side.

A big thank you to our shore captains, Anneke, Zora and Holger, who make harbour arrangements for us, inform us about the weather and much more; to Wiek, our fishing coach, for telling us afterwards what we caught and have eaten, hahaha and to all our friends and supporters who react and encourage us all the way of our journey. Its fantastic to be in touch with you.

Believe us, we enjoy every single second and moment of our journey with each other and are so so glad and happy that we are doing this with the two of us. Don’t forget to donate for the nautical miles we are sailing.

Lots of loveDick, Sylke and Elitsha

Questions for the Elitsha competition:

1. What is the capital of Brazil?

2. Where is Fernando de Noronha?

3. What is a sea mountain?

4. What kind of shark, did my husband dive with?

5. How does a trumpet fish look like? (and don’t tell me: like a trumpet, hahaha. I want to see a photo.)

All participants will receive a price!!!!!!!

For the ones who want to take part in our sponsor sail: We have sailed 1812 nautical miles. You can donate a cent, a Rand, a Euro or whatever per nautical mile. We are sailing for these amazing schools: every nautical mile and each Rand counts. To UBUNTU for Africa, German NGO. The money will go to the UBUNTU for Africa projects: after care at Hout Bay Primary School and the music project at Silikamva High School. This organisation I started 12 years ago (www.ubuntuforafrica.com) Of course, you will receive a tax certificate.

Ubuntu for Africa-Kinder-, Jugend und Familienhilfe in Südafrika Volksbank Boenen e G IBAN: DE91 4106 2215 0054 5799 01

For South Africans and others, who want to donate directly to South Africa (also with tax certificate): please donate to Kronendal Primary School (www.kronendalprimary.com). I worked for 10 years at Kronendal Primary as a school counsellor. This school struggles financially due to the consequences of the Covid Pandemic and deserves our support. KRONENDAL PRIMARY SCHOOL trading as CUIM (“the account holder”) holds the following account with First National Bank, a division of FirstRand Bank Limited (“FNB”): Account Type BUSINESS ACCOUNT Account Number 53452884035 Branch Code 204009 Branch Name HOUT BAY 345 Swift Code FIRNZAJJ WE DID IT

5 notes · View notes

mewwfr · 3 years

Text

(i cannot be bothered to figure out google docs at the moment, so my story about candles shall live here. tw for uh.. gore perhaps? and almost religious fervor? she is a Lot.)

Despite herself, it had become a habit.

Every few days, the monotony of her scrying and scheming was interrupted by an urge to see it- starting as the memory of its existence. Almost taunting her, merely a few miles away. Candles would attempt to ignore the thought, diving deeper into her magical testing or paranoid scrying- Time was always of the essence, and she always burned with an urgency to use it fully. Eventually it would return, the urge to lay her eyes upon that which vexed and entranced her in equal measure. But as it often did in the Light flight, the weather would clear around Clan Nettle. The lavender coatl would finally give in, and prepare a small lunch and a few meagre supplies- At the most her trips would take a few hours, and she timed it so that her return would line up with night falling.

Spring had finally arrived to this section of Sornieth, and with the fresh scent of new growth, Candles would emerge from the depths of the clan's cave system. She’d moved as ever with urgency and purpose, and most in the clan took no note of her presence save for a few hellos from the more friendly members, which were met with a curt but generally cheerful reply.

Candles reassured herself that these trips were research, trying to dampen her own annoyance at the interruption of work. She had no real need to see it- it could even be considered a slight danger for her to linger close enough that it was in sight. Nevertheless, she unfailingly would return to the high ridge just northeast of the clan, cresting the hills with effort before she could arrive at the top, offering a grand view of the Light Flight.

And there it was, a hulking sillhouette that broke the otherwise peaceful skyline.

Luminax.

Half-rotten and torn flesh, the malformed beast roared in the distance with three agonized voices. Its multiple torn wings would flap uselessly ever so often as one of its slavering maws pursued a stray bird, harpy, or perhaps dragon- from such a distance, it was impossible to tell. Not that the three were any different in Candles' mind.

She stood still and almost enraptured, watching it lay waste to the terrain around it. Its massive bulk was only part of the fearsome strength that led it to tear apart the ground and any ill fated buildings in its path- Once in a while one of the heads would charge up a devastating breath attack to unleash elemental force upon the surrounding area. It didn't even seem to be aiming at anything in particular, sometimes- merely releasing some pent up destructive urge from within.

Its hulking form was a decent enough distance away that Candles felt safe viewing it for a long period of time, as she did every trip out here, and now especially. Watching the emperor would bring up many emotions welling within the coatl- Disgust, admiration, hatred- And sometimes, most keenly, longing.

For all her life since the fateful day with an elderly imperial, Candles had longed and planned to finally create her own deity. She could picture it in her mind's eye clearly, an emperor of divine proportions that would blot out even the sun in its radiance. So, when she first saw the newly risen emperor that they now called Luminax, the coatl wasn't sure what to expect.

Of course, she had been crestfallen to see the being itself. Rotting, peeling, glassy eyed and lurching... A sneer of disgust always found its way to her face when she thought of it. It moved only to pursue prey or scream to the heavens, and often the heads would injure each other in their frenzy. Something so, so... Profanely base in its instincts, beastly and ghastly, was a mockery to her dream, her life's work... Yet still she returned to see it relatively often. Sometimes she would simply sit in her hatred, the gods-forsaken beast eliciting an almost addictive rage that she found spurred her ambition.

Sometimes she used it as a comfort- Clearly, whoever had created it, or whatever happenstance had formed it was woefully lacking in the magic and forethought she had in abundance. It was a needed reminder of what could go wrong, and how careful she had to be- Clearly the bodies used had been well on their way to decay when the beast was formed.

Her plan, such as it was, involved more imperials as well- at least six so far, all existing peacefully underground around her workplace. Surely, she told herself, when she finally released them to their divinity, such a creation would rise larger and more magnificent than the shambling horror they called Luminax.

Occasionally Candles would close her eyes and imagine her goal come to fruition- A being all wings and grace, blocking out the sky with its own, more splendid mass. The breadth of the universe playing across its form, massive and unending in its beauty- she would almost shiver with delight at the thought. Towering over the blighted land, each head would whisper divine truths that in her most fevered states she could swear she heard. Such a being, she was sure, would dwarf the so-called deities of the elemental flights- None of them deserved their positions, Candles had decided long ago, and her creation would no-doubt divest them of their foolish delusions of godhood.

And Candles- in the heart of it all, would entreat the newly ascended emperor. Her lord, her god, would hear her pleas and surely, surely reach down with mercy and love to grant her apotheosis, consuming her entirely.

In such imaginings, the coatl found true contentment to imagine her own death. The crunch of bone, rending of flesh, would be a beautiful release from the accursed prison holding her apart from the vast night sky that had called her since birth. She was certain beyond any doubt that infinite euphoria and existence lay beyond that fate, and while the current mock-emperor disgusted her entirely, she admitted no small envy to those it crushed with its slavering maw. Not that they would see the beautiful afterlife she knew was her due- But it was close enough to her dream to elicit a deep longing.

Of course, much dirty work was required for such a goal, and as the sun would set upon Luminax she would consume her brought meal, prepare her things, and head back in time for sunset and the return of her blessed night sky. Never had she stayed to view the emperor at night- She felt to see the beast under her divine heavens would be the most unholy mockery to her faithful devotion of the stars.

None in the clan would take much notice of her return apart from the watch-mirrors, and she could slither down into the caves reluctantly without any fuss. Bidding the night sky goodbye for who knows how long pained her deeply, but she knew once her plan was enacted she would revel as part of it herself- endless, divine, unknowable.

Until then she scried, and planned, and waited. For what, she wasn't sure- But soon. Soon she knew she would act.

#flight rising

2 notes · View notes

the-evil-authoress · 4 years

Text

GX Month Day 9: “Born to be Bad”

Inherently evil, brainwashed, misguided, or misunderstood. GX boots a colorful cast of villainy. Who’s your favorite bad guy?

Ookay. So this prompt almost didn’t happen because the internet went on the fritz. (I do all my writing on Google Docs cuz Microsoft is expensive and free word processors are kinda crappy.) Luckily it’s back and I should be back on track for tomorrow.

Without further ado, let’s dive into Judai and Yubel’s backstroy!

Headcanon: Yubel got sealed into stone by ancient mages while wandering around on Earth.

They cannot keep track of time, only that they can feel him, their darkness, return and expire over and over and over. And they can do nothing, trapped here like this, their body, their soul, their sight imprisoned by stone. How many centuries has it been? How many times could they have protected their darkness if only they were not trapped in this prison? They have lost count. Counting drove them mad.

“-Yubel…”

A voice. Daylight finally pierces through the stone as their eyes open. They squint, eyes burning. This place is so full of color, but it is not the outdoors like they thought. They stand in a building full of colorful shelves. A miniature sun hangs from the ceiling.

“Wow! You pulled a rare one!”

They jump at the new voice, claws raised and prepared to fight. They will not go back to the stone! They will protect their darkness!

No spell or weapon is thrown at them. A man leans over a child’s shoulder.

That child--

“My Darkness!” At last! They reach out as their darkness jerks to look at them. How long has it been since they’ve been able to touch, able to hold him? Their hand passes right through his arm.

What? With watery vision, they look at their claws; through their scales, they can see the floor.

“-right there! The monster on the card!” Their darkness points at them with tiny finger, looking up to the man.

“Hahah, no, sorry, I don't see anything.”

No. No, no! What has become of their body?! Their darkness grips a piece of colored parchment in hand, their own image etched across its surface where traces of the magic that sealed them in stone still lingers.

They’ve traded one prison for another.

“My Darkness,” they choke, and he turns to face them once more. He’s so tiny, so vulnerable. How are they supposed to protect him in this useless incorporeal state? They will do it. They’ll find a way. Miracle or curse, something has brought them back to their darkness, and they will protect him however they can in penance for all the years lost. Ghostly wings wrap around their tiny darkness as large eyes full of wonder gaze up at them. He looks so much like back then, the first time. “I will protect you.” It’s a promise, like the promise he made to them so long ago.

Their darkness smiles, blinding beautiful, and Yubel cries.

“Why do you call me that?” their darkness asks, legs swinging as he sits in a chair far too large for his tiny body, colorful parchment - cards, these are called cards - spread out on the table before him. There are other ghostly visages whose faces appear on the cards; Yubel bares their fangs and the others stay away from them, but their darkness urges them to ‘play nice’. Ghostly claws comb through his hair and the message remains clear: he is MINE.

“Do you not remember?” Yubel tilts their head. The others are not bothering the two of them today; they have their darkness to themself.

Their darkness mirrors the action, frowning. “What am I supposed to remember?”

What...?

No. How can this be? Their darkness has always remembered them. How long has it been? What happened while they were imprisoned? The magic here is so thin, almost nonexistent. When Yubel had last been free, the magic still flowed rich and thick. Now it feels like a dry well with only drops remaining. The seal that binds them to their image on cardstock is pitifully weak, and yet Yubel does not have the resources to break it. They cannot even take their full form. Or perhaps their body remains trapped in stone while their soul is here? They cannot tell.

Their darkness still stares at them, head cocked and waiting as patiently as his tiny, fidgety body can manage. There are too many ways to answer that question. Where does Yubel even begin? Just trying to think about putting all of it into words hurts. “What shall I call you?” they hear themself ask.

Their darkness perks. “My name is Judai so call me that.”

“...Judai.” How many names have they called their darkness? They’ve forgotten. There have been so many. But this name feels right in their mouth, like it belongs there. “Judai. My Judai.”

“My Yubel.” Judai laughs, and they feel such a surge of pride and love well up within them.

Memories or not, this will never change.

Everyone that dares hurt their Judai, everyone that dares come between them is punished. Yubel may not have their body, but their power still remains. They can sink their claws into an adversary’s mind and rip it asunder, rendering it broken and useless. They do not understand why their Judai screams and shakes - They were trying to hurt you. It’s better this way.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

Yubel tilts their head as their Judai stops in the middle of the sidewalk. The hospital looms behind them and Yubel still doesn’t understand why their Judai insists on coming here, why those people that tried to hurt him and separate them deserve so much of their Judai’s thoughts.

“You’re the one who’s doing this.”

Yubel doesn’t need him to elaborate. His thoughts are full of the people that lie in hospital beds behind them. Why? Why, why, why? Why do you waste so much love on them? Didn’t you promise me?

“To protect you.”

Their Judai’s thoughts take a sharp turn as he spins toward them. “I don’t want you to protect me anymore!”

Yubel reels back at the outbursts, at the pain anger hate in their Judai’s eyes. “They hurt you-”

“We were playing a game!”

“They tried to separate us-”

“Stop it! Just stop it!” There are tears in their Judai’s eyes. Yubel doesn’t - can’t - understand. “No one talks to me anymore. They all stare at me like I’m some kind of monster. You won’t even let the duel spirits near me! Do you know how lonely it is?!”

Their anger flares. How dare their Judai talk about loneliness?! They were the one alone for centuries, trapped in stone! They are together now! Their Judai should have no need for such sentiments! “Everything I have ever done was for you!” Yubel roars.

“GO AWAY!” Judai screams, turns on his heel, and runs.

They bury themself far deep into whatever space they exist when not watching over their darkness. Maybe it’s the stone, maybe it’s the card, they don’t know and they don’t care.

Why? Why, why, whywhyWHY?

“I’m sorry...” A tiny sniffling voice. “I didn’t mean it.”

When they finally peer out of the oblivion again, their Judai sits at his desk, swinging his legs, as colorful sticks fly across a blank page. Other colorful images adorn the desk already, and Yubel recognizes the faces.

He does remember!

No, not yet, not quite. Their Judai does not realize the significance of the images under his fingers. But the memories are there somewhere. Yubel digs.

Their Judai curls over the desk with a gasp and Yubel jerks back. No. They cannot risk hurting him. If the memories truly still exist, their Judai will find them eventually. Yubel can wait. They’ve waited this long.

They would wait an eternity more.

Willful ignorance led them here. They turned a blind eye to their Judai’s thoughts, telling themself they were giving him the space he asked for. They should have known, they should have paid attention!

“Why are you doing this to me?!” Yubel screams as strange hands carry her farther away from their Judai.

“Be safe,” Judai whispers.

They scream and thrash against the magic that binds them to this pitiful scrap of paper, but they are powerless as they are carried further and further from their Judai.

Then, it is dark and cold and they float alone.

Out here, magic flows freely. Out here, they can finally take their full form, but they still cannot shake the chains that bind them to their card.

They scream in rage and anguish. No one answers. They are alone.

Then, the burning light comes.

J̴̧̭͚͛u̵̟̽d̶̬̦̲̂̐̎̆͂ą̶̗͔̬̀i̵̫̼̝̥̼̾͑ ̷̛̹̥̲̀w̵̗̽̈́̈́̏̍h̶̻͓́̽́͒͝y̵̹̑̉ ̶̬̙̬͓̂̑͑͘͜w̶̹̮͌h̷͈͎͓͈̽̾ȳ̸̙͔̍ ̴̛͖̘̯͖̲̐̓́̚d̴̨̏́̾̒ͅȉ̶͈̠̚͠d̴̯̼̫̕ ̷̢̙̜̱͒̋ỳ̶̬̀ŏ̴̹̦̬̀̌ȕ̵̡̖͉͙̬̑ ̵̻̥͚̹̻͂̄̉̕͝d̶̖̼̖̞̦̀õ̴͍̣͉̯̣̋ ̵̢̠̟̿͆̾̾͋ͅt̷̳̠̘̣̏̕͝͠h̵̡͍̰͓͙́͛̋̓͠i̶̼̖̠̿ş̸͎̬̥͊̌ ̶̨͕̠͉͗t̸͚̪̖̥͐͐́ͅȍ̵̳͈̱̦̓ ̵͙̫̟̻̼̄͌͝m̸̛͉̊̎͘e̴̮̬̳̲̳͛͂͆ ̸̞̭̲̇̂̔̕͜ḭ̴̀t̸̺̔͊̕͠ ̵̳̎͆h̸̖̆̋̕u̸͂ͅr̸͖̄͗ẗ̴̼̪̖̘̘́̈́s̵͔̜̳̝͊̾ ̴͚̏͋͝i̶̱̮̤̔̅͑͜t̵̞͉̫͔͖̽̀ ̶̗͖̗̜͕̄ẖ̸̪̟̫͐̿̇̅u̸̧̱͎̎͛r̵̩̘̓͊̿͝͠ţ̷̗́ş̸̖̩̬͆́͝ ̷̬̈́̎͆͛ͅh̷̙͇̟̃̚͝ë̸̛́͗̾̃͜l̸̜̲̂̋͑̎͜͠ͅͅp̴̞̪̟̀ ̷̼͕̈́̍̿͜m̸̤̤̞͚͑e̸͕͍͕͔̍ ̵̜̑́J̴̺̱͕͉̈́͗̿ͅụ̶̢̹̬͑d̴̡̩̖̣̆̔̕a̴͚͉̍̎ī̵̤̬̳̞!̵̨̼̹͚̄͐

Judai wakes screaming.

The boy stands shaking under his mother’s hands. The parents look like they haven’t gotten decent sleep in weeks; the boy looks like he’s forgotten what decent sleep is. According to the parents, they’ve tried all kinds of modern medicine, therapy, and hypnosis, and the boy’s night terrors have only gotten worse. They’ve come to him as a desperate last resort.

“Can you help him?”

Sartorius taps his deck, thoughtfully. “I can try.”

The parents are perhaps too eager to leave their child alone in his care. Sartorius isn’t much more than a child himself, but it’s hard to ignore the red flag. They are probably just tired, he tells himself, and less interference is better for his concentration.

“Are you gonna make me better?” the child mumbles, clinging to the hem of his jacket.

“I’m going to try,” Sartorius says with as much gentle warmth as he can muster. “I’m Sartorius. What’s your name?”

“Judai,” the boy’s voice is a broken whisper.

Sartorius nods. “Alright, Judai. Can you tell me about your nightmares?”

Judai flinches. “She’s in pain...”

“She who?” Sartorius asks, but Judai doesn’t answer. “We’re going to do a card reading first to help me identify the source of your nightmares and what to do about them. Do you understand?”

Judai squints at the deck of cards then shakes his head.

“Would you like me to explain as I go?”

Judai shakes his head again.

“Alright.” Picking up his tarot deck, he shuffles the cards and sets them on the table once he feels they are ready to answer the question at hand. Given his limited knowledge of the issue, a simple linear pattern will do best. He lays the cards out one by one - Ten of Pentacles, The Demon, Two of Cups in reverse, Two of Swords, and Five of Cups.

Aware of the eyes that watch him, Sartorius tries not to wince. The Ten of Pentacles tends to point towards an inheritance and financial security, but that hardly fits the tone of the rest of the cards. No, Sartorius already knows this ‘inheritance’ has nothing to do with material goods, for these cards are not how he predicts but a tool to focus his foresight.

The Demon is a troubling sight. An omen of caution and, in it’s ‘past’ placement, signifies a poor choice now bringing about misfortune.

At ‘present’, the Two of Cups has been placed - in reverse. What should have been the ultimate partnership of love and trust has been flipped on its head and thrown into disarray.

Immediately following sits the Two of Swords, demanding that a decision be made.

And lastly, the Five of Cups heralds the distant future.

The current predicament involves another party that Judai likely wronged in some way. ‘She’s in pain,’ the boy said, and Sartorius is willing to believe that ‘she’ is the cause of the boy’s nightmares. Reaching for his deck again, he spreads the cards and carefully flips one over. The Queen of Swords stares up at him in reverse, and Sartorius makes his decision.

“Judai.” The boy’s eyes jerk from the cards and back up to Sartorius. “This next part may be a bit uncomfortable for you. May I touch your head?”

With wary eyes, Judai nods. Sartorius reaches out slowly, giving the boy ample time to move away if he wants. But Judai sits eerily still for a child his age, and Sartorius’ fingers make contact. Breathing in, he focuses. Foresight is not his only ability, though it is his strongest and most useful, and the only one he publicizes. It barely takes any concentration to feel another presence, another being, clawing at the edges of Judai’s mind and screaming. Sartorius nearly jerks back with a gasp.

Perhaps it’s not fair, making the decision for the child. But his parents asked Sartorius to rid Judai of the nightmares and Judai has not opposed the matter. His eyes linger on the cards spread across the table - the Queen of Swords in reverse, a trusted confidant turned madman; nothing good will come of the relationship Judai has with this being. So Sartorius reaches for another set of talismans and places his hands on Judai’s temples again. “I know how to help you.”

The eyes that stare back at him speak of countless disappointments and failures; Judai is too scared to hope, but he still closes his eyes when Sartorius asks him and lets himself be lulled into a hypnosis trance. Then Sartorius focuses his power once more, drawing the lines of a seal in his mind’s eyes as he murmurs the words to reinforce it.

The creature screams and thrashes, and Sartorius finds himself rushing over the pattern and words to prevent the seal from being broken before it’s even been finished.

“No!”

Judai’s eyes fly open just as the seal sets, tearful and glowing gold. His cry echoes the creature’s screams and, for one terrifying moment, Sartorius thinks it didn’t work. But the gold fades from the boy’s eyes and vacant brown blinks at the room before him. Judai shifts in his seat, looking around the room as if seeing if for the first time.

“Where...am I?”

“You’re in my office, Judai,” Sartorius says gently. The child’s eyes snap to him with wonder; the despondent fear from earlier has vanished. “Your parents brought you here so I could help you. Do you remember that?”

“I...” Judai stares, eyes foggy.

Oh dear.

The mind is fragile and memory fickle. The seal is patchy at best, sloppy at worst, and Sartorius sealed away far more than he intended. “It’s alright, Judai, I’ll call your parents.” Swallowing his unease, Sartorius stands. It’s for the best, he tells himself.

“He no longer remembers his nightmares,” he murmurs to the relieved parents as Judai yawns and sags against his father’s leg. “It would be best not to speak of them again.”

He tries not to feel sick as the pair spew their gratitude and offer his pay. The Five of Cups still worries him. It’s a dark omen of regret and misfortune. Perhaps it stems from the mistakes of The Demon leading to long lasting consequences.

Perhaps no matter what decision was made today, there will be consequences.

#gxmonth2020 #yubel #Judai Yuki #jaden yuki #gx #ygo gx #ygogx #yugioh gx #yugiohgx #yu gi oh gx

10 notes · View notes

animegenork · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on Ivan Chapter 5

And so, here we are. I’m finally doing this.

As a disclaimer: I’m very very very very very very late, and I know that. But I also needed to finish the chapter before having official thoughts on it. (Because that makes sense.)

And now, I can.

I made a Google Doc to write down my reactions each day I played, as I am free 2 play and needed to keep track of this stuff. So here is the entirety of the mess that is my reacting to this chapter. (I’m putting all this under the cut so those who don’t care don’t gotta deal with this.)

TL;DR: Eloise and Ivan both fucked up. Eloise didn’t trust Ivan enough and ended up breaking Ivan’s trust. Now they’re at a bit of a stalemate because valid feeling vs. valid feeling = hella heated argument. [You’ll have to actually read to get the full story behind this.]

There we are. This was about 11 pages in Google Doc form. I had a lot of thoughts about this chapter.

I’m probably going to reference a couple things from this post I did where I dove into Ivan’s head a little bit. If you want to know more, take a read. I, uh... I ended up being really accurate, and I’m still freaked out.

To be clear, I bounced back and forth throughout this chapter on how I felt about Eloise and Ivan’s actions and words. And let me make a defining statement about my stance:

Eloise and Ivan both fucked up.

They did. Don’t try to convince me otherwise.

Eloise

I made a post once wondering why people were mad about Eloise being jealous. Because let’s face it: jealousy exists. I can tell you a story of a coworker of mine whose ex-girlfriend would consistently harangue him about our other coworker simply because she existed in the same room as him. Jealousy is some powerful shit.

Fans of otome games may not like it or want to deal with the past lovers/jealousy trope, but honestly it’s necessary. Romance ain’t a perfect science, and the more obstacles you have to go through to be with the one you love, the better it’ll be. But this post isn’t about that.

I understand Eloise a lot here. She’s met this Constance, who meant the WORLD to Ivan, and she knows how (seemingly) perfect she is. HELL, I WOULD BE INSECURE TOO. Eloise is insecure; she wonders if perhaps she can ever measure up to this past lover that Ivan had. She’s starting to experience feelings she may not quite understand, and that’s perfectly okay.

However, she kinda went about it all wrong.

Okay, sure. If I heard about my crush going and seeing his past lover during the day (risking life and limb to do so), I’d be a little suspicious. Maybe the “stalker” or “obsessed” thought would cross my mind. BUT if I remembered that Ivan was clinging to humanity AND realized that letting someone go who means the world to you is incredibly difficult, I would probably be more rational than Eloise. Honestly, Ivan’s big mistake here is letting Eloise find out about this outings because they poisoned her mind a bit.

Now, she could have asked him, “Okay, but why follow her?” Because that would have made more sense than doing the exact thing she was (mentally) calling him out for. But no. She did the same thing. And she found she was unable to hate this woman who, now remarried, used to completely hold Ivan’s heart.

What really ticks me off is that she did this because she didn’t believe him when he said he doesn’t feel the same way about Constance as he used to. She didn’t trust him enough to take him at his word. I mean, he’s a vampire, so I guess fully trusting him is off the table, even though she was fully admiring his shirtless form like 6 seconds ago (I mean, so was I), but anyway.

In the end, Ivan gets mad (UNDERSTANDABLY), and they argue because Eloise has somehow become a little obsessed with this Constance idea. Do you remember what I said about my coworker? His ex was ALSO obsessed with the idea of someone else in his life. It’s a pretty valid concern, and honestly, considering the way I argue with people, I don’t think Eloise’s freak out during the argument is completely unjustified. When you’re insecure, you are trying your DAMNEDEST to prove that there is merit to your worries.

I really sympathized with Eloise at the end of the chapter. She was convinced she’d ruined whatever it is she has with Ivan and that she should’ve kept her big mouth shut. This is exactly how I feel at the end of really bad arguments.

Poor Eloise. She’s never been in a relationship, right? So of course things would go wrong in the first one. But that doesn’t mean she needs to lose hope!

Ivan

I might get rant-y here. Only because some things people have said have PISSED. ME. OFF. Especially in relation to what I now know. (I’m not about to address the claim that Ivan needs a straitjacket now, but it might come in the future, if my newly-acquired knowledge of the definition of psychopathy has anything to say about it.)

Okay, so. Ivan definitely could have been a little clearer when he explained his relationship with Constance. He certainly could have clarified his exact reasons for going to the Village during the day. But with the bits and pieces I gathered, it was... I don’t know, obvious? When you care for someone as much as Ivan cared for Constance, you’re going to wonder how they’re faring after your sudden disappearance. It’s a thing in fiction where if X Character disappears, they wonder how life back home is going.

That might just be me over analyzing character motivations again. Sorry. (It’s an English/Creative Writing major thing.)

Still, this boy trusted that Eloise would give him space after he dug into this painful wound of his. He trusted that she wouldn’t ask anymore until he was ready to go back to poking it. But instead, she went and investigated on her own. Not only does that speak of her not trusting him, but now, how can he trust her when she did this?

I wanna note that before shit hit the fan (i.e. the argument), Ivan was perfectly content with Eloise visiting him. He was ecstatic that she would come to him so early in the night. When she gave him the plant, he BEAMED! He told her that he didn’t think he deserved to care for something like a plant! HE TOLD HER THAT THE FACT THAT SHE GAVE IT TO HIM MADE IT MORE BEAUTIFUL!

Have I mentioned I was sobbing at this part?

I’m not about to go into the nuances of the Chalice-vampire bond, because not much has been explained about it. However, Eloise did, in fact, say something that was very like Constance (all flower-knowledgeable and such), and the fact that that BRIEF tidbit clued her in to Eloise’s actions is interesting. So, yeah. He gets mad that Eloise went to see Constance in person, because that is, in fact, an invasion of his privacy in many ways. It’s like if I went to see my boyfriend’s ex in person just because he gave me a name. (I don’t have a boyfriend, and I wouldn’t do that. Just by the way.) But before that...

You know what I didn’t see in people’s reactions to Chapter 5? How worried Ivan was about us. He saw that Eloise wasn’t acting like herself. And he asked THREE TIMES (count ‘em in my reactions above, he asked THREE TIMES) if she was okay. The THIRD time, he said, “Did I do something wrong?”

I want someone to explain to me how in the fucking world this clues us in to him not caring about us. But anyway.

This concern, in fact, comes up when Ivan starts yelling at Eloise about being reckless. Because she was. Going too far from Ivan fucks with the Chalice bond, AND she did it during the day (and nearly got burnt real bad), AND there’s a murderer on the loose, AND Vlad could’ve found out. What I think a lot of people looked past was that there was concern behind Ivan’s anger. Anger based on concern is a helluva drug, and Ivan was high on that.

So, Eloise broke Ivan’s trust and endangered herself while doing it. And people are mad at Ivan? Okay. Cool. Good to know.

You know what was really crazy about all of this? A lot of the things Ivan said in this chapter really resonated with the post I linked above. I didn’t actually know Ivan didn’t take change (which had fucked him over in the past) well, but he directly said so. I didn’t actually know for sure that Ivan saw Constance as the embodiment of what he’d lost when he turned vamp, BUT HE ACTUALLY SAID IT (the part labeled, “OH MY GOD. OH. MY. GOD.”). I only vaguely understood that Ivan had a hard time coping with his transformation and feared that he was gonna ruin his relationship with Eloise. And yet! I ended up hitting the nail right on the head! I can’t tell if this means I’m magical or that I’m too good at diving into character’s heads.

The best part is that Ivan is the one to call an end to the shouting match. I’m kinda glad he kissed her, first of all, because there were some logical fallacies and circular arguing going on PLUS all of the emotions both were feeling PLUS the Chalice bond fucking them up a bit, SO it kinda served to tell him, “We gotta stop.” He basically says (and this is a paraphrase), “Okay, you go chill, and I’ll stay here and chill, because we’re both very angry and should probably calm down.” RATIONAL IVAN.

I’m really, REALLY confused why people are bashing him left and right (and I WOULD bring up the straitjacket thing again BUT).

[Side Note: I think at the beginning of Chapter 6, he ended up going out anyway because after an argument like THAT, how do you NOT get stuck in your own head and need to leave?]

Final Thoughts

This could all be bullshit. Even the parts where I directly quote what the English version of this chapter gave me. I could be going in too deep for the sake of defending Ivan. But what the Moonlight Lovers fandom needs to remember is that nobody ever said Ivan’s route was going to be easy. I got my fluff. I got some damn good fluff in this chapter, too. I NEVER expected things to NOT go to shit for the sake of the overarching plot. I expected it. That’s the point of this game, for God’s sake: things go to shit because of [PLOT].

There are two main things I think some people may have forgotten.

1. Eloise is allowed to be jealous. I’m sorry the past-lover-jealousy trope isn’t everybody’s cup of tea, but I, personally, find it realistic. Maybe she went about it in the wrong way (although we got some hefty dramarama), but I empathize. I’m hecka insecure; I would be acting very similarly to her.

2. Ivan does, in fact, have a point. He has multiple, actually. I don’t blame him for going further into the “so I would go out to see her-” thing, because how does one properly explain something like that to someone who doesn’t know them that well?!?! Plus, his concern is very clear throughout this chapter, so treating him like he has no emotions/doesn’t give a damn about Eloise is pretty fucking stupid. Perhaps he’s acting rather selfishly most of the time, but do you think Vlad and Bel were entirely selfless 24/7? HELL, I’D BE SELFISH TOO. LOOK HOW FUCKED UP HIS LIFE HAS GOTTEN SINCE HE BECAME A VAMP.

I didn’t really ever plan on doing this post, not until I saw people giving Ivan a lot of shit. Frankly, I’m giving him some shit as well. Considering how close in age Eloise and Ivan are, I’m really not surprised shit hit the fan in this chapter, especially with the decisions both of them made.

But then, I still enjoyed it.

So, yeah. I actually enjoyed this chapter. I was tossed back and forth between empathizing with Eloise and Ivan so much that my conclusion - that both of them had a point and both of them had valid feelings and reactions - was not one I thought I’d make when I went in.

And if anybody else actually happened to find merit in this chapter, don’t be afraid to say so. Hell, you can DM me and tell me EXACTLY why you found merit with it. I don’t mind.

Final Final Thoughts

This is a stupid random thought, but. When did Eloise and Ivan become parts of my psyche incarnate??? Like I empathized with them WAYYYYYY too much. Was this chapter written specifically for me? For a real person who’s felt many of these things before?

Beemoov, did you specifically write Ivan’s route for me? As flattered as I am, this is kinda weird. I didn’t expect to see myself so much in the MC of this game, but here we are.

I’m just bullshitting please no one roast me for having a huge ego it’s just that the coincidence was too uncanny

#moonlight lovers #ml ivan #ml ivan chapter 5 #ml eloise #they both fucked up and i stand by this statement #i'm back on my bullshit sorry #but also not sorry #i stand by everything i said #ivan stans unite #gen rambling again #but not really #this is not rambling in the least #i'm tired now #i crawled into too many character's heads the past few days

10 notes · View notes

star-captain · 4 years

Text

Illuminate

Another part of what I’ve started to call ‘Wandering Stars’, stories of self-inserts interacting with hermits. I dunno if the name is gonna stick, that’s just what the Google Doc is called.

But here’s another piece! This time with the incredible, kind, and talented @theguardiansofredland ‘s character Red. This was a challenging story, but I very much enjoyed writing it and playing with a character I never could have come up with on my own.

The sun settles on the horizon, dipping into the ocean and leaving behind a trail of orange streaking across the surface. It looks like it’s melting, orange fire spilling out. As sunset turns to twilight, the coral and sea pickles below begin to illuminate. The ocean comes alive with color, unbothered by the loss of the sun. Fish swim through pillars that glow softly, shadows playing out like puppets controlled by kelp.

The last hint of the sun drowns into the sea, leaving behind a sharp flash of green across the air. Glass catches the light, refracting the emerald flash over the blue floor and twin towers, across the open cavern. And as the light fades from the sky, a glow begins to materialize on her skin. Blue specks, flecks of light swirl across her skin, fighting off the darkness and growing brighter. Like stars, they grow in intensity as the world settles into the night. Waves of light flow around patches of larger blue, the brightest resting on her shoulders and inner forearms. Symmetric stripes are barely visible through the fabric of her pants, wakes of bright blue against the swirling flecks.

They push their glasses up the bridge of their nose, squinting to get a better look at what they’ve been staking out. Red knew that a monument has been missing for some time now, but they haven’t been able to check out the report until now. There’s someone down at the bottom, below the seafloor. From sea level, all they can see is guardians rise up bubble columns of the twin spires, before falling down into a hole.

She needs a closer look. Red looks over the edge of the glass, at the sharp drop down into the backwards aquarium. There’s no water, and she obviously can’t fly. A flying fish is just ridiculous. She chuckles at the idea, before turning to the other side of the glass, which is holding the ocean at bay from the unusual structure. Peering in, Red can see her reflection in the glassy water. It’s a calm night.

Streaks of bioluminescence mark her face, symmetrical against her cheeks after rising up her neck from her back. They look a bit like shark’s teeth at her chin from this angle, which looks pretty cool in her mind. Red’s hair is still wet from clambering out of the sea, orange and blue tones plastered against her head. Her reflection is broken as she dives in. Down, down down, into the depths of the sea. Where most people would be scared of such deep waters, she calls it home. She can feel the water rush past her face, over her fins as she speeds towards the bottom, and breathes in the cool water.

At the bottom of the structure, Red pauses to look at the strange building. It’s all made of glass, and she’d hate to break something that someone worked hard to build. Maybe she can just push a pane or two out, and sneak in without actually breaking the glass. Red reaches out, placing her palms on the smooth, cool window. She gives a push, but it doesn’t budge. She pushes again, harder. And harder, and harder, until suddenly the glass gives way under her strength.

Red and water sweep into the structure, pooling on the floor and depositing the surprised Kipling on the prismarine tile. Red only chuckles to themself. “Whoops. Maybe pushed a little bit too hard.”

Red stands, slopping through the water back onto dry stone. They made it to the bottom, but wandering around on the floor yields no information as to what is happening here. Red wanders up to the towers of water. Stepping up, they watch as guardians shoot up the column like some elevator on the fritz. The guardians flail about as flowing water sweeps them out and down a mysterious tunnel. Even when Red cranes their neck to look down the middle pillar, they can’t see the bottom.

But on the other side of the glass, around the pillar, he can see a ladder leading down. Abandoning the drop tower, Red quickly clambers down the wood ladder. Deep into the depths of the earth, the ladder spits him out in a cramped room. He looks around. The space is filled with metal hoppers and wood chests, in design that he can’t make out but knows is some sort of collection system. Down the short hall, Red sees the owner of all this.

He’s in a well dressed green suit, asleep in a chair rocked on it’s back two legs against the stone wall. Red jumps at the sound of a crash, but it’s only another hopper filling itself with goods. She turns her attention back to the human. Curiosity draws her closer. The most unusual part of the man is one of his eyes. It looks like it’s metal, with some sort of crystal or something acting as the iris. Can he see her, even though he’s asleep?

She turns away from the human, focusing back on the reason she’s here. And that reason is to understand why this is here, and what is happening to the guardians that enter the tunnel. Just beyond the sleeping man, she can see the guardians. Humans can’t notice it, but each guardian is different. Different scale patterns, different tints in the orange and blue, all making each ocular fish unique. And she can see there must be dozens of guardians crammed into a small place at the bottom of the pit. They’re wounded, but alive.

“There must be a way to get you all out of here. You guys see anything?” She jokes, winking her eye at the cycloptic guardians. She turns around in the small room, seeing lots of different buttons and levers. But none of them look to be hooked up to the fences that hold back the guardians. Red doesn’t want to mess with redstone, as much as she likes flipping switches and pushing buttons- that stuff is too much for her. It doesn’t work well in water anyways. Though sometimes she wonders what it tastes like.

But one stone button, hardly visible against the stone wall, seems like a good chance to free her fishy friends. Red hardly wastes more than a second stumbling to the button and crashing into it. At first she’s smiling, waiting for the fences to open up and for the guardians to be freed from whatever cruel trick this is.

The smile fades into horror as pistons tug stone blocks out from under the guardians, and the pit deepens just enough. Just enough that those already sitting at the bottom fall just a little further. A chorus of shrill cries escapes the stone, echoing around the hall and haunting Red’s mind. How many just died? Hoppers rumble around her, and she starts to put this all together.

She watches the farm run, even though it’s owner is fast asleep in his chair. Wind whistles across the squirming, flailing guardians. Red watches in horror through her glasses as the helpless fish fall all the way to the bottom of the pit. One after another, they screech and die with a sickening crunch against the deep, dry stone. Every time they fall, she feels her heart fall as well, breaking with their bones. The prismarine is quickly scooped up by the hopper system, rumbling and sorting out the goods that dropped upon death.

It’s horrifying, monstrous. Humans tear down an ocean monument, stripping a home for the resources it holds. And then humans build a contraption only for death and their insatiable greed. They have to stop it. Red grabs at the button, pulling it from the wall. It doesn’t stop the endless cycle of death. They haul the heavy double chests out from under the hopper, but the items just sort into a different chest. Behind the chest, Red can see the thin trails of redstone snaking between hoppers. Lit up, making sure the system is running. They crouch down, shoving a scaly arm through the tight space between two hoppers.

She reaches her hand across the redstone, and cuts the connection. The activated redstone gives her a jolt, like holding a channeling trident during a storm. The entire system shuts down, including the water that flushes the guardians to their doom. The sorting machine falls silent, though the dying screams of guardians still echo in the cave and in Red’s mind.

Behind her, chair legs scrape against the smooth stone. “Grian I swear if you plan to shove something into my inventory again!”

Red and the human freeze, staring at each other. The suited man blinks, gazing at the unusual visitor. She’s not sure if he’s ever seen a Kipling before, much less one covered in redstone dust. She hasn’t even noticed that tears were falling until now, and her bioluminescent markings glow brighter than a sea lantern. “What are you doing to my guardian farm?”

“These aren’t for you to take!” Red states, standing up for her home and family, and standing up to her feet. “This isn’t a farm, this is massacre!” She returns to ripping the death machine apart, piece by piece, without a tool. Tossing filled hoppers across the room and risking being electrocuted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, wait!” He approaches Red, before backing off. “Let...let’s talk about this. I’m Iskall. Why are you destroying my...my building?”

“Because you’re killing them.” Red whimpers, looking at where scales and blood splatter the wall of the pit. “Those are...that’s my family, my home you’ve destroyed.”

“The ocean monument?” Iskall questions. He looks up, as if observing the world beyond the stone cave. “I never thought anyone except these laser fish lived there.”

“It’s their home too. Would you like for someone to come and rip it all up and kill your family?” Red tries to wipe away the tears. He hates being so sensitive, forcing himself to be open to a person he doesn’t trust. It’s hard to trust humans when they do this. “All for what?”

“Sahara needs the prismarine to sell to other hermits, taking down the monuments and killing guardians is the only way.”

“If you just looked for help, looked for a different way then you wouldn’t have to! I have more prismarine than I know what to do with, all without ever hurting another guardian.” To prove her point, Red pulls out a handful of prismarine crystals. She lets it fall to the ground, Iskall’s metal eye watching her toss it away like it’s dirt.

The bearded man rubs his chin. “I never thought that anyone lived in ocean monuments, that could talk with us. This does change things.” Red looks up, meeting his gaze. “Let’s make a deal then, shall we? A real Sahara contract. You can supply Sahara with that prismarine, get it all out of your way. In return, you can...ahem, decommission my farm here. And maybe I can talk with the others and see if they can find other ways.”

Red looks around, not quite sure if this is some sort of trap or something. Not until Iskall pulls out a diamond pickaxe, offering it as a sign of good faith to the young Kipling. “You look tired, I’m sure you’re hungry. Let’s see.” He digs around in his pockets, finding a bag of sweet berries. The two munch on the fruit, until Red is satisfied and ready to get back to destroying this place. Using the pickaxe is so much better than using his hands, and he can’t help but smile as each hopper and chest is removed. Iskall even joins in, climbing up to the empty ocean. While Red frees his oceanic brethren from the twin towers, Iskall begins to refill the water he had removed. He can’t rebuild the monument, but at least he can make this place habitable again. Maybe they can make something new here, for everyone.

Destruction has never been so fun, so relieving to Red. Tearing down all her frustrations, and filling it back with the cool ocean water. It’s sunrise by the time the two finish, and Red’s markings are fading in the peeking sunlight. The two stand on the last remaining concrete block, the water below teeming with life. The pit has been waterlogged, and hopefully the tides will eventually wash away the stains of such a death-covered place.

“I think that went pretty swimmingly.” Red chuckles, looking over the ocean. In the morning light, they can see the bright colors of the coral, and thousands of tiny fish go on with their lives among the stony creatures.

Iskall laughs at the pun. “You remind me of a friend of mine, at least when you’re happy. Speaking of, I should probably get back to the other hermits. Call a meeting with the Architechs and tell them our job just got a lot easier.” He holds up a couple of prismarine shards. “And we’ve got a monopoly on the prismarine trade! Please, come visit if you ever have the chance.”

The green-suited man takes out his elytra wings, and soars off towards the mainland. Red looks out at the sunrise, the quiet ocean. Her home. She pushes up her glasses, rolls the sleeves of her shirt, and dives into the water.

#minecraft #minecraft ocean #ocean monument #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft iskall #iskall85 #oc #writing #red #persona #minesona #self insert #wandering star

34 notes · View notes