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nini-trash-forever · 3 years

Text

Jealousy

Luca Changretta x gn (gender neutral) reader

Luca had convinced you to come with him to a “business meeting”. He tended to get bored during things like this. So why not bring someone that could never bore him? He was meeting with some of the other Italians so that they could talk about their next move. You were finishing up the final touches of your outfit to fit in at the restaurant the meeting would be at. Luca came up behind you and admired your reflection in the mirror.

“My love,” he said in Italian as he put his arms around you. He couldn’t help but appreciate what you’re wearing. No matter what you wore, he would appreciate it. You could be wearing a burlap sack for all he cared. You started studying Italian about a month ago so you think you know what he said, but you weren’t sure. Therefore, you just smiled at him through the mirror and hoped for the best. “Are you ready to leave?” You nodded and grabbed your coat and walked out the door to go to his car.

His car pulled up to a local restaurant, Salerno’s. It’s owned by an older couple who came over from Italy a few years ago. You had met the owners, Gabriele and Sofia, a few times and they were sweet people, they minded their own business but would take care of their customers as if they were family. It’s very homely inside and the smell wafts through the air even from the outside. Luca offered his hand to you and led you inside. The delicious smell of freshly baked bread became stronger the farther you went into the restaurant. You stopped and dropped Luca’s hand.

You softly greeted Sofia with a smile and a hug. During one of your previous visits, she hinted at you being able to call her nonna, but you expressed you weren’t quite at that level yet, but you might be one day. Luca had never held a meeting here before, but did so on your recommendation. This is also his first time here. So, he was clearly shocked to find out you were somewhat close with the owners. Sofia leaned close to your ear and whispered just loud enough for Luca to hear, “Is this him?”

“Good evening. My name is Luca.” Sofia didn’t react at first, looking him over for what seemed to be the third time. Was she judging if he was good enough for you? You nudged her a little, but she remained silent.

“Luca, this is Sofia. She and her husband own this restaurant. They treat everyone like family, especially me. So please be good to them.” Sofia smiled and pulled you into a side hug. She also knew that you weren’t good enough at Italian to understand what she was about to say, and she did so with a smile.

“If I find out that you hurt them or someone they care about, I will rip out your tongue and serve it up as a specialty for dinner service.” Luca’s eyes went wide with the threat, you were oblivious. “I think it’s time for me to lead you to your table, hmm?” You nodded and followed Sofia, taking Luca’s hand in your own, but for some reason his grip was very loose. You were concerned.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He swallowed thickly before replying, “Nothing. Just thirsty.” You didn’t quite believe him, but ignored it as you approached your table. You turned to Sofia and thanked her. Luca nodded as a thanks and she gave him a death stare but left to attend to the wait staff. That was suspicious.

“She said something to you, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what she said?” You both sat down, him at the head of the table closest to the kitchen and you to his left.

“No.”

“Smart man,” Sofia said as she walked towards the kitchen. You laughed wholeheartedly at her response. Now it is just a waiting game.

Slowly, the people filed into the restaurant. As the meeting time got closer, larger groups came in until almost the entire restaurant was full of Luca’s associates. You were surprised at just how many people were there. The wait staff came through to take drink orders and get those passed out with menus so that everyone could order their meals. It seemed like utter chaos to you, but controlled chaos to Sophia. Sophia made sure everyone’s orders were taken without a problem.

Orders were delivered to the kitchen where Gabriele and the chefs would make sure they were made to standard. You had watched him work the pass once. It was amazing to see his command and grace running the kitchen and his standard of food was one of the many reasons people came back for more. You knew that there would likely be little to no problems with the food tonight even with a packed restaurant. Within twenty minutes, appetizers started coming out of the kitchen to those who ordered them. Luca had raised his eyebrow at your choice of appetizer because most Italian restaurants weren’t able to get it right (at least in his opinion). You gave him a taste of it, though, and he seemed genuinely surprised at how good it is.

“Wow,” he said, “that’s delicious! I sort of wish I had gotten one for myself.” You smile at his statement.

“When this is over I can ask Gabriele and Sophia to make some extra for us to take with us. Would you like that?” Luca hummed and nodded his head in response. He gave you a look that let you know he adored you. The last appetizer was delivered and the first part of the meeting started. This consisted of them going over major changes since the last meeting everyone was at. It then went on to making sure everyone was on the same page about minor changes and decisions. Soon you spaced out and thought of the entrées that were being cooked in the kitchen. You had excused yourself to quickly use the restroom and talk to Sophia for a minute. By the time you got back, the food was almost ready to be served. Once it was, everyone in the room looked like they were ready to devour everything on their plates.

It seemed that everyone enjoyed their meal and dessert was served not too long after. The meeting continued on after and it seemed as though it was never going to end. You’d silently hoped that Luca could see the boredom on your face. He did. He saw the boredom, but there wasn’t much he could do. Everything being discussed was incredibly important. Eventually the meeting came to a close and most of those from the meeting had left. Some stayed behind to get extra food like you and Luca. One man had stated his wife probably wouldn’t let him in the house if he didn’t get something for her as well.

You drank quite a bit of water throughout the meeting and decided to relieve yourself once again before you left. There was a problem, though. A man who was in the meeting that seemed to be drunk was standing outside the restroom door. He was giving you a look that made you very uncomfortable and was calling you pet names that made it even weirder. This continued to happen until you stood by Luca who was paying for dinner. The strange man still did not catch on to who you were with as he said a certain phrase very loudly that you would never forget, “Hey, sweetheart! How much is he payin’ for ‘ye? I’ll double it. I could treat ‘ye real nice.” With Sophia and Luca right there, you knew something would happen but you pretended to ignore him. You gave them each a look for them to ignore what he was saying in hopes he would just go away. Eventually he did, grumbling how he didn’t think you were that good looking anyway. Luca’s jaw was clenched during this interaction. You could tell it bothered him. It certainly wasn’t the first time a creepy man had propositioned you.

It turned out that everyone had enjoyed their meals and most planned to come back with their families in the future. You grabbed the extra food and said goodbye to Sophia and Gabriele and headed to the car with Luca. His jaw was still clenched. You didn’t say anything to him. This wasn’t because you didn’t want to talk, but rather you didn’t know what to say.

The ride home was a little too silent for your liking. At this point you could feel the anger radiating off of him. He slammed the house door closed. You had tried to talk to him after getting back but he couldn’t handle it at first. You know he wasn’t upset with you. He was just angry that someone would have the audacity to say that to you, and that he didn’t do anything about it (on your wishes).

After a while, he came back to the room you’d stayed in and kissed you harshly. This went on for a couple minutes and he pulled back. It became very clear to you that he wanted your permission to go after the man who’d said those things to you. You declined. “But, y/n, I just want to talk to him for a—”

“The answer is no. I will not allow you to go after a drunk man no matter what horrific things he said to or about me. I am not that kind of person. End of discussion.” He nodded in defeat and hung his head onto your shoulder. Some time later, you both made your way upstairs and changed for bed. Snuggled close together, you sighed as you slowly fell into slumber.

As sleep started to take over you, you briefly heard Luca say something you didn’t understand. “I love and respect you. However, I cannot just let that man get away with it. I will personally make sure he pays. I just hope you can forgive me.” He held you tighter and you fell asleep in each other's arms.

#luca changretta #luca changretta imagine #luca changretta x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader

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nat-20s · 3 years

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Part 8 of the wonderful! Au: the boys answer some questions! Up to you to decide if they actually clarify anything!

(also on AO3)

~*~

Martin: Hey everyone! I know what some of you are thinking right now: it's not Tuesday, why is this episode in my feed? I know significantly more of you are thinking: I don't consistently keep up with podcast releases, how much free time do you think I have, buddy? To answer your queries: this is a bonus episode! We're answering listener questions to clear the air and/or have fun. Also, I don't know, around 20 to 40 minutes a week, as that is the average amount of time per episode? Maybe during your commute? My husband's omnipotence has been gone for five years, we just have to guess at that sort of thing now.

Jon: For legal reasons, that last statement was a joke. In fact, to cover all of our bases, we do not guarantee that any of our responses are genuine.

Martin: Just because we say we'll answer things doesn't mean we'll answer truthfully. Though, honestly, I think we might make it more enjoyable if we do tell the truth. Like, I don't necessarily have a fun lie prepared for our first question from konspiracyking97: "What's their fuckin deal anyway?"

Jon: Is this referring to the oblique references we've made about being from a parallel reality and only ending up here as a consequence of ending one apocalypse and potentially starting another or the general premise of the show?

Martin: Oh, it's gotta be general premise, yeah?

Jon: In that case, I'm Jon, the other voice you're hearing is Martin, we're married, and we talk about things that are..nice? Good? Usually generally but occasionally rather specifically pleasant.

Martin: That pretty much covers it. It's not a complicated show. Uhh, next question comes from Shane: are either or both of you aliens? Nope!

Jon: Well..

Martin: No. We are 100% human people from Earth, we are under no definition extraterrestrial.

Jon: Eh..

Martin: Okay, first off, I know the tone of that 'eh' and "not fully human" is not synonymous with alien, so even if 100% is being a bit generous, we're still from the same planet as our listeners.

Jon:..

Jon: But. We sort of aren't though. Technically speaking.

Martin: No no no no no. I don't care if it's parallel, Earth is Earth is Earth, regardless of whatever nonsense metaphysics might be occurring.

Jon: So what you're saying is that if you got sucked through a portal and landed on an Earth where dinosaurs were still the predominant species, you wouldn't consider yourself to be an alien?

Martin: Nope!

Jon: I'm certain that they would consider you an alien. All of their mammals are probably shrew sized.

Martin: Sounds like a them problem.

Jon: Sounds like a-?! You know what, no, this will be an off the record debate, for now, I suppose I concede that the two Earths and our physiologies are similar enough that we might, maybe, not count as aliens.

Martin: Thank you. Anyway, our next question is from anonymous, and asks, "Is all of this an ARG?"

Jon: A whomst?

Martin: Alternate reality game. It's a method of storytelling that's interactive with audience, and usually has, I dunno, a certain suspension of disbelief to it where it pretends to be something actually happening in the real world until a dramatic reveal. A lot times it was used as a marketing gimmick, but others have done it just for fun. I can show you some examples after the show?

Jon: So it's in essence a more involved creepypasta?

Martin, delighted: Aw, babe, I'm never going to have a handle on what pop culture you are and aren't aware of, huh?

Jon: We were born within a year of each other, and I've told you that I was a deeply morbid teenager, you should probably be able to intuit some of things, love.

Martin: This coming from a man who has yet to see "It's a Wonderful Life", but has seen every film in the "Banjo Cannibals" franchise, including the Easter special. Jesus doesn't exist in the Banjo Cannibals universe, why does it have an Easter special?

Jon: The movies are rather shoddily translated from Russian, so I'm fairly certain the Easter component of that special was invented wholesale in the English version.

Martin: You say that like it answers more questions than it raises.

Jon: Yes, because it does. Oh, and to answer anonymous's question, no, this isn't an ARG. From my understanding of it, if it were, it'd be a poorly constructed one, as there's no real game element to any of this.

Martin: Hmm. Well, sometimes the game component is just trying to figure out what's going on with the story, or if there's any deeper content, and people are definitely doing that with this show.

Jon: That's not by design though. It's more a side effect of us having poor brain to mouth filters, I'd say.

Martin: Harsh, but fair. Oh, this next one is from Zac, no K, who asks, "Are you two actually even married?"

Jon, flat: We are, but it's under false names because this whole thing is an elaborate insurance scam.

Jon, incredulous: Yes, obviously, we're married. What did you hear in this podcast that would make you wonder otherwise, and how do we rectify it?

Martin: Clearly we need to up our quota for how "disgustingly in love" and "horrifically sappy" we are per episode. Which segues nicely into the next question from Gwen, "What's your favourite wonderful thing you've brought so far?" My answer: my husband. He's kind of my favourite in most things, you know?

Jon: Boooooo

Martin: Why, what's your favourite thing?

[Jon reluctantly sighs]

Jon, indulgent: being married.

Martin: A: serves you right for trying to pretend you're the less horrifically sappy and romantic one even though earlier today someone put a love note in the lunch they packed for me-

Jon:- Lies and slander! I have never, in my life, done that, even once.

Martin: Oh, sure, not even once. And you definitely don't reserve the lilac sticky notes specifically for my lunches because you know I like the colour.

Jon: I..I don't.. you're rather ruining my image here.

[Martin snorts]

Martin: Can't have the audience think that you are, on occasion, an incredibly doting husband-

Jon: -A title I would argue we both share-

Martin: - which is obviously why, even with it being your favourite thing you've brought, being married to me is just a small wonder-

Jon, audibly rolling his eyes: As I already explained-

[A Pause}

Jon: Actually, you're right-

Martin: Wait-

Jon:- I really should have brought it as a larger wonder-

Martin: Wait-

Jon: though I should warn you, I think I'd have far too much material for just one little segment-

Martin: No no no no no-

Jon:- In fact, I think I might have too much material for just one little episode-

Martin: Joo-oon-

Jon: I might have to do a whole series! Where would I even start? I mean I could talk about how every day I get to watch the early morning sun highlight your curls when I get up first, or hear you quietly humming and shuffling around the kitchen when you do, or I could talk about how the lunch notes only started in the first place as retaliation to the notes you would leave on the mirror for me to find, or how every time I get to see you at ease in a way that you aren't with anyone else, it takes my breath away, or I could talk about how cute I find the lines between your eyebrows that you only get when you're thinking something petty, but you know it's petty so you don't want to say anything-

Martin: Okay, okay, Christ, I give !up I surrender, and will cease my teasing on this particular topic.

Jon, probably making the :3 face: You don't have to stop. I mean, I could also discuss how very, very attractive I find your voice when it takes on a teasi-mmph!

[There's a pleased hum, then a pause.]

[The audio quality is slightly changed, as if the recording has been stopped and then started later]

Martin, giddy: Uh, heh, anyway, Eric asked what the least favourite thing we've brought was, and because of Jon's attempt to embarrass me live-

Jon, overlapping: It's definitely not live-

Martin:- on air, I'm gonna say it's my husband.

[Jon scoffs]

Jon : If the past few minutes are any sort of indication, I'm going to go ahead and saying that you are lying.

Martin, sighing contentedly: Maybe a bit, but how was I supposed to resist when your indigance gives you that adorable little nose scrunch? In reality, my least favourite thing was probably, um, mini golf? Which, I still don't think is inherently bad, definitely superior to regular golf, but when it's the only thing a next door two year old wants to do with you, the charm begins to wear off a bit.

Jon: Wow. A rather scathing review of a toddler.

Martin: Not so much a scathing review of a toddler as it's a scathing review of minigolf's inability to keep its appeal after the third time in the same week.

Jon: Mmm, the sound effects rather quickly go from part of the atmosphere to part of the irritation, don't they?

Martin: So what's your least favorite thing we've covered here?

Jon: Oh, love, I'm not going to pretend to have nearly enough memory of what we've covered so far to have a least favorite.

Martin: Really? Nothing that you regret or rescind?

Jon: Well, regret, certainly. It was one of the weeks where you went first, and your second item was mutual aid funds, and what they can do for marginalized communities, and I had to follow it with fucking Slapchop.

Martin, poorly suppressing laughter: In your defence, Slapchop, or whatever offbrand we have, is pretty useful, especially when either your scar or my arthritis is acting up.

Jon: I'm still not convinced you didn't somehow see my notes for the recording and decided you get revenge for the first year that we knew each other.

Martin, no longer suppressing his laughter: Yep, you got me! This marriage wasn't an act of insurance fraud, but it was a near decade long con to humiliate you on a podcast that about twenty people listen to. I'll draft up the divorce papers immediately, and then we can finally go our separate ways.

Jon: I'm glad you've at last admitted it. Such a weight off of my shoulders. Goodbye forever then.

Martin: Right.

Jon: Right.

[A beat.]

[There's a pfft from one of them, before both dissolve into giggles that lasts a good 30 seconds.]

Martin, slightly out of breath: I can't believe we're the kind of people that talk this much about speciality kitchen gadgets.

Jon: Sorry about that.

Martin: God, don't apologize. I'm, like, deliriously happy with our varying degrees of useful cooking ware filled life. If you had told 25 year old me that one day he'd be debating the merits of getting a tortilla press with his husband, he'd have wept, I tell you.

Jon: Funny, if you told 25 year old me the same thing, he would've said "You don't know the future,piss off" and then quietly have a bit of a panic at 3 am that night.

Martin: I bet you were insufferable in your mid-twenties.

Jon: First of all, who isn't, secondly, I was fresh out of Oxford, and third, I was insufferable in my late twenties, as you can attest to, and I'm insufferable now, as you can further attest to, so extrapolation would indicate that, yes, I was insufferable back then.

Martin: Probably a different kind of insufferable, though.

Jon: There are different kinds?

Martin: Of course! You used to be "prick boss" insufferable and now you're "smug in a way that I can't admit I find hot or it will go straight to your head" insufferable.

Jon, in the aforementioned smug tone: Oh, really?

Martin: See, see! Straight to your head.

Jon: Well straight is probably the wrong descriptor-

Martin: Oof, 4 out of 10 joke, babe.

Jon: That would be a far more convincing rating if you weren't grinning right now.

Martin: It's a genuine review, I'm just well known to be a sucker.

Jon: You and me both, darling.

Martin: Okay, if you're pulling out darling, you're clearly in too giddy of a mood to be focused on recording. Last question, from Jess, "You two mentioned meeting at work, but how did you actually end up together?" That's easy, Jon pulled me out of a hell dimension and then we went on the lam together to Scotland.

Jon: If that's not the way to tell a cute boy you like him, I don't know what is.

Martin: All right, that wraps up this bonus episode, and as the old saying goes, hiding from murderers in a cottage is more conducive to romance than suggesting you gouge out your eyes together.

Jon, cut off: Hey-!

#tma #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #post canon #wonderful! au #my fic

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glassartpeasants · 4 years

Text

Crying In The Club .5

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of happiness for once?, mentions of past abuse,

*Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3* *Part 4* *Part 5*

A/N: HE HO everybody. Like i promised, they would both be out today. Am I tired? Yes. Am i rushing through his chapter since my dumbass thought it would be cool to procrastinate? Yes. But none of that shit matters now. Its out and we are all good.

Edit: Did I fall asleep while writing this and never finished it? Yes. Was my laptop almost dead when I woke? Yes. Am I sorry for not keeping the promise? Yes. I is big sorry U^U

Taglist

@winchester-wifey @hello-lucky-luka

~~~

You haven’t left the safety of your bathroom in about a week. I mean what was the point of even going out there if all your gonna remember on how horribly you wanted to get out of this shit show. You felt like nothing mattered anymore. Why should it? You were dragged away from all of your friends and family. You had no one except Overhaul. Which practically left yourself friendless except for the voice in your head.

When was the last time you even ate? You remember eating the afternoon you escaped. Soo about a week then? You hold your tummy as painful growls rumble from it. Causing you to groan in pain. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you sighed.

When was the last time you moved from your little spot behind the door? To long...

Kai-Overhaul hasn’t even tried to talk to you. Not even once. Good. You didn’t want to see his disgusting face anyways. It was the same face that gave you nightmares when you slept at night. God even thinking about that prick has your stomach turning as you resist the urge to vomit. Insignificant selfish bastard-

“Miss (Y/N)?” You sigh. It was Hari, Kai’s right hand man. You wanted to hate him but you realized that would be childish. The man never did anything to harm you, he was only trying to follow orders.

“Yes?” You reply softly, Your voice was dry from not talking in awhile. You lick your lips in order to just have some mostiure.

“You can leave the base.” Your eyes shot open so wide you thought they would pop out of your skull. Scrambling to get on your feet you pull open the door. Eyes wide open hoping he wasn’t lying to get you to open the door.

“What?! Are you serious?!”

“Yes Overhaul told me to tell you that. saying how he found someone better for the job.”

A smile etched it’s way into your face. Tears of joy fell down your face as you hug Hari. You pulled him in a bone crushing hug as you thanked him over and over again. You let him go before you ran out the door faster then you have ever ran before. You wanted to leave before Kai changed his mind.

Your feet hit the cement as the tears of joy slowly slid down your cheeks. You ran so fast that your legs felt as if they could fall off your own body. But that pain was welcomed. You would take this pain over staying with Overhaul any day.

Your feet stopped when you had bumped into someone. Your momentum of running knocked down the man and you stumbling back, trying not to fall on your ass.

“Oh my god i’m so sorry!” You profusely as you lend a hand to the fallen man so he could get up. The man took your hand and you couldn’t help but smile and nervously laugh as you enjoyed how soft the mans hands were.

“No it’s okay, I should have looked at where I was going.” You both laugh a little before you rub the back of your neck.

“Hey since you knocked me over how about you let me take you to the cafe nearby. Me falling on my ass has made me thirsty.” You laugh as you let your hand fall to your side.

Looking at the man there was no lying that he was some good ass eye candy. But you were still a little shaken up and weary about what happened not to long ago. But then again you haven’t eaten in about a week...

“You know what? I’d love too.”

~~~

Kai walked down the hallways of the Shie Hassakai on his way to Pops to tell him about his ‘break up’ with you. Finally he got rid of you. No more fighting, no more complaining, no more escape attempts,

and no more of the feeling of your soft lips against his own.

Kai shook his head at the last thought. Why do you plague his mind? How dare you distract him from his work? His goal is on the line here! He can’t have some annoying pest bothering him.

“Finally I’m free of that pest.”

“Kai just the man I’m looking for. Hows your girlfriend?”

“We broke up.”

“Oh, i’m sorry to here that my boy. Don’t worry stuff like that happens!” Pops patted Kai’s back.

“Yeah.” Kai laughed. Trying not to give the secret away.

‘I just met someone new, that’s all.” Kai lied, well kinda. He had met someone new who would do the work for money.

‘You know (y/n) didn’t do it for the money.’

“Oh well that’s too bad. I hope you let her down easy.”

“I did.”

“Well I must be off, see you later my boy.” With that Pops walked off. Leaving Kai to take a long sigh. Stopping in his tracks as he rubbed his temples.

Now thinking about it, you never even asked for anything in return, not money, not jewelry. Nothing. You just...did it. Even after everything he put you through you never asked for anything. Why? Why didn’t you ask for something? What was your plan?

‘Maybe she was afraid?’ Thoughts ran wild in his mind before his phone rang, making his pants pocket vibrate.

Opening the phone he noticed it was the new girl. Picking it up before moving it away from his ear. immediately regretting his decision.

Ugh he couldn’t stand her voice. So insufferable. Sounded like a drying dog. At least your voice was smooth like honey. Yours so calming and sweet-

“No stop it!” Kai yelled at himself. You need to get out of his mind. You were plaguing it like the disease you were. How dare you? How could you make him so confused on what he feels about you. He should hate you!

Kai swore if he thought about you one more time, he would go insane.

~~~

You couldn’t help but giggle. The man was just a charmer! Not to mention he has a great sense of humor! You just couldn’t get enough of him and his jokes. Man it felt amazing to be laughing again, this time knowing you weren’t going to get killed for it.

“So why were you running earlier?” His question caught you off guard but it was fair. You were running like your life depended on it. To you it felt like you were. But to him and looking through his eyes it was only reasonable.

“Ex-boyfriend troubles.” You laugh nervously before taking a sip of your tea. Might as well drink something cold before fall and winter roll around. The taste of the tea hitting your tongue gave you s little smile. You look at the tea before turning your attention back to the man in front of you.

“Well don’t worry, I’m here.” You both laugh as you put a strand of lose hair behind your ear. Man this felt nice to talk to someone who you weren’t afraid of.

“Good to know.”

~~~

‘Oh god can this woman shut up already?!’ Kai thought to himself as he tried to ignore the chattering that came from the woman next to him. Who kept pointing at useless stores that he wished would just disappear if he stared at them long enough.

Since he made the deal with the new girl, with her getting paid and everything, she demanded that they went to the mall together.

“Hey are you listening to me?!” The girl as she screamed at Kai.

“Yes (R/N).” God this woman was going to be the death of him. If he killed her right there would anyone tell on him?

“Okay good! The take me to bath and body works! They’ve got a sale going on!” Ugh he hated that store with a burning passion. All those unholy scents made him want to pass out.

Once they entered the store Kai cringed as all the scents that the store contained filled his nose. Making his nose hurt, causing him to crinkle his nose. He shook his head before staying at the front of the store trying his best to avoid all the horrific scent that this store held. He watched as all of these people in such a closed space pretty much bumping elbows. Disgusting.

“You too man?” Kai turned his head to see another male only a few feet away. By the looks of him, he was in the same exact situation.

“I fucking hate people.”

~~~

“Wow this is so much fun!” You laugh as the man showed you his favorite places in all of the city.

“This....this is nice.” You smile genuinely at the man.

“It was, can I walk you home?” You were about to say sure but then you remembered that your ass was pretty much homeless now. Well shit. Kai had you in that room for so many months that you knew your lease with your landlord would have been broken. Pretty much gone.

“I-uh...I use to live with my boyfriend and then he kicked me out hehe...” Great now he was going to think you were some sort of -

“That’s too bad. I know a place where you could live. It’s a place where you can live there and stay until you get back onto your feet again.” The man smiled at you and you couldn’t help the tears of joy slide down your face. You hug him in desperation hoping it all wasn’t just some sick nightmare.

“This is the nicest thing someone has ever done for me.” Tears drenched your face as you sniffle at bit.

“Hey I’m just doing what my father did to my mom.” The man chuckled. You couldn’t help the giggle that crept out of you as well.

#overhaul x reader #overhaul #bnha #mha #overhaul angst #chisaki overhaul #mha overhaul #chisaki kai #kai chisaki x reader #kai #shie hassaikai #kai chisaki #chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader

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suituuup · 4 years

Note

Could do where Beca actually joined Barden two years later than she should’ve because she initially joined the army, but was sent home after she lost both her legs in a horrific battle. She meets Chloe but is reluctant to have any kind of a relationship because she is so insecure about her body.

so this is what it feels like

rating: m

word count: 3,6k

ao3 link

Barden University.

Beca looks at the sign and heavies a deep sigh as the car rolls forward, stopping at the curb a few minutes later. The driver steps out and takes her wheelchair out of the trunk, setting it up next to the open passenger door.

“Need any help?”

“I got it,” Beca mutters, shuffling to the edge of the seat and easily transferring to the chair. “Can you just hand me my bag? Thanks.”

She sets it on her lap and starts rolling away towards the main building, catching people staring. “What are you lookin’ at?” Beca spits out, glaring at a group of boys who instantly glance away.

She doesn’t want to be here. She was perfectly happy across the world, working for the Army. She had friends there, a family. A landmine took that away from her, as well as her two legs.

She was flown back to the States after an emergency amputation and moved in with her dad and the step monster. The following year was rough, as Beca dealt with both depression and PTSD. Numerous therapy sessions helped her figure how to live again and slowly dragged her out of her grieving state. She eventually agreed to her dad’s suggestion about going to college, figuring she couldn’t stay hauled up in the house forever.

She picked English as a major, as she’s sort of a book nerd, but she’s got no idea of what kind of job she wants to do.

She likes music and enjoys messing around on her computer making mixes but… it won’t ever be good enough for her to actually make a living out of it.

The first few days of classes are uneventful, except for the way people keep looking at her. Beca figures they’ll get used to it sooner or later, but for now, she glares.

She hangs out at the library a lot or at the coffee shop on campus to work on her mixes.

She’s at the library one afternoon, rolling up an aisle to get the book she copied the reference from on one of the computers.

“Damn it,” she mutters when she realizes it’s on one of the higher shelves, which are out of reach.

“Need any help?”

Normally, Beca would say I got it, because she hates relying on other people, but one, she really doesn’t have it and two, the words die in her throat when she takes a good look at the stranger.

A redhead, with the most vibrant eyes and smile Beca’s ever seen.

Her brain eventually reboots and she blushes slightly out of embarrassment for taking so long to reply. “Um yeah. Could you grab me that green book on the top shelf?”

“Sure thing,” the stranger chirps, standing on the tips of her toes to grab it. “Here you go.”

Beca takes it, setting it on her lap. “Thanks.”

She’s about to roll away, when the girl speaks again. “Would you be interested in joining an acapella group?”

Beca’s eyebrow shoots up. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to dance, too?”

“Not necessarily. I mean, we could figure something out, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not. I don’t— I don’t even sing.”

“Oh. Okay. Too bad.” She winks. “See ya around.”

She continues on her way, and Beca on hers.

Beca sees her again two weeks later, at the Barden Beanery. She’s stuck outside because the damn automatic door won’t work and of course it’s starting to rain.

“For fucks sake,” she grumbles, hitting the button once more.

“I’ll get it for you.”

Beca looks over her shoulder to see that same girl from the library heading over. “Oh. Hey there, acapella nerd,” she teases as she manœuvres her chair to roll into the coffee shop. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” she replies, smiling softly. “Wow, this place is packed.”

Beca nods towards a table in the corner. “I think those guys are leaving.”

“Nice catch. Mind if we share?”

Beca shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

She tucks her chair in the free space at the table and opens her backpack to pull out her laptop, ordering a black coffee and a slice of carrot cake when the waitress comes by.

She and the redhead work in silence for a while, Beca with her headphones on (one ear left uncovered) as she messes around with her mixes. She soon loses herself into the music, bopping her head up and down to the rhythm.

“What?” She asks when she catches the other girl staring, blue-grey eyes peering at her above her laptop.

“Nothing,” she murmurs, a serene smile on her features. “I was just wondering what your name was.”

“Oh, right. I’m Beca.”

“Beca,” Chloe repeats, nodding. “I’m Chloe.”

“Cool to meet you, Chloe the nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd!” She cries, laughing.

“You’re in an acapella group, so you’re a nerd by definition.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

They work together for another hour, Chloe bidding her goodbye when she has to get to rehearsals. Beca sticks around until 7, heading back to her hall to head dinner.

“Hi!”

Beca looks up to see Chloe popping down on the seat across from her at that same table as three weeks ago. It’s a week later, and the place is near empty this time around, so Beca’s confused as to why she decided to sit with her.

“Um, hello?” It looks like Chloe’s here to stay, and Beca can’t say she minds? Weird. “You look happy.”

“I am! The Bellas and I are competing this weekend.”

“Competing?” Beca cocks an eyebrow. “So this acapella thing is pretty serious, then?”

“Totes!” Totes? “Our plan is to get selected for the National championships in NYC.”

“Wow. Well, I hope you guys make it.”

“Thanks! You should come check us out if you don’t have anything planned.”

Beca scrunches you her nose. “I don’t know how I feel about being in the same room as so many nerds.”

A laugh flits past Chloe’s lips. “What are you working on anyway?”

“Um, mixes. I mix music.”

Chloe’s eyes adorably pop wider. “You mix music?? That’s so cool. Can I listen?”

The normal Beca would have said no in a heartbeat. She didn’t plan on making any friends, the last year’s events making her more withdrawn and more of a loner. But there’s something about this Chloe, something Beca can’t pinpoint, that makes it impossible for her to say no.

“Yeah sure, if you want to.”

Beaming, Chloe switches chairs to sit next to Beca as Beca takes off her headphones to hand them over. She selects her Titanium + Bulletproof mashup and hits play, taking a sip from her drink as it starts.

The look on Chloe’s face as she listens, one of pure enjoyment, makes Beca’s chest swell with something unfamiliar.

“This is amazing!” Chloe nearly shouts, shrinking in her seat when people’s heads turn towards her. In a lower tone, she adds, “Sorry.”

Beca chuckles. “Yeah? You like it?”

Chloe takes off the headphones. Her eyes are sparkling, the same way Beca’s do when she listens to something she’s really into. “I really do. Have you thought about making a career out of music?”

Beca shrugs. “I did, yeah. I thought about going to LA, but my dad didn’t like that idea because he doesn’t believe there’s a career to be made. He wants me to try college first, for at least a year. I think he’s still pissed about me enlisting in the Army without telling him.”

“How long were you in the Army for?”

“Only a couple years,” Beca says, motioning towards her legs next. “Then this happened.”

Chloe grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” her shoulder lifts in a half shrug. It took her while to reach that state of mind; to stop being angry at the world for what she was going through. She learned to accept her handicap and to live with it, even if some days prove to be really fucking difficult. “It is what it is.”

She doesn’t know why, but that weekend, she finds herself attending that acapella competition to check out the Bellas. The songs suck big time and the outfits are questionable, but Beca is too enthralled by Chloe’s beautiful voice to really care about the rest.

“You came!” Chloe exclaims in surprise when she spots Beca at the end of the show. She’s bending down to hug Beca before Beca can protest, and Beca feels her face heat up as she awkwardly pats her back.

“Congrats on being selected,” she says when Chloe pulls away, her lips stretching in her first genuine smile in a long while.

“Thanks! What are you doing later?”

“Um… nothing planned. Why?”

“Wanna order pizza and watch something on Netflix?”

Chloe’s question makes Beca hesitate for a few beats. She truly doesn’t know what Chloe sees in her, as it’s not like Beca has made any efforts to strike up a friendship, but she has to admit that spending time with Chloe is nice.

“Sure, yeah.”

The night turns out to be one of the best Beca’s had in a while. She doesn’t remember laughing that much since before, and it’s all thanks to Chloe and her dorky sense of humor and positive energy. They hang out more over the next few weeks, either at the coffee shop or at Beca’s dorm, and Beca quickly develops a crush on her new friend, berating herself as soon as she acknowledges her feelings.

Even if Chloe does feel the same way, which is unlikely, it’s not like she’d go out with someone like Beca.

“I need your help,” Chloe blurts one day, plopping down across Beca at their usual table.

“What’s up?” Beca asks, glancing up from her book.

“Our set list sucks. There’s no way we’ll make it through to the ICCA’s.” She sighs, then nibbles on her bottom lip for a couple seconds. “I was thinking… maybe you could make us a setlist? We’ll totes pay you.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to pay me. But would Aubrey be okay with me helping?”

“She will be, I’ll talk to her.”

They spend the next few hours brainstorming songs, eating pizza and drinking root beer on the floor of Beca’s room.

“How ‘bout Don’t You Forget About Me? It’s a cool song,” Beca suggests; they’ve been stuck on the third song for over thirty minutes. “So while a few of you sing the end of Price Tag, the lead could start singing Won’t you, come see about me, I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby,” Beca sang, faltering when she caught Chloe’s weird look. “What?”

“You can sing!” She nearly shouts, her jaw dropped as she shoved Beca’s shoulder. “What the fuck, you told me you couldn’t!”

Beca chuckles. “I was afraid you might harass me if I told you I could,” she pauses, eyeing Chloe. “Am I wrong?”

Chloe grimaces, blushing slightly. “No. We were really desperate at the start of the year.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe how good you sound.”

Embarrassment wrinkles the bridge of Beca’s nose. “I’m pretty rusty. Your voice’s beautiful, though.”

“Thanks, Becs.”

They work on the arrangement for another two hours, and just like that it gets past midnight, but it’s done.

“We did it!” Chloe cheers, throwing her arms up. She hugs Beca tightly, almost making her topple over from the force of it. “You’re the best.”

“Jesus, Chlo,” Beca laughs, hugging back and momentarily melting into the soothing embrace, kind of never wanting to let go.

Chloe’s eyes flicker down to her mouth when she pulls away, and Beca barely has time to inhale before Chloe’s lips are on hers, soft and tender and just… right. Beca loses herself into the kiss for a second; a blissful second where her mind goes blank, before her insecurities slam into her brain at once and wrench her out of the liplock.

“I’m-- I’m sorry, I thought--”

“Well you thought wrong,” Beca mutters, gaze fastened on her thighs. She can’t. She can’t start something and have Chloe change her mind when she realizes she could do much better than Beca. “Can you go, please?”

“I… okay.”

Chloe swallows and hastily gathers her stuff, the door soon clicking shut behind her.

Beca doesn’t see her for a week; she doesn’t go to the coffee shop, preferring to stay hauled up in her room to work through her frustration.

A knock at the door cuts through her thoughts one night as Beca is chilling on her bed messing around with more mixes.

“One sec,” she calls out, shuffling to the edge of the mattress and transferring herself into her wheelchair. She rolls to the door and unlocks it, pulling it open as she backs up to make room. Chloe is standing on the other side. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says, her greeting uncharacteristically quiet. “Can I come in?”

Beca nods and backs up some more, waiting for Chloe to slip inside.

“Aubrey loved the setlist,” she murmurs with a soft, albeit nervous smile. “She says thank you.”

Beca nods. “That’s good, I’m glad.”

A sigh puffs past Chloe’s lips. “I’m really sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t-- I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Beca wets her lips, finding the courage to meet Chloe’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have snapped. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just--” she sighs, struggling to find the right words.

“Just what?” Chloe presses gently.

“You don’t-- you don’t want this.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at me,” Beca raises her voice, motioning towards her amputated limbs. Tears burn behind her eyes as the frustration that’s been bubbling up inside of her finally bursts out. “I don’t have legs, Chlo! I can’t walk, I can’t dance, I can’t-- do normal person stuff.”

“Beca…” Chloe whispers, taking a few steps forward and kneeling in front of Beca’s chair. Beca averts her eyes, hating that she’s on the verge of crying. “Look at me,” she coaxes gently, reaching up to cup Beca’s cheek. “It breaks my heart for you that you don’t get to do those things anymore, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you, or the fact that I want to be with you.”

Beca blinks, the shield surrounding her heart splitting open and vulnerability shining in her eyes. “You… want to be with me?”

Chloe simply smiles. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

Beca’s eyes flutter shut for a few beats as she puffs out a breath, trying to tame down her insecurities about her body and letting people in in general.

“Hey,” Chloe murmurs, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want to make you do anything you’re not ready for, alright? If you do feel the same way, we can take it slow. You set the tone.”

Chloe’s words soothe the anxiety swirling in Beca’s belly and her heart swells; she trusts Chloe and her intentions and god, she really wants to be with her, too.

Leaning forward, she cups the side of Chloe’s neck and brushes her lips across hers. Chloe hums, smiling against Beca’s mouth before she kisses back.

“I’m taking you out on a date tomorrow night,” she says when they eventually pull away.

Mind still tipped upside down from that kiss, Beca blinks and nods, a dizzy smile spreading across her lips. “Alright, nerd.”

The next few weeks turn out to be amazing as they easily fall into a relationship dynamic. They hang out even more, texting whenever they’re not together. It’s kind of gross, how happy Beca feels, but she figures she deserves it after everything.

“Can we um— pump on the brakes a little?” She asks breathlessly one evening, squeezing Chloe’s waist as she straddles Beca’s lap.

“Yeah, of course,” Chloe rasps, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked that, I just— I’m not there yet.”

She’s terrified Chloe might not find her attractive or worse, be grossed out when she finally sees Beca completely naked.

“That’s okay,” Chloe assures her, pecking her lips. “You set the tone, remember?”

“Thank you,” Beca murmurs, truly appreciative of Chloe’s selflessness. “Hey, so um, I have my first physical therapy session with my prosthetics next week and uh, I guess I would like it if you could be there?”

She’s had countless appointments over the last few months to get measurements and fittings for her prosthetic limbs, and she would finally see whether or not she could walk in them next week. While she’s been wary so far about including Chloe to that part of her life, she knows she’ll need someone there for emotional support, and she can’t think of anyone better than her amazing girlfriend.

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Yeah? That’s exciting!” Softening, she adds, “Of course I’ll be there.”

Beca is a nervous wreck by the time her appointment comes around. After much internal back and forth about whether she wanted Chloe to be in the room while they set up the prosthetics and for her to see her stumps, Beca eventually figured she would sooner or later anyway.

Chloe doesn’t show any signs of being grossed out once Beca’s pants are off, and she even grabs Beca’s hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, as though reading Beca’s mind and guessing she needed some sort of reassurance.

Once the technician slipped the sleeves and liners on Beca’s residual limbs, she straps the prosthetics on. “How does that feel?”

“So far so good.”

“Alright, ready to take some steps?”

Anticipation and slight nerves swirl in Beca’s guts as she nods, moving her wheelchair in front of the metal bars. She puts the brakes on and with the technician’s help, rises to her feet.

Her trembling hands reach for the bars as the technician holds onto her waist with a belt in case she loses her balance.

“Let’s try a couple stationary steps first,” she advises, and Beca manages to lift one foot after the other, familiarizing herself with the feeling. “Great job. Let’s try a couple steps?”

Beca nods, exhaling slowly and gripping the bars tighter as she moves her right foot ahead, then her left. It’s wobbly and the sockets are a bit uncomfortable, but she knows it’s just a question of getting used to. Tears sting her eyes because she’s walking again, and while she knows the road ahead is still long, she also knows she’s going in the right direction.

“Doing okay?” The other woman asks as Beca takes another two steps.

“Yeah, I just need a small break.” It’s much more exhausting than she thought, sweat beading on her forehead already.

Chloe’s grinning from ear to ear when Beca glances back at her. “You’re walking, babe.”

“Yeah,” Beca exhales with a disbelieving laugh. “I won’t take you out dancing right away, but someday.”

Someday.

Chloe takes her out for a celebratory dinner after and once they’re back to Beca’s dorm and on her bed to watch something on Netflix, Beca doesn’t reach for her computer, capturing Chloe’s lips in a yearning kiss instead.

Their make out session quickly turns hot and heavy, and Beca whips her top over her head at some point, staring at Chloe with darkened eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“I love you,” Beca murmurs instead, cradling Chloe’s cheek tenderly. “I’m so sure.”

Chloe’s eyes soften, and a dazzling smile spreads across her lips as she kisses Beca. “I love you, too.”

Time slows down after that as they explore this new window in their relationship, and Beca doesn’t feel one bit uncomfortable about her appearance, not when Chloe is showering her body with so much love.

The next couple months are pretty much perfect. Chloe and the Bellas win the ICCA’s, Beca continues making progress in physical therapy, to the point where she’s able to walk short distances with just the help of a cane.

On Chloe’s graduation day, she shows up not in her wheelchair but on her feet, intending on surprising her girlfriend, who has no idea she got that far. She spots Chloe talking with her family across the room after the ceremony and slowly but surely makes her way over, gripping the bouquet of flowers in her right hand tighter as nerves over meeting Chloe’s parents sprout in her belly.

“Oh my god,” Chloe croaks, her eyes widening and a bright smile lighting up her features when she finally sees Beca.

“Hey you,” Beca greets with a lopsided grin, laughing softly when Chloe shakes her head in awe and tucks herself into her arms. Beca inhales her scent, closing her eyes as she basks in the closeness. “Congratulations. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Chloe kisses her softly, taking the bouquet from her to slip her hand into Beca’s now free one and gently tugging her to the older pair.

“You must be Beca,” Chloe’s dad says, his eyes the same vibrant blue as his daughter’s as he extends his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too, sir,” Beca replies, accepting the handshake.

“Please, call me Mike.”

“And I’m Alice,” Chloe’s mom introduces herself next, her smile warm and genuine.

“You’re joining us for lunch, right?” Mike asks, offering a matching smile.

Beca smiles and her heart warms, not having expected an invitation. “Um, yeah, sure. I’d love to.”

Chloe kisses Beca’s cheek once her parents start to make their way to the car, walking slowly to match Beca’s pace.

“What?” Beca asks when she notices Chloe is staring at her profile.

“Nothing,” Chloe murmurs, squeezing Beca’s hand. “I’m just really happy.”

The Beca from a year ago would have never thought she’d know what it felt like; to be loved and loving someone like she did Chloe. Yet, here she is, the happiest she’s ever been, and she’s got the feeling it’s just starting.

“Me, too.”

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #chloe beale #beca mitchell #pitch perfect fanfiction

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fancytrinkets · 3 years

Text

Brandy in the Library (Trevelyan/Dorian)

Note: Flirting and friendship features heavily here. Content warning for excessive alcohol use. And if you’ve read it before it’s because I’m repurposing pieces of my recent fic for 30 Days of Dorian. As a courtesy for potential readers, this is probably one to avoid if you don’t want to read about a mage Inquisitor who didn’t support the mage rebellion.

On his way to see Leliana, Trevelyan passes through the library — though it's not much of one yet, stocked only with a handful of books scavenged from Haven. A team of scouts went back three days ago to sift through the rubble. They returned with whatever they could salvage.

Dorian's sitting at one of the library tables, paging through a half-scorched book. He looks up as Trevelyan approaches, and smiles in a way that makes Trevelyan's heart beat faster.

"I see you've found this place," Trevelyan says. "Have you been to the other library?"

"There's another library? Does that one have more than eight books in it?"

"In fact it does. If you're free in two hours, I have a break between meetings when I can show you."

"I have a better idea," Dorian says. "Let's make it later this evening. I hear the tavern's expecting its first shipment of supplies. I'll nick a bottle of something good. You can have a drink with me in this secret library of yours."

That same evening, he finds Dorian waiting for him in the upstairs library with a bottle of Antivan brandy in hand.

The man looks even more attractive than usual, if that's possible. He's clearly taken extra care with his hair and clothing. He's chosen robes with an uneven cut, alluringly designed to reveal the contours of his chest and shoulders. Trevelyan has to force his imagination away from its preferred course — conjuring up vivid imagery of Dorian taking off those robes and climbing into bed with him.

Instead he focuses on the brandy.

"Always a good choice. Shall we get started?"

"Lead the way," Dorian says.

Trevelyan endures a pleasant case of nerves as he takes the stairs to the cellars and unlocks the lower library. He's been looking forward to this all afternoon, and now that the moment is here, he hopes Dorian won't find fault with his choice of venue.

His worries disappear as soon as the door shuts behind them.

"Very interesting," Dorian says. "A mage's library."

He pauses at a shelf near the entryway to have a look at the spines of the nearest books.

"Old, but not ancient," he says. "I wonder who was living here several hundred years ago."

Trevelyan doesn't have answers. While Solas seems familiar with Skyhold, he doesn't speak as freely and generously about it as he does when he's asked about the Fade.

"Hard to believe we found this site just when we needed it most," Trevelyan says.

"Or you were, in fact, chosen by Andraste." Dorian doesn't sound like he's joking.

"I can't rule it out," Trevelyan says. "But I'm not claiming it either."

"Fair enough. Here."

Dorian pours for both of them and hands Trevelyan a glass. The first sip warms his throat delightfully. He takes a seat and Dorian pulls up the other chair, moving it closer to Trevelyan before he sits down.

"Here we are in a southern mage's library," Dorian says. "I think you should tell me what it's like to be a southern mage."

"What would you like to know?"

"About you? Probably everything," Dorian says. "But start with what it was like to learn magic at your Circle."

Trevelyan shares a few stories from his younger days at Ostwick — of learning magic along with his peers, and being cautioned all the time about its dangers. In contrast, Dorian offers some details about his own elite, but tempestuous magical education in Tevinter. The differences in their training are vast, and yet the more they talk, the more Trevelyan appreciates the similarities in how they both turned out.

Openly and without shame, Dorian loves being a mage. It's obvious just from watching him. He loves the way it feels to use magic — and he's exceptionally good at it. Trevelyan knows that feeling also. Not the total lack of shame, of course. But in the months since he's left the Circle, he's grown to love his own magic in a way he never truly did before. The chance to use it fully for a good cause, to push himself to the limits of his capacity, and to see, for the first time in his thirty-five years, what a powerful mage he is — it's an unparalleled experience.

One that Dorian understands.

Trevelyan reaches for the bottle and pours them both another drink. He can feel the warmth in his belly, relaxing him.

Dorian smells good, he thinks. He'd like to hold this man close — press him against the bookshelves and kiss him, perhaps — all the while breathing in deeply to appreciate his scent up close. Trevelyan is far from anything he'd find so embarrassing as being fully aroused by nothing more than conversation and fantasy — he's not a teenager, for Maker's sake. But he is aware of the early stages of that particular reaction, and his close-fitting robes don't help him. He shifts in his chair for better comfort and discretion, and tries to stop the flood of mental imagery from pouring in.

Soon enough, he and Dorian are falling back into the friendly give and take of a conversation in which they don't quite agree.

The topic is templars — more specifically, the need for the power of mages to be held in check by a group of trained professionals with the ability to suppress magic when needed. Trevelyan finds it essential, given Tevinter as the cautionary tale. Dorian finds the south to be an example of a system both poorly designed and horrifically implemented — "hence the mage rebellion, yes?"

"Well, obviously the Circles here need to change drastically," Trevelyan says.

"And yet you were loyal to yours," Dorian points out.

"It's complicated."

"How so?"

Their exchange continues over drinks refreshed a third and fourth time.

Trevelyan replies with some details about Ostwick, but witholds others. He explains it as more lenient than most, without dragging his family into it. He may be keeping things back, but it's mostly because he wants to stay on topic. He likes these conversations.

He's being pushed, yes. But in the process, he's clarifying his thoughts — revising and rethinking them. Sometimes he agrees that he's wrong, or concedes that he's too accustomed to one way of thinking to change it immediately. And Dorian takes as well he gives. He's got a certain arrogance about him, sure, but when they start talking this way, he often yields a point and backs off without rancor when he knows he's mistaken.

It's refreshing and interesting to speak so candidly.

"Alright," Dorian says after the fifth drink has been poured. "If your Circle wasn't abusive towards you, then what about your peers who voted to rebel. What did they want?"

By now Trevelyan's thoughts are feeling nicely fuzzy.

"I don't know," he says. "More from their lives? The chance to move freely, live where they choose, visit families, get married, have children, that sort of thing."

"And that didn't matter to you?"

"I agreed with them. We all deserve those chances if we want them."

"But?" Dorian asks.

"Complacency? I'd begun to accept my life for what it was. A limited one."

Dorian shakes his head, disbelieving. "You don't strike me as complacent at all."

"Oh?" Trevelyan asks. "How do I strike you?"

Dorian smiles, but doesn't answer. At least not at first. He finishes the last of his drink, holds the glass forward, and then watches as Trevelyan pours him another.

"You strike me," he says. "A lot of ways."

"Good ways, I hope."

Dorian tilts his drink until it shines with reflected candlelight. He studies it a moment, then looks at Trevelyan.

"You're not as well-read as some, but more clever than most. Good-natured, though I suspect you have a temper under there somewhere, and that's intriguing," he says.

"Also, you seem to genuinely care about everyone. Including the people you don't like — which I can't even fathom. What sort of forbidden magic granted you that ability? Please tell me so I can avoid it — it looks exhausting!"

Trevelyan laughs. "And here I was expecting insults about southern mages with our backwards ideas."

"Yes, I was getting to that part."

Drinking and laughing with Dorian is a wonderful way to spend the evening. As the haze of intoxication sets in, Trevelyan finds he's happiest to talk about the battles they've won while fighting together.

"Do you know," Dorian says, "how thoroughly I underestimated you when first we met? I thought I'd have to look after you at Redcliffe castle — get you through the ordeal with my superior knowledge and abilities."

"Hah! How altruistic of you."

"Not at all. You were very nice to look at — I considered it a pleasant burden."

"Wow, that's– I'm speechless." Trevelyan can hear the drunken slurring of his words. It only makes him giggle.

Dorian's still lost in the story.

"When you took down that first guard with one hit, I thought, alright, perhaps this one can handle himself. And that was before we stumbled into the large hall full of Venatori."

"Ugh, there were nine of them, I remember."

"Yes, and I didn't like our chances," Dorian says. "But then you said, 'You take those three, I've got the rest,' and I started to think that between the two of us, maybe I wasn't the unbearably arrogant one, after all."

"No, hold on," Trevelyan says. "Did I not get all six of them?"

He knows he did. And he's sure it doesn't count as arrogance if you're actually capable of doing the thing you claim you can. But he thinks he might have that backwards. Thoughts are increasingly difficult to keep hold of.

"You did get all six!" Dorian says, sounding delighted. "I was very impressed."

"Glad I wasn't too much of a burden for you."

"I'm honestly surprised you trusted me. I doubt I would have."

"I didn't," Trevelyan admits. "I was expecting a double cross. But I was desperate enough to risk it."

Dorian grins at him and raises his empty glass.

"Here's to desperation!"

"To being wildly desperate for things," Trevelyan says, and clinks their glasses together.

Dorian tries to drink, only to find nothing left of alcohol.

"Fuck, I'm drunk," he says.

"I'm the same. And I should go to sleep," Trevelyan says. "I have meetings in the morning."

And so the evening ends with friendly words of goodnight and a hazy walk upstairs to his quarters.

When Trevelyan wakes in the morning, the sunlight is painful and a headache sets in. On his way to the kitchens to grab a late breakfast, he runs into Dorian doing the same. He looks perfectly groomed, as always, but Trevelyan can see the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Didn't sleep well?"

"No," Dorian says. "And you?"

"Terribly," Trevelyan admits. "But that was fun. We should do it again some time."

"Find a strange old room that frightens other people and go there to get drunk off stolen brandy?"

"Exactly," Trevelyan says.

The hangover is worth it for the way Dorian smiles at him.

#30daysofdorian #dragon age inquisition fanfic #dorian x inquisitor

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birlcholtz · 4 years

Note

How about snowy and parse?

S N A R S E

okay so. it starts after That One Game. you know the one. the one where parse rushes the goal, almost injures snowy, and promptly gets dogpiled by half of the falconers and a decent number of aces as well (to be fair, his teammates weren't aiming for him). tater yanks him out of it by the jersey, parse feels a little too much like a lost kitten, and then all of a sudden he's halfway across the ice (tater pushed him)

WELL. that night parse watches a replay of it on espn because he doesn't know how to take a break from hockey and he's like oh damn. oh damn i really did almost hurt snow. that's rough. and he decides he's gotta figure out some way to talk to snow so he can apologize

so he instagram DMs him

(let it be known parse's instagram is about one quarter thirst traps, one quarter pics of him and kit, and fully one half of just kit. snowy doesn't post as often and he's a bit more professional about the whole thing— like, lots of pictures with teammates, pics of the rink and of cool places in providence, but his captions are works of art)

snowy also posts the occasional espn screencap of tater in the sin bin and chirps him brutally in the caption. once he quotes cell block tango and the approximately 10 people who are into both hockey and musical theater go wild

okay enough about their respective instagrams. my pOINT is that parse ig dms snowy, who is mildly ashamed to admit (to himself, not out loud, never out loud) that his genuine first thought was 'wow kent parson is sliding into my dms'

and parse is like hey sorry i rushed you in that game, didn't realize how risky it was until i saw a replay later

and snowy can't help being his sardonic self and winds up sending back something witty and then parse replies and then snowy replies again and before either of them know it they're having a Conversation that they're actually?? both enjoying??

at one point snowy admits he likes cats and he immediately regrets it because parse sends him 6 videos of kit immediately, like within 5 seconds, but then he watches the videos and finds himself unwillingly liking them and then he finds himself requesting more and snowy is like what the fuck is happening in my brain but parse supplies 8 more cat videos and he watches all of them and comments on each one

he also reveals his sister has a cat and parse makes him promise to send photos and/or videos next time he sees her

they DM each other all the time until they finally just exchange phone numbers and at one point parse is like snow. dustin. can u facetime rn i need ur thoughts on kits halloween costume and snowy's like sure why not and that starts a tradition of facetiming every so often that eventually becomes less and less about kit

snowy is preeeeetty sure that jack and parse were together in juniors but he's never confirmed it because that's not his business you know? but he finds himself thinking more and more about whether parse might be into guys. but pride night w the falcs happens and he finds himself sending parse a pic of his newly rainbow-taped stick and adding 'best stick tape' after it

a few minutes later parse replies with a thumbs up and says 'i firmly agree' and they both breathe a little easier

also a few days later snowy accidentally likes one of parse's thirst trap pics from 6 months ago (shirtless pic on the balcony of his apartment) and he immediately unlikes it but it's too late parse sends him a screenshot of his notifications with the most recent one being snowy liking that post, and he also sends a ;) and snowy's like oh. my fucking god. and he replies 'jealous that u actually get to see the sun year round'

and parse reads it and starts typing and stops typing and starts typing and stops typing and eventually thinks 'fuck it' and sends a whole string of winky faces

so snowy's like fine. let's do this. and then this string of conversations happens:

snowy: jack what's your process for taking thirst trap selfies for instagram

jack: what's my process for... what???? what's a thirst trap

snowy: never mind ask bitty

snowy: tater how do i take thirst trap selfies for instagram

(tater is a lot more helpful and snowy relates his conversation with jack and tater chirps jack endlessly for it. at one point jack is like I'M ESL TOO TATER and tater's like YOU HAVE DEGREE FROM SAMWELL. IN THE UNITED STATES.)

so a few days later snowy (with mild trepidation) posts a fairly subtle post-workout pic (jack may not know what a thirst trap is but that doesn't mean half his instagram isn't full of them. snowy has observed the techniques of the master)

his comments explode but he doesn't care. parse likes the pic and snowy screenshots it INSTANTLY (he may have been constantly checking his notifications for this specifically) and sends it to parse like 'not so smug now are you' and parse spends literally 10 minutes trying to come up with a witty response

anyway eventually the sexual tension explodes, neither of them are out so they still have to be kinda. under the radar. but sending cat pictures is their love language, snowy funnels some jam and pie to parse, they argue about kombucha, half their conversations are still chirping but we all know what chirping is, eventually parse does meet snowy's sister's cat and it's amazing, they're approximately the same size so they do share and swap clothes (never anything with team logos on it, even once they're out, because the Disloyalty), jack is literally never questioned about his history with parse again because everyone's more curious about what it's like when parse and snowy play each other. especially since parse is a forward and snowy is a goalie. (there are some truly horrific 'score' jokes made in both locker rooms, and by horrific i mean so unfunny that they're hilarious)

tater is not allowed to answer questions about parse and snowy anymore because once some reporter did ask him and he said 'good for them but i think snowy can do better' and it went viral (bitty texted him 16 crying laughing emojis)

holidays and vacations with parse and snowy look like this: sweatpants in the winter and matching sunglasses in the summer, falling asleep together on the couch, cat toys literally everywhere, more arguing about kombucha, parse teaching snowy the finer points of instagram thirst traps and immediately regretting it, watching terrible horror movies together, adopting more cats

you have two wolves inside of you. one says 'parsnow'. the other says 'snarse'. also known as help i'm laughing my ass off about 'snarse'

so he instagram DMs him

and parse is like hey sorry i rushed you in that game, didn't realize how risky it was until i saw a replay later

he also reveals his sister has a cat and parse makes him promise to send photos and/or videos next time he sees her

a few minutes later parse replies with a thumbs up and says 'i firmly agree' and they both breathe a little easier

and parse reads it and starts typing and stops typing and starts typing and stops typing and eventually thinks 'fuck it' and sends a whole string of winky faces

so snowy's like fine. let's do this. and then this string of conversations happens:

snowy: jack what's your process for taking thirst trap selfies for instagram

jack: what's my process for... what???? what's a thirst trap

snowy: never mind ask bitty

snowy: tater how do i take thirst trap selfies for instagram

#parsnow #fun with rarepairs #omgcp

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artsybanchou · 5 years

Photo

I’m a big fan of 80s/90s anime and Ranma 1/2 played a big role in my childhood. The premise has sooooo much food for thought when it comes to looking at gender and specifically the performance of gender. I’m about to get INTO it, so, here’s your warning-- read more is a ramble. (LONG ramble)

Oh ho ho ho! WELCOME TO MY HELL!

Aight, so let me set the stage for you-->

Two people, who should not be parents, have a kid. The father, Genma, a fairly successful martial artist, takes their just-born son on a training journey without consulting the mother. By training journey, I mean that they travel all over the world with little to no money, either stealing from or scamming people in order to make sure they can eat, under the guise of training the son, Ranma, to become the greatest martial artist of the “Anything Goes” school of martial arts. One of the most frequent scams the father pulls is promising his son’s hand in marriage to various families in exchange for a dowry before running off with both his son and the dowry, never to be seen again. This-- inevitably-- comes back to bite them in the ass. But more on that later.

We don’t get to see a lot of Ranma’s childhood on the training journey, just the occasional incredibly horrific flashback to something that would become a national incident were it to happen in the real world. For example, at one point in time, his father finds a Chinese pamphlet of an ~ancient lost Chinese art~ that is INCREDIBLY POWERFUL!!!!! wow! It’s called Neko-ken. So he decides to teach his six-year-old this technique, although he can’t actually read Chinese so he does it based off the diagrams-- which detail a process of collecting a good number of cats, starving them for a few days straight, and then tossing his son, covered in fish sausages (possibly tied up, can’t remember), into the pit to fend for himself (and not be eaten alive) for hours on end. Surprise, surprise, Ranma comes out incredibly traumatized and with an intense fear of cats (something his father would’ve seen coming if he was able to read Chinese as the pamphlet says that someone would have to be crazy to try to teach someone this technique and that it causes severe psychological damage-- also could’ve been avoided if his father had any common sense or fatherly instincts, but hey that’s just asking too much of Genma). This is not the result his father wanted, so he tries to “fix” it by doing the exact same thing multiple times, just with different cat foods wrapped around his son because... I genuinely don’t know what his thought process was but yeah. So that’s just a tiny snapshot of what his childhood was like as well as how much of a massive idiot his father was. And since Ranma never interacted with his mother, guess who had the greatest influence in his development (yay........). (save him) (also this is based off my memory from watching the anime YEARS ago, so some small details might be wrong but the big, overarching “his dad is a terrible person” thing is still very much true even if some of these smaller details aren’t)

When Ranma is a teenager, his father brings him to a Chinese training ground full of cursed springs. The tour guide repeatedly tries to explain what exactly this place they’re visiting is, but the father and son pair are two hard-headed idiots and get right to sparring. Ranma knocks his father into a spring pretty quick only to be caught off guard when his father reemerges from said spring as a panda and grand slams our protagonist into another one of the cursed springs. Our manly man martial artist protagonist emerges from this spring as a dainty, busty teenage girl. /The horror./ The panic from both Ranma and his father’s deeply shaken fragile masculinities gives the tour guide enough time to reveal that they had fallen into the cursed springs of the drowned panda and the drowned girl (one guess who fell into which one) and that anyone who falls into a cursed spring will take on the form of the life form that drowned in it. They can return to their original bodies by being splashed with hot water but, from now on, every time they’re hit with cold (or even apparently lukewarm) water, they’ll change into these new cursed forms.

Now, I’m sure you all saw this coming from the type of man that Ranma’s father is based on everything I’ve said so far, but Genma is the worst(TM). So Genma is all, “no SON of MINE can be a GIRL! >:((((((” and Ranma, who has been raised for his entire conscious life by this man, and only this man, is also very much not Okay(TM) with this because he’s a man, a manly fighting man who was raised to be the manliest of fighting men who fight. He can’t be a GIRL.

Except he totally can. Because these two start taking advantage of Ranma’s feminine body pretty much immediately in order to continue running scams so that they can eat and whatnot while traveling. Of course, Genma constantly shames Ranma by saying things like, “I can’t believe my son is such a failure of a martial artist, being a girl! I’m so ashamed!” and whatnot at every opportunity but especially when they are in an argument and Ranma is winning or if he needs Ranma to do something for him. He frequently manipulates his son by using this kind of guilt-tripping language as though it’s Ranma’s fault that his body is like this. Nevermind that they both frequently profit off of Ranma’s female body for scams, Genma still puts Ranma down for having it and Ranma internalizes that because he’s 15 and his father is the only person he’s ever known.

And I’m sure we all hate Genma now, as we should, because fuck Genma. What kind of woman would ever marry Genma? (And we assume a woman is married to Genma because how could a man this bigoted do anything other than marry a woman all traditional and whatnot). If only Ranma wasn’t taken from his mother so young. Maybe he would’ve turned out a better person~ Well, uh, bad news, lads :/ So, by the time we meet Ranma’s mom in the series, we’ve known most of these characters for a chunk of time. It’s already quite well established how terrible of a human being Genma is. Ranma may or may not have started the episode out admitting he doesn’t know much about his mom after being asked about her. A standard set-up. I don’t quite remember all the details of the episode, only the important things-- here’s the important thing: Genma’s wife, Nodoka, made Genma swear something to her before he took their toddler on a training journey all around the world. He had to raise Ranma to become “a Man among Men” (and we’ll talk about how she defines manliness) and, if he failed, then both he and Ranma must commit seppuku.

Yeah, that's right.

If her son isn’t enough of a man by her standards then he has to commit ritual suicide.

Her son who now transforms into a girl every time he is touched with at least a ladle’s worth water that isn’t steaming.

(hey have i mentioned save Ranma yet? save him seriously)

Her definition of manliness? All the shit the misandrists of tumblr swear is the inherent evils to all men. She thinks her son needs to be unapologetically forceful in /all/ he does. Especially in his romantic forays :///// (yeah this is going where you think it is)

When she does decide he isn’t manly enough (because Ranma was being sexually harassed by an old man who forcibly put him in a sailor outfit, no im not kidding, happosai, said old man, is a whole other element of the show that like holy shit) and tries to get him to commit seppuku, the solution the cast comes up with is to have Ranma “peek” at (his friend? girlfriend? fiance? frenemy? roommate? it’s weird-- technically they’re the two romantic leads but their chemistry is like -5 because she constantly physically hits him for things that really aren’t his fault and just ://) Akane while she is bathing and that will prove his manliness to his mother so that he doesn’t have to literally die. Will having Ranma be a fucking voyeur prove his manliness to his mother, you ask? Yep. This is Manly(TM) and so Ranma gets to live another day. Yay. Once again, molestation saves the day. (aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa) All of this is played off as a joke, for the record. No character is really acknowledged as being “a bad person” for any of this behavior-- not molester Happosai, not trying-to-kill-her-own-child Nodoka, etc.

So these are the people who made Ranma. Who shaped this kid with the ability to spontaneously switch between male and female bodies (presuming he has water on hand). Also, obviously, Genma had more influence seeing as Ranma never saw his mother between the ages of two and (I think) 16(?), but. regardless, these are the people who shaped his understanding of gender. For all intents and purposes, our lad should be such a pressure cooker of toxic and fragile masculinity that he just about commits seppuku himself every time he ends up in his female body.

But he doesn’t. In fact, Ranma is largely comfortable in his female body as long as his father isn’t trying to hold said body against him (wait did that come out wrong?). Ranma has no hesitations taking on his female form for something as little as a discount on ice cream. He makes the statement, “when it comes to eating out, being a girl is the only way to go”-- because he’s able to get an extra scoop for being “cute”

There’s a scene very early on in the series about exactly that which has always stuck with me. It opens with Ranma in his female body at a cafe with Akane and they both order fancy ice cream parfaits. Ranma is extremely excited and exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to try one of these!”

Akane replies with, “don’t tell me you’ve never had ice cream before.”

And Ranma proceeds to explain that he’s never had ice cream like /this/ because it would be too embarrassing for a guy. When Akane asks if he isn’t embarrassed now, happily shoving huge spoonfuls of ice cream into his mouth, he responds with, “hey, I’m a girl now. It don’t count.” Akanes shoots back with a “REAL girls don’t eat like that” (because our lad is eating with such gusto-- he’s living, he’s thriving, he is demolishing that parfait and there is ice cream all over his face)

He goes, “I’ll eat it however I want.” And then finishes the whole thing off and proclaims that he wants to order the chocolate one next.

Moments like that were the ones where I loved the show the most. We can see Ranma’s insecurities about his masculinity (thank you /soo/ much for that genma) in that he isn’t willing to perform an ‘unmanly’ action in public in his male body. He can’t be *seen* eating girly ice cream. But when he is admonished for not living up to feminine standards in his female body (eat more daintily), he just goes, ‘i’ll do what i want’. Young me really resonated with that, being born with a female assigned at birth body and growing up in Texas.

It feels like there’s a trans narrative buried in the steaming hot mess that is this work by Takahashi Rumiko-- and it is abundantly clear that was never her intention so I wouldn’t exactly recommend trying to give her an award or anything. She said that she wanted to write a work with a male main character but was so worried about how many male readers she had, she made the decision to make (as she described) a half-male half-female main character (essentially so she could have her cake and eat it too if you will-- all the self aggrandizing fantasies of a male protagonist her male readers could imagine themselves as along with a copious amount of fan service-- the great majority of which was at Ranma’s unwilling expense in his female body which like ://////// (remember that old man I mentioned before??)-- with the female protagonist body). And, like, I’m not saying Takahashi Rumiko is a terrible person or anything-- I don’t know what her beliefs are, I only know her works which are quite old at this point. Takahashi Rumiko is a big deal in the mangaka world because she was one of the first big shonen mangakas who was openly a woman. Normally, men wrote shounen (which literally translates to boys) manga and women wrote shoujo (which literally translates to girls) manga-- the genres were literally divided along gender lines in terms of their intended audiences but also, to a certain extent, their creators. If a woman wanted to write/draw shounen, usually she had to use a pen name that sounded fairly masculine in order to not impact the perception of her work. Takahashi Rumiko was working in that environment so I would understand why she’d want to be careful but, at the same time, I still kind of hate a lot of the things that she normalizes in her works. Especially assault. Both physical and sexual assault she constantly used as a punchline. Not as much anymore. Her most recent work I’ve read was Rinne and the punchline with that one was that the male lead is super poor, literally penniless, and is constantly starving so hahahahha humor amirite? Pain being funny seems to be her through line now that assault is off the table. At least he isn’t constantly getting whole ass tables thrown at him by his love interest as though that’s supposed to be a cute relationship dynamic (Akaneeeeeeeee). I digress. Takahashi Rumiko’s works played a big fucking role in my childhood from Ranma to Inuyasha to Lum (which I encountered well into my teens and therefore didn’t jive with at all because I’d finally learned sexual assault =/= funny and this was one of her more dated works) and so on and just-- I don’t know if I can watch her older stuff the same way I used to. I’m scared to try, honestly. Because some of the ideas behind her works are so interesting-- like Ranma 1/2-- but then you have to sit through episode after episode of a teenage boy in a girl’s body being sexually assaulted by a remorseless old man only to try to fight back at which point he is physically assaulted but also he still has to grovel to and respect said old man because he’s his father’s master and therefore he has to learn martial arts from him but the old man is constantly wagering Ranma having to pose for him in incredibly skimpy outfits if Ranma wants to learn literally anything and alsso RANMA IS FUCKING FIFTEEN/SIXTEEN JESUS CHRIST IS THERE NO FUNCTIONING ADULT ANYWHERE IN THE VVICINITY SAVE HIM!

I NEED TO DIGRESS

It feels like there’s an unintentional trans narrative buried in this anime. It’s not a fun one (but most trans narratives aren’t either so). This is a boy who knows he’s a boy-- even when his body disagrees. He frequently asserts that “he’s a boy” even when in his female body because he is. He’s a boy. He’ll reference being a girl “in appearance” like with the ice cream parfait scene earlier, but when it comes to identity statements, he’s always a boy. This narrative is about him navigating gender presentation and societal assumptions in order to live however he wants. He’s constantly contending with his own forms of gender dysphoria, whether that be his own gripes about doing anything unmanly (eating ice cream) or the very real threat of his mother fucking killing him if he does anything unmanly (aaaaaaaaaaaa), and he navigates tons of threats by choosing how he presents himself.

There are characters that are in love with the male “version” of Ranma and want to kill the female “version” of Ranma (who, for the record, goes by the name Ranko) and vice versa. The Kuno siblings are a great example. Kodachi is in love with Ranma (and is not above literally fucking using date rape drugs on him to get to him) and wants to fucking kill Ranko whereas Tatewaki Kuno, her brother, is in love with Ranko (the lovely pigtailed girl, he calls her) and has literally sent assassins after Ranma. Ranma essentially has to choose between being sexually assaulted or physically assaulted every time he runs into either of them in terms of what body he is presenting.

I feel like I should let you know, ye who have actually read this far, that Ranma is able to protect himself pretty well from the assault. Like, our boy ain’t dead. Later on he literally fucking kills a god because he’s really passionate about martial arts so he puts all of himself into it and god damnit does his effort show but, honestly, his ability to protect himself shouldn’t mean that it is okay to assault him. Assault is assault. And just because he can fight back doesn’t mean he always does. Akane, his main love interest, regularly sends him through roofs and across town with the force of her Up + B (aka magically appearing hammer), usually for things that aren’t his fault in any way. Akane actually came to the conclusion that Ranma was a pervert when she (fully dressed) walked in on him (naked because he was in the bath) even though the bathroom was obviously occupied. She constantly gets mad at him for things that are beyond his control and then takes her frustrations out on him by literally beating him up and he never fights back-- which is admirable of him but also made me never want to root for their relationship because that isn’t a red flag, my dude, that’s a red planet. the whole of mars is out here trying to warn everyone that this relationship is the most toxic thing since RoundUp.)

Usually, when watching a show, you get really invested in the character’s aspirations. You want them to ‘get the girl’, ‘get the promotion’, ‘become the pokemon master’ and whatnot. All I ever wanted for Ranma was for him to fake his own death and run far, far away from everyone who ever knew him as “Ranma”. He’d have to fake his own death, obviously, because otherwise his father and Happosai would track him down because, for his father, Ranma is a walking meal ticket and, for Happosai, Ranma is a teenage girl he can sexually assault at any time. Those two would chase Ranma to the ends of the earth if they thought he was trying to get away from them so--

Ranma. Help him.

There’s so much more to dissect with this show. It’s kind of accidentally a great way to look at gender presentation, especially all the terrible negatives that come with constrained gender roles. I use He/Him pronouns when talking about Ranma because it is abundantly clear that he sees himself as a man and I respect that. Sometimes nonbinary-me is like, but think what a gender-fluid icon our boy would be-- literally switching perceived genders via fluids-- and I think that version of Ranma would be a lot happier than the canon one but, I think the canon Ranma is an important reflection of what a lot of people go through, cisgender, transgender, and beyond, when trying to parse what it means to present a gender and the roles you’re supposed to play.

Maybe Ranma can go on a journey of self-discovery with his own gender after faking his death and escaping Nermina.

I was all over the place writing this but this isn’t an essay and I’m not being graded so ha fuck you (excpet no not really fuck you because you either a) read this whole thing or b)scrolled down to the bottom to see if i’d get to the fucking point already-- which for the record, I don’t really-- and either way it means you were a little curious what I had to say so thanks I guess). None of this is exceptionally well-thought-out. I wouldn’t exactly stamp this with any kind of official gender discourse seal. It’s all just food for thought.

#my art #ranma 1/2 #dont click read more seriously youll regret it #i just ramble for a really long time about nothing #technically about ranma and gender #save ranma jesus chrsit he doesnt deserve all the bullshit

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paradisobound · 5 years

Text

Seeing is Believing

Summary: Dan would have never guessed that Phil being horny in a London hostel would unleash a new kink he didn’t fully realize he had.

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: PWP-Porn Without Plot

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I’ve already completed a BINGO on my first card so this is just for fun mostly but I’m still aiming to complete another BINGO on this card which is my second! Also...I don’t do dirty talk and find it mostly cringe so I apologize if this comes off bad lol

Written for the @phandomficfests Bingo Fic Fest: Prompts Used Were- awkward sex, dirty talk, oral job

View My Card | Read on Ao3

“Phil, we can’t.”

“They’re asleep. They’re never going to know.”

Dan turns his head to towards the other side of the hostel that he and Phil are sharing with an, actually really nice, young woman. It was a quick trip to London and they couldn’t afford to split the difference for a hotel so they opted for a cheap hostel instead, hoping by some form they wouldn’t be sharing the room with someone but they were.

“They’re definitely going to wake up.” Dan counters, grabbing at Phil’s wrist that was connected to the hand that was currently snaking its way inside of Dan’s pajama pants.

The bed was a bit too small, and the air in the room was a bit dusty and stale. So it wasn’t like the mood was heightened. It just so happened that, for whatever reasoning, Phil decided the best thing for them to do was to fuck with another person sleeping in the same room as them.

“No they’re not.” Phil laughed back. “They’re literally snoring right now.”

Dan tried to still his breathing to listen to the sounds around the room. Outside the window was the classics sounds of London, sirens and loud car honks every few seconds. Beside them was definitely snoring but that didn’t help to ease his worry about them waking up, in fact it made it a hit harder to adjust to this knowing someone was beside him.

“Phil...”

“If you really don’t feel comfortable doing anything, I’m not going to make you.” Phil says, moving his hand out of Dan’s pants and packing it onto his stomach, his warm palm soothing Dan’s knots.

“I know,” Dan says, biting his lip. “I just don’t want them to wake up.”

Phil turned his head towards the black room and narrowed his eyes a bit before turning his attention back to Dan. “They’ve got their back turned towards us.”

“Are you sure!”

“I can see the back of their hoodie so yes.”

Dan feels a bit of the tension leave his stomach and he lets out a small breath before placing his hand on top of Phil’s and lowering it back to the front of his pants where he was beginning to feel the blood rush south.

As Phil smiled and leaned down, he connected their lips together and Dan let out a breathy sigh as his brain melted and clouded over like it always does whenever Phil kisses him.

Phil reaches inside of his pants and below his boxers to take him in his hand and Dan moans lowly into Phil’s mouth. Phil swallows it down and then pulls back to shush Dan with a chuckle as he continues to stroke him up and down, the fluidity if his movements getting faster the harder Dan gets.

Phil’s starting to stroke with a bit more vigor when the bed creaks next to them and Phil’s hand shoots our of Dan’s boxers like he’s been scolded. Dan holds his breath as he waits to see if the girl is going to say anything to them. He turns his head and sees that she’s turned to them now, but her eyes are still closed.

He feels like he can’t do this anymore and he looks up at Phil with a sympathetic glance as Phil just shrugs and falls besides Dan, no longer sitting between his legs. Dan turns to Phil so they’re both on their sides and ignores the throbbing between his legs as his cock rubs against the fabric of his underwear in the most delicious way now that he’s worked up.

“I can still get you off?” Phil whispers, reaching between them where the girl definitely wouldn’t be able to see now besides just the jerking motion of Phil’s shoulder.

Dan bites his lip hard and turns to try and hear snores, which he does, before he turns back to Phil and nods quickly.

“Be quick.”

And Phil does try to be quick, but his hand gets stopped in the barely there give of Dan’s boxers and the awkward arm placement makes it for Phil’s hand to begin to cramp and suddenly, it’s just not going well. Phil’s arm is cramping up, Dan’s not enjoying it anymore, and the awkwardness of their situation is weighing heavy on Dan’s mind.

He shoots Phil a knowing glance and Phil just signs and nods as he pulls his hand out again and rests it on Dan’s side.

“Another time.” Dan whispers, leaning forward to kiss Phil.

Phil kisses back and nods.

***

Turns out another time is a few days later when they’re back in the Manchester apartment. It’s a lazy night on their sofa watching anime when Phil reaches over and begins to smooth his hand along Dan’s thigh. Dan let’s him for a while, but then Phil’s hand reaches higher and Dan turns his head to the male sitting beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get you off.” Phil huffs. “We never did do anything after London.”

Dan let’s out a snort. The London hostel...God, Dan wanted to desperately forget about that. After they had both went to bed and everything seemed alright, they were woken up by a fire alarm going off at 4am due to the kitchens toaster smoking a bit.

When they came back into the room after standing on the slightly bitter cold London street, the girl who was rooming with them blushed and asked if they wanted her to give them some privacy. Dan had been mortified and he wanted to ask her if she had seen them but instead he just blushed and shook his head and vowed to never do something so stupid again.

“Who says who should do it now?” Dan asks.

Phil pouts, a genuine bottom lip out pout, and Dan laughs so hard he snorts as he grabs Phil’s hand and places it on his budding erection.

“Fine. You can get me off.”

“Hard already?” Phil asked, slipping off from the couch and gathering himself between Dan’s legs. “Someone thinking about London?”

“Phil, that was mortifying!”

Phil shook his head and reached up, grabbing at the waistband of Dan’s pants to pull them down. Dan life’s his hips up to help as Phil yanks and they come off down to his calves.

“Hm...but wouldn’t that have been so amazing though? Knowing someone as watching you get off?” Phil asks, tutting his tongue along the roof of his mouth. “I bet she would have enjoyed the show. Wanted to join in maybe?”

Dan’s dick twitched at the thought of someone watching him get off. He never thought it was a thing that would do anything to him. He knew from various Skype calls with Phil that he enjoyed knowing someone was watching him get off.

Phil licks a stripe up the side of Dan’s cock and takes the head in his mouth, sucking lightly before pulling off and repeating the lick up the side. “Do you like knowing someone is watching you get off?”

Dan let’s out a loud moan and reaches between his legs as he grasps Phil’s long hair in his hands and tugs. Phil groans in response and goes back to sucking him. He takes Dan further down and Dan loses the battle with his hips to stay put as his hips canter up and Phil pulls off just enough to avoid hitting his gag reflex.

“Tell me, Dan. Are you getting off on the idea of someone watching you?” Phil asks, stroking Dan’s cock with a new fluidity as the velvet skin became slicker. “Maybe we should go back to the hostel and fuck with the people next to us watching. Maybe they’ll even enjoy the show just as much as you’re getting off?”

Dan’s mouth falls opens in a silent moan as his hips stutter one last time and he finishes with Phil stroking him off. He lets himself collect his breath as he looks down at Phil, who is smiling like he’s really proud with himself right now.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Gonna be honest,” Dan says, his voice out of breath. “Didn’t think that voyeurism was a kink of mine.”

Phil laughs and sits back in his heels and Dan looks between them to realize Phil’s hand is moving fast inside the confines of his own pajamas.

“Come here.”

Phil gets up and sits on the couch beside Dan as Dan bends over and lowers the waistband enough for Phil’s cock to pop out and smack wetly against his stomach. He takes the deliciously red head into his mouth and sucks, hollowing his cheeks as he strokes the rest of Phil that he couldn’t quite get down yet.

Phil finishes fast and Dan swallows it down, pulling away just as he winces from the bitter taste. Phil was lucky that Dan loved him because Dan thinks the taste of cum is the most horrific thing in the world but he’ll gladly swallow for Phil because he knows Phil likes to watch him do it.

They both tuck themselves back in, the anime playing unwatched in the background.

“Maybe this is something we can play around with?” Phil asks.

“What?”

“You know, you liking being watched.”

Dan let’s out a laugh. “Just because I like being watched by you doesn’t mean I want a stranger to watch me cum my brains out.” He leans over and pecks a quick kiss on Phil’s cheek. “There are certain things left just for you.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #smut #fluff #angst #princesslexi763fics

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moved99999999999 · 5 years

Text

U guys wanna know what I think about that hell hotel show

I feel like twitter’s very tired of seeing ppl talk about Hazbin Hotel, so I putting my opinions on tumblr where they belong. I’m not a “professional critic” by any means, but I’ll try my best given what I know. And don’t worry, I’ll be incredibly nit-picky to suit the internet’s needs.

I’m gonna mainly focus on HH itself instead of Vivzie’s accusations because that's a WHOLE other can of worms to open.

During the time of me writing this, I haven’t watched any YT reviews, but I’ve read a few threads criticising the show, so take that as my social influence bias.

My ted talk is allllll below the cut. Enjoy~

Context:

My first exposure of Vivzie’s work was her “Die Young” animation that I came across around 2016. Instantly I fell in love with how “smooth” and lively her animation was, and especially the fact that it was hand drawn. Animation like that was extremely rare to come by (and still is) and seeing her execute it so well with such complexed characters was amazing to my fetus self.

A few years later and I see the first trailer for HH. I instantly went OH I RECOGNISE THAT STYLE AND THOSE CHARACTER TYPE DESIGNS and was looking forward to what it had to offer.

On “opening day” I watched the pilot ASAP to avoid my opinions from getting warped by all of the key-mash memes and post call-out bitching (literally the extremes of the HH opinion spectrum), and overall.....

I thought it was good.

Not ground breakingly amazing, not horrifically terrible, but charmingly good.

(Ok now it’s actual review time)

Animation Quality:

As a hand drawn animation that has the freedom to get creative with its shots, a lot of effort was clearly put into how everything moves (it definitely didn’t take any lazy flash puppet shortcuts for the main sections of the show) and I can appreciate that. However it tends to be... rather inconsistent, most likely due to the varying skill level of the animators on the project. It’ll be nice and smooth one minute, and then awkward and choppy the next which can make the viewing pretty confusing at times. I’ll be honest I found myself overlooking these inconsistencies due to the characters and backgrounds themselves being very visually engaging, especially considering how over designed some of them can be (which I applaud the team for handling cuz wow that must have been painful). However, the needle thin and exaggerated art style makes some things incredibly hard to look at. While it helps with adding fancy details, it hurts in catching peoples eyes in the right place.

It’s also chalk full of little details, visual gags, and references that are hilarious to look at if you have the luxury of pausing every two seconds (the news segment and Sir Pentious turf war w/ Angel and Cherri are good places to look). But I feel like these lil details were put in at the cost of some some continuity errors (Charlie not wearing her coat in one shot, and having it back on in the next, papers being blank, etc.) and lip-syncing issues which really shouldn’t be happening considering all of the detail they were able to put in. There are also some shots that have just SO MUCH detail put into them, only to be shown for less than a second. I get that’s the cost of animation sometimes, but save the detail for the shots that need it, because at that point you’re just causing the animators to waste their efforts.

However, I was surprised at how professional the soundtrack and editing was. Not one but THREE songs in this single episode was really surprising, and the variation and quality of each was great (as cringy as Charlie’s song is)

But overall, the production quality is surprisingly good for a project like this, the editing, sound effects, and sound track act like a cherry on top. Of course there are some noticeable drops in quality, but given time and a budget, it has enough chops to look like an actual show.

Writing:

As far as overarching plot goes, it seems like it’s going to be one of those procedural shows that tries to be serialised, but it’s a creative twist on hell and has an interesting premise to begin with. You can get really creative with seeing how you’d dive into getting redemption out of all of these seemingly lost causes, and I’m sure there are many people willing to know the backstories our main cast. As a pilot, it did it’s job of launching the plot very well, setting up the premise of the hotel and introducing characters in a very engaging way. I was legit really interested in each segment with who in introduced, and it didn’t feel like I was being overloaded with names to remember (which can be a problem for many medias and introductions). The cohesion between each scene is VERY smooth, and I genuinely enjoyed some of the cliché cuts/gags.

Unfortunately I can’t extend this interest to our main character. Charlie is one of the most generic tropes we’ve ever seen. She’s a boring Disney princess who has a “cute happy positive goal to change her world” and the only thing that would make her more generic is if she wore a dress and cried “I’m tired of being so privileged”.

(Although it’s impossible to tell, I honestly think Viv is just projecting through her, especially considering how horrifically accurate the hotel’s opening mirrors the internet’s reaction to the pilot itself)

I would be more forgiving if she was a supporting character or someone less important, but she’s the freaking protagonist, arguably the character that has to be the most interesting. Angel’s personality seems to be “flirty porn star”, and while that’s just as bad as being a boring Disney princess, at least he gets a few jokes and has a profession more interesting than Charlie’s. Around the end of the pilot he just seems like he’s getting involved because Viv likes giving him attention. If he’s supposed to be leeching off of the hotel, wouldn’t not care if it survives or not?

(There’s that whole stereotype issue that everyone keeps bringing up, but I genuinely think that’s BS because people are blatantly ignoring the fact that Angel is a porn star, Vaggie is portrayed as helpful, and that the show takes place in H E double hokey sticks.)

The transitions may be smooth, but the dialogue pacing can get really awkward at times. This paired with the animation sometimes having awkward quality drops makes some movements incredibly jagged, and has some detailed shots show for incredibly unbalanced screen time as mentioned before.

I don’t have enough to give voice acting it’s own section so I’m just popping it down here:

The voice acting is legitimately better than several big name projects I know. It’s consistent, great at expressing the character’s mood properly, and each voice fits each character perfectly. My only gripes are that Alastor and Sir Pentious tend to grain on you after awhile due to them keeping a single tone for too long.

Character Design: AKA the only thing I have legitimate experience with.

First thing’s first. The characters are WAY too over designed. There are so many markings and accessories that are incredibly unnecessary. I think the mindset for these characters was “the more complicated and attractive the better”, which makes them look like they’re designed by an edgy tumblr artist (heck I fall for this too some times).

Especially if a character is going to be animated, you have to keep in mind the value of simplicity. You absolutely don’t have to fill in your character with markings and trinkets to make them look unique, I mean just look at the gen 1 pokemon starters. Thanks to the limitations of the game, the sprites were forced to be simple, and it was that simplicity that made them such unique and varied creatures. You can tell Blastoise is a bulky water blasting turtle just with a quick glance.

Many of the characters suffer from over complication, but I’ll look at Husk for example. He has these stripes all over him that do not contribute to who he’s supposed to be at all, and only look like they’re added to make him more unique. The markings that DO help are the little card suite marks on his wings, because those at least infer he’s linked to a casino/gambling type of theme. I would say his outfit helps as well, but formal wear and bowties are worn way to often by the main characters, which brings me to another problem.

They may look different, but they feel way too similar. From the same skinny body type, to generic head shapes, to outfits, the focus characters just don’t stand out amongst each other. Even the ones with interesting features still suffer from feeling generic. I’d say Sir Pentious is a good example of this. He has a serpentine/naga body and clever hair style that make his concept really creative, but his skinny body type, complicated eyes all over his tail, and generic “young but supposed to be at least middle aged” face just push him back into obscurity. He’s even wearing the SAME outfit as Alastor (who's an even worse offender of that generic face problem), and unless Viv has some plan to link the two, I’d say the characters need to stop using a dress code.

A successful character design can to tell you who the character is just by looking at them. You should be able to tell if a character’s personality, function, age, the universe they belong in, and if they’re important or not, and that’s a big problem when it comes to the background characters. If you pause on one of the extras for a minute you can see all of the effort put into designing them, and that takes away so much attention from the main cast. Not only that, but they have actual variations in their body types and outfits, which makes them more intriguing than who we’re supposed to be interested in.

Regardless, this pilot has potential, and if they can get someone to comb out the flaws, you can end up with something good. No one can deny a legitimate animation was made here, and the team successfully executed the start of a story, and that’s something anyone can look up to.

TLDR: The pilot is good. It has some major flaws, but it has potential to be a good show.

If you actually read this far epstein didn’t kill himself.

#I'm only doing this cuz i wanna draw angel dust and i feel like I have to justify myself before ppl start calling me mean things #Fan art is coming ;)#hazbin hotel #HH is good yall just have a mob mentality #critique

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skelezbian · 5 years

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I saw your thing on AO3 about requests and I was wondering if for any skeleton, any AU, if you could do a 'I came to a dance class because of my brother and now we have to awkwardly slow dance/tango/waltz together'. Thank you for your wonderful writing!

UGH this one is so good it’s haunted me since i saw it in my inbox. (i chose underswap papyrus btw)

ao3 link

Papyrus, if pressed, would’ve said that his second least favorite thing to do was move. His ideal day had him lazing about, sketching out some complex Rube Goldberg machine to move even less but with more complex hijinks involved. He certainly hadn’t been so low when he was younger, but growing up seemed to take the wind out of his sails, and the fact that his friend group extended to one person and his brother certainly hadn’t helped. He’d had big dreams- becoming a part of the Royal Guard and all of the romance that entailed. The suit of armor, the fancy outings, the prestige of it all, the hope for a future on the Surface… It had painted a very shiny and ideal future to a kid whose earliest memory was of his older brother panicking about finding them somewhere to live.

That future had dulled as he got older. Some dreams, he had supposed, were best left as dreams. He was slow and achy at only twenty years and those weren’t the kind of goals an achy skeleton got to have.

Unfortunately, Sans disagreed. He’d been the president of the Papyrus Fan Club the day that he’d become an older brother, and his optimism and hope for him never ceased to amaze Papyrus. He’d long since given up trying to get him to physically prepare for being a knight in the Royal Guard (giving Papyrus all of his sentry shifts so he wouldn’t have to move as much), but Papyrus had been naive to believe that his brother had forgotten about his childhood ramblings.

On the Surface, now, everything seemed limitless and possible, and Sans has fucking signed him up for a ballroom dancing class.

“i’m not going. you can’t make me.” Papyrus says, petulantly, childishly, sitting at their living room table. His fingers find a carved indention where he had tried to write his name in the wood when he was younger- ‘papiris’. “you remember what happened when you signed me up for a yoga class. what do you think is going to happen?”

“OH, DON’T GIVE ME THAT.” Sans turns around only briefly from where he’s scrambling eggs to roll his eyelights at him. “YOU DIDN’T DO THE WARM-UPS, IT’S NOT THE ENTIRE PRACTICE OF YOGA’S FAULT. BESIDES, BALLROOM DANCING IS THE LOWEST EFFORT DANCE LESSON I COULD FIND.” The spatula gently scrapes the bottom of the pan. “BESIDES. YOU USED TO LOVE THOSE CHEESY HUMAN ROMANCE SOAPS.”

“well, i’m about a decade and a half older than i was when i first watched ‘beauty and the beast’, so i don’t think that counts, sans.” He grumbles, slumping onto the table. Yoga had been a horrific incident- the humans were nice, the atmosphere was fine, but they’d done a simple move and his thigh bone had popped out of his pelvic cradle and the woman next to him had screamed and fainted. And then the instructor had called a human ambulance despite Papyrus’ protests, all while he tried to calm down enough to get his magic to reattach his leg. It was single handedly the most embarrassing moment of his life, even over the time Undyne invited her girlfriend over and had completely forgotten that he hadn’t left her house yet.

If he knows Sans, though, there’s no way around this because, “I ALREADY PAID FOR IT.” Then, to soften the blow, “IT’S ONLY ONE LESSON. WHAT’S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN?”

“my leg could fall off again?”

“WELL, KEEP AN EYE ON THEM SO THEY DON’T RUN AWAY, THEN!” He starts building his plate- a slice of toast, several strips of turkey bacon, and his eggs (lightly salted). “I EVEN SPOKE WITH THE INSTRUCTOR ABOUT THIS- SHE SAID SHE’D PAIR YOU WITH SOMEONE EXPERIENCED SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THEM STEPPING ON YOUR TOES. JUST…” Sans hands him his plate, a small smile on his face, “JUST TRY TO HAVE FUN!”

Papyrus stuffs his face with eggs and tries to ignore how hard his brother is trying to make him happy.

Even though the idea of being over-dressed for this occasion was horrifying, Papyrus could only imagine how embarrassing it would be if he had ended up underdressed. When he was younger, he used to love fashion and his idea of what was ‘cool’ (usually, clothes that looked like they were covered in car decals), but he had been hard-pressed to find one dress shirt in his closet. Ultimately, he’d ended up borrowing one of Sans’ and tucking it into khakis he hadn’t worn in four years, which exposed his growth spurt and, incidentally, his thin tibias.

He walked into that auditorium room feeling like a class-a clown in the worst of ways. He couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad thing that no one turned to look at him when he’d walked in, and the indecision had sweat beading on his skull. Was it too late to just bail? Could Sans afford for him to just leave and lose the money on this lesson? It was ballroom dancing, so it couldn’t have been cheap- what if he’d spent that extra money he was going to use for his vacation days on this? What if-

“Hi! Are you Papyrus?” He lurches, feeling someone’s hand touch his shoulder, disrupting his running thoughts. “Oh! Sorry to startle you!”

“oh, uh, um, uh.” He can’t physically return his eye sockets to how they were normally. He’s suddenly very glad that Sans had pressed his shirt for him, because you’re wearing a sleek black outfit that compliments you so well that he has to tell himself not to stare. “yes. papyrus. that’s me. and, um, you are…?”

“I’m your dancing partner for today.” You say with a smile, and introduce yourself. “You’re a bit behind with the lessons, so everyone’s a bit more advanced. Your brother, um, mentioned that you’d be a bit uncomfortable with having more attention on you than necessary, so we’re going to be practicing separately from the group to get you caught up. Is that alright?”

“yup. that’s alright, yeah.” Stars, why can’t he make his mouth say something, anything, cooler than that? The light sweat on his face still hasn’t faded.

You chuckle, just a little, and reach out your hand. It takes him a moment to realize you wanted him to hold your hand. For the dancing. Duh. He hesitates, fitting his hand into your’s slowly, a wobbly smile reaching his face when you flex your fingers on his. “Wow! You’re real solid.” Staring down at your joined hands, it takes Papyrus a moment to realize why his soul is racing in his rib cage- this is the first time in months that anyone other than Undyne or Sans has touched him. Stars, he’s a mess. Taking his pause for more hesitation, you try to amend, “We won’t be doing too much dancing today- it’s mostly about helping you find some rhythm and sync up with me. Just, um, let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable?”

You’re really nice and he feels super bad about this entire situation- he can only imagine how frail his brother must’ve made him sound. “don’t worry- i know you’re just doing your job. if anything’s sour, i’ll let you know.” He hadn’t noticed that you were tense until he’d finished speaking and saw your shoulders relax.

“Phew, okay. I mean, it’d get really hard to get you into rhythm if you’re not comfortable, so that’s our first obstacle.” You sway forward and, automatically, Papyrus leans forward to make sure you don’t fall. He then realizes it was on purpose, to test if he could take your weight. “Okay, Papyrus, talk to me. What kind of music do you like?”

“for this kind of stuff? i’d say blues.” You rest your other hand on his shoulder, and indicate for him to do the same. He feels your shoulders raise with a small laugh.

“That was a joke, right? ‘Rhythm and blues’? That’s cute.” You say it so genuinely that it pulls a chuckle from him. You begin to sway side-to-side- initially, the both of you are mismatched, but he falls into step easily soon, matching your pace.

“hey, i got a few more up my button-down’s sleeve. you ever heard the one about the old duck comedian?”

You got a silly smile on your face, as if you could guess the punchline. “Nope, never have. Is it going to… quack me up?” Your fingers slide more securely towards his neck, and he finds that holding you under your arm and around your shoulder blade is far more comfortable than locking his elbow straight to hold onto you.

“nah, but he’ll bill you for it later.” The punchline gets a small laugh from you, shaking your head. “hey, how long have you been dancing?” The two of you had fallen into an almost-natural sway, gently rocking to-and-from. You take one step to your right, and he immediately follows with you. Papyrus can suddenly see the importance of being familiar with your partner’s body language.

“Oh, not too long. About two years- I did a competition a little while back. Not much came of it.” He misreads you and steps forward, stepping on your foot. You simply take a step back, pulling your foot out. “The instructor’s a friend of mine- I help the newbies out. And don’t worry about my shoes- I always wear a scuffed pair for the first-timers.” You wink, and it sends his soul fluttering.

“that so? you know, i’ve never really looked, but i’m pretty sure i have two left feet, so i might wear a hole down on those shoes.”

“Now, that’d be a feat!” You look so proud of your little joke, your smile crinkling the edges of your eyes. He laughs and, for some reason, that little joke makes the rest of the evening go so much faster. It’s mostly swaying to the beat and chatting idly, you moving him and him being moved until he finally gets it and he can almost predict your next steps. You shoot him a wicked grin, “So, did you notice?”

“notice what?” To make sure, he looks down at his feet to make sure they aren’t scuffing your shoes again. You giggle at that, so he tries to crack a joke, “now, are you saying that my two left feet are making a right?”

You snort. “Actually! I just taught you the box step, so I’d consider that a right! Here, watch your feet.” You pulled him back, stepped to your left, then forward, then back into resting position. It wasn’t anything impressive, but Papyrus was somewhat amazed that he hadn’t noticed the both of you moving in a perfect square. “So? Not as bad as you were expecting, huh?”

“no, not bad at all…” He responds, almost surprised himself. Forward, right, back, return. All with your hand resting on the slope of his shoulder, all with you smiling up at him. “huh.”

“Yeah, ‘huh’.” You laugh and wink at him again, as if all of this was some elaborate plan on your part, to lull him into a sense of security and trick him into dancing. “So, you want to refine it a bit?”

“yeah, i think that’d make us square.”

When Sans comes to pick him up, he can’t conceal the smile on his face. You wave to him from amongst teenagers reuniting with their parents, partners sharing water bottles and dabbing sweat from their foreheads, and your grin is so wide it forces your eyes shut. Papyrus watches you from the passenger seat of Sans’ economic Nissan, fingers drumming on his pressed pants’ leg. “SO. HOW WAS IT? DID YOU… SHAKE A LEG?”

The joke startles a laugh out of him, “you know what? i shook two of them, and they stayed attached this time.” Sans lets out a mock gasp of surprise. “it was a lot of fun, sans. honestly, i didn’t think i’d enjoy it, but… well, i guess part of it is the partner.”

As hard as he tries to ignore it, Sans is giving him an ‘I TOLD YOU SO’ grin in his peripheral. “WELL, I GUESS THAT OLD DANCING SKELETON JOKE ISN’T TRUE ANY MORE.” He turns to wink at his younger brother, “I’M GLAD YOU HAVE SOME BODY TO DANCE WITH.”

#papyrus x reader #undertale imagines #reader insert #undertale #underswap #my writing #Anonymous

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silavut-the-wizard · 3 years

Text

Silavut the Wizard, Chapter 44

All right, everyone. Here we go. The adventure continues. Our group of adventurers is ready for their journey.

Departure

Before leaving, they made sure they had everything, and detailed their journey on a map. They marked waypoints for resting, resupplying and shelter as needed. There was also a contingency in case they needed extended shelter if they got caught out in the freeze when the cold season hit hardest.

They made ready their supplies and tacked up the horses. Silavut went around checking the horses, making sure they were well-fed and watered. He double checked the tack, making sure all the straps were properly fitted.

Sehlan checked their packs, making sure everything was loaded and secure.

Nara watched them intently, making sure to learn as much as she could about what they did in case they asked her to help any time.

Tail and Vekta talked between themselves about their relationship and decided it be best to leave the past behind and move forward. It would be an uneasy, rocky alliance to begin with, but they figured—hoped—they could eventually fully reconcile and become friends again.

Lady Anielle tried helping with the horses, but Sehlan and Silavut didn’t trust her enough yet not to sabotage something. Though they didn’t say it outright, it was implied in their actions. She couldn’t blame them, though, after what she’s done. So she just stood by silently, watching, waiting.

Finally, all checks were in place and they were ready to go. They each mounted their respective steed and set off.

When they got to the field, they saw the carnage. None of them were really surprised, but it was still unsettling to see. Nara was especially affected. She felt her gorge rising but was able to hold it down. This was nothing like just practically vaporizing someone; this was full blood, guts and gore strewn about. Sehlan and Silavut, though having seen some horrific things, were still rather disturbed by it. One could never get used to such a thing, no matter how many times they saw it. The others—Tail, Vekta and Lady Anielle—could only stare unseeing at it, purposely not registering it as something real.

Solemnly, they turned their horses and continued on. The journey to the dead valley had begun.

They rode in silence for some time. Then Nara broke it by asking, “So…the…thing…that the raiders saw… That was a shapeshifter? That’s what killed them?”

Sehlan nodded. “Yes. They saw what they wanted to see. It used their mental projection of their desire to transform. They saw Tail, but it wasn’t really him. It appears a few of them escaped and captured it.”

“So it uses peoples’ thoughts to change itself? Can it read minds?”

“Yes…and no. In short, it can basically feel their desires, what they’re projecting and uses that. A strong enough projection, and who knows what form it can take. No one’s ever tested the limits of such a power.”

“Oh, wow. That would be frightening.” Nara could hardly imagine a creature so grotesque. She shuddered and shook herself to get rid of the creepy feeling.

Sehlan saw this and asked if she was OK.

“Yeah, just a creepy thought. No more of that! Eugh! Where are they taking it?”

“I’d imagine to her. Where it will then use her desire to make her see it as Silavut and cause even more damage.”

“Oh! So that’s what you meant by ‘it’ll be worth it’.”

“Yes.”

Nara left it at that and retreated into her own thoughts.

They again continued in silence, each in their own little world in their head.

Several hours later, they reached their first stop and dismounted.

Lady Anielle stretched as soon as she was down. She felt her hips, knees and back pop. “Ooohhh…oh, by the Powers, that feels good.”

The rest followed suit, stretching and popping whatever they could.

“It’ll definitely take some getting used to again, after having not ridden for so long.”

Nara and Tail were the only two who didn’t need so much getting used to it again, but it still felt good to get down and stretch after so long.

Vekta, having hardly ridden in his life, was the worst off. He hobbled as he stepped down from the stirrup and nearly fell over. Tail snickered at this. “Oh, haha. It’s so funny when it’s not you, huh?”

“Oh, come on, Vekta, lighten up. It’s not like you actually fell down.”

Vekta stepped over to Tail and flicked his ear.

“Ow! Hey!”

Vekta laughed.

“OK, OK. Fair play. Sorry.” Tail still kept his smile, though. He knew it was all in good fun—teasing each other like old times.

They all got their gear out and set up camp.

There wasn’t much talk that night; just a group enjoying themselves in nature around a nice, warm campfire and eating campfire-cooked foodstuffs.

One by one, each retired. First was Nara. After a while, Tail and Vekta went. Then Lady Anielle. Silavut and Sehlan were the last ones. They snuggled against each other, not having to hide their affections now that everyone knew they were together, having seen them holding hands at dinner that one night and being together practically all the time up until they left.

Thankfully, it was an uneventful night and they all slept well. Mostly. Nara still had trouble, after the incident with the wraith, but it was getting better. She stirred in her sleep and woke up a couple times, looking around to make sure everyone was still safe. Eventually she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning was also rather uneventful. They broke camp, packed up, and continued their journey. After a bit of silence, Nara heard Sehlan faintly humming. It was a different tune this time. She turned in her saddle and asked, “What’s that tune you’re humming? It’s different.”

Sehlan, lost in her own little world, barely heard Nara’s question. She stopped humming, looked at Nara blankly for a moment, then realized what she said. “Oh, sorry. Got lost there for a moment. It’s an older song I learned when I was still young.”

“Did your mother sing it to you?”

“No, this was after…” She couldn’t quite finish. The memories were still too painful. She took a deep breath and gave Nara a weary smile. “I had been living with a wonderful couple who took me in. They were of the old ways and had certain traditions they liked to keep up on. One of them was keeping the old stories and songs alive. The woman sang this song almost daily. It’s one of the most wonderful songs I’d ever heard.” Her smile became genuine by this point.

“I’d love to hear it.”

“I’m not sure the rest would, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure they would. Come on. Please?” Nara gave her the sweetest look.

Sehlan rolled her eyes. “Oh, how could I resist such a face? Very well, then.” She took a deep breath and began to sing.

Across the misty plains

Under star-filled skies

Over frosty mountains

That's where home lies

Brave the weather

Rain, snow or shine

On the journey home

Across the open sea

Over depths unknown

On ethereal winds

Sail to the moon

Brave the weather

Rain, snow or shine

On the journey home

Through darkest night

Until the new dawn

Travel beyond the light

Home awaits all along

Brave the weather

Rain, snow or shine

On the journey home

Her eyes were closed and she had a wistful smile.

Nara had tears in her eyes. “That was beautiful,” she said quietly, wiping away the tears.

“Thank you.”

The rest of the group had grown attentive to her singing, being drawn out of their own thoughts.

Silavut sidled up to her. “You have the most beautiful voice. You really should sing more.”

Sehlan blushed. “Thanks. Though as you know, I don’t really sing much unless the mood strikes. Which isn’t often lately.”

“I know. You’re still amazing.”

They leaned over on their mounts and kissed. They heard giggling. Looking over, they saw Nara making comments and funny faces. The rest followed suit, teasing them.

“OK, OK. That’s enough,” Silavut said after a moment.

The group laughed but ceased the teasing. They were all in a jovial mood now and told jokes and stories as they rode on throughout the day, occasionally stopping to rest, relieve themselves and eat.

Vekta noticed it was starting to get dark. They realized they would need to stop and set up camp again soon before they lost the light.

As they set up camp this time, however, Tail made a comment that something didn’t feel right and they should take up posts, trading off every few hours so they could all get sleep. Everyone agreed. Vekta would take first shift, followed by Tail, Sehlan then Silavut. Anielle offered to take a shift, but the others figured with the four, they were covered. Nara also offered, but they told her they would be fine, and she would need her rest.

Little did they know how understated Tail’s comment that something wasn’t right would be.

#Silavut the Wizard #Chapter 44 #Departure

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jenniferisacommonname · 3 years

Text

Voiceactors in my Head

One of my many contradictory feature sets is a silent, circumventing stubbornness paired with a pathological fear of confrontation. I will get what I want, and I will not stand my ground if verbally pressed on it. I concede points like it’s an Olympic sport. But as long as everyone's still smiling—gently, snidely, or otherwise—then I can go on forever. Case in point, I once trolled a stranger on the internet for over a year. (Don’t worry; by the end of the story you’ll be on my side again. And if you’re not, well, I mostly agree with you.)

It all started with a CD which was, at the time, exclusively available through the record label’s website. This was back in 2005, when online retailers still ran on frontier justice and only fools uttered the words “free shipping.” Needless to say, I did not have an existing account.

But we do what we must. So I bent the knee, and delivered my modern-day rogation of name, email, and PII governed by the Sarbanes-Oxley Act in order to receive my one CD—then I defiantly wasted that effort by never patronizing their establishment again. I mean, the album was fine, and I’m sure they had other struggling artists whose work I would have enjoyed, but apparently I’m against creative expression and the American small business owner or something.

Anyway, five years of blissful non-interaction go by. Then one day in 2010, I get a mass email from the founder of this little indie record label. It was—or at least it aspired to be—a classic “starting a new chapter” kind of announcement, letting everyone know that he had sold his (incredibly!) successful company, and was using the proceeds to start a charity that would bring music lessons to inner city children.

And, hey, I thought, that’s cool. Music is great for kids. Except… the tone of the email was weird. It was more than just casual; it was chummy. The concept of a YouTuber didn’t exist back then, but here was its primordial ancestor, testing the beachhead with its nascent flipper-legs of peppy chic.

“Yo, J-dawg, how's it hanging? Remember back in [mail-merged year] when you bought [whatever]? What a great album, am I right?! Anyway, it's been so long since we rapped, I thought I'd update you on my sitch…”

Obviously, I’m paraphrasing, but that’s how the voiceactor in my head performed it. And it just rubbed me so hard the wrong way. I mean, look, I get it—we live in a promotional society, and there's no avoiding that. I’ve done my fair share of book pimping, and if you have a legitimate fan base the intrusion can even be a welcome one. So, fine. Tell me about your thing—once—and maybe I'll buy it. But don't act like we're friends, like I have some kind of obligation to you beyond this basic consumer relationship that we've established.

So my gut reaction was a hard pass, pleading children’s eyes be damned. But the email didn’t include a link to unsubscribe. This spammer was so brazen, he had sent the message from his personal email account, as if threats like “more updates to come!” belonged in anything but a ransom note font. If I wanted my name off the list, I would have to actually write him back, creating exactly the kind of low-stakes, one-on-one confrontation that we all know is worse than torture.

How would I even phrase it, knowing that his overture was from the heart and my rejection would travel right back along that path? “Listen, amigo, I know you probably spent an hour composing this raw, honest self-reflection on your priorities, but it’s garbage, and I never want to hear from you again. Please keep in mind that while you have failed to inspire me, you’ve also failed the children. Because you’re a failure.”

The actual words wouldn’t matter; I was sure that’s what he’d hear. In fact, I would argue that a polite rejection is often worse, because it leaves no option for the rejectee to write off the loss as a dodged bullet. They really were a nice person, and you’ll probably never find anyone so humble again, you loser.

So instead, I got out my favorite piece of social armor: the ironic “yes, and.” In improv theater, if a scene partner implies that you’re the best of friends, you don’t argue with them. You commit to the bit. So I did.

“Oh my God, Steve, it's so good to hear from you!” I wrote (except I used his real name, of course.) “I can’t believe you still remember our special album. Makes me weepy just thinking about what it meant to us. Anyway, here’s what’s been going on in my life...” Then without warning, I dumped several years’ worth of emotional trauma on him—about severe autism, and how hard day-to-day life was, and how each treatment brought hope and frustration in equal measure while somehow never easing my crippling fear of the future. It was a therapy session on steroids, directed at a stranger under the guise of bitter sarcasm. My flippant sign-off left no doubts about my true feelings: “Anyway, as I’m sure you can imagine, we are flat broke with medical bills, bruh! So I'm gonna need you to take us off your list. But in the meantime, here are some autism charities that you could donate to on our behalf, since we're such good friends.”

To be clear, open snark isn’t remotely in the spirit of “yes, and.” But it felt better in that moment than honest rejection, and I figured he’d take the hint.

Instead, the guy wrote back.

“Wow, what an amazing story!” he said. “Crazy world we live in. I'll go ahead and take you off the list, but I do hope you'll think of us in the future.”

Ugh. He had met my bad behavior with empathy, and I felt moderately ashamed. Then again, you couldn’t argue with results, and at least I knew this ordeal was behind me.

Except he didn't take me off the list. A couple of weeks later, I get another fake-personal email, which I must again paraphrase, though I remember with furious precision the way it made me feel. “Heyyyy Jenn-ster, it's me again! I know how much you've always loved music, so I know you're gonna want to hear about this...”

BITCH. YOU. DON’T. KNOW. ME.

“Steve, what happened?!” I wrote back. “You used to be such a good listener! I think the money's changed you, man.” And I asked once again to be taken off the list.

This time, he ignored me. No reply, and the spam kept coming.

So I just decided that this was going to be our thing. Every time he sent me an email full of stuff I didn't care about, I was going to send him an email full of stuff he didn't care about. Except I kept pushing it a little farther each time, like, “Ooh, potty training's not going so great, let me tell you all about it...” And at the end of every email I'd always remind him, “Hey, anytime you want to stop getting updates on my son's bowel movements, all you have to do is take me off your list.” Sometimes I bolded it; once I super-sized it into a 40-point font. But he never did.

This went on for over a year.

But I won.

It’s a trite saying, but sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words. The last email I ever got from this guy was short, which was unusual for him, and it said something like, “Great news! We've just graduated our first class of students—check out these pics!” (Why am I paraphrasing so much, when email is forever and I could just go back and give you direct quotes? Stop asking questions and roll with me for a minute.) Anyway, embedded in the email, like already loaded and filling the screen HTML-style, was this giant picture of… I don’t know, a kid kissing a trumpet or something. It was probably super cute, to be honest—but I was on a mission.

“Great news!” I wrote back, trying as always to mimic the exact structure of whatever he had sent me. “My son just had a colonoscopy—check out these pics!” And I pasted the actual medical photos of my child’s rectal passage into the email, pre-loaded and filling the screen, so he’d be forced to view them against his will, just as I’d been forced to endure his endless marketing crap.

Sure enough, he never emailed me again.

Pretty good story, right? And that closer—I mean how can you top sending medical photos to a complete stranger just to gross them out? Unfortunately (or fortunately; I’ll leave it up to you,) this one has a weirdly philosophical denouement. If you like your narratives sassy and single-layered, I suggest you duck out now.

Around 2015, I was trawling my past for wild stories that could be condensed into a tight three minutes for open mic night, and ‘that time I emailed colonoscopy pics to a spammer’ was an obvious contender. Once I had the basic structure written down, more or less exactly as I remembered it, I went digging through those ancient emails to finalize the details.

And what I found was… not what I remembered. The story I told above clearly had some emotional embellishments (see: paraphrasing), but it was fundamentally true in circumstance, I thought. And, yes, I really did send this guy two pictures of my son’s colonoscopy, though they were just thumbnail attachments, not embedded. But the text of my actual emails to him barely came off as snarky at all, and I never once told him in clear terms to take me off his list. There are a few lame hints at irony that you can pick out if you really squint, but by and large I was just… writing him back. Like we were friends.

Which is a good thing, because his emails to me were even less accurate in my memory than mine had been. He hadn’t cut me off; he’d replied to every single email I’d sent, in a way that made it clear that he’d watched every video and read every article. He was cordial, empathetic, and seemed genuinely interested in my kids. It was a therapy session on steroids, all right—minus the steroids.

BITCH.

YOU. KNOW. ME.

And in return for all this kindness, I had sent him horrific medical photos for no reason. To which he had replied (and this time I’m not paraphrasing,) “Thanks for the update on your son. I appreciate it. Keep up the good work. All the best to you both.” The updates from him had indeed ceased after that, but from what I can tell it was just a coincidental winding down of that particular enterprise, not a removal of my name from any specific list.

Eventually, I ended up emailing him again, this time as a penitential mea culpa to ease my own conscience. I explained the situation, and apologized for my unfair judgment of years past, plus of course the unsolicited sigmoid landscapes. He thought the whole thing was hilarious, and admitted that he’d never once picked up on my poorly-conveyed bitterness.

More important than the personal amends, though, was the lesson I had to swallow about how emotions don’t just cloud memories—sometimes they invent them out of whole cloth. I swear, I swear I remember a photo of a kid graduating from his charitable music lessons, but I can find absolutely no evidence of it anywhere. My brain made it up to retroactively justify my behavior: yes, I sent a photo, but only because he sent a photo first. It’s not even a remotely good justification, but I guess it took the edge off just enough to keep seeing myself as a good person.

It was an important lesson professionally, too. History is nothing but a mashup of inherently self-serving memories, and multiple perspectives can only draw a narrative closer to objective truth by half-steps, never to fully reach its destination. Even hard evidence is fallible, because my emails as written did not accurately represent how I felt when I wrote them, which is an important part of the story in its own way. Misinterpretations and flawed perspectives are inevitable, but they’re also necessary, and stripping them out as a historian is just as wrong as taking them at face value. A story is both what the participants think it is, and what we know it isn’t—especially when those two conflict—and every non-fiction piece I write is just somebody else’s therapy session on steroids.

#spam #spammers #autism #troll #colonoscopy #medical photo #stand up #open mic #music #album #online retail

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shadowsong26fic · 7 years

Text

Hurray for AU Outlines!

All right, so I got a request to do #11a from my List of Things I’ll Never Write as an outline, soooo here goes!

Note that, due to the fact that the only people who are bigger Drama Queens than the PT Trio in life are the PT Trio having died and been sent back to have a second chance to Make Things Right, this skews a little bit towards the Melodrama and Feels area, rather than straight Funny like some of the others have been.

(Also, as a trigger/content warning, there’s some bits that could be read as passive suicidal ideation).

Previous outlines can be found in the tag.

The actual prompt:

11. Both Anakin And Padme Unfuck The Timeline And Are Bound And Determined Not To Let The Other One Know They’re From The Future

11a. The Same Thing Only Obi-Wan’s Also Time-Travelling

(For those of you who read It’s Like Déjà Vu (All Over Again) [which was prompt #11 above] last summer, portions of this might be familiar.)

So, we start with Anakin. Anakin gets to have his heartwarming death scene, his final moments with his son, a brief and hazy Moment with Obi-Wan and Yoda on Endor…

And then he blinks. And…he’s not a ghost anymore.

He’s standing in the Jedi Council chamber

(which is a whole lot bigger than he remembers; when did that happen?)

“I will train him. I take Anakin as my Padawan Learner.”

…did he seriously just say that? Wow, no wonder Obi-Wan resented me at first.

…wait a minute.

At first, he thinks it’s just—not exactly a dream, per se. But that old saying, about how your life flashes before your eyes when you die?

(this is a bit late for that, though; because he definitely remembers standing with the others on Endor and watching Luke)

(also this is a weird place to start)

(not to mention unfair)

(if he has to relive it all, couldn’t he at least have seen his mom again?)

Still, it’s the best explanation he’s got, so he decides to run with it.

The next couple of days are—very strange

(Obi-Wan and—everyone is so young. He’d forgotten how young they all were, back then.)

Parts of it he remembers clearly, but most of it is fairly vague, or like—a list of facts. This thing happened, then this, then this.

(He overhears Obi-Wan saying he’s dangerous. Why did you forget that, old friend? he wants to ask.)

(Just because he came back, after all, doesn’t change what he did. If Obi-Wan had killed him properly on Mustafar, or stuck to his guns back here and not spoken up for him—well, maybe not that second; maybe that just would have given the Emperor more access to him.)

(But, on the other hand, had he not been in the Order, in the position he’d been in…)

(Not that it really matters at this point, after all. He’s just an observer, reviewing bits and pieces of his life.)

(Right?)

All of that changes when they get to the hangar.

He climbs into the fighter cockpit, just like last time.

(Artoo is behind him, a comforting, familiar feeling.)

And then, three and a half decades of training and self-discipline go up against a nine-year-old’s inherent attention span and patience.

And lose. Badly.

(Look, he’s never been good at sitting still, okay? And a part of him is nine years old again, which just makes that even worse.)

He turns on the starfighter early, since he’s not just pushing buttons at random, and fidgets a little, waiting for the destroyers to show up so he can shoot them and then “accidentally” turn on the autopilot and head off into space.

(It really was an accident the first time. Which was then his first taste of real flying—of combat, too—and one of the things he’s actually genuinely looking forward to reliving.)

Then Maul shows up.

(A not-insignificant part of him appreciates the sheer Drama of his entrance, lbr.)

(the part of him that reacts like the forty-something soldier/Drama Queen and not a slightly overwhelmed nine-year-old.)

On a whim, he activates the fighter’s guns and fires off a shot.

He doesn’t expect it to work.

(This is all a dream, right? Just reliving things because the Force thinks I need to be punished, right?)

Except—it does.

what.

It doesn’t kill Maul, of course. But it does throw him off his game, and damage his saberstaff.

Suddenly, advantage: Jedi.

For a long moment, Anakin is frozen. What the hell. I can change things? THIS IS REAL?!!!

He shakes it off after a second—locks down the panic/reaction, drawing on those three and a half decades of training and self-discipline.

He has a battle to win. He can think about the rest of this later.

When he makes it back down to the surface (after a much smoother/neater destruction of the control ship, tyvm), things are—well, part of it went the same and part of it…

Qui-Gon survived. That’s a big one.

Obi-Wan did kill Maul again.

(possibly properly this time; we’ll see)

The next few weeks are…kind of a blur, honestly.

Look, it’s a lot to process. Above and beyond the whole time travel is real and I can change the past and omg I can see all the people I loved again and omg the people I loved will see me again I’m fucked etc. etc., a nine-year-old’s brain really isn’t built to process forty-some-odd years’ worth of memories. Most of them pretty horrific.

In the end, it turns out his memories are…not vague exactly, except kind of they are. He doesn’t remember a whole lot of detail. A few moments, of course, stand out, but for the most part, it’s just the broad strokes.

Which is not to say that he doesn’t remember the details, just that he can’t consciously recall them. He basically has to enter a deep trance to dredge up any specifics.

When the dust settles, he was accepted into the Order—but apprenticed to Qui-Gon this time.

Probably for the best, he thinks. I didn’t know him the first time around, after all.

He decides, for many, many reasons, to conceal his knowledge of the future and especially how he got it.

And now, he just has to decide—what to do with his knowledge.

His first instinct, naturally, is to run off and stab Palpatine in the face.

Of course, there are a couple problems with this. First of all, he is tiny and ineffectual. He would attempt and fail and just get himself killed.

(This, incidentally, is why Anakin has to land this early because lbr without a damn good reason holding him back, he would just go murder Palpatine in the face.)

(Being Tiny and Ineffectual is pretty much what’s gonna do it.)

(And while a part of me is delighted by the mental image of nine-year-old Anakin murdering Palpatine in the face, it makes for a very short story and does not fit the prompt sooooo.)

And second of all (though this doesn’t occur to him until after he tries climbing out the Temple window and stops himself because Tiny and Ineffectual), remember the above bit about vague memories?

….yeah, murdering Palpatine in the face without knowing the full context (…assuming he even knew about it/cared to know about it in the first place) could have serious consequences.

Like…quite a bit of the Master Plan is already in motion.

The clones are already in production, almost certainly.

Dooku may already be Tyranus, who the heck knows.

Palpatine didn’t create the problems that led to the Separatist movement and the War (or if he did it was much earlier than this), he just exacerbated them.

So, without Palps imposing some measure of control over the chaos…

Chance are, he’d just unleash a different kind of hell. Maybe it would be better, maybe it would be worse.

But he really doesn’t want to take that chance.

He was given this opportunity to set things right. He’s not about to waste it by just breaking the world again a whole new way.

He decides (though he knows it will be Extremely Difficult), to keep his head down and try to figure out exactly what the context is, put things in place to unravel the preliminaries as best he can, and then murder Palpatine in the face.

Of course, Anakin has never been very good at playing the long game.

(Even as Vader)

And he learns, pretty quickly, that Qui-Gon…has many talents, and is a very good Master for him in many ways but…yeah, not so much that.

(Qui-Gon may, in fact, be worse at long-range planning than he is. He never thought he’d see the day…)

So, after a year or two, he gives in and admits he needs additional help. And there’s really only one person he can turn to.

The problem is, Obi-Wan has been…not very much at the Temple since Anakin arrived. And when he is, he tends to avoid Anakin and Qui-Gon as much as he can.

But they were friends before—while they were alive, and then again, after Luke saved him and they found each other in the Force again.

Anakin is sure that, if he just has the opportunity to talk to Obi-Wan, they will be again…

Of course, before Anakin can approach Obi-Wan, guess whose turn it is now to land in the past!

Obi-Wan wakes up in the middle of a mission, about a year and a half after Anakin got back.

He realizes he’s time-travelled pretty quickly. He sort of vaguely remembers this mission? It was one of the ones he went on just after being Knighted, when Anakin was still too young and inexperienced to accompany him.

(Not a very memorable mission, though. The Force is being kind; he’s going to get enough shocks to the system over the next few days.)

So, once he processes that, he’s pretty happy about it. He can change the past! Fix things! Save Anakin! Not lose EVERYONE all over again!

(well, all right, he’s too late to save Qui-Gon but still)

It’ll take some doing, of course; to unravel everything Palpatine’s already put in place. Make sure he ties up all the loose ends.

(it might well take him the full ten/twelve years he has, even; he’ll need to find actual evidence of what he knows, probably, and explain how he got there some credible way, in order to actually get this right.)

But first…

But first, he gets to see his brother again. And, yes, they found each other in the Force, and everything was all right in the end, but…but this is a second chance.

He’s very much looking forward to it.

So, he wraps up his mission and sends a preliminary report back to the Temple, and then thinks—I’m not too far from the Arkanis sector.

That’s a problem we really don’t need eight years from now.

Besides, from everything he’s heard of her, Shmi Skywalker deserved so much better.

He gets to Mos Espa, and tracks down Watto (he never saw me before, I can do this discreetly and not have to deal with the Council asking Questions I haven’t yet decided how to answer) and finds out—

“The Jedi came through and bought her from me over a year ago.”

And there’s a sort of…brain-glitch moment there, where two conflicting sets of memories over the past two years try to integrate.

At which point he’s absolutely positive that someone else is time-travelling, and he figures it’s either Yoda, Anakin, or Qui-Gon himself. He won’t know for 100% sure, though, not until they actually meet.

I have to get back to the Temple now.

He makes his excuses to Watto, grumbling rather convincingly, he hopes, and disappears off into the sunset, back to his ship and Coruscant.

He gets to the Temple hangar, and Anakin is actually there, waiting for him. And he knows.

Anakin’s eyes go huge, and his shields slam down. He’s clearly unsure exactly how to proceed. He had this All Figured Out, and suddenly he’s dealing with his Obi-Wan, the one he loved and lost and found again, instead of the one from this timeline, and…and…

Obi-Wan nudges his shields a little, and offers a very brief smile—it’s okay, we did find each other again, you came back.

Anakin brightens and tries to hide it.

(badly, as always)

But they’re still in the Temple hangar at the moment, and Anakin is probably Supposed To Be Elsewhere right now.

“Meet me on the roof tonight,” he murmurs as he passes.

Anakin nods, then scampers off to whatever he’s supposed to be doing.

(Obi-Wan decides it’s probably better to approach Qui-Gon after he and Anakin have talked properly. But that’s his next step.)

Anakin’s very Nervous again when he gets up to the roof that night. He’s had all day to fret about it, after all.

But as soon as Obi-Wan gets up there—a couple minutes after Anakin does—he immediately hugs his little brother.

Anakin clings tighter than he remembered knowing how to.

And for a very long moment, they just stand there, clinging to one another, on the Temple roof.

(they don’t speak)

(at this point, they don’t need words)

And then they start talking—Anakin reveals how long he’s been here, and admits that he’s a little lost how to proceed.

“My memories aren’t totally reliable,” he says. “I think my brain was too small when I landed. And you’d think it would get easier as I physically matured, but…”

“Maybe in a few more years,” Obi-Wan suggests.

“Maybe.”

Obi-Wan agrees with Anakin that they shouldn’t just go for Palpatine right away.

(for one thing, if they don’t have any actual evidence, that risks pitting the Senate and the Jedi against one another which would…would not end well.)

So, they decide that Obi-Wan will try to research, find actual evidence that leads them to Kamino and Geonosis. Because “I had a vision” might satisfy the Council (“we came from the future” is slightly less likely, but still within the realms of possibility), but even if they manage to cultivate allies in the Senate, they will never convince that august body of Palpatine’s evil with that alone.

“With any luck, this won’t take too long. I know more or less what I’m looking for, and I have a little more freedom to maneuver.”

“Because you don’t have a small child tagging along this time?” Anakin suggests dryly.

“Partly, yes,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile. “The point is, I’m sure I’ll find something that leads me to Kamino, and we’ll go from there.”

“Without letting him know we’re on to him.”

“Ideally, yes.”

Anakin, they decide, will try to figure out how to deal with the chips. Just in case.

“It might take some time,” he warns. “The interface between the organic and the machine parts is where I always had trouble. Even with the…the suit, later.”

Obi-Wan nods. “But we have eight years,” he says. “Surely, between the two of us, we’ll pull this off.”

“Hey, we’ve pulled off wins against worse odds before,” Anakin agrees, with a very familiar spark in his eyes.

(Obi-Wan’s heart soars a little at the sight.)

For two years, everything goes reasonably well. They make progress, Obi-Wan foils a few schemes (so do Anakin and Qui-Gon).

(Obi-Wan also patches things up with his old Master)

The three of them are a family. They’re actually happy.

But there is a Problem on the horizon.

Palpatine hasn’t quite figured out that Obi-Wan and Anakin are on to him. Obi-Wan is too careful for that, too used to being undergound, and Anakin doesn’t have the access to really make an impact.

But Qui-Gon—Qui-Gon hasn’t been allowing Palpatine the access he wants.

Naturally, the solution to this problem is to arrange his murder.

Neither of the boys takes Qui-Gon’s death well.

For Obi-Wan—well, it’s like Maul all over again; better in some ways because he had more time with his Master; worse in others because just when they reconnected he lost him again.

For Anakin—oh, the guilt. Beside which, he had actually bonded with Qui-Gon this time around, so…the guilt and the grief and everything in him wants to lash out.

(that’s what he does when he’s grieving, after all)

(he lashes out)

(and the worst of it is—the worst of it is, he knows exactly why this happened)

(and it’s all his fault)

(Qui-Gon was killed because of him.)

Obi-Wan figures out this is going down (or at least the first part of it) which is what pulls him out of his own grief spiral and goes to calm him down.

And Anakin starts to withdraw because—because how can he face Obi-Wan, after this—

“Don’t—don’t—don’t shut me out, Anakin, please—”

And that’s all it takes and they both basically break down and cling again, just like on the Temple roof two years before, only…only…

A few days later, they have a strangely familiar conversation at a too-familiar funeral, and Obi-Wan takes over Anakin’s training.

The two of them fall into old patterns—or, well, something very, very close to them. Since they’re not willing to read the Council in on things, they’re also running regular missions along the side. But they continue to interfere with Palpatine’s plans whenever they detect them, and keep looking for the full web so they can safely remove the spider at its heart.

Palpatine, of course, has backup plans for his backup plans, so he can always course-correct. On the other hand, frustratingly, he doesn’t have any more access to the boy than he did with Jinn involved, and cannot risk another murder.

So, he keeps trying to gain access, and keeps adjusting his overall plans as necessary.

Some ground is gained, but some is lost. Their slow underground solitary war does show some progress, if glacial. And the day to day missions take up enough of their time and focus that, while they are making strides in the longer game, years pass before they even realize it.

And then, Anakin and Obi-Wan are at last sent to mediate a border dispute on Ansion.

They are once again arguing about Anakin’s Trials, just like the first time around.

But this time, they’re taking the opposite sides.

“No, Master, I’m not ready, I need a restraining bolt, I can’t do this.”

(remember what I almost did after he died, Master? You pulled me back. I need you there to pull me back.)

“Anakin, you are clearly ready, I don’t think you do at this point, and the Council is starting to Drop Hints at me about holding you back.”

“No. No, no, no, I can’t do this.”

Obi-Wan sighs and drops the subject for now.

Anyway. Ansion. Anakin seems uneasy, on edge.

“I don’t know. I feel like this mission is Significant somehow, but I can’t place it.”

(karking unreliable memories)

Obi-Wan doesn’t really recall it, either.

“It’ll come to one of us if it really is that important.”

They complete their mission, and then, on the way back to Coruscant—

“Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, I figured it out.”

“What?”

“Why this mission is so important.”

“Yes?”

“It’s the last one. Before—before Kamino. And First Geonosis. And…Varykino.”

“Oh. …oh.”

Obi-Wan tries to figure out a solution—had things really gone that far already? Where did the time go we’re not ready yet—and the best he can come up with is trying to switch places; perhaps using Anakin’s Trials as an excuse to send him to Kamino, while Obi-Wan guards the Senator.

“If the Council goes for it, I’ll do it,” Anakin says.

But first, they have to deal with the initial half of the mission—seeing Padme again; meeting the bounty hunter, finding, at least, a genuine breadcrumb that will take them to Kamino.

AND NOW, at long last, GUESS WHOSE TURN IT IS TO TRAVEL BACK IN TIME!

Padme wakes up on the approach to Coruscant.

Like Obi-Wan (and unlike Anakin), she figures out she’s time-traveled pretty quickly.

(she mucks around with the landing gear, and is able to do just enough to save Corde’s life, even if she can’t totally prevent the explosion)

And that just confirms it—she’s in the past, this is real, she can change things. She can save the Republic. Save Anakin.

(even if she was wrong when she died, and she doesn’t think she is, she knows there’s still good in him now. She can save him, here and now. She is not going to lose him again.)

Speaking with Palpatine himself again is—not easy. Mostly because she is nearly overcome with the desire to rip his karking face off.

(she focuses on the mental image of Corde in the medcenter instead, because she’s angry about that, too)

(it seems to work; his slimy, false sympathy is exactly as it was the last time)

(This, incidentally, is why Padme has to land so late. The same reason, basically, why Anakin had to land so early—without a damn good reason, she would just haul off and murder Palpatine in the face.)

(And she’s smart enough to know that she has to wait until she takes steps to counteract the inevitable power vacuum, especially with Dooku still out there.)

(But if she landed before he was this entrenched….?)

(Yeah. Murder. All of the murder. Right in the face.)

But then—after suffering through her audience with Palpatine—then she gets to see Obi-Wan and Anakin again.

And there’s a moment of—the last time she saw him, he did go mad and try to murder her. What if she reacts to that, instead of the person he is in the here and now?

(…I will cross that bridge if I come to it, she decides.)

Of course, when she sees him again—

This is her Anakin. Not the one she lost on Mustafar, the one she found at Varykino.

(well, not quite; maybe a little later; a year or two into the War, after he had Ahsoka, before things got too bleak and never-ending; when he was a little bit scarred, a little bit shadowed, but still the golden boy she loved.)

Anakin is just as much of A Mess as he was the first time around.

(if not more)

(Obi-Wan would very much like to bang his head against the wall but he is A Professional, so instead he steps on Anakin’s foot and takes control of the conversation)

(he’s also extremely—if decorously—happy to see Padme alive again like this)

Padme does not actually sleep that night; she remembers those creepy worm things and she knows they’re coming this time.

(“maybe one of us should hang out on the roof, pounce on the droid before it cuts through the window,” Anakin says, “and by one of us I mean me can I please go dive off a roof onto a droid?”)

(“fine, as long as you don’t mock my driving when I pick you up. And we are not taking your shortcut again.”)

(“you never let me have any fun.”)

(“I’m letting you jump off the roof!”)

(Padme watches Anakin fall past the window a few hours later, crashing into the droid and disappearing from view)

(...that’s...different...)

But, long story short, they get their dart breadcrumb. As promised, Obi-Wan speaks to the Council, but they refuse to switch the assignments from what they see as the logical one.

(Anakin is kind of torn between terror and elation and Angst)

(“everything will be fine,” Obi-Wan promises him)

Padme is mostly pleased. She’s still pissed that she has to miss the Military Creation Act vote, but, on the other hand, cementing her relationship with Anakin is almost as important in the long run.

(especially since the War, at this point, is inevitable)

(at some point, while they’re getting ready to go, Anakin mentions Qui-Gon to her; and she has the same sort of brief brain-lag memory-integration Moment Obi-Wan did on Tatooine eight years before)

(Anakin panics for a second “what did I do wrong this time DDDDDDD:”)

(but she does recenter, and figures—well, this isn’t all that much more weird than the concept of time travel in and of itself; question is, does this make her job easier or harder…)

(one thing she is absolutely sure of, though, is that Anakin can never know what she’s seen. It would break him, and she will not let that happen. She’s going to get it right this time. She’s going to save him.)

The two of them continue on to Varykino, and Padme notices more strange things that don’t quite add up.

Anakin is—shy. Definitely interested in her; just as transparent as the last time, but every time they start to get close, to touch, to kiss—he pulls back as if he was burned.

And what follows is, essentially, a role-reversal of their canon courtship.

(complete with Melodrama by the fireside, where Anakin tells her they Can’t Be Together and then flees the scene and Padme promptly bursts into tears because, to her, it feels like her husband of three years just left her, nevermind that he isn’t her husband yet, and…)

(“It would destroy us,” he says; knowing how it would.)

(“I look at you, and I can’t breathe,” he says; hearing the echo of the monster that still lives inside him.)

(“I am here to protect you,” he says; meaning so much more than she can possibly understand.)

(because, whatever else happens, she can never know what he’s done. It would destroy her. And he cannot let that happen. He’s going to get it right this time. He’s going to save her.)

So they spend the next few days Pining. There is so much pining going on, guys.

(lightyears away, Obi-Wan is very glad he’s lightyears away from all of this.)

Obi-Wan’s thread is basically a much smoother, more deliberate progression of his canon plotline.

Again, he needs actual Evidence that will be acceptable to the Senate, not just the Council.

Of course, when he gets to Geonosis, he has absolutely no intention of getting arrested again. He could do without reliving that particular adventure, thank you very much.

So he picks somewhere less exposed to send his message summoning reinforcements.

(and still gets spotted and captured, because the universe likes to mock his pain)

Anakin facepalms a little, but—well, he needed an excuse to go to Geonosis.

If I can get this part right this time, if I can kill Dooku right from the start—I can’t think of a better way to hamper the Emperor’s plans.

Padme promptly announces she’s going to rescue Obi-Wan, just like she did the first time.

Anakin tries to talk her out of coming along.

(It is very, very difficult, he now remembers, to talk Padme out of anything. Especially where Righting Wrongs and Triumphing Over Evil and Saving People is concerned.)

(he loves her so much when she gets that look in her eyes; a part of him is dying a little but he follows her; he will always, always follow her)

Anakin smiles that little crooked smile of his, the one that means explosions and death-defying recklessness and somehow saving the day nonetheless.

(she loves that smile; almost as much as she loves the full, bright, soft one that’s just for her; a part of her is dying inside, knowing that she might never actually see it again, but she stands at his side; she will always, always stand at his side)

They work their way through the factory, doing a little bit better than the first time, since they know their way around.

But, because they are still Reckless and Unsubtle, they get caught.

As they’re being brought into the arena, just like before, Padme tries one last desperate confession.

(she’d hoped it wouldn’t take a mutual near-death experience like it did for her, but it’s worth a shot)

(and he knows he shouldn’t—not until after Palpatine is dead and his mission is complete—but…but she loves him. She said so.)

(and he kisses her, once, before they’re wheeled into the arena.)

The next bit goes…eh, more or less as it does in canon.

Until they catch up to Dooku in that cave.

…well, okay, for a few minutes longer. Anakin, overconfident and riding the most glorious high of his life, still rushes in heedlessly.

He manages to catch the lightning, but he’s lost vital ground, and he’d—forgotten how skilled Dooku was.

(in his defense, he had defeated him legitimately before murdering him last time!)

Eventually, he sees an opening—the opening—for a clean kill.

But he’s at a bad angle, and Dooku is too focused…

(Obi-Wan will figure it out, he reasons, in the split second he notices it, and steps forward to make a sacrifice)

Dooku misses the fork, takes the bait, makes for the opening Anakin has given him—and strikes true.

But leaves himself open to Obi-Wan who does not hesitate to take his shot.

So, here is what has and hasn’t changed—Anakin still loses his right arm; but Dooku dies at First Geonosis.

Obi-Wan deactivates his saber and steps over Dooku’s body, running to Anakin.

“I’d forgotten,” Anakin mumbles, “how much that hurt…”

“You didn’t have to do that, my friend,” Obi-Wan says, trying to push soothing, comforting pulses along their bond as they wait for help to arrive.

Anakin shakes his head. “Needed t’distract him. So you could get him and he wouldn’t get away this time.”

Obi-Wan sighs.

Padme bursts in a moment later.

“Ani!”

Obi-Wan shifts to allow her room; lets her cling to Anakin’s remaining hand.

(he is, of course, completely unsurprised by this turn of events)

Later, when Padme and Anakin get back from Naboo, they confess to Obi-Wan almost immediately.

“I thought,” Obi-Wan says, when he and Anakin are speaking privately afterwards, “that you were going to try to—that you were going to wait until Palpatine was dead. Just to be safe.”

“I know. But…but it’s really, really hard to…I couldn’t say no to her, Master,” Anakin says. “She…I’d forgotten how much she…I’d forgotten.” And then he smiles, softly.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he says. “I don’t disapprove. I just—you…you are aware I knew from the beginning last time, right?”

“I—wait, what?”

“You two,” Obi-Wan says, patiently, “are not remotely subtle.”

“…you never said anything…”

“You made each other happy,” he says. “Besides, I was hoping you would come to me, eventually.”

“I should have,” Anakin says.

Obi-Wan doesn’t disagree. “Just…don’t shut me out this time, all right? Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“And—are you sure this is how you want to proceed?” Obi-Wan says.

Anakin thinks for a minute then nods. “She loves me. And I love her. And she asked me and I couldn’t…yes, this is how I want to proceed.” He pauses, laughs a little. “And I never could say no to her, anyway. Not until I was too far gone to listen to anyone. So, if I’m still listening to her, if I still can’t say no to her, I’m doing all right. Right?”

Obi-Wan is Very Very Tired right now. And wants to bang his head against the wall.

(it’s the same problem they’ve been running into with his Trials, all over again)

He chooses not to answer that just now. Instead, he says, “all right, but you have to tell her.”

Anakin’s face drops. “I can’t,” he says. “It would only hurt her.”

“Someday, the truth will come out,” he says. “And the longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

“I can’t,” he says. “What good would it do, to tell her about a horrible future that will not happen?”

“I won’t make you,” Obi-Wan says, after a moment. “But keeping this from her is a mistake. I genuinely believe that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Anakin says, reluctantly, but has no intention of changing his mind.

And so, the War.

Anakin does have the chips sorted, mostly, and he and Obi-Wan start very carefully working through the 212th and 501st, with the intention of moving on to the rest of the army as soon as they can.

They also have the Actual War to fight, which takes up a lot of time and energy. Even with Dooku dead, the Separatists have enough steam to keep this up for at least a year or so.

Padme is carefully, carefully manipulating events so Bail or Mon (Bail is a little more experienced, but Mon, not being Chandrilla’s ruler’s consort, will have an easier time transitioning from representing her home planet to overseeing the whole galaxy) will be able to take power after Palpatine is removed.

And spending as much time with Anakin as possible.

(He doesn’t really object to this. He’s enjoying this all while it lasts.)

Obi-Wan and Anakin talk, early on, about whether or not to request Ahsoka—eventually settle on yes, because she’s good for them. They all work so well together.

(besides, Anakin is almost entirely happy for this brief moment; this was the best year of his life the first time around, and he has the opportunity to have his family back together and…)

(Obi-Wan doesn’t disagree.)

Ahsoka, of course, has no idea of all of this going on under the surface, but she bonds with her Masters and with Rex and with Padme (who is so happy to see her again she has trouble hiding it)…she’s so relieved that her being assigned to Master Skywalker has worked out so well for everyone involved.

But eventually, things must come to a head. And, after a year, Anakin gets a little nudge.

(It’s time.)

This is—oh, we’ll call it during the Tiny Angry Boba Fett arc.

(this was not one of the missions Anakin remembered with any clarity, incidentally.)

(it was somewhat disconcerting to see tiny Fett, though.)

(having on a Very Significant Occasion worked with the full-sized version…)

Obi-Wan is in the field doing…I honestly can’t recall what he was doing, but it might be different in this timeline anyway. Point is, he’s off fighting.

Ahsoka, of course, is off with Plo, Investigating.

Anakin is stuck at the Temple recovering from his injuries.

(with Mace Windu right there)

(as some of you may be aware, I am very fond of inversions and role-reversals and parallels…see also the Rabbit Hole AU; and there’s a future Precipice plot thread that you can probably guess, given that…)

(they’re still not friends; they probably never will be; but they work together at least as well as they did the first time around)

(maybe a little better, even, because Anakin understands him, somewhat)

And Anakin gets that little nudge and, while Mace is asleep or meditating or something, sneaks out. He goes, at long last, to confront Palpatine.

Palpatine is slightly surprised, but not at all displeased, to hear that General Skywalker has requested to meet with him.

(he’s made little drips of contact through the years, but never quite enough to catch on, fortunately)

(at last, he thinks, the seeds he planted are bearing fruit!)

And then Anakin gets into the office.

(and turns on a recording device he’s built into his arm)

(he’s not quite sure why that’s so important to him to install it, but it is)·

(some deep-buried part of him remembers everything that led to Ahsoka’s trial and is covering ALL HIS BASES)

And then he drops his shields.

Palpatine pauses for a split second, calculating his best response.

Option one: kill Skywalker here, find a way to explain it—ah, yes; an assassin, the young Jedi heroically saved his life, unfortunately sacrificing himself in the process. This is the safest option; Skywalker knows far too much, after all. Best to dispatch the threat quickly.

Option two: subdue Skywalker and take some time to learn how the hell he got this much knowledge of the future. This idea is not without risk—harder to explain away, for one thing—but given how several of his schemes have quietly unraveled over the past few years, it might be a bigger threat to remove his only potential source of information. There may be others who have this knowledge, after all.

He settles on Option Two.

Just as Anakin had hoped, Palpatine begins to stall, drawing out the conversation, looking for an opportunity to subdue him nonfatally.

Keep him talking, Anakin thinks. Long enough to say something truly incriminating, and help Padme and Obi-Wan with the aftermath.

(but just for the two of them; he’s pretty sure he’s not walking out of this confrontation alive.)

(he was already injured, after all, and while he’s mostly healed, it’s a profound disadvantage in a fight like this)

(and he’s made his peace with that)

(he’s not really built for peacetime, after all)

(nor does he deserve it, really)

(he just…he wishes it hadn’t come so soon.)

(it’s too early; Luke and Leia won’t exist now, and that’s—that’s something he really, really wants to happen; but…he trusts the Force to tell him when the time is right, and the time is right to end Palpatine now; he cannot risk failing by delaying)

(so he regrets, a little, but he has faith in Padme and Obi-Wan, absolute faith, that they will see this through, after he does his part.)

Palpatine notices the instant Anakin’s tactics change; realizes there must be a recording device somewhere; how could this happen, how could this notoriously unsubtle child get that past me? His arm. It must be in his arm; I need to make sure it’s destroyed when I kill him—

He lashes out; lightning, of course—but not quite quickly enough to stop Anakin running him through.

Anakin staggers a little, fighting to stay conscious as the lightning burns through him, his arm sparking madly (but the part of him that planned for this planned for that too; the recorder is safe); and Palpatine—Palpatine has one last trick up his sleeve.

He has a knife in his boot, a last-ditch self-defense weapon; dipped in poison because he never does anything halfway. He buries it in Anakin’s side, using his last moments to make sure he takes Skywalker with him.

MEANWHILE, back at the Temple

Mace wakes up, and immediately notices Anakin is gone.

He gets up, snags a passing Healer, brushes aside her remonstrances.

“Was Skywalker discharged?”

“What? No, of course not, why--?”

Mace doesn’t bother answering. Just pushes past her and bolts after Skywalker.

He gets to Palpatine’s office in time to see the lightning and both stabbings.

And, despite the concussion, as he is in a much clearer/steadier frame of mind than Anakin was the first time around, Mace is able to evaluate the situation more or less accurately, and does not draw on Anakin.

Instead, he asks, “….Skywalker, what the hell is going on here?”

Okay, he can clearly see that Palpatine was the Sith Lord—which is going to take a hell of a lot of explaining what the hell—but how Skywalker knew—

“That’s…a very long story, Master.” He detaches his prosthetic, and passes it over. “Evidence. I recorded everything.”

Mace stares at Anakin. Stares at the prosthetic. Stares at Palpatine’s smoldering body.

(his half-healed concussion-induced headache is getting worse by the millisecond)

He finds the recording, skims through it—

“…all right. I’m going to get the guards to secure the scene,” he says. Then, eyeing Anakin, “also a medic. Stay put, Skywalker.”

“Sure,” Anakin says, and closes his eyes.

Mace turns off the recording and heads off, holding on to the arm.

And Anakin—Anakin is really feeling the poison burning through him now. He yanks the knife out—he tries to purge the toxin, but he’s not strong enough; not after the lightning; not while he’s bleeding like this.

Padme, he thinks. I can’t—I can’t see Obi-Wan, I can’t see Ahsoka, I can’t see everyone I love to say...but I have to…I have to…

(Obi-Wan, of course, is already on his way back to Corucsant. He has a Very Bad Feeling right about now, and picks up the pace, flying with a recklessness that Anakin might appreciate, if he were here)

He drags himself to his feet, wraps his cloak tightly around himself and hopes it will hide the blood, before sneaking off.

He manages to get to Padme’s apartment without passing out; rings the buzzer.

She comes to the door. “Ani!” She blinks, then stiffens, alarmed. “What…what happened to your arm?”

“S’all right,” he says. “S’evidence. I need…I need…”

She takes his hand and pulls him over to the couch. “Evidence? What do--are you all right? You don’t…you don’t look well. I thought you were stuck in the Temple? Ahsoka said something about an explosion…” She presses a hand to his cheek, checking for fever; but he feels cool to her touch.

“I was,” he says, then takes an unsteady breath. “I need…there’s some…some things I need to tell you; Obi-Wan kept saying I should, for months, but I…I couldn’t…please, just…just let me finish, before you say anything?”

And he turns such haunted, weary eyes to her that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t say no.

“Of course,” she says. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods; his breath is coming a little short now, and her face is starting to blur in front of him. “I…I just assassinated the Chancellor.”

That was—that was not at all what she’d been expecting to hear. “What?” she whispers.

“He—he was evil, Padme, or I wouldn’t have—you have to believe I wouldn’t have—the…the…the proof, there’ll be proof soon. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He blinks. “The reason I knew is because…because I…in another life, I…I helped him to…to destroy it. Everything. We…we burned it all to the ground, but I got…I got another chance, I got sent back and I…I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I did such…such terrible things, and…” He stops, trying to catch his breath. “I’ll go. I’ll—”

She catches him before he can rise. “I know,” she says. “I know, I…”

He stares at her. “…what…?”

“I got sent back, too.” She kisses him, gently. “And I couldn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t want you to hate yourself for things you hadn’t done yet, so I…I didn’t say anything either. But it’s okay, because you…you came back, I always knew you could, I told Obi-Wan, and…and we’re both here now. That’s what matters. We’re both here, and you’re you again, and...”

His head is spinning. “You…you don’t…you thought I was…?”

(her face flickers in front of his; warm brown eyes replaced by earnest blue ones, I’ve got to save you; you already have)

“I knew you were,” she says, and kisses him again.

And then she feels something wet on her hand.

“…you’re bleeding!”

He catches her hand. He’s really short of breath now, and she can feel his heartbeat fluttering under her fingers. “S’all right,” he says again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “You’ll be okay, I’m gonna get help, we’ll get you fixed up, you’ll be—”

He shakes his head. “Maybe—maybe it’s…it’s better this way, I can’t…I can’t break…”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says. “It’s not, it’s—no, Ani—”

“Least I…least I got to see you again,” he says, then, “I love you. Always, always loved you.”

“No,” she says, “no, no, no, you can’t—we—we fixed it, Ani, I don’t think we get another do-over you can’t…you can’t do this, don’t leave me, please, please, stay with me…”

And then he passes out.

When he doesn’t answer, she yells; all pretense at secrecy forgotten; for one of her handmaidens to go find a doctor.

Obi-Wan, meanwhile, has landed on Coruscant and follows his instincts, heading straight for Palpatine’s office. He arrives not long after Mace realizes Anakin has slipped off again.

“Obi-Wan,” Mace says. “What are you doing here?”

Obi-Wan takes in the scene with a glance—the blood; Palpatine’s body which looks so much smaller and less intimidating in death—and all he says is, “where’s Anakin?”

“I’m not sure,” Mace admits. “I turned away for a moment and when I got back he was gone.”

“He—how badly was he hurt?”

“Badly,” Mace says, “or I wouldn’t have left him alone. He was conscious, and lucid, but I didn’t think he could stand, let alone…”

“Damn it,” Obi-Wan says, half under his breath, “damn it, Anakin, you promised you wouldn’t shut me out, we were supposed to do this together—”

“…what.” Mace says.

…oh, not good, Obi-Wan thinks, realizing he’d just said that out loud.

“Obi-Wan, do you have any idea what the hell is going on here?”

“I—”

And then he spots the dagger on the floor, where Anakin dropped it.

Very, very carefully, he picks it up by the handle.

Mace catches his thoughts immediately. Explanations can wait. “I’ll pass this on to the medics,” he says, taking it from Obi-Wan’s hands. “Go find Skywalker.”

(as if Obi-Wan needs to be told)

(as if Obi-Wan really needs to look that hard)

(use your feelings, Obi-Wan, and find him, you will)

Padme looks up when her door opens, still cradling Anakin, hoping it’s the doctor that Elle ran for, but—

“Obi-Wan,” she says, and their eyes meet—

And he knows.

“…when he wakes,” he says, his voice shaking just a little, “when…when Anakin wakes, the three of us need to have a very, very long conversation.”

Her eyes widen, comprehending, and she nods.

And, just as he did for her on Geonosis, she shifts her position, making room for him.

He rests a hand on Anakin’s forehead; healing isn’t his strong suit but he does everything he can to hold Anakin there with them, until the doctor finally, finally arrives.

And, because this is already waaaaaaaaaay longer than I thought it would be, a brief epilogue/summary:

Anakin spends the next couple weeks pretty out of it, while Obi-Wan accounts to the Council and Padme and Mace explain Palpatine’s death.

(but he does survive; it would hardly be a proper fix-it if I gave him an actual Cyrano ending, now would it)

Bail is appointed interim Chancellor while everything is sorted out, but steps down/does not become permanent Chancellor. Probably Mon does.

When Anakin is conscious and lucid enough, he is debriefed; after a great deal of discussion with Mace, with Yoda, and, most importantly, with Obi-Wan and Padme and Ahsoka, he decides to leave the Order.

(Padme takes a brief leave of absence from the Senate, and takes him to Varykino to continue to recuperate, and so they can really figure out where they are as a couple now, with everything they know, with everything they lived through and then averted. But she does go back to work after a month or two)

(Obi-Wan takes over Ahsoka’s training; but it’s more or less understood that he will resign and join the others after he sees her through to her Trials)

Ahsoka actually stays with the Order in this timeline; becoming weaponsmaster after Master Draillig retires.

(but when the twins and their eventual little sisters are born, she revels in being Aunt Ahsoka, and visits as often as she can)

And from there…well, all kinds of things could happen, with the Galaxy reshaped and set back on track.

The important thing is, though, Our Heroes have all the time in the world to figure it out.

#au outlines for the win #shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong26fic

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evenstevensranked · 7 years

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#27: Season 2, Episode 1 - “Starstruck”

Ruby desperately wants to win a radio contest to sit in on boyband BBMak’s recording session. Meanwhile, Louis finds an incredibly lucky penny and milks it for all it’s worth.

Wow, guys! Season 2 opens with the BBMak/Lucky Penny/Louis gets a makeover and looks smokin’ hot and Ruby develops a crush on him and I'm like "girl, same" episode!!! Let’s do this.

Alright, so within the first minute of this episode we learn that Ruby is absolutely obsessed with BBMak (a boyband that actually existed and is now unfortunately so irrelevant that some younger viewers of today assume they're a fictional band) and she’s trying to win a contest to go to their recording session when they come to Sacramento. She’s been listening to the radio on her pink, cheetah print walkman for hours on end trying to make sure she’s the lucky caller. Ren is concerned that her intense devotion may not be healthy.. but, Ruby insists she’s not obsessed with them. Her bedroom and behavior says otherwise:

At school the next day, Louis ends up finding a lucky penny which leads him to experience the best few days in a row ever. It kicks off with him narrowly escaping death and his big history test being canceled due to their teacher’s monkey having babies. The usual. If you binge watch the show, like I’ve done more times than I care to admit, the first few seconds of this scene are shocking because Louis' voice is obviously deeper and he looks obviously older. Yet according to Disney logic we're supposed to believe he's still in 7th grade, lol nah. Maybe at least the second half of 7th grade... We've gone over this before.

Louis seconds away from potentially dying over a penny.

Like I've mentioned, Disney is notoriously bad at airing episodes out of order. So here, we get an episode featuring Ren’s old friend Nelson. The only issue is that this aired 6 episodes before Thin Ice, which is Nelson’s formal introduction. The only explanation I can think of for this is that the Disney execs thought the BBMak thing would make a stronger season opener and switched up the airing order after they were already shot sequentially. I guess they assumed, or hoped, no one would notice or care that there's a new character we've never seen before just chilling with the gang like BFFs lol. According to Wiki at least, Season 2 was aired horrifically out of order when you compare the production code to the number it aired in the season. Like, WOW. For example, this episode was shot as Episode 13. I think that says it all.

No wonder Louis seems so jarringly older in this episode. He’s totally younger in the episodes that were supposed to air during the front half of S2.

Anyway, both Ren and Nelson are concerned about Ruby’s wellbeing now. She has practically turned into a fanatic zombie. They approach her and she says “I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. Do you really think I wanna chat?” completely zoned out of her mind. Yeah, I’d be worried too. We also see that she’s not doing her schoolwork either. Her entire binder is full of BBMak, including this rather disturbing pop-up:

Continuing his string of good luck, Louis gets to eat Principal Wexler’s extravagant birthday lunch for whatever reason and ends up winning a free fashion makeover courtesy of "Fruity Fruit Cocktail." ....ok. Tawny starts to get freaked out and Twitty simply says "I'm starting not to like you" which is understandable, because Louis is quickly slipping into another arrogant phase due to all of the luck he's been having.

Ren and Nelson give Ruby an intervention to stop her ridiculous obsession with BBMak and wanting to marry one of them. Why is this something that never goes out of relevancy? This is still happening today. It’s perhaps more relevant than ever with the rise of internet fandoms and socials like Tumblr. Teens are literally spiraling into genuine insanity over bands like never before. As long as there are teen idols, there will be teen idol fanatics. Can’t really go wrong with a plot-line like this. Ren tells her "You deserve a real life person who's gonna be perfect for you" - Ruby agrees and decides to turn over a new leaf.

The new and improved made-over Louis comes waltzing in, and just like that Ruby replaces her BBMak obsession with a Louis obsession. She’s just blown away by his beauty. Same, tbh. Y’all already know that I HAD THE BIGGEST CRUSH AND THIS EPISODE KILLED ME!!!! Now that I think about it, this very well might've been the episode that solidified my everlasting fondness for Shia LaBeouf.

This isn’t even overdramatic. Ruby is so me.

Even Ren and Nelson tell Louis that he looks stunning! Well, “stunning” was Louis’ word, not theirs. They just agreed with his conceitedness, lol. Suddenly a bird comes flying into the house and lands on Louis’ shoulder. Of course, it happens to be Pecky -- a missing bird with a $50 reward. OF COURSE!

The next day, Ruby happily tells Ren that she has officially moved on from BBMak. There’s a new guy in her life! Ren is so excited until Ruby reveals the new object of her affection to her:

Um, is this my room circa 2001 or Ruby’s? I honestly can’t tell. Also I would so buy that big’ol poster of Shia on her closet door. That thing has made a few appearances throughout the series. It’s kind of iconic looking, don’t you think? Maybe that’s just me...

Just thought I’d mention: Ren asks her “How did you get these pictures?!” and Ruby explains “I downloaded them from the internet. Louis has a very interesting website.” Do I even want to know? Aside from the implied potentially disturbing content, part of me wishes Disney had some sort of interactive fake louisstevens.com website or something like Nickelodeon did with amandaplease.com!

Tawny insists that Louis' lucky streak is nothing but “admittedly weird coincidences,” until Louis calls in to win the huge BBMak contest and......... wins. I love how he acts so blasé about it. The DJ is so excited and Louis is all "Eh.. What can I say? This whole charmed life thing is getting kinda old." Also, the DJ in this scene, who appears two more times in the series, was one of the many actors recycled for That’s So Raven. He played a news reporter on that show. Similar field. Huh.

Ren believes that Ruby is simply rebounding with Louis and decides to show her his nasty bedroom to make her realize she doesn't actually like him. Ren also tells Ruby that he’s rotten and selfish, which... Is kinda true sometimes, oops. But at the same time, that scene always makes me a little sad inside. Louis is a good guy at heart, Ren!!

Just then, Louis appears in the doorway asking "What are you doing in my room?" and we get this incredible exchange:

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Louis then proceeds to very unselfishly invite Ruby to the BBMak recording session which only reinforces her crush on him.

Okay. We finally make it to this darn recording session! Thank god. Louis might as well’ve brought his entire extended family because he brought four freaking people along with him like it’s some free for all. You usually don’t push your luck when you’re gifted something like that... but, oh yeah. Lucky penny. I freaking love this bit where Ren whispers to Ruby “Woo! He’s gorgeous...” referring to Christian from BBMak, and Ruby says “I know.......” in reference to Louis! LOL.

Ren is so disgusted and once again Ruby is me.

Shia has been gorgeous in my eyes for nearly my entire life!!!!!!!!! Apparently I'm weird because I've seen so many memes about him that say things like "He was that ugly, weird kid on Even Stevens and then he magically became good looking" I'm just sitting here like??? Y'all are about 14 years late to the party.

Louis and Twitty get distracted by a table with free cheese on it, which honestly is the best part of any and every function or gathering. Not even gonna lie. While hanging around the cheese table, Twitty decides to seize the opportunity and give BBMak an Alan Twitty Project demo tape of “Sacramento Girl.” (YESSSSS!) They lie and say they’ll check it out — but immediately stuff it under a block of cheese. As a musician, I can confirm that this is too real. It’s impossible to get successful/established artists to take you seriously. I met Fall Out Boy at a local radio junket once and slipped Pete Wentz a demo. I never heard anything, sooo... It stings to know that he most likely hid it under some cheese the second I left.

BBMak are looking for a ‘Sacramento sound’ (whatever that is) and encourage Louis to play some tambourine on their track! They tell him “If this works out, you could come on tour with us!” If only it was that easy to land a national gig in real life. Ruby mentions in passing that she needs to tell Louis how she feels, and TAWNY IS NOT HAVIN’ IT! Omg. She kinda gets jealous of Ruby’s crush and they start a small argument over him. Ren cannot believe what she's witnessing and I love it. Also, Christy looks fantastic here? Whoever did her hair and makeup: Good job!! wow!

Unfortunately, Ruby’s attraction to him is short-lived and comes to a screeching halt the second Louis loses his penny during his tambo solo, jumping around like a lunatic with no rhythm. (Again, HOW does he become a drummer later on? It’s a mystery.) It’s very subtle, but you can tell once Ruby starts finding Louis "odd and annoying," that Tawny is secretly happy about it and still obviously likes him unconditionally even though he's literally insane. Same, Tawny.

So, yeah. Louis loses his penny and his luck runs out. BBMak basically kick him out of the studio. I love how Louis asks them “What about the record and the touring?! What about BBMak-Stevens?!” as if the conversation ever went that far. It’s great. I might’ve spoke too soon about Shia being gorgeous because the faces he makes when he realizes the penny is missing from his pocket are the furthest thing from the adjective:

It is hysterical, however. And that outweighs everything else here, so.

This episode ends on an AMAZING note: A super cringy music video for “Sacramento Girl”! What more could you ask for?!?! We get some Twitty-Stevens Connection action here and it’s something to behold. 😂 Be on the lookout for Shia doing his classic “shirt-over-the-head” thing he does, HAHA. You can tell some of the vocals were done by middle-aged men (probably Jim Wise) which makes it even more hilarious. My favorite lyric has got to be the Grammy award worthy: “Before I met the girl I had it made... Now she scores higher than the whole arcade. YEAH!” And of course, the episodes’ immortal last words "TAKE THAT, BBMAK!!!!" will go down in history.

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That’s it! I honestly don’t even know why I’m ranking this one “lower.” It’s probably one of my personal favorites but.. Idk man. There are simply other episodes that I like more, lol. This is a totally solid episode though! Super memorable, pretty strong humor (including music-related humor... which you know I love!), and two awesome plot-lines that blend really well! But, even with all of that.. something felt slightly flat about it when re-watching. It could possibly just be from me watching these episodes waaay too much, tbh. It also probably has something to do with it being a “special” episode with guest stars and whatnot. Episodes like that tend to feel like totally separate things to me.

At this point, we’ve officially reached the REALLY REALLY GOOD part of the list, though. So I don’t feel too bad about placing it here. There are no “bad” episodes from here on out. Well, there are no bad episodes of Even Stevens in general really. But.. you guys know what I mean.

I’m probably gonna regret and rethink this entire list once I finish it anyway so, lol.

Thanks for reading!

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#rank #even stevens #season 2 #disney channel #shia labeouf #bbmak #louis stevens #ruby mendel #ren stevens #christy carlson romano #the twitty stevens connection #alan twitty #old school #old disney #throwback #aj trauth #the alan twitty project

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iviaggidianica · 5 years

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giorno uno: metropolitan panic & luxury fashion stores

My flights were not pleasant, but not abhorrently intolerable. On the 5 hour stint I watched Vox Lux (weird & unnerving) and then some of The Princess Diaries (familiar and comforting). A chicken curry & pot of ice cream later, I managed to get myself on a skybus to the right terminal, and after asking for help at an info centre (yep I did actually ask), I went to the next gate. I passed Amy Ross on the way, who was going to the USA - an unlikely coincidence!

On the 12 hour flight I was determined to sleep the entire time but drifted in & out due to meals, coldness, discomfort and turbulence. I would wake up every time thinking ‘surely it’s time to get off now’, but alas. There was some passive aggressive gentle elbowing of the large old man sitting beside me encroaching on my personal space, and at one point some orange juice went flying as I knocked it in its holder in my attempt to get comfortable. That’s about as descriptive as a 12 hour flight can get.

Arriving in Milan was the part I was most anxious about. I stood in the passport line for about 30 minutes, awfully dehydrated. Eventually got in, stood at the wrong baggage collection for an embarrassing amount of time, traipsed through the airport to find the Malpensa Express and kissed goodbye to £13 to buy tickets. On the train we passed lots of green shrubbery, crumbling graffitied walls, yellow painted houses, and then all of a sudden we hit the city.

I walked around for almost an hour trying to find the hotel which was purportedly 10 minutes away from the station (it was, just not when you factor in the incompetence of Google Maps). I asked a man at a fresh drinks vendor & a lady in a chemist for some vague Italian-inflected directions, clinging onto every ‘sinistra’ and ‘destra’ I picked out, and eventually pulled my case up the stairs to reception. Proceeded to have a major panic as I couldn’t find my passport hidden in my bag lining - an Australian Consulate building flashed before my eyes in those few moments - and then entered my...room. A sink, bed, table, window, fan - a single toilet and shower located down the hall. Not going to lie - after my disheartening rigmarole throughout the city trying to find the place, running on few hours sleep and little food/water, the room was the yucky little cherry on top. I called Mum, which of course made me feel better, and pulled myself together.

(Already a MESS!)

(The holy fan)

(View from my room)

I contacted a girl, Aaliyah, who I met at UWA at the leaving meeting. I suggested we have dinner together, and so we planned to meet at 3PM at central station to go to Duomo. I was very nervous considering I’d only talked to her for all of 20 minutes in the past.

Whilst waiting for 3 to roll around, (it being around 12 at this point) I decided to walk to the station to have lunch before meeting her. The following sentence will not please Tonya: after wandering around and mainly just being unable to understand the cuisines/prices/formality of the restaurants & cafes, I stumbled into Maccas. And I felt a strange sense of peace, as even the interiors are exactly the same as at home. I ordered a burger, proud of myself for understanding Italian, and then walked to find somewhere else to sit as Maccas was packed with hungry travellers with suitcases. (Quality report: both the chicken and the bread bun in Italian McDonalds, it seems, are actually real).

I had really over-estimated the amount of time I would need to eat one burger. So I walked back to my hotel as a practice run, so that I wouldn’t endure that horrific goose chase from the beginning of the day again. Ended up resting in my hotel for a bit more and then went out to properly meet Aaliyah.

Was still early. And Aaliyah a little late. And my phone charge dying. Went and read some non fiction books about space and time in a shop at the station, called Mum again to express my nervousness, and then went to sit firstly near the steps that go down to the metro, before a cigarette-smoking bogan family drove me to another more isolated bench (more first impressions of Milan as a city in a moment).

Finally went down into the bowels of the metro, pretending to know what I was doing by walking fast and swerving at the appropriate signs. It was surprisingly easy. I bought tickets from a tobacco shop, where the Italian man was more than willing to help and graciously wished me a wonderful day. “Grazie” is beginning to roll off the tongue like second nature now, ah yers.

Aaliyah’s train would stop at my station, and then would go straight on to Duomo. I waited for Aaliyah at the tracks, but due to bad coordination I got ON the train and she got OFF to meet me. It was quite funny. Then when we arranged to just meet at Duomo, meaning she had to follow me a few minutes after on a separate train, she accidentally got off on the stop after. Truly a comedic sequence of events. Once she took a train back in the opposite direction we met beside a massive regal horse statue directly in front of the Duomo which probably has great significance which I’m overlooking. Stepping out to see the cathedral, in fact, wasn’t so much of a “wow, there’s the cathedral!” moment, but just a blind frenzy of trying to find a “girl who looks like a cow”, as Aaliyah self-described her animal-print outfit.

We met and were immediately barraged by street sellers, coming up to us and tying rainbow strings - yes, strings - around our wrists in the name of ‘peace and love’, and then asking for money. As Aaliyah is originally from Sudan, many African sellers sucked up to her, giving her discount offers. But we declined the £20 carriage ride and professional photography in front of the cathedral.

We took some pictures ourselves (better ones of me fully standing there, plus us together, are with Aaliyah and will come through at some point. These don’t do justice and I’m making weird faces, I know).

(You asked for pics with my face in them, this is what you get)

Then we went to the Duomo shopping place, which was art in itself. Looked a lot like the Melbourne arcades, but...far more impressive. We went inside the luxury stores including Prada, Chanel, Georgio Armani, Michael Kors, etc...and I suppressed my shock as Aaliyah seriously contemplated buying her parents £300+ gifts. And she probably will end up going back and doing so.

(Aaliyah + me looking like I’m grimacing, because that’s what happens when your phone is on the lowest possible brightness setting and you can’t see yourself.)

The shop assistants are SO friendly. They obviously want to sell you things, but they take a legitimate interest in you. The man in Georgio Armani talked to us about Australia & growing up in Italy & our respective interests in fashion & his fear of flying - it feels like you can just make friends with anyone and everyone in Italy. Nobody really keeps to themselves. This is great, but also a bad thing when you’re running on maybe 5 hours of sleep over 2 days and being friendly seems like the biggest chore on earth.

Aaliyah went and got prescriptions for Ray Bans, as you do, whilst I thankfully sat on a couch and pretended to go on my phone - pretended, because it was now on 5% and I was desperately trying to preserve power for my journey home. Here is an unnecessary pictorial documentation of this incident.

We went to a pizza place someone had recommended Aaliyah, got some large slices, then went and sat inside McDonalds (don’t worry, it was just a place to sit). Then Aaliyah accompanied me to the station so I could go home, around 7:30PM; but then the most bizarre thing occurred.

A man with spiked up hair walking hurriedly suddenly stopped as and said something in Italian, to which we responded ‘parlo inglese’ and continued on our way, but then he started asking for directions for somewhere, or asking us if we knew something, and then suddenly said he worked for a modelling company and we were both really great candidates and there was going to be a party at a well known club in Milan (Aaliyah knows of it) and wants us to come, and because Aaliyah had been receiving compliments all day from shopkeepers etc for her appearance I wasn’t so much doubtful of that compliment, but it was dodgy how he stopped us randomly and didn’t even seem to know what he was talking about at first. He continued for about 20 minutes and Aaliyah showed genuine interest whilst I was thinking nononono ALERT, and in the end it ended up sounding actually real but no way my spiky haired friend. He’s going to send Aaliyah an invite for it, so she can go along and have fun - not I sir!

We parted ways and I felt very snazzy remembering how to do the whole ride back, and then walking back to my hotel without any Google prompts at all.

Now, first impressions of Milan: an ultra-busy Fremantle. Humid and hot, you can’t walk far without putting on a sweat. Metro lines, trams etc are very efficient, if a little ill-labelled. The people are all very extroverted, happy to talk, and happy to translate. Friendships could be made from a 5 minute ride on the metro - something impossible in Perth. There is an eclectic cultural mix, with many Indians, Africans, Muslims. All the business men always look like they’re off the cover of GQ with blue suits and slick cosmopolitan haircuts. There are many gracious, slender looking women, but mainly the girls all have that curly hair black rimmed glasses sportswear look. Everyone always looks like they have somewhere to go, and are going in confidence.

I wrote the following summation of the day about halfway it:

Throughout the entire journey thus far, I’ve found myself constantly asking the question: “why am I doing this?”. I don’t know if this is a normal thing to think. I just hope I can start to feel a bit less overwhelmed.

Yet at the same time, I haven’t really registered that I’m in Italy; anywhere of particular note. In that sense, I’m both numb and also overwhelmed at the same time. I’m looking forwards to Uni, where there’ll be plenty of English-speaking people to feel comfortable with.

A good sleep & food should restore me.

...and whilst today was by no means perfect and there were a lot of bad moments, I feel somewhat more hopeful tonight.

Now, let’s see if these posts will continue at this length, or at all!

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