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coolrobotsupremacist · 3 years

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A lot of adaptations of Les Mis make Valjean a little evil, a little overly violent, a teeny tiny bit sexually predatory and that's fine if that's what you're going for but it's also, let's face it, the cowards choice.

If I was in charge I would make EVERYONE evil. Or more accurately I'd reverse everyone's morality like that one episode of Star Trek TOS where Spock has a goatee.

Here's how I see it happening(not NSFW but there are references to sex, sexually predatory behaviour, child abuse, murder, child murder and ahistorical clothing):

Myriel during his time in Spain became a Master Thief, amassing a great fortune, he became a priest to avert suspicion from him. Unfortunately he made a lot of enemies who had proof of his crimes and threatened him into retirement. But hey being a bishop is pretty good too: nice salary, big house, good food. It could be worse.

One day Jean Valjean (violent criminal) who got imprisoned for twenty years after beating his nephews to death to use as firewood comes to town. He wears all black. He breaks into Myriels house and almost managed to make off with his secret stash but Myriel catches him and decides that, since he can't go on with his life of crime, Valjean should be his evil apprentice. There's an episode that's just evil My Fair Lady. Valjean was already cunning but Myriel teaches him to blend in with high society.

Meanwhile in Paris Devoted Father Tholomyès is struggling to raise his Daughter in the light of God. This is difficult because her Mother, Fantine who is a slinky red dress wearing brunette, absolutely refuses to marry him or stop sleeping with her string of other lovers. She sells his Fathers watch for gin and mocks him for loving her. She is bisexual but only so she can have on-screen threesomes. One day he wakes up and she's gone, gone with his precious Cosette. Oh, the tragedy.

Thenardier, honest inkeeper and war hero, doesn't listen to his wife when she begs him not to take that bewitching red-lipped woman's child but he'll soon wish he had.

Fantine is having the time of her life. Free of her child she wanders to M-sur-M where she gets a job by seducing her way through the(male unless it's a threesome) population of the town. She soon becomes the most powerful woman in town. Only two men don't bend to her will, the mysterious Mayor and the police inspector Javert.

Javert knows corruption runs deep in this town, he knows but he is powerless. The most he can do is give money to the exploited child workers of the Mayor's factory so they can afford medicine for the limbs that the Mayor breaks when they aren't working fast enough. The Mayor is also a bisexual but we only ever see this telegraphed with sexually predatory behaviour towards Javert.

One day Fantine almost murders a man in the street because he asked if she would donate some money to the Orphan Fund. Javert arrests her but the Mayor(who has only been referenced by other characters so far) appears to see why a legitimate arrest is being made. Gasp! It's Jean Valjean but wearing an even sexier all black outfit. There is immediately blazing sexual tension between Fantine and Valjean. They begin a violent love affair. Eventually things turn ugly: Fantine attempts to turn Valjean in for money, Valjean tries to murder Fantine and Javert tries desperately to arrest them both. It's a fun time for everyone but Javert. Eventually everything sort of turns out like in Canon with Fantine dead and Valjean in prison. Despite constantly beating her whole time she was alive Valjean claims that Fantine was the love of his life and runs off to find her daughter(he knows about Cosette because Fantine would have him read the Thenardiers letters to her so they could laugh at her stupid daughter for getting sick)

The Cosette pickup goes the same but Cosette is eating the Thenardiers out of house and home. Cosette has dead eyes and decapitates flies. Fantine hasn't sent them a single sou for Cosettes care but despite all this they still try to stop the incredibly suspicious Valjean from leaving with Cosette. For a while they succeed but then Valjean beats Thenardier with a rifle and sets their inn on fire.

Marius grew up with his Father. Georges Pontmercy won all his military awards by stealing the accomplishments of a man named Thenardier: Marius is told if he ever meets this man he is to murder him immediately in order to dispose of the final person who could contradict Pontmercy's lies. Marius says things like "With pleasure...Father!!!" Or after his Father died " We were once Barons and I swear on my Fathers grave we will be again!!". He goes to Paris to study/plan the murders of his extended family.

Les Amis de L'ABC are just fully chaotic evil, utter gremlins(Marius argues for the importance of a strong leader and order but Combeferre sneers "Order is an illusion. Chaos is a ladder") they have regular brutal fighting matches to ensure they're all worthy of being in the group. What are there political goals? We don't know but probably something scary. Loosely aligned with each other only due to their thirst for power.(weirdly I guess this makes Grantaire kind of the token "good" teammate in the same way he's kind of the token "evil" one in canon.)

Mabeuf used orphan bones as an experimental fertiliser. He's determined to catch Gavroche: they have a sort of Tom and Jerry thing going on. Mabeuf is financially stable in this but he often let's his household go hungry as he becomes more and more obsessive and greedy in his book collecting.

Marius sees Cosette in the park and falls in love with her instantly because evil has no awkward phase and Cosette became a femme fatale at 13. He vows to make her his Dark Lady Baroness. Meanwhile Cosette thinks she can use him as she uses her Father. Valjean lusts after her and Cosette ENCOURAGES it because a literal child can TOTALLY be responsible for the feelings and actions of an adult man.

Eponine is caught between the honest attentions of Montparnasse, the man her Father approves of, and the dark attraction she feels for the flared nostrils and dark secrets of Marius Pontmercy.

A complex game of murder-sex-betrayal ensues but everyone lives and ends up kind of happy apart from Thenardier who dies to send his children away to a better life in Canada and Javert who gets shoved of a bridge by Valjean. Cosette married Marius. Valjean still lives with them and they run an evil criminal Empire. Les Amis all swindled their way into positions of power.

As Cosette and Marius are out walking one day they come across a worn old Gravestone they laugh at this pauper's grave then kick it over, forever concealing the inscription: Tholomyès, devoted Father.

#les miserables #les mis #jean valjean #Fantine #Javert #cosette fauchelevent #Cosette <3 #eponine #marius

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clairenatural · 4 years

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look at you, strawberry blond

destiel, 1.8k. pining, fluff, growing up together, etc! minor character/parental death, vague mention of John’s A+ Parenting. based on the mitski song (this is a repost because the first one got deleted)

I love everybody because I love you

Castiel first learns what love is when he’s eight years old and Gabriel, sixteen, is grumbling about driving an hour out of his way to find his girlfriend the rare chocolates she likes for Valentine’s day.

“Why?” he asks his older brother, and Gabriel sighs, melodramatic as always.

“That’s love, little bro. Remembering the little things and then putting in the time to make it happen.”

Cas thinks about when he told Dean his parents don’t let him eat candy. He thinks about how Dean has given him half his Kit Kat bar every day for the last year.

He thinks about the time he scraped his knee falling off the jungle gym and Dean spent the rest of recess picking dandelions to make him feel better. Yellow is his favorite color.

“Oh.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Cassie. Love is about sacrifice, and commitment--” he goes on, but by the time Michael cuts him off, yelling from his office that you’ve only been dating for two months, Gabriel, stop preaching to Castiel, Cas has already sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom.

A broken piggy bank, $1.50 in pocket change, and several pleas to Gabriel later, and Castiel tucks a king-sized Kit Kat into Dean’s valentine box.

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When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

It’s eight years later, one summer in high school, when Castiel realizes that there’s a difference between loving and being in love, and that he is, in fact, in love with his best friend.

He realizes this as he watches Dean walk away, sandals discarded and unnecessary in the soft grass, back to the picnic tables to get them both more fruit punch. It’s the annual junior class picnic, the official welcome to being upperclassmen, and the August sun casts a warm glow over Dean’s freckles, and Castiel knows.

Two seconds later, he watches Dean nearly get hit by an errant frisbee and completely forget his punch mission in lieu of playfully tackling its thrower, Benny Lafitte. He watches Lisa Braden, giggly and glowing and perfect as always, yelp as she’s almost caught in the crossfire, and Dean winks at her as he releases Benny.

He swallows thickly and turns his attention back to the patch of grass they’d been laying in, flattened where Dean had been just a few moments before. He wishes he hadn’t come to this particular realization.

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape I looked over it and I ached

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I love everybody because I love you I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

Castiel goes to college in Chicago and pretends like the two-hour drive between them doesn’t mean anything. And it doesn’t, until Dean’s father gets a job back in Kansas halfway through his freshman year. Dean goes with him even though he’s an adult because the alternative is letting Sam deal with John alone, so Castiel spends most of that summer in Lawrence, dodging both his friends in the big city and his family back in Pontiac. He tells them all that he’s studying Kansas’ role in the Civil War, assisting in research back at the University, but he and Dean spend two months going on road trips with Sam.

His sophomore year John dies and Castiel flies back for the weekend, explaining his sudden departure as a family emergency and getting an extension on two papers. Dean holds his hand at the funeral but won’t look him in the eyes for two hours after, even as he refuses to leave Castiel’s side.

The boys move in with Bobby but that summer Dean shows up in Chicago, explanations lined up about not worrying about Sam anymore and wanting to see what about the city made Cas keep coming back. Castiel gets an internship and pretends like that was the plan all along. He quietly cancels his plane tickets to South Dakota.

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape I picture it, soft, and I ache

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Reach out the car window, trying to hold the wind You tell me you love her; I give you a grin

Dean stays in Chicago. He moves into Castiel’s empty room when his original roommate moves out, he finds work at an auto shop, and he starts taking mechanic classes at a community college. Castiel isn’t sure why—he doesn’t want to ask. Afraid to look the gift horse in the mouth and risk having his happiness bitten off.

Then Dean starts talking about a girl. Then Castiel meets the girl, Cassie Robinson, and it all makes sense.

He pretends it doesn’t sting every time Dean brings her up, that the way his face lights up doesn’t burn, that he doesn’t feel physically ill the first time he meets her.

By the time Dean tells him he’s in love, gushing about Cassie in a way eerily reminiscent of Gabriel twelve years earlier, it’s turned into a dull ache that Castiel has mostly contained in the back of his chest. They’re on their way to Cassie’s apartment, the first stop on their way to a cabin spring break of their junior year, and the ache is suddenly threatening to break through his ribcage.

But the sun is warm on his cheek, and the radio is playing a soft summer soundtrack, so Castiel allows Dean’s happiness to wash over him long enough to forget who—or, more importantly, who isn’t—causing it. He grins at his best friend before turning his gaze back out the passenger window of the Impala.

Oh all I ever wanted was a life in your shape So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines, Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

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Look at you, strawberry blond

Dean and Cassie break up, and Dean drinks for a month, but Castiel getting into Stanford for grad school distracts him just long enough to go back to normal (a normal that does not involve thinking about how Dean nearly kissed him when they were both drunk the night he got his acceptance).

This new normal involves staring graduation in the face, and California beyond that, and moving out of his Chicago apartment somewhere in this middle, which also involves coming to terms with moving away from Dean.

Until Sam gets his own acceptance to Stanford a few months later. Then Dean starts sending him links to two-bedroom apartments, and using “we” when talking about the move, and looks just as confused as Castiel when he asks about it.

“Well, yeah. I mean, with you gone, and now Sam—You thought you were going by yourself?”

And even though Castiel vaguely thinks this is a bad idea, and living with his best friend who he’s been in love with for his entire memory had been hard enough for the two years they’d been doing it, he can’t say no. Because every time he gets up the nerve to say something Dean calls him over and shoves his laptop into Castiel’s face, talking about hiking trails and flower fields and front lawns and dogs, and that quells any doubt he had.

They move to Palo Alto, into a townhouse with a lawn and a communal garden. Dean adopts a golden retriever.

Fields rolling on, I love it when you call my name

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Can you hear the bumblebees swarm? Watching your arm

Two months into Castiel’s first year of graduate school they have a picnic, taking advantage of the lingering warmth of the California fall. Sam is off in the field playing with Zeppelin, obviously having used the ‘come meet my brother’s dog’ excuse to invite the pretty blonde woman (Jess?) chasing the golden with him. Dean is rambling about Star Trek and Castiel is paying half attention, the majority of his focus on the reading in front of him because professors don’t consider picnics an extension-worthy excuse.

He’s just started to get invested when he hears a yelp and looks up to see Dean Winchester, his best friend, most trusted confidant and the possible love of his life, swatting a bumblebee. Cas gasps, reading forgotten, and lunges across the picnic blanket to grab Dean’s wrist. “Dean.” He chastises, and Dean gives him a look.

“It’s a bee, Cas.”

“It’s a bumblebee, which are essential—”

“To our ecosystem, yeah, but it’s pretty essential to me that it doesn’t sting me.”

“It won’t sting you if you don’t swat at it.”

“You didn’t see the look on it, man. It meant business.”

“Bees are attracted to sugar. You probably just smell good.”

Dean grins. “You calling me sweet, Cas?”

And, well, no. He isn’t. He’s talking about the empty pie tin next to Dean. But the words make him realize just how close they are, how far he’d moved into Dean’s space in his efforts to stop his hand, how the force of the movement had pushed Dean almost back onto his elbows.

He opens his mouth to respond the way he usually does to Dean’s cavalier flirting, but the words don’t leave his mouth—which is, somehow, he swears, closer to Dean’s than it was a second ago. Just as Castiel is preparing to push back, clear his throat, and add this moment onto a growing list of almost-but-not-quite moments stretching back years, Dean sucks in a breath and closes the gap.

Castiel reacts before his brain can fully comprehend what’s going on, bypassing any shock entirely and kissing Dean back immediately. He lets go of his wrist, instead bringing his hand to the side of Dean’s face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Dean pushes himself back up and wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him essentially into his lap, and then they’re kissing, and Dean smells like summer and tastes like apple pie, and Castiel suddenly understands more than ever why bees are always buzzing around him.

It feels like a lifetime until it’s over, until they’re just staring at each other and out of breath, both scared to say anything and break the magic they’d accidentally created. The silence is only broken by a shout from across the grass, followed shortly by a tennis ball that nearly misses them, followed by 65 pounds of golden retriever that does not miss them and nearly topples Castiel in his pursuit of the ball. And then Sam comes running after the dog, still shouting—apologies, this time—and then there’s Jess, laughing hysterically, and then Castiel has to scramble out of the way because Zeppelin has made a U-turn, interpreting the whole commotion as a game of keep-away.

Dean meets his eye above the chaos and grins, and the sunlight hits his dirty blonde hair, and it’s so breathtaking Castiel almost forgets to smile back.

I love it when you look my way.

#destiel fluff #deancas fluff #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel #fic #spn #i told myself i wasn't gonna repost this but this verse lives rent free in my head so like. here u go sorry #also i like it and want it on my blog!!!#my words #(tumblr actually put this in the tags challenge)#over 1k words

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chnqin · 3 years

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Guess who wrote 1,500 words of a Star Trek AU I don’t know if I’ll ever write any more of °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

info: AU, pre-wangxian, rated T, minor character death

Here is a link to the masterpost of sorts explaining the AU, the character backgrounds and everyone’s position on the ship.

Chief Engineer’s Log: Stardate 1704.2 A Bad Beginning

As away missions go, the Shuoyue had seen worse. Once. One time was worse. And it was only half Wei Wuxian’s fault.

This time wasn’t any percentage his fault, so honestly in the grand scheme of things he was counting this as a win. Only one person was dead and literally nobody was sad about it. Not even his son! Wait, both his sons? Either of his sons? Jin Zixun might have been upset, but he didn’t have a soul so he didn’t count. The point was that no one was sad and the surprise murder was only a problem because it was causing a minor diplomatic incident involving four separate interstellar organisations and factions, and the fact that their Second Officer was currently being accused of the murder in question.

It had all started when the Shuoyue had been asked to ferry a group of diplomats to an important peace talk occurring between the Federation and a new planet. It was important because the first Starfleet team to make contact had completely ballsed the whole thing up, and the denizens of the planet - the Xua-Nwu, a semi-aquatic species with sophisticated technology and a warrior society - had not taken well to the Federation’s overtures of friendship. Why anyone would send Jin Guangshan as a representative of the merits of the Federation and the human species in general Wei Wuxian was uncertain. It seemed to him that he and his slimy team were only likely to exacerbate the situation, but Wei Wuxian was not in any circumstances to be placed on a diplomatic team for any mission (that was left solely up to the Captain, Meng Yao, and his own beautiful and talented sister Jiang Yanli), so he supposed there must be something they knew that he didn’t. Perhaps the Xua-Nwu valued backstabbing and being a generally terrible person.

What did, unfortunately, concern him was the ferrying to and fro of the diplomatic team on what was supposed to be his day off. Normally Wei Wuxian left operations such as the transporter to his second in command or one of his many competent underlings. However, as the diplomatic group was filled with fancy peacocks in their flouncy feathery diplomat garb and their delicate terror of all things involving space travel, Wei Wuxian was required to be the one to personally beam them down to the planet (because god forbid one of his baby juniors got their dirty little hands on the apparatus they worked with on a daily basis and accidentally caused the first case of splinching-via-transporter to ever have occurred). As a rule, Wei Wuxian wanted to spend as little time in a room with Jin Guangshan as physically possible. But then, his second in command was a woman and he wasn’t going to subject her to the awful man, so he had little choice but to show up to the transporter and try to block out the oily quality that oozed from the man’s mind like puss from an boil. Ah, the joys of being psionic.

As Wei Wuxian was also expected to beam the landing team back from the planet, he stayed in the transporter room, terrorising his minions by pulling out the wiring on the consoles and trying to “break it, sir, you are trying to break it” improve the functionality of the thing. Eventually Lan Wangji turned up and towed him away by the arm, no doubt alerted by one of Wei Wuxian’s traitorous underlings. They always told the First Officer on him, knowing that he, Jiang Yanli, and Wen Qing were the only ones who could get Wei Wuxian to stop when he was in the middle of something (the crew never bothered Jiang Yanli because they liked her too much, and they never bothered Wen Qing because you went to the Chief Medical Officer if you were injured or dying and for no other reason - she was a doctor, dammit, not a babysitter). Jiang Cheng could also get him to stop, but not voluntarily, and usually while resorting to violence. After the third time one of them had shoved the other in a Jeffries tube and blocked the entrance, the crew was banned from asking either of them to involve the other in anything.

Anyway, the point was that Wei Wuxian was very busy and so had absolutely no idea what was occurring on the planet until the ship was put under a yellow alert and he was asked to beam the landing party up as quickly as was physically possible (which, Wei Wuxian would like to point out, could have been considerably faster had he been allowed to finish tinkering with the control panel).

The group which had arrived back bore little resemblance to the well-dressed and put together team which had left not three hours previous. The most notable difference was Jin Guangshan, who had been alive upon departure and who was now dead.

“Oh no.” said Wei Wuxian in a very convincing tone of concern. “Whatever could have happened?” “Not now, Wei Wuxian.” snapped Jiang Cheng, who for some reason had been included on this mission, as he helped Jiang Yanli support a clearly shaken Jin Zixuan out of the room. “Such a tragedy.” Wei Wuxian said sadly, shaking his head, and could have sworn he heard a quiet snort from his left, but when he turned to the First Officer beside him, Lan Wangji’s face was as expressionless as ever. “I have prepared the briefing room as you asked, Captain.” he said in that unmodulated tone of his. “Thank you, Wangji.” said Lan Xichen with a strained smile. “Let us proceed there immediately.”

It had been decided, Lan Xichen explained, that the away crew would beam back up to the ship along with the surviving diplomats for the time being as a matter of safety and precaution. Meng Yao, Lan Xichen had insisted, was a valued member of their crew, and would be questioned, but not held without any evidence. Meng Yao himself seemed remarkably unbothered by the whole situation, but in that way which meant you were merely holding the threads of your being together until you could arrive at a solitary location and completely lose your shit in peace. Wei Wuxian could tell, because the waves Meng Yao’s mind were pushing out were not his normal calm ripples. Meng Yao was another one of those few people Wei Wuxian actively found hard to read (which was, honestly, a bit of a blessing - even if he found it difficult to connect with the man as a result, at least he got some peace). He thought Meng Yao might spend a lot of time actively shielding his mind from psionic interference - it seemed like the kind of thing the paranoid bastard would do, but it might also have something to do with his mixed Human and Orion heritage. Just now, however, Wei Wuxian could tell that he was genuinely perturbed by the situation, despite what his calm mask indicated to the rest of the world.

When they arrived at the briefing room the rest of the away team had already assembled, along with the other heads of departments excluding Wen Qing, who Wei Wuxian knew would have gone to see to any potential injuries amongst the diplomats. Lan Xichen first ushered Meng Yao into the small auxiliary room used by the Captain for discussions which were better not heard by multiple ears, and Lan Wangji followed. As neither seemed to notice (or have a problem with) Wei Wuxian following them, he decided to take that as a tacit invitation to be present for the conversation. And what an enjoyable conversation to witness it was, where Lan Xichen had to sit Meng Yao down and be like “Did you murder your father”, to which Meng Yao replied “No, I would never jeopardise my position at Starfleet by murdering my father, he’s not worth it”, which was not quite the “No, I’d never murder someone in cold blood or generally hold designs of patricide” Lan Xichen was looking for. But then he did have a surprisingly pacifist and optimistic outlook on life, particularly considering he was raised by the same man who helped form Lan Wangji - pacifist and optimistic were not words one would use to describe the First Officer.

However, it was enough to look into other avenues. There were, after all, plenty of people who had wanted Jin Guangshan dead, and as far as Wei Wuxian could tell Meng Yao wasn’t lying. Lying, or even bending the truth, often produced a very specific mind-taste which was rather unpleasant. Another reason to be glad Jin Guangshan was no longer among them, considering the frequency with which the man did it.

The four officers joined those waiting in the briefing room to hear a full account of the events. Many of the assembled crew members seemed energised or on edge or both. Nie Huaisang seemed particularly concerned, although what Wei Wuxian was sensing from him was more low-level enjoyment of the chaos. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, had just wanted a prolonged 12 hour nap on what should have been his day off. The briefing went on for a full two hours before they broke up to attend to other tasks arising from the situation - luckily for Wei Wuxian, this did not involve anything to do with smoothing the ruffled feathers of the diplomatic party.

By the time the day ended, Wei Wuxian was firmly of the opinion that he really should have just hid in a Jeffries tube till the ostentation of Jins had left. Maybe he could go goad Jiang Cheng...

#mdzs #the untamed #mdzs star trek au #wangxian #mdzsnet #wei wuxian decided to give the Jins a collective noun and it is an ostentation #feel free to use #did meng yao kill his father?#why was he specifically accused?#who are the two other interstellar factions and why were they there?#will wei wuxian be allowed to work on his own transporter?#i'm afraid you may never know #having said that i do have a small bit of wwx jyl and jc cheng joining the ship written which i guess would be more of a prequel fic #lan wangji absolutely always calls his brother 'captain' when on duty #whereas lan xichen can be a bit more relaxed #mpst #mine #star trek au #mwriting

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jusvibbbin · 3 years

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Right Place, Right Time

Luke Skywalker x Reader

//Anonymous request and my first non Star Trek fic! Enjoy!

//TW: Brief descriptions of blood and murder

You rolled over, half-asleep, and where there should have been the shape of a Jedi master, there was only empty space. You slowly opened your eyes and looked at the sunlight dancing across his pillow. You rolled slowly onto your back and thought absentmindedly about the events that brought you here. Brought you to him.

You were crouched behind a low wall as stormtroopers continued to fire upon the small mining town you lived in. Blood stained your clothes, your own mixing with that of your slaughtered mother and sister. The empire had been crippled but they were far from eradicated and now they were eager to take their frustrations out on any rebel sympathizers. Your family had just been simple cannon-fodder, target practice even. Your face was sticky with tears and the blaster wound in your stomach was making it difficult to breathe. You wanted to stay, to defend your town. But as blood continued to pool beneath your shirt, you realized you would just be another easy target. You angled yourself Northeast, towards the closest major city and began to walk. Walking had turned into hunched limping, turned into almost crawling. After hours of trekking through freezing rain, you finally collapsed just outside the city. You shivered against the biting wind and closed your eyes.

You woke up in a place you didn’t recognize. You sat up slowly, touching your stomach before jerking your hand back in pain. You lifted your shirt to see the wound had been closed up but it would leave a large scar. You looked around the small room. It was sparse, with only the bed you laid on, a chair by the door and a window near the bed. You gathered your strength and pulled yourself up to look out the window. You were deep inside the city, seeing nothing but tall buildings and ships flying in and out. You gently lowered yourself again as the door swooshed open. Holding a bowl of something, was a man with dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” he said and offered you the bowl. You took it cautiously and inspected the soup inside.

“The doctors weren’t sure you’d live through the night. But I knew you looked like a fighter.” He sat down in the chair near the door. “Would you tell me about how you got that?” He gestured towards your stomach.

You recounted the attack on your town as the man listened. He didn’t ask you any other questions, and when you had finished he simply took the empty bowl and left. You sat there, confused and a bit afraid. You knew nothing about where you were or who that man was. Sure he helped you get fixed up but you certainly weren’t in the hospital anymore. He could’ve helped you just to get a better price for you at a slave market. You were too weak to get out of bed, let alone mount an escape; your several hour trip had made sure of that. Out of options, you lay down again to rest.

As the days went by, the man continued to visit you. He would ask you questions about yourself and in return he answered one question from you each time. He chuckled when you asked if you were a prisoner and told you that you were free to leave at any time. You learned on his third visit that his name was Luke and he was a rebel. You thought his name sounded familiar so when he came again you asked if he was a Jedi master.

“And what would you know of Jedi masters?” he said, smirking slightly.

“I know that a Jedi master helped take down the Empire,” you said.

Luke just nodded and took his leave. Once you were feeling stronger, you ventured out of your room to find you were in a little apartment of sorts. A tiny kitchen, one bathroom, a living space and only one bedroom. He was sitting in the living room, reading something when you walked in. He looked up at you and smiled.

“Now that you can move around, we have something to discuss.”

“I don’t have any money,” you said quickly, looking down. “I can’t afford to pay you back for all your kindness.”

“I know,” Luke said. “That’s why I want to know if you’d be willing to come with me.”

You looked up in surprise. What would a Jedi master want with you?

Almost as if he was reading your mind he said, “I want to build a school. To help train other Jedis in the ways of the force. I thought I could do it alone but...” he trailed off, looking out the nearby window onto the bustling street below. He looked back at you.

“Building it will take time. Time that might be wasted if I don’t start locating students. My offer is this: You come with me, help me find a place to stay and start building the school while I gather pupils. Or you leave tonight, no debt owed and you forget you ever knew me.” With that, Luke stood and walked out the door.

You sat down in front of the large window and thought about the options he presented you with. You had nowhere to go. No family left anywhere and no real skills to get a job. If you stayed here you’d probably end up with a job that didn’t pay enough to live off of or run into some unsavory characters. Luke hadn’t done anything to make you distrust him yet and if he really was a Jedi he wouldn’t ever hurt you. You decided your best move was to accept his offer.

Once you told Luke your answer, he began planning for you to leave that night. He brought you some fresh clothes and as you changed, he packed. When you were ready you followed him to a launch bay where he was storing his ship. You looked in awe at the X-Wing.

“R-2? You ready to fly?” he called up to a droid in the ship. The droid beeped back rapidly and Luke laughed.

“You mean (Y/N)? They’re a friend,” he said to the droid before shooting you a smile.

You felt yourself flush and you busied yourself looking at his ship.

Luke and you squeezed into his ship and set out to find the perfect planet.

After travelling for a few days you had finally found a place Luke was satisfied with. Yavin 4. Apparently it was suggested by a friend of his, but he wanted to be sure it was exactly what he was picturing.

You began building the minute you got there. Luke helped you gather materials and you constructed the main training area. It took four days but no doubt would’ve taken longer if not for Luke force abilities. It was amazing to see him in action, lifting incredibly heavy things with the flick of a finger. You looked at him and he just smiled.

After a week, he took off in his X-Wing, leaving you to build the dormitories with the help of R-2. A month and seven dorms later, he returned. You waited eagerly to see who he had found, but when he exited the ship, it was only him. You made him dinner that night and you both ate in silence. Luke hadn’t said one word since getting back and you were starting to worry. You could tell he was disappointed even if he didn’t show it.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice making him look at you.

He gave you the tiniest of smirks and said, “It’s fine, the food isn’t that bad.”

You gaped at him before laughing out, “Big talk coming from someone who didn’t help cook it!”

“But see if I did help, it would’ve been a lot better,” he teased, eliciting a laugh from both of you this time. You nudged him lightly with your elbow and he nudged you back before it turned into a playful shoving match. You gave him a particularly hard one and he slipped off the bench you were both sitting on. You cackled with laughter then, tears brimming in your eyes. He looked up at you and kicked the bench while you were doubled over, causing you to fall almost on top of him. He caught you and you steadied yourself on his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. You felt your face heating up and in an effort to brush it off you began to laugh. Luke chuckled too and used the force to put you on your feet. You looked at him in shock as he stood.

“That felt… ” you started and then stopped, unsure of how to describe the feeling.

“Someday, I’ll make you fly around,” Luke said with a grin.

You grinned back at him, heart thumping at how close he chose to stand next to you. He walked you to the little hut you had made for yourself and wished you a goodnight. That night you dreamed of soaring through the sky, Luke never too far behind.

He left again the next day. You finished the rest of the building in another month and began decorating with things here and there. At the start of the next month, he returned with a child. He was small and green with big eyes and pointy ears. Luke told you his name was Grogu and that he would be his first student. After this Luke began to find more and more kids like Grogu, and soon the school had six students, eager to learn. He took a break from searching to begin their training and you certainly didn’t complain about having him around more. While Luke trained the children, it was your job to cook and to watch over them whenever he left. They were all polite and pretty easy going, you just had to watch Grogu around the food.

As the months continued, Luke and you got closer, spending time together during meals and after the children went to bed. Although you weren’t Jedi material, you worked with Luke to calm the raging storms inside of you, letting go of your anger and hate. As he taught you that, you slowly broke down the walls he had built up so long ago. One night, after a particularly long day of training, Luke decided to forgo your meditating in favor of telling you about his past and his family. About his brush with the dark side of the force and the anger that used to live inside of him. He spoke of the death of his father and mother and your heart ached for him. You moved from where you were across the fire and, sitting beside him, you pulled him into you and laid his head against your chest. Slowly he wrapped his arms around you and you felt him relax in your embrace.

You stayed like this for what felt like hours until Luke removed himself from your grasp and stood up. You worried that you had been too forward until he extended his hand down to you. You took it and he walked with you to your little hut. You started to enter, expecting him to say goodnight and leave but he tugged you back to him to place a gentle kiss on your lips. Before you could react he was already gone, halfway towards the small hut of his own.

Little moments like this began happening more and more until he stopped going to his hut altogether. And if you woke up early enough on some mornings, he would still be there, holding you against his chest.

You smiled at your memories and got out of bed. You pull on your clothes and wander towards the dining hall to start preparing breakfast. They would be done with morning training soon. You patted R-2 when he rolled into the kitchen and he assisted you in setting the tables. You had just finished the food when the children came filing in. You served the children and they sat to talk and eat their food. You served the last child and realized that Luke still was not there. You left R-2 to watch the kids as you headed outside to find the Jedi master.

You walked around a building and stopped. Luke was standing watching the sunrise. You turned to leave not wishing to disturb him when you suddenly felt your feet leave the ground. You gasped as he moved you to float in front of him, meeting eye to eye. He smiled as he set you down then wrapped his arms around your waist. You placed your hands against his chest and kissed him and you both settled in to watch the sunrise.

#star wars #luke skywalker #luke skywalker x reader #the mandolarian #oneshot

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obsessivelyloved · 3 years

Note

Hey! I'm curious, do you have any fics with Sam and the bois? If not, why not try something and treat yourself! Can be angst, fluff, literally anything- also I wanna know what that personality would be like 👀 also who is your favorite character?

I have one fsdnfnkdsfsk. It's just a morning with him sitting in the kitchen with the others. I know this is going to sound funny with how much I've written Tord on this blog, but I don't entirely have a favorite character. I just bounce between latching onto someone. Half the time it's Tord, Future Edd, Tom, or Red Leader.

Under a Read More since it's kinda longish. The yandere is mostly implied, with Tord saying he's taking Sam to a place where there's not a lot of people. venn= friend. bestevenn = best friend

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Mornings were…. An event for Sam. They hated getting up early, even when they had to do it for work. Though for work, it was fine. They’d get up and drink enough coffee to wake up before they had to go in and their job kept them too busy from really thinking about how tired they were.

Outside of work, however, getting up early was hell. Their sleep schedule was never the best although they’ve tried to fix it. So after they ignored four of the alarms they set, they finally got up for the sixth one.

They winced as their head throbbed and quickly shoved on one of their anime hoodies after they got dressed. Earrings could wait until they’ve had at least one mug of coffee.

“Oh hey Sam, good morning!”

“Mornin’ Edd,” Sam mumbles as they enter the kitchen. They shuffle straight towards the coffee pot, not once noticing the fond look Edd gives them. One of their favorite mugs, a Star Trek one, is already filled with coffee next to the pot.

Hurry up and don’t be grumpy when you get in my car

The note under their mug isn’t signed, but Sam rolls their eyes as they recognize the handwriting. Coffee’s still hot but since Tord poured it in not too long ago, it’s not hot enough to stop Sam from nearly chugging it.

“Soooooo, what has you up so early?”

Sam shrugs. They crumble up the note and sit at the kitchen table to groggily rub their eyes.

“Tord said he’d take me somewhere today. I think the mall? I’m not too sure but I remember he said that he saw a pair of earrings that I’d like. And you know he’s one of those freaky morning people who get up at ass o’clock to do shit like run so. Here I am.”

They drain half their mug of coffee before they groan and rest their head on their arms.

“I’m so tired,” Sam whines. “Coffee’s not kicking in fast enough.”

Edd laughs. “I’m sure you’ll buy an energy drink wherever you go. You always do.” He glances at their wrist but it’s void of any bracelet. “How are you uh, how are you feeling today? Anything in particular?”

“Hmmm…” Sam hums a little as they sit back up to drink their coffee. “They/he. Maybe. I feel good today. Just not she/her good. I tried to find the bracelet Matt made for days like these but I dunno where I put it.”

Edd nods and together, the both of them sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Oh wow, you’re up pretty early.”

“Mornin’ to you too Tom.”

There’s no heat in their tone so Tom ignores it. He plops down at the kitchen table next to Edd and drains his flask.

“Tom it’s literally eight in the morning. Eight.” Sam tells him.

“Quiet from the peanut gallery. You have coffee, I have this,” Tom shakes his flask a little at them before he gets back up to wash it out in the sink.

Sam rolls their eyes and finishes his mug.

“Sammy! You’re alive and awake so early!” Matt exclaims as he zeros in on Sam. He plops down into the seat next to them.

“Oh my god why is everyone so surprised I’m out here right now?”

“It’s because we all assume you’re dead until you shuffle out of your room at four in the afternoon looking like a zombie.”

Sam glares at Tom but he doesn’t even bother turning around from the sink. He sinks down in their seat mumbling to himself. Tord enters the kitchen, hair wet from his shower, and they sit up.

“Good, you are up,” Tord says. He grabs the coffee pot and pours more coffee into Sam’s mug. “We can leave in ten minutes, I already set your shoes next to the door and-” he squints at them. “Where are your earrings? Are you okay? You always wear earrings.”

“I’m fine. I just wanted to drink coffee before I put them on.” Sam takes a sip of his coffee and winces as it’s hot from being in the pot. “Where are we going today?”

“You’re going somewhere? Can I come?” Matt asks.

“No.”

And just like that, Tord crushes Matt’s hopes and dreams.

“It’s just going to be me and Sam. I want to spend time with-” Tord pauses as he stares at Sam’s bare wrist. “What’s today, venn?”

“He/They.”

“I want to spend time with him today,” Tord continues. “After all, my bestevenn is always so busy and sleeping like the dead when I’m home.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You are all so dramatic. I saw you last night.”

“Yeah, for like five minutes as you made tea at three in the morning.” Tord ruffles Sam’s hair and grabs a mug for himself. “Anyway, we’re going to this little place I found near my work. It has lots of trinkets you’d enjoy and it shouldn’t be busy today so you won’t do that thing where you avoid going down certain aisles with people.”

Oh that was. Strangely nice of Tord. Sam takes a drink of his coffee to avoid confronting the warmth in his chest. They're so glad he has great friends. Even on mornings like these where none of them let him have a moment of peace without reminding him of his shitty sleep schedule.

#persona sam's tag #ew oc #ew oc sam #ew persona sam

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hydromessenger · 3 years

Text

A Different Place

A Genshin Impact AU verse - Starring OCs and canon characters. Please do not hesitate to leave a review on what you read~

Mondstadt was beautiful once. At least, that was what the old women said when they were telling their stories to anyone who would listen. Ella wasn’t so sure she believed them, though. Their stories sounded like the fairy tales her grandmother used to spin for her, to help her sleep.

It was a nice story to think about, though. That once upon a time Mondstadt had been covered in green, and the people were free to come and go as they pleased. And their beloved God, Barbatos, would walk the streets with his people, playing music and telling tales of his own.

At 19 years old, Ella had long since grown out of fairy tales. And the stories that she used to listen to with such delight, now only made her feel old and weary. She leaned back, bumping her head against the old stone behind her, her gaze locked on the pearly walls that separated Sector 13 from the rest of Mondstadt and released a sigh as the clear ringing of bells echoed through the streets.

A new day had begun in Mondstadt. Any minute now the men and women who worked the streets at night would leave their places of business and retire to their homes, and the merchants who were allowed would start opening their shops. And, like clockwork, within half an hour of the shops opening, the Knights would emerge from their lofty tower to make sure everyone was following the Grandmaster’s edicts.

“Ella!” She was pulled from her musings as a young boy ran over to her. “The Boss has a job for you.” He said, shoving a ball of paper into her hand, before he ran off, likely to deliver other messages from his boss.

She unballed the paper, already knowing what was on it. And she was right, pressed in the center of the paper was the anemo symbol in crisp black ink. She was being summoned.

Ella sighed once again, and shoved the paper into her pocket, before she pushed herself to her feet and started the long trek to Farrier’s shop, which was on the opposite side of the slums from where she liked to watch the sky. She was able to dodge the Knights with the ease of someone with a lot of practice. Though avoiding the Hawkers in their alley was a lot harder.

All of the people in Sector 13 were all a single bad day away from starving to death, Ella included. In fact, the only person who didn’t have to worry about food or the Knights was Farrier. It was an open secret that her Boss was the de facto leader of Sector 13. He was the wealthiest. The meanest. And the largest employer.

In fact, Ella had been his employee since the day that she received her Hydro vision when she was still a teenager. And oh, she hated him. From the top of his smug little head to the bottom of his designer shoes. And yet…

Ella stopped as she came to the largest building in the slums, taking a moment to steel herself for what she was about to see, and then she pushed open the doors.

Farrier’s shop was much more than just a shop. In fact, you couldn’t buy anything from Farrier at all. You could borrow Mora from him, if you felt like owing the impossible interest. And no one in the lowest sector could afford his interest. It didn’t stop the desperate and hungry from going to him for aid, of course.

Farrier got richer, while everyone else got poorer.

“Ah, Ella! I see my boy found you!” Farrier was a short man, built rather like a teapot. He reminded Ella of a rather large fly with his large eyes, and his constantly twitching fingers. He seemed fond of her though, which meant that Ella wasn’t like to starve.

“Yeah. Poor kid needs a raise, Boss.” Ella pointed out.

Farrier laughed, “Nonsense! The boy is here working off his parent’s debts. I don’t pay him in anything other than food.” He laughed even harder for a long while, before he sobered, “Ella, you’re my favorite person here in these slums, my girl!” He boomed, “You’re so competent, and you even have a vision, which makes you valuable!”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Ella pointed out casually, “You said you had a job for me?”

“I do, I do.”He leaned back in his chair, “You know the old abandoned sector?”

“I do. It’s growing by the year, if no one does anything the 13th sector will all be just like that part.” She replied, folding her arms over her chest, “But I don’t have the ability to fix that boss.”

“No, no. That’s not really all that important in the grand scheme of things.” He said, “No. I need you to go into the Abandoned sector, to the old library, and bring back as many books as you can.”

“Uh. Okay?”

“They’re valuable, lass!”

“They’re also illegal, Farrier,” Ella pointed out, “Going into the Abandoned sector is very, very illegal. For everyone who isn’t a knight.”

“True, true. The grandmaster is kind of a jerk,” Farrier pointed out, as if he was unable to see the irony in his statement, “but, I still need you to do it.”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll do it.” Ella sighed and folded her arms, “I’ll need my goggles and my mask though.”

Farrier beamed, and it made Ella’s skin crawl, “Of course, of course! Your mask and goggles are where they have always been. Also, I recently purchased protective gloves from Sector 1, so you don’t have to worry about getting burnt if you have to touch anything.”

“Fab.” She replied as she turned and walked into the storage room on the other side of the room. Hanging on a hook next to the door was a blue bag labeled Ella, and inside were the protective equipment that she would need to stay healthy in the abandoned sector. She dug through the bag for a moment, and then stuck her head into the main room, “Farrier! The sewer key is missing!”

“Oh, yes. I had to have all of the keys destroyed. The Knights found that entrance. You’re going to be going in through the old church in the south of the slums.” Ella walked out of the storage room, and caught the key that he threw at her, “This will unlock the church, make sure you lock it back behind you.”

“Obviously,” She said, slinging the bag over her shoulder, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Farrier remained silent, a wide grin on his face, “Well. There is one thing.”

Ella waited, “Well?” She asked, after he didn’t say anything for a whole minute, “What is it?”

“Ah, right. The original team I sent to get the books...they never returned.”

“What.”

“I’m sure they just weren’t wearing their protective gear well!”

“What?”

“If you can find their supplies I’ll pay you a hefty bonus.”

“...fine.”

“Splendid! I’ll see you when you get back!” Farrier’s creepy smile was back, and Ella turned to leave so she wouldn’t have to see it anymore. “Oh! Watch out for Knights! Rumor has it that they’re poking around the abandoned zone!”

“You couldn’t-” Ella spun to yell at him, only to be, not so graciously, pushed out the door and had the door slam in her face. “-have mentioned that first?” She sighed and spun away from the building. Farrier was a dick, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised at how he had treated her.

She walked away from the Farrier House, and ducked into a small alley to pull out the map of Sector 13, “Hm...southside church. Abandoned…” She trailed her finger over the map, squinting at the small letters, “Oh, there it is. The Church of Barbatos.” It was actually quite a distance away from where she was currently. So she let out a sigh, shoved the map back in her bag, and started the long trek towards the old church.

While all of the Slums were bad, the southside was the worst. Merchants never traveled out this far, due to the proximity of the abandoned sector. The knights never patrolled so far into the slums either, meaning the crime rate was almost 100%.

The only power in the Southside Slums was Farrier.

And if that wasn’t a damning statement for this part of the slums, Ella wasn’t sure what was.

The only plus to coming to the Southside, was that her bag clearly labeled her as one of Farrier’s, which meant that the people who looked like they were going to risk trying to mug a vision user, decided to take their violence elsewhere.

However, the deeper into Southside she traversed, the fewer people she encountered. Until she was only a few streets away from the church, and Ella realized that she hadn’t seen a single person in several minutes.

Although, as she turned a corner and saw elemental corruption clinging to the street and walls, she understood a little better. Ella paused long enough to pull her mask on, as well as her goggles, and she pulled her hat down so that it covered her ears, before she continued.

Elemental corruption was strange. In some ways it was harmless, for example you could walk through a cloud of elemental energy and not be harmed at all, even if it did feel strange against your skin. If you tried to use your vision while in a cloud of elemental energy, your elemental power would be increased, but there was always the chance of it backfiring on you, especially with the more volatile elements, like anemo, pyro, and electro.

In other ways, the elemental energy was so dangerous. If someone were to walk through a cloud of elemental energy while not wearing protective gear they would suffer from lung infections, eye infections, and eardrum ruptures. And that was just the short term. Long term, the effects could be much worse.

If a lot of pyro elemental energy got into your lungs, it could, and would, cause a pyro swirl reaction inside your lungs. And, well, there are less painful ways to die.

Once Ella was sure that she was properly protected, she stepped through the clouds of elemental energy, grimacing at the feel of it prickling against her skin. It would be an electro day.

Fortunately, the church wasn’t far away by that point, and she was able to jog the few remaining streets to reach the old, and yet well kept, building. She used her key to unlock the front door, and carefully shut and locked the door behind her.

The church had long been surrendered to the elements, none of the old pews remained, some had been turned to ash, while others sprouted into brand new trees. Walls were crumbling and the roof was almost completely gone. And yet, at the front of the church, was a statue of Barbatos, seemingly untouched by the elements.

She carefully made her way to the front of the church, stepping over the missing pieces of floor, or trying to avoid the more worn looking pieces at least, and she stopped in front of the statue. Ella stood there for a short moment, sending a silent prayer to the missing god for her own safety, before she lightly touched the base of the statue.

She took a deep breath, and stepped around the statue, hopping over a broken piece of floor, and opened the door that would lead to the abandoned sector.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold, Ella felt several different elements brush against her exposed skin. She turned to look over the abandoned sector and her breath caught.

It was beautiful, but tragic. There were elemental reactions happening all over the place, houses were covered in ice, even as the land around the building burned. Electricity arced through the air, until it got caught up in an anemo reaction, sending the lightning in every direction.

People had once lived here, long ago. Ella couldn’t help but wonder if they escaped the elemental energy, or if they died without knowing what was happening.

She shook her head, putting those thoughts to the side, and started scanning the buildings. Libraries were normally large buildings, so logically, she was looking for a large building. And, if she was lucky, it might even still be standing.

Eventually, as she turned her gaze towards the west, she caught a hint of a large building that seemed to be covered in trees. Possibly the library, and trees were a heck of a lot safer than the fire tornados that were everywhere else. Decision made, Ella hopped down from the ledge that she had used for shelter, summoned her polearm and began to walk.

Elemental reactions were a thing here, yes. Fortunately for her she had her own element.

One hour later, Ella was irritatedly taking shelter under what used to be a cafe. A massive cryo and electro reaction forced her to seek shelter if she didn’t want to turn into a crisp. However, the time did allow her to take note of the fact that the building she was heading towards was, in fact, a library. And that there seemed to be a remarkable lack of elemental energy around it. Or the area around the building was a hot spot of dendro or geo elemental energy.

Annoyingly, she was only a short distance away from the building too.

It took 2 hours for the cryo-electro storm to pass, and Ella hurried in the direction of the library before another storm could start. All things considered, the storm she had to live through was better than most of the alternatives.

Amazingly, the library was still in one piece. Sure, she had to climb in through a broken window, due to the door being blocked by a massive tree, but other than that, it actually felt kind of safe.

She looked around the room, taking in the walls of books, and, for a moment, felt totally overwhelmed. How was she supposed to know which of these books would be worth the most to Farrier? She rubbed the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath to try and settle herself, and she grabbed a book off one of the shelves.

It was a book on the various nations of Teyvat, before the walls were erected. Valuable? Maybe. She tossed the book onto one of the remaining tables. And pulled another one off the shelf. A cookbook. Less valuable.

For over an hour, Ella skimmed through the books, looking for ones that might be valuable for her boss. And she was about to leave when a thin book, hand written rather than printed like the others, fell from inside a children’s novel.

“What’s this?” Ella asked the empty room, as she picked up the book and flipped to the first page.

I spoke to Morax today, he agrees with me. The situation is getting worse, not better and our actions don’t seem to have any effect on the creatures that the Abyss pulled from somewhere. They seem almost...immune to our elements.

Ella turned a couple of pages, making a note of the date at the top of each page. It appeared that this was a journal, or a diary of some sort.

The creatures got into Mondstadt today. I…

They killed everyone.

I’ve had enough. I’m going to go to the other archons and demand that something be done.

Ella stared at the last line she read. The things that she was reading, it implied that this book belonged to Barbatos, and that he was keeping a journal before the walls were built. But, who was this Abyss? And what were these creatures?

She flipped towards the last entry.

It’s done. The walls have been built. The creatures can no longer get to my people.

I created a cage for my people, in the hopes to keep them safe.

I am tired. Building the walls took a lot out of me, more than it should have.

I’m going to sleep. Maybe someone, someday, in the future will find this account, and if they do, I hope it helps.

May the wind guide your path.

Barbatos

Ella closed the book gently, and slipped it under her sweater. This was valuable. Valuable enough that she was not going to give it to Farrier, that’s for sure.

She turned to the pile of books she had sorted out earlier, ready to make her choice for what books to bring to Farrier, only to hear voices coming from the other side of the library.

“Why are we searching this place again?” A deep male voice asked.

“The grandmaster believes that some of the roaches from the slums might try to get here to earn some easy money,” A second voice, a female, replied, “Like the three we caught last week.”

The man snickered, “You really think we’re going to find someone else?”

Ella didn’t wait around to hear the woman’s response, she just grabbed her bag and ducked through a cracked door, ducking down behind the wall. That explained what happened to Farrier’s original expedition; she wondered if they were still alive.

The voices were closer now, “I have to wonder why the grandmaster doesn’t just let us purge the Slums. They make Mondstadt look bad,” The man said, his voice now distressingly close.

“We get some good people from the slums. Desperate people will do anything, after all.” The woman sounded further away, though she suddenly stopped moving, “There’s someone here.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Someone’s been going through the books.” She said sharply, “Spread out and find them. We’ll bring them before the grandmaster.”

Ella shifted further away from the door as the two knights began scouring the room for her. Her eyes darted around the room, looking either for an exit or a better hiding place, but the room she was in seemed to be one of the only rooms in the entire library that was largely undamaged.

The footsteps got louder, and she silently moved away from the door, though she froze when in her haste, she stepped on a loose tile. The door to the room she was hiding in flew open, and the knights peered into the room, their faces hidden from the protective gear they were wearing.

“Looks like you were right, we found a little rat.” The man said, and Ella could just hear the sneer in his voice. For a moment, she toyed with summoning her weapon again and just forcing them to let her leave, but the choice was taken away from her when the two adults both attacked her at the same time, ripping her mask and goggles off, replacing them with a much more industrial face protector, and then her arms were bound behind her back, and the male tossed her over his shoulder, like she was a sack of potatoes.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Ella was pretty sure that she was about to be executed, she would have taken a moment to marvel at how Sector 1 looked. All of the buildings were clean, there was no trash on the ground, and the people were all well dressed and clean.

At least, the part of Sector 1 she was able to see was like that. The Knights had been careful to bring her to the headquarters of the Knights of Favonius through alleys and hidden passageways.

She supposed she wasn’t too surprised when one of the passageways led right outside the clearly labeled Grandmaster’s office. And she wasn’t too shocked when the Knights forced her right in and pulled the mask off of her face.

Ella only had a moment to look up at the Grandmaster, an older man with salt and pepper hair and a stern face, and almost a foot taller than she was, before she was pushed to the ground. She tried to struggle to her knees, but a pair of rough hands kept her on the ground, “We found her in the old library, sir.” The woman said in a clear voice.

“Hm, I heard.” The Grandmaster’s voice was as rough as his countenance, “Pull her up, I want to see her face.” Ella let out a slightly pained grunt as she was forced to her knees, “Hm. One of Farrier’s I assume.” The man said, “I am Grandmaster Ferdinand, I lead both the Knights of Favonius as well as the Church of Favonius. Who are you?”

“My name is Ella Hesse.”

“Hesse. Oh yes, the Hydro user who was forbidden from joining the Knights and the Church. Seems like I was right in my judgement of you,”

“Yeah, imagine that. Someone with no options took the only one left. Go figure.” She spat out angrily, only to let out a cry of pain when the grandmaster’s boot slammed into her cheek, knocking her back to the floor.

The grandmaster watched her impassively, and then turned his back on her, “Get her to her feet and unbind her. I do not kill vision users.”

Ella was forcefully dragged to her feet, and her wrists unbound, though the bindings had been so tight that her wrists were bleeding and bruised. “But you kill other people?” She asked scathingly.

“I do what’s best for Mondstadt.”

“Best for Mondstadt? The elemental corruption is spreading, people are starving, and you’re up here in your ivory tower acting like you’re some kind of god!?”

The grandmaster turned and, with surprising swiftness for someone of his build, slammed the flat of his greatsword against Ella’s chest, knocking the wind out of her. She hit the ground hard, coughing and gasping for air.

The Grandmaster loomed over her, “I am the Ruler of Mondstadt. Barbatos abandoned us, and I will lead us to a brighter future.”

“You’re not the ruler of Mondstadt,” Ella gasped out, crying out in pain once again as the Grandmaster pressed his boot on her chest, applying an uncomfortable amount of pressure. “Mondstadt belongs to Barbatos.” She managed to gasp out.

The pressure lifted suddenly, “Your loyalty to a god no one has seen in decades is commendable, if misguided.” The grandmaster walked across the room, giving Ella the time to get to her feet, though the way she was clutching her chest implied that she was hurt far worse than she let on. “Tell me, what did you learn in the library?”

“I learned the recipe for chicken and mushroom skewers,” Ella replied.

“That’s it. You learned nothing about Abyss?”

“Never heard of it.”

“You’re lying.” The Grandmaster turned and regarded her with ice like eyes, “No matter. The outcome of this is the same no matter what you said. Take her bag, and then deposit her outside the walls of Mondstadt.” He flashed a cruel smile, “If she’s so sure that Barbatos is ruler of these lands, then she doesn’t deserve the safety of my city.”

“Yes sir,” The two knights, who had remained silent until that moment, said in unison, before they grabbed Ella and propelled her out of the room.

They said nothing as they took her bag, and they said nothing as they split up, the woman going to take her bag to the archives and the man bringing her to the gate.

It was only after the gate had opened, and Ella was about to be shoved out that the man spoke, “There are other vision users outside of the walls,” He said, “People who were exiled for speaking out against the Grandmaster. If you’re lucky they’ll find you.” He said quietly, “If you’re not...well, just hope that you’re lucky. Godsspeed.” He then shoved her past the gate, and it slammed shut behind her. For the first time in her life, Ella was outside of the city walls.

The first half an hour outside of the wall was strange, but freeing. But after that, things started to get more difficult for her. Her footsteps became more unsteady, and she started struggling to breathe.

45 minutes after she was exiled from Mondstadt, Ella collapsed to her knees, coughing hard, with blood coming from her mouth. The Grandmaster had broken her ribs, intentionally probably. Just as her vision started going dark she felt a warm breeze against her skin.

“Hold on,” A boy with green eyes leaned over her, a smile on his cheerful face, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

And then Ella blacked out.

On the other side of Mondstadt, on the border between Mondstadt and Liyue, Diluc, an exile from Mondstadt, and Fay, a visitor from Sumeru, were finishing up their patrol for the evening. They were having a nice conversation, after having a peaceful patrol.

Though, just as they were about to make the turn that would lead them back to their safehouse, the wind suddenly picked up, blowing dirt and debris into their faces, and when the wind stopped, a young woman lay several feet away.

“Oh!” Fay shot forward, dropping to her knees trying to determine what was wrong with her, while Diluc quickly made sure that whoever, or whatever, brought her there hadn’t lingered.

“How is she?” He asked, once he was sure they were safe.

“Badly injured,” Fay replied seriously, “We must get her inside immediately.” She looked down at the girl, who’s eyes cracked open for a split second, “It’s okay, you’re going to be alright, I promise.” The girl’s eyes fluttered shut again, and Fay turned her attention towards Diluc, “We need to get her inside,”

“Yeah, I got it.” He carefully scooped the girl into his arms and allowed Fay to lead the way into the base.

#About ella #hazelandfriendsoc #my writings

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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100 Days of Writing: Day Sixty-Three

I decided to catch up on The 100 Days of Writing and then I... accidentally wrote a large number of words. In my defense, this is like 2 weeks’ worth of questions. Also I skipped the ones I didn’t have anything to say about so actually this could be worse.

(I’m not even kidding, this is really long. I talk about writing rituals, tools for plotting, my thoughts on opening with dialogue and why I don’t like it, my favorite topics, the weather, and what length of fic I like to write.)

I’m tagging, and apologizing to, @the-wip-project and fellow participants @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold, @thelittlefanpire, @hopskipaway, @easilydistractedbyfanfic, @dylanobrienisbatman, and @fontainebleau22.

Day 49: How do you get yourself in the mood to write? Do you have a ritual?

Every time I tell myself I’m going to get back into doing these questions, I see this one in my bookmarks and go nope! and turn around. It’s not a hard question; I’ve just been having trouble consistently getting into the mood to write, so I feel like any answer I try to give to it will be, in some sense, a lie. Like do I ever get “in the mood” to write? Really?? Also, I feel like I’m relying too much on ‘ritual,’ building up ‘the perfect writing situation’ in my head, which at the end of the day is less important than just saying ‘I’m going to do this now’ and then doing it.

I do have some things I always do when I sit down to a writing session. I write on my couch. Almost always (unless I’m on an event deadline where I just have to write in bits and pieces whenever possible), I write in sprints—I use write or die to keep me actually typing and not staring into space. I write in order, and I often write a whole scene at a time. So before I start I need to have at least a couple solid opening sentences in mind, plus some kind of idea about what happens/needs to happen in the scene. In order to get in the right headspace, I usually spend some time just thinking before I actually get to writing. I reread my outline or notes, and skim whatever I might have already written on the project. Sometimes I look at images that help me get in the right mood. Sometimes I just imagine or daydream for a bit. The difficulty, especially recently, is in making sure I do this just enough and not too much, because then I get too caught up in my head and I can no longer translate what I’m seeing into words.

In a broader sense, I also have a building up to writing ritual—again, I think this is part of my problem, that I don’t know how to balance this build up with actual writing. In the hours/days before writing something, I turn it over in my head a lot. I practice different versions of those critical opening sentences. I play it out like a fantasy just to see if there’s a possible flow, even if the final version is different. Basically, I try to turn it into something that just needs to be written, that just needs to get out. But again—this can lead to overthinking and frustration.

The best way I can describe writing for me is that, when it goes well, I find a rhythm, or enter into a zone, where I can describe the images in my head in a way that’s both accurate and pleasant to read. But entering that zone or finding that rhythm is like jumping into a game of jump rope. If you don’t do it right, you’re just going to trip over your feet and get tangled in the rope. But if you do it correctly, it’s fun and exhilarating and you can keep jumping for a long time. Sometimes it takes me some false starts to jump in. And recently I’ve been having days where I just can’t at all, where I tangle the rope up so much I can’t unknot it. Those are the days I just have the same sentences repeating over and over in my head, sounding wrong, and I can’t do anything about it. On the other hand, I write in much longer sprints than I did a couple years ago. I used to only write partial scenes, maybe a few hundred words. Now I can write whole scenes without stopping, and on a few occasions, I’ve written multiple scenes or even whole stories without stopping. So in other words, when it works, it really works. But it doesn’t always, and there’s not a lot of in between.

Day 50 What fic/story made you?

Um… honestly I’ve been writing, in general and fic specifically, for such a long time that I didn’t have a ‘maybe I can do this’ moment. I mean one problem I’ve never had is thinking I can’t do this. I had positive reinforcement for my school and academic writing, and for a long time my fictional stories were just for me, and I knew what I liked. Even just thinking about my fic writing… I’ve been posting fic online since 2006, and I’ve been in multiple fandoms. I don’t really have much connection to a lot of those early stories anymore. They feel like they were written by someone else, a little. I’ve also moved on from most of the fandoms I wrote for in my early fic days so I don’t feel like I can really judge them anymore.

That said… there is kinda an obvious answer for my Star Trek fic lol. I also have favorite stories, and stories that stick out even years after I wrote them, in all (or at least most) of the fandoms I’ve been in. But I’m not sure if that’s the same.

Also, I had two teachers who were really encouraging of me and who I still think about often. One was my seventh grade English teacher, who had us do a lot of writing exercises of various types, both large and small, including keeping writing journals we wrote in every day at the start of class. He once told my mom that I wrote well, not for a seventh grader, but in general, and to be honest I still think of that with some regularity and take a lot of pride and comfort in it. The other was my creative writing professor in college. I don’t think I did my best work for that class, but she was very encouraging and seemed to like what I did. At the end of the semester, as I was preparing my portfolio, she told me that if I didn’t want to do much editing, I didn’t have to, because my unedited work would stand on its own. Again, especially considering all the problems that I saw with my writing for that class even then, I really took that comment to heart. When I’m feeling very self-critical, I remind myself that even my raw scribblings have, perhaps, something to them, and it helps ease the excessive and unwarranted pressure I put on myself. These aren’t really stories about specific writing pieces that ‘made’ me but I do think they speak to that ‘maybe I can do this’ feeling.

Day 51: Do you use tools for plotting and what are they?

So, generally, no. Sometimes I’ll look at various writing/plotting/organizational tools as a method of distraction, but my actual process is very simple. I use plain old notebooks and pens, and word documents on my computer, to plan all my fics, from the one-shots to the multi-chapters. I start by writing down general thoughts and brainstorming, then I build a scene list and/or outline, and then, if necessary, I separate the scenes lists into chapters. Sometimes I break down the scenes even more, if I have additional ideas I don’t wan to forget or if I know I need to hit certain points in a specific scene. The process varies a little bit from project to project, but that’s basically all I do.

I did use Evernote to plan the (still unwritten….) Ark AU. I don’t know if that was the best program choice or if something else exists that would have more precisely met my needs. But that’s what I used and that’s how it is. It’s a little annoying that every time I open it, it’s been updated, and the interface looks totally different and I have to relearn where everything is. But the tagging system has worked decently to allow me to see the big picture of this complex, multi-strand, multi-character, multi-ship disaster epic of a story. I struggled to plot it for a long time because I didn’t know how to balance all of the different parts. In Evernote, I made one ‘note’ for each character, and one for each scene (in addition to miscellaneous notes about sub plots, relationships, questions, etc.). Then I tagged each of them, including tagging the scenes by chapter. So now I can look at a list of all the characters, or all the scenes, or all of the scenes in chapter 8, or whatever, but I can also look at just one particular note at a time, and not be distracted by anything else. That said, I do also have one note that is just a total scene list for the whole fic, which is pretty reminiscent of my usual outlining process.

So… somehow this helped me plot (tentatively) the whole thing, but as I’ve written almost none of it—I finished outlining this in February 2020 so in my defense… I think you can see why it stalled—I’m not yet sure if it was a successful experiment in a ‘plotting tool.’

Day 60: How do you start your chapters? Do you start with dialogue? Why or why not?

While I am definitely against prescriptive “writing rues” generally, as my own personal rule, I try not to start with dialogue unless I have a very good reason.

To be quite honest, I think it’s lazy. I do think that dialogue openings can be used well, if the writer acknowledges that they are intensely stylistic and, from a reader’s perspective, quite difficult. Even within fanfiction, where a line of dialogue (especially if accompanied by a dialogue tag or swiftly followed by a reference to the speaker) gives a lot more information to the reader than in original fiction, opening with dialogue still shoves the reader directly into the deep end of the scene, with very little to orient her. WHERE is the speaker? WHO is being addressed in the dialogue? WHAT is the context of the conversation? Who ELSE might be present in the scene?

There are reasons you might want to throw the reader in the aforementioned deep-end. Maybe it’s an in media res situation and you want to emphasize the overwhelming nature of the action—starting a scene with “Get down!” for example. Or maybe the overall mood is one of disorientation or floating or uncertainty, and you want to create the same effect in the reader.

But I think if you’re starting a scene with dialogue because that’s the first thing that comes to mind for you—the person who conveniently already has the setting, character list, and even future plot already in mind—and it’s just simplest and easiest to start that way, you’re doing a disservice to the reader.

For example, I actually am planning to start the next chapter of the Sleeping Beauty AU with dialogue. My POV character is in a room with multiple other characters, and she’s examining something meaningful to her and not fully listening to the conversation around her. So I want the dialogue to float around in the background, to feel unmoored, and to stand in contrast to the very precise, detailed thoughts and memories that she’s experiencing, which are grounded in physical sensations like touch.

I haven’t quite gotten it to work yet, though, in part because opening with dialogue and doing it well is, in my opinion, quite hard. The difficulty lies in alleviating the challenges the reader is experiencing and making the text fluid and easy to picture. You need to get all of that scene-setting information—the who, what, when, where, and why—in very quickly, but without being jarring. In this scene in particular, I have multiple characters, all in a comparatively unusual location, and I need to establish where they are, who exactly is there, how they’ve come to meet my POV character (which happens ‘off screen’ between the end of Ch5 and the beginning of Ch6), all on top of the character’s thoughts and feelings.

I know all of this very well. To picture the scene in my own head takes only a moment. I just think about it and I see all seven of the characters, where they’re sitting, how they’re positioned, what their facial expressions are, and I also know roughly what each of them is thinking and feeling. To describe all of this in words would take several sentences. Do I put all those sentences on the front end? Do I weave them in among other description and dialogue? Is all of it even necessary—maybe we don’t need to know who’s sitting in what order on the couch, for example.

I’ve gone over a couple of different ways to do this in my head, and I’m sure it is possible, but I’m struggling to get it all down in a coherent way. (Admittedly, I’ve only made one solid attempt. As I was describing above, I’m probably going to jump in with several false starts, and then it will suddenly click.)

My initial attempt to set up the scene relied heavily on dialogue, but when I read it over, what sounded snappy and interesting in my head just fell completely flat—because it lacked context and thus, any meaning. I think the gulf between how dialogue openings feel to the writer and how they feel to the reader is large. To the writer, they feel easy and natural. To the reader, they can feel forced and, contrary to the writer’s intention, serve as an additional reminder that this is a constructed narrative rather than an immersive experience—the opposite of natural. In other words, as I said, they’re a highly stylized form of writing.

To illustrate, this was my first try at the Chapter 6 intro:

"I still can't believe it," a lightly awed voice says from somewhere behind Clarke. "The Princess of Alpha Station really used to live in our quarters.”

She pictures Miller, sunk into the couch cushions, slowly shaking his head, the expression on his face equal parts satisfied and amused.

"Really? That's what you think is the oddest part of all this?"

"Yeah, Bry, I do. Would you prefer I gloat? About being right this whole time? Who says she's just a legend now?"

My current idea is to still start with dialogue, but to move back into a significant amount of description pretty immediately afterward, and only then add more dialogue. Even this is a little hazy, since I haven’t thought much about this fic in a while. But I do think it’s quite clear this won’t work.

As for how I DO start chapters/scenes/stories… I like to start with a strong image that sets the scene and mood of the story, and hopefully leaves the reader wanting to know more. Here are some examples of story openings I’ve written recently, which I like a lot:

When Bellamy is angered, deafening bouts of thunder shake the heavens.

The cawing of the crows—high, sharp, angry shots of sound. The buzzing of the telephone wires.

Marcus Kane's body shows up again in June, skeletal and rotting, six months after his disappearance at the turn of the year.

The sky has turned a bruised yellow, like the inside of a plum, by the time Bellamy starts seeing the robots in the fields.

At noon on the third-to-last day before Christmas, Murphy leaves the cafe, with a single peppermint mocha and a small paper bag, and heads right, walking parallel to the ocean.

The last one doesn’t seem as interesting but consider: you get the who, what, when, and where, the mystery of the paper bag and where he might be going, and also the immediate understanding that this is probably going to be a Fluffy Beach Christmas story—which is correct, that’s exactly what it is.

I’m not saying that I’m always creative or unique. I often start stories off with descriptions of the weather. And I have committed the ~~cardinal sin~~ of starting with a character waking up, heaven forbid. I don’t have any hard and fast rules for myself other than that I try to avoid dialogue, or at least, be careful about its use (another example: I use dialogue to start off Mad Women—but it reads like narration, until it’s rudely interrupted, a sort of in-joke/reference/twist). I try to match the mood of the story and, as I said, include something that will create a question for the reader, some version of why, that the rest of the story will answer.

Day 61: Do you describe the weather? Try changing a scene you wrote by adding weather effects.

After writing a book for the last question, here’s an easy one! Yes, I describe the weather. A lot. Often. In detail.

(Though if we’re talking about the Sleeping Beauty AU as my “current wip,” I actually don’t do much weather describing there, because 4 of the 6 chapters take place in a location with no weather.)

Day 62: What is your favorite thing to write about?

Honestly I like to write about people being dramatic about their emotions. That’s what I’ve discovered while writing my surprisingly self-indulgent Troped fic: I want to describe people acting as if Everything was the Most Ever. It’s fun. Part of this is getting into the usual romantic tropes—longing, pining, exaggerated touches and glances and the like—but why stop at romance when you also have stuff like The Weather and Random Feelings to contemplate?

I also like setting scenes that I find soothing, which is part of why I like Seasonal Stories.

Day 63: Are you more of a drabble/flash or a longfic/novel kind of writer?

I’m in the middle. I mostly write one-shots, and I’ve noticed that a lot of them fall in the 4-6k range. Long one-shots can get all the way to 10-12k but I feel like most of those are, semi-objectively speaking, too long, and would probably have been stronger if they were pruned down to 6k, or, better yet, never made it past 6k in the first place.

I have written some multi-chapters, or, uh, started multi-chapters, but I’m VERY bad at it. The only thing that makes me slightly less bad is being stubborn. Hence the existence of a WIP that I’ve had going for over 10 years now and refuse to call abandoned. Hence this year’s extended angst about the Sleeping Beauty AU, which is only 6 chapters but has taken me literally years to write. I don’t honestly know if I’ve ever finished a multi-chapter WIP, like, properly speaking. I’ve done some short multi-chapters that I wrote as if they were one-shots and then split up for ease of reading or, I dunno, just because. I wrote a Big Bang once, but it’s not very good. Nor very long, if I remember correctly. Generally speaking I probably shouldn’t be allowed to write novels lol—I have a lot of them in my ‘I should write this one day’ idea list—but as it so happens, no one can stop me, so here we are. I definitely have wild fantasies of writing multi-chapters with ease but I’m just a very slow writer and my ideas can’t keep up with my actual-writing. Thus one shots are much easier than multi-chaps, and one-shots on a deadline are much easier than ‘I’ll finish this whenever’ one-shots. One-shots written for events or exchanges also tend to be shorter (and, imo, better) because of the deadlines they’re written on, and are thus more likely to hit that sweet 4-6k spot than stories where I’m allowed to ramble at will.

All that said, I ALSO write a good number of drabbles/writing exercises. I used to write them more often than I do now, but still over the last five years I’ve produced 110,000+ words in free-standing scenes so like… that’s also a thing I guess.

#100 days of writing #my 100 days of writing #100daysofwriting

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just-things-things · 4 years

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Peter Stark was kidnapped on a warm summer day when he was six years old. In Miami, he had been swimming with his father in their backyard when his father heard a crash come from the house. The man recalled this day in his mind many times. Sometimes, he wonders if everything was made-up, if his mind was forcing him to believe something completely different. He wonders if he told his son where he was going, “I’ll be right back Pete.”

His son grinned back at him, always such a trusting boy. Reaching the patio door, Tony listened to eerie silence. It made his veins run cold, activating the Iron Man wrist, he kicked open the door. As soon as it opened, a racoon scurried away, scaring the living daylights out of him, and causing him to shoot a rocket, shattering the glass door.

Tony sighed in relief; he’d have JARVIS check over the footage later to see how the rodent got in. He took his time getting back outside, especially now that he knew there was no real threat and that his boy was always extra careful. He decided to put together their lunches and grab extra juice boxes.

Emerging from the house, he called, “Pete! Come eat!” Beginning to pick up the scattered glass, he heard footsteps running toward him. About to scold the boy to watch out for the glass, he was shocked when it was R-2 charging him instead. Peter had insisted on getting a dog, despite Tony’s allergy for them. He truly would do anything to make him happy, “Peter, c’mon, I know you’re hungry!”

With no response, he stepped over the glass and began his trek to the pool area, his pace quickening the longer the silence remained. With the area in sight, Peter was nowhere to be found. Tony rushed over, glancing inside the water to make sure Peter hadn’t fallen in.

Checking behind the trees and crevasses in his yard, the man called for his son, “Peter! Peter, where are you?” His yelling became more frantic by the second, “Peter, this isn’t a game! Come out right now!”

Tony had checked the entirety of the backyard, still missing a response. Rushing into the house, screaming the boy’s name, his thoughts ran wild. Sure, Peter was a small kid. He just hadn’t found him yet. And kids loved to play hide and seek, of course they did. Peter was here. He was safe.

“JARVIS,” he barked, mentally cursing. Peter would have scolded him for that, “Where’s Peter?”

The cool, British accent made him even more irritated, “It seems Master Peter is not located within the house.” After Tony shoved another door out of his way, the AI suggested, “Mister Stark, would you like me to enable the outer drones?”

“Yes!” Tony was seething, opening the front door, he watched as a drone took off from the roof. He had the best technology in the country, if not the best in the world. JARVIS would find him. Maybe Peter had just found a hole big enough in the gate to fit through.

Two hours and twelve minutes later, SHIELD would arrive at his house. Three hours and fifty-six minutes later, Peter Stark would be pronounced missing. His face would be broadcasted across national television for days, his name covering all the newspapers.

Pepper and Rhodey would later find him at a SHIELD compound, demanding Fury to set up a missing persons unit within the organization. He held tightly to R-2’s leash, nose running and eyes watering, but god damn it, his kid was missing and nothing else mattered more than that.

Fury agreed to help the man find his child, under the circumstances that he wouldn’t get involved with their work. After negotiation, Tony allowed this if he could look on his own without interfering with their work.

Rhodey and Pepper escorted him back to Stark tower, deciding it was the best if their friend stayed away from the crime scene. They stayed for an extra two more weeks making sure Tony got at least six hours of sleep and enough food in him.

They wanted to find their nephew as badly as Tony did, but they knew it would be a lost cause if he was only working on half a mind.

One year later, Peter’s missing persons case was closed. After the police stopped looking, SHIELD also went down. Tony offered to pay them as much they needed to keep the unit up and running, but Fury had broken it down to the barest essentials, even if it left Tony feeling defeated, “Stark. There’s no footage, no witnesses, and no clues or hints. It would take a miracle to find him. SHIELD doesn’t have time for miracles, he’s a lost cause.”

Tony got in a couple punches before a guard restrained him. Getting back to the tower was easy, and his fury only caused him to search harder. He wanted to prove Fury wrong. His son wasn’t just a lost cause. Peter, now seven, was still out there, he knew it. Maybe a father’s instinct some would call it. He was alive, Tony just had to find him.

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On August 10, Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey began a new tradition. Peter would be eight years old now. Together, they’ll design the missing boy a room at Stark tower. It’s right across from his own, the door decorated with Star War’s ships and droids.

When inside, they’re encountered with dark blue walls with custom painted Star War’s characters on them. His bed sheets and comforter has a galaxy design coating it. The rest of the room is outlined by white shelves covered in Knick Knacks. His walk-in closet is refreshed with new clothes trending in children magazines. Tony hopes he got the right size.

To complete the second half of the tradition, the trio hopelessly tries to bake a cake, (It’s mostly Pepper baking while Rhodey and him read off the directions.) Then, after everything has cooled off, they’ll go sit on Peter’s carpeted floor and eat the cake. R-2 will curl up on the bed and one slice will be left on the balcony until the birds find it.

Tony knows Peter’s coming home soon. It’s only a matter of time.

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The tradition continues for three years with no problems. It’s not until the day before his boy’s birthday that Fury calls Iron Man and War Machine for a mission. Tony goes off on Cap when he tries to defend the man, of course, Rodgers might not know the full story, but he has no right to say, “The good of the people is more important than your personal interests, Stark. No matter what it is can wait, we have a job to do.”

If it weren’t for Rhodey, they probably would have spent more time getting “America’s righteous man” to a med bay than on the mission.

Nonetheless, they both make it back to the tower in time for cake on the floor. Tony decides he’ll have to redecorate Peter’s room tomorrow.

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When Peter turn’s thirteen, his room is moved to the Avenger’s Compound where Tony is now residing. This time, only him and Pepper are decorating the boy’s room. Rhodey was pulled away for a mission in the Air Force.

The walls are now colored a forest green, accented by yellow and brown markings. Tony wonders if Peter would like it like this or prefer to switch the places of the desk and the bed. That’s ok, he’ll tell Tony when he gets home. He knows Peter is coming home this year.

Pepper and Tony eat the cake in silence, the only noise is R-2’s steady breathing.

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During the next birthday, Tony spends it alone. He’s forced to buy a store-bought cake after he almost makes the oven explode. He makes sure to buy the best one he can find, a three-tiered vanilla cake decorated with chocolate swirls.

In the end, it’s not the same. He wonders if Peter savor the taste, leaving a comically large piece of cake on the windowsill.

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The week before Peter’s fifteenth birthday, they’re forced to put R-2 to sleep when she is unexpectedly diagnosed with cancer. When the day does come, Tony’s alone again in Peter’s room. It’s unchanged, and the cake is starting to make him sick.

Now, there’s no dog resting on his leg, no best friend across from him and sharing the cake, or hope. Tony realizes one thing, Peter’s never coming home. He wonders if his boy is still alive, if his son is in another country.

Maybe someone else rescued him, maybe he doesn’t remember Tony at all, maybe he’s living with an entirely different family.

Tony wishes for one thing as he blows out the birthday candles:

“Please, be happy.”

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You made it this far, come check me out on ao3 @justpeterparkerthings !

#peter parker #spider man #spiderman #spider-man #spidey #tony stark #iron man #harley keener #angst #avengers

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bexterbex · 4 years

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A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 74

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother, but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 74: False Freedom

*****So this chapter contains Dub/Con so you have been warned.******

Ten days. Ten days you were without conscious thought. It’s been ten days since you were able to see out of the windows of your eyes. Ten days of pure blackness, of being confined with the creature. Only the dying embers keeping you company, but they were slowly receding around you, your territory shrinking, the monster creeping closer. On Earth, you weren’t free.

But now you were face to face with him, with your own personal demon. His eyes peering into your soul, knowing that he was controlling you. Seeing you struggling to hold on. Watching you behind the glass.

For once his helmet was off, but his voice was void of emotion. “You will come with me to Exegol. He has requested your presence.” You wondered who he was. And why he needed you to be there.

You wanted to respond, but you couldn’t. Kylo still having control over you. You know he was watching you internally scream and beg him to let you go. You were lashing against the grip of the black creature that held you back, that held you down. You were powerless to him.

But your body betrayed you as he took your arm and escorted you to the shuttle that would take you to the Supremacy. You could feel the darkness taking over as you were strapped in. When you gained consciousness you were finishing dinner, you felt yourself regain control of your voice.

“You will join me in bed tonight, Kitten.” It wasn’t a question, it was a command. You watched as his eyes watched you, knowing there was little you could do to resist him. He was a beast that had already captured its prey, now was no time to fight.

You tried to move your body, but you only had control of voice. “Why are you doing this?” The sound of your own voice seemed foreign on your own ears. You hadn’t had control over yourself in over two weeks.

He was agitated now, something about your question was angering him. “As I said before, this is for your protection. I do not know his full strength and the only way to protect you now is by occupying your mind, putting up a wall you can not do yourself.” But who was this man that threatened you, that asked for you?

“And killing my family? Was that putting up a wall too? Or was that so you could have me all to yourself?” You knew that there was nothing you could do now to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to. You were completely at his mercy.

He scoffed, he was acting like the villain in this story. “We gave them a merciful death. Our enemies would have watched them tortured, to try to get to you. I did you a favor.” His face sneered at you, there was no remorse for what he had done. You felt the tears fall down your face, seeming to have control over the windows now. Allowing you to show some emotion. “Making me watch the first order murder them was a favor?” You wondered just how far he was willing to go to ‘protect’ you. Your family was dead, your friends brainwashed, your planet seized. He was a monster.

His eyes narrowed at you, one twitching with anger. “Remember, you are the First Order now.” Yes, you were the face of it now. The Empress.

You tried to remember back to when he told you that he wanted you to rule for him, but the memory was becoming murky like it had been tainted. “You’re right and I have control over nothing, not even my own body.”

His eyes grew dark as he leaned forward, his body language as threatening as it could be. You felt the internal hold on your body release, and then you felt the Force wrap around you, holding you now from the outside of your body. “You want control, here you have control.”

You struggled against the invisible grip. “You know that’s not what I meant.” “But this is what you are going to get.” He then commanded you up with the Force, your feet levitating off the ground. No control over anything as the tendrils wrapped themselves tightly around you. You were being taken to the bedroom and put on the bed.

You were afraid, this was not the same man who left you weeks ago. “Please don’t do this.” You felt the bed dip with his weight as he crawled up over you. You wanted to push him off, wanted him to get away from you.

His eyes feasted upon your flesh, seeming to mark exactly where he was going to bite into you, like his last meal. “What am I not supposed to do? You are my wife are you not?” His eyes focus on your chest and crotch, taking you in like an object to be defiled.

Your voice broke as you pleaded to him “I am, but I don’t want this, not like this. I want you freely, no Force to hold me down, no Force inside my mind.” For some stupid reason, your love for him was still fighting the fear and terror you felt for him. Trying to remind you that you love him with every fiber of your helpless being.

His demeanor shifted for a moment, it softened. “Promise you won’t run away?” He seemed vulnerable in that moment, and it made your heart yearn for him. Your voice was quiet, your crying calmed. “I promise.”

You felt the tendrils release you, the black entity inside your mind leave you. You were yourself again, but for how long? You weren’t really even able to enjoy this freedom as Kylo began attacking you with kisses, biting love marks into your skin. You heard fabric ripping as your dress came off of you. The Force wasn’t holding you down but his hands were.

You felt conflicted at the situation. Should you be letting him do this? After all he’s done? But your body betrayed you, giving in to his touches and kisses. Every fiber of your being overcome with joy knowing that he was next to you, that he was loving you. It didn’t take him long to get his clothes off. He wasn’t fully erect yet, but that wasn’t unusual.

You struggled against his hold. He was still resisting giving you freedom. “May I please have my arms back?”

His voice was harsh, “Why?” His grip tightening, you were sure that you were going to bruise.

“You haven’t let me touch you when we’ve made love. You’ve always just held my arms down.” You wanted to be able to touch him, but that never seemed to be an option. You wanted to hold him, maybe that would help this broken man.

He complied, but then a hand wrapped itself around your neck. “I need control,” was his explanation. He used his free hand to stroke himself hard.

You were being choked. His hard pounding thrust caused you to force yourself harder into his hand. Cutting off blood flow to your brain, but not oxygen. Your hips rolled upward as you struggled. He wasn’t going to kill you, but that didn’t mean you didn’t need to be afraid. But again your body was betraying you, your slick was pooling between your legs.

Once he was done making himself hard, his hand found its way to your hot core, plunging a finger in without any warning. He was pissed, and so it seemed that you were not going to get any more warm-up than absolutely necessary. After a couple of thrusts, a second finger was added and then a third. When he thought you were prepped just enough he forcefully split you in two. His pace rough and quick, unrelenting as he pounded into you. You lacked the ability to speak for a different reason, his hand still clamped tightly around your throat. He was vocalizing groans, snarls, the occasional fuck. His lips and teeth covering you in deep dark bruises. This was the first time that he seemed to break skin, you had a bloody bite mark on your breast. The man fucking you was truly a monstrous savage.

Unlike before he climaxed before you, but he left you feeling empty as he pulled out. You were flipped over, your face shoved down into the mattress as he took you from behind. Yes, you might have had your arms free, your mind free, but you were far from freedom. There were tears in your eyes as you finally reached your orgasm, he was close to his second. Gone was the loving man you once thought you knew, now he was a creature that haunted you, something born of nightmares. A demon trapping you to your own personal hell, but you could help but feel pleasure at your release. Your body still overjoyed at the things he was doing to you. Your body and you slowly becoming two separate entities as he occupied you, both in body and mind. Your tears staining the mattress.

When he pulled out he released all over your cunt, covering your crotch in his hot cum. His grip on your head holding you face down on the mattress released. His hands now attached themselves to your thighs. A long hard swipe fo his tongue changed your tune entirely. Lapping you up, now this was a delicious pleasure. His enthusiasm for your combined juices seemed to return. He hooked a finger inside you to try to scoop out as much mixed cum as he could, after a while the finger just seemed to massage your walls as you produced more and more arousal. His tongue occasionally thrusting in and out of you, before you came to your climax. Your legs collapsed under you as Kylo’s touch left your body, and his weight left the bed.

He went into the bathroom where you heard the shower run, for the first time since you’ve been married he had abandoned you on the bed. He wasn’t returning to clean you up. When he came back, there was no good-night kiss, no real acknowledgment of your existence. He turned off his light and seemed to fall asleep. You tested your own strength as you tried to get off the bed. You limped into the bathroom, the woman in the reflection haunted you, the love bites no longer reminded you of sweetness, but pain. They were marks of ownership, pure ownership over your existence. You turned on the shower and let the scalding water try and wash away the pain in your heart, but it couldn’t. Not before you lost control over your mind once more. The black creature invading your sanctuary. You wondered when the next time you would be guaranteed moments of freedom.

When you came to you were stuck behind the glass. No control over yourself. You were now wearing different clothes. You wondered how many days had passed by, how many days he had stolen from you. For some reason some stupid part of you was still in love with him, believing that he was actually protecting you. But now you were descending to the surface of Exegol from what you could observe. You were going to meet him, whoever he was. You were surrounded by the knights and Kylo, a blaster placed on your hip. You could sense the nervousness from the knights. If they were afraid, you should be too. You weren’t sure if you were being led to your death or not, but you were afraid either way.

Kylo wore his helmet, his lightsaber in his hand, ready to jump out of the craft when you landed. The knights assumed similar positions. You were the only one strapped down, but you could feel Kylo’s Force around you, like some sort of protective bubble. When the exit ramp lowered, it looked like you were released directly into the gates of hell. Chanting was heard in the distance. You felt yourself lose full consciousness once more.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo ren imagine #a soul to mend his own #kylo x reader #kylo x you #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #sw first order imagine #star wars first order

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mccoys-killer-queen · 3 years

Text

I just realized I’ve been writing fanfic for so long that I can fucking timeline the eras of my writing based on my hyperfixations slgnvaeprngerpogm

Ancient Era: 2013-2014

fandom- Fun. (the band)

I was 12 when I first started writing. None of these stories exist anymore. I deleted them all at LEAST 6 or 7 years ago from my Wattpad. Cringe as can possibly be. Stories about myself out the ass. Didn’t know what p*dophilia was. Mixed perspectives. (A/N Just go with it!). Only wrote bc I wanted to be cool. Only wrote to include my favorite songs in any way I could (sound familiar omg). Truly a horrible time to be alive. I was the youngest in this fandom. Everyone else was like 14. It was pretty bad, but not “sold to One Direction” bad, considering that’s what everyone else was doing at the time.

Renaissance Era: 2014-2016

fandom: Doctor Who

This was when I started taking writing seriously at the age of 12. All of these stories still exist on my Wattpad, but there are some things I’ve never posted. This was also when I started writing to cope/writing for only myself. I still love my ideas for these, and Doctor Who really helped itty bitty teenager me in ways you can’t imagine. I could go on for days on how it changed my life completely and made me who I am today. I was truly in another universe in this era. Made stories about OCs (and OCs in general) for the first time. Amazing ideas out the ass all the time. I am still in love with a lot of things I came up with in this time. Oddly mature but still blatantly teenage. Tried to be extremely historically accurate (which I still try to be).

Bronze Era: 2016

fandom: Supernatural

I had a lot of ideas with potential, but never executed them completely due to lack of motivation. I still think about my only Supernatural OC often. I wasn’t interested in the show for long, which is another reason why there aren’t many stories from this time. Things were more in my head than in writing in this era. Call this the “thinking practice” era. I got better at developing ideas. These stories still exist on my Wattpad. Some things I wrote may have been lost in the Great Tumblr Purge of 2018. May they rest in peace.

Silver Era: 2016-2018

fandom: Star Trek

A sad era. Very few stories, several lost in the Great Tumblr Purge of 2018. What I lacked in content in this era I made up for in practice. I improved a lot in this era as far as descriptions and omniscience goes. Creating an atmosphere began to come naturally during this time; it was basically an exercise era; a ‘maturity in typing’ era. There wasn’t much posting, but drafts helped me improve and spend more time thinking about the worlds and versions of characters I created. One of the greatest things I thought I ever wrote was lost in the Great Tumblr Purge of 2018 just days after I finished it. I still have about 55% of it that was backed up, but I haven’t been able to try and recreate it ever since. May it rest in peace. I made an AO3 in this era. Stories are on there. I stopped posting on Wattpad in this era.

Golden Era- 2018-present

fandom: Def Leppard

Fuck yeah. It all started with a dumb cracky fic. Yearning to be in the past and be in love continues to constantly fuel ideas for stories. And surprise surprise, I still try to shove my fav songs wherever I can- because that’s the other thing that continues to constantly fuel ideas for stories. I started doing palette cleansers and drabbles and illustrations and just- I can’t put into words how much I love writing what I write now. I’ve written more than 100k words in Def Leppard fanfic and that continues to go up by the day. I’ve finally mastered how to effectively project the exact emotion I want readers to feel into words, and I truly think my style became one of a kind in this time. I guess you can say I turned into a romantic writer rather than just a dramatic/emotional writer. It was in this era that people actually started paying attention to my stories and appreciating my writing/giving me a real amount of feedback for the first time. All stories are available on Tumblr, some on AO3. The “colorful” era.

#archive #find this tag #fanfic #i'm full of myself when it comes to my fanfics i stg #but i've never open about that

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jowritesthingss · 4 years

Text

Un-Convention-al

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): Logince (Logic | Logan + Creativity | Roman)

Rating: Teen (for swearing and Remus being Remus)

Content Warning(s): some swearing, a couple of typical Remus-like comments (nothing too bad here tho), food

Length: 3,679 words

Brief Summary: Soulmate September, day one! While at a convention, Roman ponders his rather unconventional soulmark. And maybe, just maybe...he might find the person whose name is encoded onto his arm.

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

“Heyy, Spock!”

Roman rolled his eyes as his brother raced over to a black-haired, pointy-eared cosplayer. This had to be the stupidest thing he had ever done, and this wasn’t the first time Remus had dragged him into weird shit, so that was really saying something.

Watching as Remus spoke excitedly with the dude, Roman couldn’t help but wonder why he had allowed his brother to drag him to one of his nerd convention thingies. The only acceptable thing about this was that this Captain James T. Kirk character was obviously exactly like him, so even if he was acting as some geeky TV show character, at least it was a valorous protagonist, he supposed.

Roman tapped his foot impatiently, looking around the hotel lobby at all of the booths advertising anime and mango and cartoons and whatnot. Yeah, yeah, he was supposed to be supportive of his brother and whatnot after everything, but couldn’t he have held off the supporting thing until tomorrow, at least? Roman could’ve—should’ve—been across town, meeting that famous soulmate linguist guy that was in town, but nooo.

Remus snagged the cosplayer by the wrist and dragged him over, grinning madly underneath his facial prosthetics. Which, of course Remus had to choose one of the weird characters to cosplay—what was his name? Wolf? Wharf? “You two match! We gotta get a picture!”

“Very well.” Sighing and rolling his eyes, Roman acquiesced, moving over to the poor kid. He slung one terra-cotta arm around the kid’s shoulder, striking up a pose. Best to let Remus have and do what he wanted without fighting too too much; then maybe he’d get tired sooner and they could leave sooner.

Remus backed up, bringing out his phone to take the picture. “All right, say tribble!” Remus called to them.”

“Say what?” Roman puzzled, while the cosplayer said, “That is highly nonsensical and—”

The flash of the camera interrupted them both.

“Fuck yeah,” Remus enthused. He looked appraisingly between Roman and the other cosplayer, and nope, Roman did not like that look one bit. Remus always got that look when he was up to no good. “Say, Spocksie,” he drawled, “if you’re not meeting up with anyone, wanna hang with us today?”

“I could’t possibly intrude in such a manner,” Spock tried to politely decline, weakly attempting to disentangle himself from Roman.

Wait but no, that was actually a good idea for once. If this guy stuck around with them, Roman wouldn’t have to deal with Remus on his own. He could share in the shame.

“Oh, but I insist!” Roman said quickly, tightening his hold ever so slightly. He winked, hoping his stunning self could win over the nerd. “As your captain, I command you,” he joked. Wait, uh. Kirk was Spock’s captain, right? Gosh, there were too many Star Trek series to keep track of. How did Remus do it?

“I...very well, if you insist,” the cosplayer said carefully. “If you truly do not mind.”

“Of course we don’t mind!” Roman let go of the guy to splay a hand across his yellow-clad chest. “I’m sure you’ll love the chance to bask in my glorious presence.”

Spock turned to look at Remus, who was practically vibrating with energy. “Tell, me, is he in character or is he always like this?” He raised an eyebrow. “I do not recall Captain Kirk being so...self-absorbed.”

Roman squawked as beside him Remus howled with laughter, and maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

---

To retaliate for the whole “self-absorbed” comment, Roman sentenced the Spock cosplayer to sitting in a panel for an hour with Remus, while Roman aimlessly played on his phone outside the auditorium, thankful that they only had two tickets and that the rest of the tickets had sold out before they got there.

Judging from the smile on the kid’s face as he and Remus walked out of the door, debating amongst each other, he realized that sitting in a stuffy, crowded fandom panel was probably paradise for a nerd, not a punishment. Ah, well. At least he’d had time to try looking up some new online translators, even if he’d had no luck actually translating what he’d been trying to translate for five years now.

As he stood to meet the two, Roman’s right hand slipped over to his left wrist, where it slipped under the sleeve of his sleeved yellow command shirt and unconsciously began rubbing at the characters tattooed across his skin.

Soulmates were something that everyone had, and without fail, the name of your soulmate appeared on your wrist at thirteen, so there was nothing to be confused about there. And there were so many different languages and writing systems out there that having a name written in a different language or in different characters wasn’t out-of-the-ordinary, either.

What was out-of-the-ordinary, however, was that nobody could decipher the characters written across Roman’s arm.

Five years since he turned thirteen, five years since those weird-looking letters appeared on his wrist—five years of family and friends and schoolmates and teachers and even linguists gaping at them, five years of not being able to figure out what they said, what name and secret they held.

And who knows? Maybe if Roman had gone to meet that linguist instead, today could’ve been the day he finally figured it out.

But no, that wasn’t Remus’ fault. Remus had planned on this con for over a year now. He couldn’t take his frustration out on Remus.

“Did you have fun, nerds?” he asked as he strode up to them.

“I got to ask about pon farr.” Remus grinned leeringly, and Roman wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but he was fairly certain that he didn’t want to know. “And Spocky-wocky here totally nerded out about Klingon.”

“Oh. Uh. Excellent,” Roman said jerkily. Did he want to know what that was, either?

His grumbling stomach made the decision that no, he most decidedly did not. At least, not for the moment.

“Why don’t we find something to eat?” Roman asked the two. “I don’t know about you two, but I myself am famished.”

Remus immediately turned and flounced away from the two of them. “Sounds dee-lightful to me, broski. I saw this stand selling astronaut food!”

Roman and the cosplayer—Roman really would have to ask his name at some point, he couldn’t just keep calling them “Spock”—hurried after Remus, and soon enough, the three were eating (more like gagging on) freeze-dried ice cream, animatedly discussing Kirk and some gal Uhura who apparently had been part of the first interracial kiss on television (“Could be gayer,” Roman said. “Could be gayer,” Remus agreed, staring mournfully at the empty packet in his hand. He had been the only one to actually enjoy the space food.)

The conversation had moved to Kirk and Spock, Remus adamantly insisting that the two had been more than friends and coworkers. He and the Spock cosplayer had a rather lively debate over it—none of which Roman understood in the slightest, so he let himself get distracted. He couldn’t help but wonder what the cosplayer would look like beneath the cosplay. The guy’s bright eyes were mighty pretty while he argued with Remus.

Mid-sentence, Remus’ eyes drifted over to Roman, and he looked away, hoping his staring hadn’t been caught. He wasn’t one to look at people that weren’t his soulmate—all the same, when you didn’t know what your soulmate’s name was, it was quite hard not to. If Remus got any ideas, though, Roman was doomed.

Sure enough, That Look appeared in Remus’ mischievous brown eyes, and he abruptly interrupted the debate to announce that he was going to go buy some more food, racing off before either Roman or the Spock cosplayer could respond.

Roman and the cosplayer instinctively turned to exchange a glance with each other, then Roman quickly looked away, flushing. Now he’d realized that the dude was kinda attractive for a nerd, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Great.

“So,” Roman said awkwardly in an attempt to break the awkward silence between the two. He fought the urge to run a hand through his hair, reminding him that Remus’ soulmate would murder him if he messed up the borrowed blond wig.

“So,” the Spock agreed. He paused before continuing, glancing between Roman and Remus. “The two of you are...friends? Boyfriends?”

“Ew. Oh, god, no.” Roman gagged. “Ew ew ew.” He looked across the floor at his brother, standing in line to buy some odd foreign candy or something. “He’s my brother.”

Spock nodded sagely, staring as Remus paid for a handful of...something. “Your brother?”

Roman watched Remus shove the entire handful of candy in his mouth, gagging. “...He’s adopted.”

Roman caught Remus’ eye from across the room, and Remus grinned at him, his deep brown cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as chunks of something slipped out of his mouth.

“Very adopted,” Roman emphasized.

The cosplayer let out a light chuckle, and oh, that was a nice sound. “You’re clearly out of your depth here. You are a good brother for indulging him in this.”

“I...suppose,” Roman said slowly, tamping down on the sudden rush of guilt over having wanted so badly to leave the convention. “So, do you have any siblings?”

The Spock nodded. “I have a younger brother of my own. Unfortunately, he lives across the country with our mother, so he could not come today.”

“Oh.” Roman blinked. Oh, shit. Had he just brought up a sore subject? Shit. “I’m sorry.”

“It is quite all right,” the cosplayer said mildly. “When we graduate, we have plans to attend the same university, and we see each other enough on holidays.”

“That’s good! That’s good,” Roman said. Oh, by Zeus’ thunderbolt, why were his attempts at maintaining conversation so miserable today? Usually he was so good at this.

Across the floor, Remus seemed quite content eating on his own, not coming back to the two of them standing so awkwardly together. He couldn’t rely on Remus to figure out some dorky topic to talk about.

Finally, grasping at straws, Roman lowered himself to asking about nerdstuffs. “So what was that thing Remus you were talking about during the panel? Cling wrap?”

The cosplayer looked mildly affronted, and dammit, if Roman fucked up again—

“Are you referring to Klingon?” he asked, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Yeah! That!” Roman rushed out. “What’s that?”

The Spock gazed at him in wonderment. “You truly know nothing about Star Trek, do you.”

Roman shrugged helplessly.

“Klingon is a species of alien, alongside a language,” the cosplayer said, moving his hand up to his face and jerking it away at the last second. “Apologies, I forgot that I was wearing contacts for this cosplay.” He cleared his throat. “Your brother is cosplaying as one of the few Klingon characters, Worf. The Klingons are portrayed largely as bloodthirsty antagonists throughout the series.”

“Ah.” So that was why Remus had chosen to be one of them.

“Personally, I myself am more fascinated in their language than I am anything else,” the Spock explained. “They actually hired a linguist to create an entire language and alphabet for the series. Klingon is one of the most widely-spoken fictitious languages.”

Wait. Roman frowned, confused. “People speak fictitious languages?”

“Well, yes, of course,” the cosplayer said evenly. “All language is made-up, and besides, it is logical that dedicated fans would pick up some throughout the television shows. I myself speak a bit.”

Roman snorted. “What do ya know.” Maybe that’s something he would have to add on his list of language to look up—he had almost exhausted dead languages and alphabets, might as well see if his stupid soulmark matched a fake language. It wasn’t like it could hurt anything; he wasn’t going to find them regardless.

“Aw, you’re not making out?” Remus was back, standing in front of them once more.

“I—no, of course not!” Roman blustered.

“Why ever would you think—” the cosplayer stammered at the same time.

Remus grinned widely at them, flashing a pearly white, seemingly threatening smile.

“Wow! Would you look at the time!” Roman exclaimed loudly, not looking at all at the time. “Why don’t we go and look at some of the booths and tables, Commander Spock!” He grabbed the other cosplayer’s hand and rushed the two of them away as a snickering Remus followed from a distance.

As the trio navigated the crowds of people and tables of merch, Roman ignored the fluttery feeling in his stomach and the childish glee over how the cosplayer had yet to pull his hand out of Roman’s.

---

Before Roman knew it, the end of the day had reached them, and they were ushered out alongside other convention-goers. The rest of the day had passed much more quickly than he had expected, with someone else to share his grief over Remus being Remus, and good hour or two he had completely forgotten why he’d been sulking about going in the first place.

Roman, Remus, and the cosplayer that Roman still hadn’t gotten the name of lingered on the sidewalk outside of the Marriott. There was no real reason for them to stay, but despite the Spock cosplayer’s nerdiness, Roman had discovered a shared interest in Broadway and analyzing Disney, and he almost wanted to ask for the guy’s number, awkward and embarrassing as it was.

But Remus thankfully beat him to the punch. “Say, Jabberspocky, can I get your number? My brother over there is too boring, so he never likes to talk about nerd things. I could use more cute geeks in my life!”

The Spock nodded. “That would be amenable,” he agreed. “It has been most invigorating to discuss the intricacies of the Star Trek universe with you.” The cosplayer swung around to look at Roman, looking almost...nervous? “Would you like to exchange numbers as well? You are a worthy debate opponent when it comes to Disney media.”

“Oh.” That was a compliment, right? Well, Roman was taking it as a compliment. He preened. “Of course! It would be an honor! ...For you, of course.” He grinned jokingly.

The cosplayer rolled his eyes good-naturedly, fishing his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it, and handing it to Roman. “If you wouldn’t mind filling out your contact information, please.”

“Most certainly!” Roman pulled out his own phone and tossed it at the Spock cosplayer, who just barely caught it with his fingertips. Aw, cute, the nerd was clumsy. He focused in on the phone in his hands, typing in his name and his phone number. “There we go.”

When the cosplayer took his phone back, he glimpsed briefly at their contacts in his phone, then glanced away.

He froze.

Baffled, Roman watched as the cosplayer’s wide eyes retrained themselves down on the cell phone screen.

“Is...is everything all right?” Roman asked, feeling a spark of worry. Did they somehow know each other from elsewhere? Had he or Remus done or said something in the past?

“Oh, my,” the cosplayer said in a slightly-strangled voice. “We...I never asked what your names are, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Roman mock-bowed. “Roman Sanders, at your service.” He gestured over at his brother, grinning. “And that oaf is Remus.”

“Oh, my,” the cosplayer repeated, breathless. He looked almost anxiously up at Roman. “My name is Logan Lehrer.”

Roman smiled reassuringly. “A most lovely name!”

“Is it....” The Spock cosplayer—no, Logan—hesitated. “Is it, by any chance, a familiar name?”

Furrowing his brow slightly, Roman pondered it. “...I don’t believe so,” he said at long last. “Why? Do we know each other from elementary school, or middle school, perhaps?”

“No, I just—” Logan sucked in a breath. He fiddled with the hem of his blue science shirt. “May I—” he said haltingly. “May I see your wrist?”

“My wrist?” Roman tilted his head, bewildered. He held out his right wrist. “Why?”

“No, no, I mean your—here.” Logan reached out a shaky hand, gently grasping at Roman’s left wrist. And—oh.

Oh.

Roman held his breath as Logan slowly tugged back his sleeve. There was no way—was there? Or...maybe?

Logan stared at the white symbols etched across Roman’s tannish brown skin. The five symbols, Roman now realized. Five symbols, five letters...just like Logan’s name, maybe?

Then Logan began to laugh.

Roman blinked. He had only known the guy for, like, six hours, max, but the quiet, reserved nerd he had seen so far did not seem like the type to burst into mad fits of laughter.

“Are—are you all right?” Roman asked, totally lost. What was happening here?”

“Oh my—” Logan wheezed, and Roman now was genuinely concerned. Should he call an ambulance? Should he go back inside and find the medics they had at the event?

“Whatever is going on that’s so funny?” Roman questioned.

Trying and failing to speak through the chuckles running through his body, Logan rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and practically shoved his wrist in Roman’s face, still trembling from laughter and nearly whacking him in the face.

“Oi—” Roman prepared to snap, mildly offended, but the name written across Logan’s wrist caught the words in his throat.

Roman.

Sweet Sif, Roman was Logan’s soulmate. That meant—

That meant Logan was Roman’s soulmate. That mean that, whatever language it was written in, Logan’s name was written on his arm. Logan’s. Logan.

“It’s,” Logan wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, straightening up and slowly composing himself again. “Th-that is my name on your wrist, Roman.”

“It is?” he heard himself say dumbly, as if from a distance away, still not sure that this was really happening.

“It is,” Logan confirmed. He carefully lifted Roman’s wrist to his face and traced the characters with a thin fingertip.

Roman bit back a whimper. Oh, god, he never wanted Logan to stop touching him. Hell if that sounded inappropriate.

“This is my name,” Logan said, struggling to maintain a straight face, “in Klingon.”

Roman was silent for a good minute, processing this information, until finally he realized, “Wait, Klingon? Like, that made-up alien nerd language?”

Logan’s cool facade cracked, and he grinned down at Roman’s wrist, cheeks a rosy red. “Indeed, it is ‘that made-up alien nerd language’ Klingon.”

“Why the hell...?” Roman wondered, bemused.

“I am afraid that I have no idea,” Logan informed him, still scrutinizing Roman’s wrist. “There have been records of soulmate names being written in Ancient Greek and the like before, but I don’t think anyone has recorded any in Klingon before.”

Roman could have puzzled over this for ages more, but as it finally occurred to him, this was his soulmate standing in front of him. Shouldn’t he do something about that?

Wriggling his left wrist out of Logan’s loose grasp, he cupped the other teen’s face gently in his hands. Logan’s pale whitish green makeup was coming off in his hands, and the two of them no doubt looked ridiculous from an outsider’s perspective, but he found that it didn’t matter to him in the moment.

“I must say,” Roman said quietly. “While unexpected, this is most certainly not an unwelcome development.” A suave grin danced its way across his face. “I’ve been eyeing you all day, cutie.”

Logan’s breath puffed out softly against Roman’s face. “I....” The loquacious cosplayer seemed lost for words again as he pressed closer. “I—”

“Oh, go get a room already!” a warbly voice interrupted them.

Roman and Logan sprang apart, their cheeks heating up equally in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Remus grumped. “I’m still here.” After a moment, though, he brightened. “Oh, wait! This means you two can go on double dates with me and Janus and we can make out and embarrass you!”

“Please, do not,” Roman groaned, He reached out for Logan once more, reveling in the tiny squeak he let out, and he buried his face in Logan’s hair. “You ruin everything, asshole.” It was a playful jab, though; without Remus there to drag him to the convention, he might not have ever even met Logan.

So it had been a good thing after all that Roman had gone with Remus to this geeky convention thing, instead of to hear that linguist’s lecture. All the linguists in the world couldn’t have helped him beyond deciphering the words on his wrist. All the linguists in the world couldn’t have quite literally grabbed his soulmate by the arm and dragged him over, like Remus did.

“Thank god!” Remus realized, gleeful. “This means you’ll finally stop complaining about being lonely forever!”

“We’re soulmates,” Logan realized, sluggish. “We—I have your name on my wrist. You have my name on your wrist.”

“Oh my god,” Roman realized, dismayed. “This means I have a nerd language stuck on my arm for the rest of my life!”

Although, if it meant being with Logan for the rest of his life...perhaps a permanent nerd tattoo was a small price to pay.

Roman untangled himself from Logan and pulled away, biting back a grin when Logan instinctively chased after him. “Wanna come get milkshakes with us?”

“That would be satisfactory.” Logan nodded his assent. “However, we might want to take off our cosplays first.”

“Nah,” Roman dismissed. As a theatre kid he’d been to plenty of Steak ’n Shakes in full stage makeup, and he was pretty sure all the local Cookouts knew his order by heart at this point. “That’s part of the fun!”

Roman reached out and grasped Logan’s hand in his own, pulling him with as Remus began honest-to-god skipping to the car. The three broke into easy banter about the best milkshake flavors, and this time Roman couldn’t hold back the grin as Logan passionately decried the practice of dipping fries in shakes.

A small price to pay, indeed.

Fin

Day 1 || Day 2

Day one of @tsshipmonth2020 ’s Soulmate September! I’m almost an hour late in my time zone, but hey! It’s still September first in Alaska, so this totally counts as on time! ...Right?

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

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dailydianakko · 4 years

Text

A Mother’s Gift

ITS LATE BUT ITS DONE! A birthday fic for Diana, based around the game journey. If you haven’t played, I recommend doing so before you read this fic! It’s currently free for people with a playstation account, and only takes a few hours. Is this an AU? Who knows? I wrote this on a tea fueled all night bender so you bet your ass it contains the very spirit of Diana Cavendish herself. Also on AO3 Here.

Diana let out a quiet sigh as she lay despondently on her bed. She felt hollow. Before, when she was younger, her room would have been full of life and joy on this particular day. Now it was just quiet. Her mother was no longer here to waltz in during the morning with a song. There were no birthday pancakes on a tray. No morning cuddles. No outdoor picnic with cake. No special present. At the very most she was expecting to at get a birthday dinner. Her favorite meal, courtesy of Anna’s foresight, but the atmosphere at the table would be stilted. What had truly made Diana’s birthday was the company her mother provided. Her aunt and cousins disliked her, to put it gently. They held a grudge simply because she was the heir to the fortune and estate. Daryl might have been the temporary head of house, but she couldn’t access the main bank accounts. They had to sell off whatever they could to fuel the lifestyle they wanted. Today was simply another reminder of the slow creep until Daryl and her brood would lose their power.

Diana looked over to her desk. Anna had come in earlier this morning, gently waking her and brining in two packages. One gift from Anna herself and another from Diana’s mother. She hadn’t quite mustered the energy to open them yet. Maybe if she opened them, the nagging emptiness that dragged her soul down would cease. At least, for a little while. Diana slowly climbed out of bed. The heaviness in her limbs seemed to increase in protest as she moved. After massive amounts of effort and what felt like ages, Diana succeeded in walking over to the desk. The clock on the dark wood told her only minutes had passed. The day would seemingly drag on forever.

Picking up the first present, Diana looked at the tag. It was Anna’s present. The wrapping was pristine as ever. It was blue with small balloons, square with crisp corners with minimal tape. The weight of the package betrayed the interior. It was heavy and square. Obviously a book. She wedged her thumb in underneath the tape and gave a tug. The satisfying rip that followed thereafter made her lips quirk into a small smile. Underneath the paper was indeed a book. However, it wasn’t a classic novel or research book. It was simply “Winnie the Pooh.” The very book Diana’s mother read to her every year on her birthday. It had been rebound and fixed, but the tea stain that marred the cover was still there. Diana flipped it open to the cover page. The imprints of stains from pressed wildflowers lingered, along with the aged script of her mother. “May you never stop dreaming. Much love, your Mother.” A tear stain joined the wildflower marks.

Diana quickly closed the book and shoved it aside. She wasn’t in the mood to pick at wounds that never quite healed. She took a moment to gather her thoughts and compose herself. Deep breaths. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. The woven texture was soothing. Focus on how it felt. Breathe. Diana didn’t know how much time had passed while she worked at calming herself down. Once she felt well enough, she turned to the other present. The tag read Bernadette, but it was in Anna’s hand writing. Diana could probably muster a guess that it was some sort of game if Anna was true to tradition. The pattern of one educational gift and one game from Anna and her mother had stayed true all these years. However, Diana had some doubts. The slim package didn’t look like a board game. She picked it up, and heard the slight rattle of a disc. Maybe it was a movie. But the package wasn’t long enough.

Diana stopped her musing and simply decided to open it. She tucked stray hairs that had flown into her face during her minor panic and set to work. A quick tear of the wrapping paper unveiled what her second present was. A game called Journey. It had a desert background and birdlike character who was wrapped in cloth on the cover. It looked quite peaceful despite the barren landscape. It seemed to be playable with the game system Hannah had gotten her a few years ago. The redhead had given it to her when she had claimed Diana worked too much. Diana had dabbled a little in it, enough to know the controls, but had never actively played. She had been too busy, ironically. Now would be as good a time as ever to play it. If Daryl hadn’t sold the system.

The trek to the game room was a quick one. The mansion was quiet. The only sound to be heard was Diana’s soft footsteps. There weren't many staff in the halls. They were probably hiding away. Daryl had been in a foul mood and the threat of being fired was ever looming. Anna had been one of the only few that remained from the times Diana’s mother had been in charge. Stopping outside the door to the game room, she raised a hand to knock. Diana didn’t know why, exactly. No one would be in there, and it was a family space. Her hand dropped back to her side. Hesitantly she reached out and turned the knob. Pushing the door open, she peeked into the dark room. She took a step in and groped for the light switch.

The bright light suddenly flooding the room made her blink. The room was mostly empty. Furniture and things deemed non-essential had been sold off. A shelf still held some childhood board games, the ragged boxes held together with tape. The billiards table hadn’t survived the purge. However, the couch and television was still there, as well as the system Hannah had bought her. Anna must have worked hard to protect Diana’s possessions, no matter how unused they were. Diana put the disk into the player, turned on the TV and settled on the couch. Lucky for her, it was still set up from her last game so there was no need to tamper with channels and whatnot.

The startup took no time at all, and soon she was looking at the title screen. All the options that were provided were new game, options, and credits. Diana didn’t know enough to fiddle with the options, and figured the credits could be watched at the end of the game. She quickly chose the new game and settled back to play. The character was charming and Diana quickly warmed up to the controls. The chirps of the character were beautiful and just as she suspected from the character design, matched those of a bird. She quickly traversed the map, and made it to the next area. It looked like the puzzle for this area was to rebuild the bridge. As she completed the first arc of the ribbon bridge, a corner of her screen was lit white. Diana didn’t quite know what that meant, and quickly looked around the area.

A small figure ran up to her character. It looked nearly the same, except the call sign that it used looked like four n’s stacked up on one another. They jumped in the air and ran around Diana excitedly, letting out staccato cheeps. Diana laughed in spite of herself. Perhaps she wouldn’t be playing this game alone after all. She let out a few cheeps herself, and gave a small jump. Her excited companion jumped as well. Together they uncovered the mysteries of the ruins. Leading one another to the lights that would lengthen their scarves and fixing the bridge, the two worked in tandem.

Together they traversed the desert, from watching the star fall to freeing the carpet creatures, Diana was enjoying herself more and more. Her partner was excitable, calling to her frequently. Diana was more reserved with her song, only using it to regenerate her partner’s scarf, or to call attention to murals, the orbs of light, and where to go. As they unveiled more and more of the plot together, Diana began to piece together what had caused the ruins in this desert world. A civil war between the tribe, fighting over scraps of power. It was all too familiar to her own household. What concerned Diana was the murals that showed the ancients riding beasts. What would she and her partner face on their journey?

She was roused from her thoughts by the frantic cheeps of her partner. Diana had stopped walking and obviously concerned her compatriot. She let out a series of calls in return to assure them that she wasn’t going anywhere. Diana wanted to finish the game with them. Together they traversed the sands once more. This time they slid down steep hills together, weaving in and out of columns of old crumbling stone. The sand grains scattered from behind them, and the sun’s glare made it look like they were skating over gold. It truly was beautiful. Her partner soared through the air with every jump. It was a dance between the two of them. Her travel companion was sticking as close to Diana as possible. For once Diana was at peace. She wasn’t alone, and she was having fun with this mystery player. All too soon, the peaceful moment was over. Together they fell into an abyss, floating softly down. It was dark down in the ruins, and the unnatural blue lights that littered the ground made the dark world even more eerie. Even though the game had been peaceful so far, this area screamed danger.

Her companion huddled ever closer, the contact making their scarves shine. Together they walked through the boxy ruins. Diana nearly screamed in terror when one of the blue lights on the ground unearthed itself to be a monster of iron. It let out a screeching cry, the call sounding like metal being pushed through a shredder. Diana’s heart beat fast, and she felt her body tense. She hunched over, eyes focusing on the screen. Diana watched for the metal beasts, wanting nothing more than to get past this area. She hated how her partner was more quiet now. The joyful cheeps had ceased in favor of a tense silence. One of fear and watchfulness. Diana quickly sounded off two hoots of reassurance. They would be safe. She’d make sure of it. The two stealthily made their way through the distorted maze of monsters and withered stone columns. Letting out calls to move when it was safe, Diana slowly guided her companion in what she hoped was the right way.

The harrowing journey ended in a frantic slide down a slope, with the titans in pursuit close behind. They were saved by some sort of force field. It prevented the beasts from attacking them. Diana leaned back and took a breath. She put the remote down and stretched the tension out of her back. She smiled as she looked at the screen. Her companion flew around her, letting out long cries of what she assumed was elation. She let out a few reserved cries as well. Calming down from what she supposed was their shared high, they moved onward and triggered the next area of the game.

The camera panned around the screen, showing her that they were now in the bowels of the ruins, and would have to platform their way up. However, after triggering the first mural, a golden cloud filled the bottom tier of the tower. Diana let out a laugh as she noticed that her friend was now flying around, letting out near constant chirps. Diana joined her in the impromptu dance, lighting the murals and relishing in the trials they had overcome. When a whale seemingly made of carpet appeared, Diana once again was awestruck at the sheer beauty of the game’s world. It struck such a chord in her, and she couldn’t fathom why. She rode the whale with her friend together, and lit the final mural. One that showed a trial to come. A storm, and the two of them fighting through it. Diana hoped it would end well, but a nervous feeling gnawed at her stomach. She breathed in deep. If she was with her friend, she was sure she could overcome whatever trial was next.

Diana could almost feel the coldness of the mountain. Feel the winds that pushed her and her friend back relentlessly. The beasts stalked them once more. Their harsh cries carried through the snow covered world. Diana huddled with her friend, in an attempt to keep the scarves they wore charged. It looked as if they were huddling for warmth, in a pathetic attempt to keep moving in the cold. They slowly continued on, both limping through the snow. Her friends’ calls were fewer now. They didn’t really show on the screen. Diana frowned with worry. The winds were getting stronger now, both their movements were slower. Tears filled her eyes as she watched them move from a slow walk, to a creep, then to a crawl. She didn’t move forward when her friend fell, and stayed with them until she collapsed next to them into the snow.

She watched with a stony face as the elders looked on their bodies sadly, and tried not to cry. They had come so far together, only to have their journey cut short. She wanted to scream. Diana prepared to turn off the game then and there, but she stopped midway. A glow filled the screen as her character was revitalized, and shot into the air. Diana let out a whoop, manners be damned. Frantically pressing her controller, she let out a string of calls, searching for her friend. When they were answered, she flopped back into the couch relieved. They were here. They made it. Together Diana and her friend danced together in the sky, letting out chirps as they circled one another. Finally, their dance came to an end. They stopped at the pinnacle of the mountain. Letting out one final call to each other, the characters bowed and they walked into the beam of light.

Diana leaned back, eyes misty as the credits rolled. She had never felt so relieved and accomplished. Together she and her partner had done it. They completed the journey. She let the controller fall from her grasp as the game’s final cutscene ended. The final shot was of the desert at night. Diana let out a gasp as words flicked across the screen. “Companions met along the way: Katsu_Kaa_Gari” Diana muttered aloud. Her hand twitched as she contemplated messaging the companion that she played the game with. Would they even want to talk? Would they be rude? Perhaps it was best to leave them alone. Absentmindedly she rubbed the hem of her shirt as doubts swirled in her thoughts like a muddy cloud. She almost didn’t hear the ping of the message she got on her console.

Diana scrambled for the controller and quickly flicked to messages. It was a message from Katsu_Kaa_Gari.

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:40pm]: Thank you for the amazing Journey! It made my heart go ドキドキのワクワク ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:41pm]: 本当にありがとう！(＾▽＾)

Diana fumbled with the controller, anxious to type out a reply. She slowly tapped out her message, editing it, deleting, and re-typing until she deemed it perfect.

Greem_Been [2:56pm]: Thank you as well. I very much enjoyed playing with you. Your company made this game very enjoyable. It was a memorable way to spend my birthday and I thank you for your time.

Diana bit her lip anxiously as she waited for a reply. Perhaps she took too long? Did they get bored?

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:57pm]: AAAAAA you responded! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:57pm]: Happy Birthday to you as well! I am very much glad I could keep you company. (*￣▽￣)b

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:58pm]: If you want, we can play other games too! I have minecraft if you want! We can celebrate your birthday even more! (☆ω☆)

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [2:58pm]: Of course I am a stranger, so you dont have to. If I am a bother I am sorry ごめんなさい！

Diana blinked at the flurry of messages and let out a giggle. The person behind the messages was just as excitable as they were in game. If she recalled, Minecraft was one of the games she had gotten when she was first gifted with the console. She didn’t recall how to play it, but one game couldn’t hurt. Besides, if Katsu was a sketchy figure, she could always block them.

Greem_Been [2:59pm]: I would be honored if you would play with me. However I will not hesitate to block you if you misbehave.

As an afterthought, she typed out another message.

Greem_Been [3:00pm]: Thank you for offering. I enjoy playing with you.

Katsu_Kaa_Gari [3:00pm]: よし！My Minecraft ID is the same as here! I already added you! I look forward to playing!

Diana let out another giggle. It looks like her birthday wouldn’t be so lonely after all. Who knows, maybe she had made a new friend. Quietly Diana thanked Anna for choosing this particular gift in her mother’s name. She was looking forward to the rest of the day.

________________________________________

Translation notes:

ドキドキのワクワク: Doki Doki no Waku Waku (we all know what this one means)

本当にありがとう: Thank you very much!

ごめんなさい: I am sorry!

よし: Alright!

All of these were translated with google translate, so there may be errors :’)

#lwa #little witch academia #diana cavendish #akko kagari #dianakko #diakko #if you squint #lol #my writing #daily speaks #this is one hot mess #happy birthday you cabbage bastard

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chevalier-tialys · 4 years

Text

Look to the Stars

Rating: Gen

Summary: Lee is offered help by a few witches, and finds himself in an even bigger problem than he was in before.

His Dark Materials Fan Week

Day six: thing you are most looking forward to about season two | Lee attending the witches’ council

[Read on Ao3]

The sky split open, and Lee knew deep in his bones that something had gone wrong.

Unfortunately, his balloon had taken a terrible hit during the storm, so he couldn’t go and scout out exactly what was going on. No doubt Serafina Pekkala was doing as much right now, while Lee got his balloon back to Svalbard with the help of a few bears. He didn’t see Iorek anywhere, but then hadn’t expected to be able to with his new rank as king. King Iorek Byrnison, Lee thought with a wry grin. He’d told Iorek years ago that he had royal blood, exile be damned, but the bear hadn’t really listened.

Lee would do anything to shove that memory into his friend’s face, but right now his priority was to get his balloon fixed somehow and go find Lyra.

A rush of wind at his side alerted him to Serafina’s presence. “Lord Asriel opened a bridge to another world,” she announced without preamble.

“I’m sorry, what?” He had not signed up for this nonsense, and even now he was only helping out for Lyra’s sake, but… other worlds? “How is that even possible?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I think it has to do with Dust, since he was reportedly researching it in incredible detail. I saw an airship docked by his laboratory – I assume his research is now under Magisterium control.”

“The Oblation Board…”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t bode well for us,” she admitted, sounding as close to troubled as Lee had ever heard her.

He sighed. “Did you find Lyra and her friend anywhere? Roger, I mean.”

Serafina’s expression twisted. “I found the boy’s body in the snow,” she said mournfully.

“Not dead?”

“I’m afraid so. And I found this beside him,” she added, handing over a scrap of blue fabric – Bolvangar uniform, Lee supposed. “I believe it’s Lyra’s.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “She was there?”

“Not when I flew there, no. But I assume she was, at some point before. She likely took the bridge into another world,” Serafina mused aloud.

He swore under his breath.

“That’s not the worst,” she added grimly. “I found something else there as well, and the image is… disturbing, at the very least.”

“Worse than Bolvangar?” Lee asked, only halfway sarcastic. When Serafina didn’t respond, his heart sank. “Miss Pekkala…”

“Intercision cages,” she said grimly. “With a manual lever. Mr. Scoresby, I believe Lord Asriel killed Roger Parslow when he – when he cut them, to open the bridge in the Aurora.”

Lee fell silent, horrified by the act. He couldn’t tell if he found it more sickening than the experimentation in Bolvangar, or less so. For one thing, Asriel must have had the guts to commit the act himself, so there was no impersonal automation controlling the guillotine. On the other hand, the kid’s murder had probably been instrumental to Asriel’s success, which meant that it was planned.

“Damn.”

“I did say this was bigger than anything we might have imagined,” Serafina responded, still grave.

“Yeah, but – worlds? None of us could have predicted this, except–”

“A city in the Northern Lights,” Lyra said, peering up at the Aurora. She’d opted to lay beside him on the sled that carried his balloon and stargaze for a change, instead of trekking beside the rest of the gyptians. Lee hadn’t protested, the kid had to be pretty tired from all the walking and thinner air at this altitude. He might have been used to it by now, but her Oxford upbringing wouldn’t be.

“A mirage?” Lee had never really seen a mirage himself, but he’d heard the ranchers back in Texas talk about the heat-illusions on particularly hot days when they’d been on the road for a while. He much preferred lying to travelling across land, so it hadn’t really become relevant.

Lyra shook her head. “An actual city. My father, Lord Asriel, he took a photogram of it to show the Scholars in Jordan College. So I know I ‘ent imagining things.”

“I didn’t say that you imagined it, kid,” he grunted as he sat upright, craning his neck to look at the shifting lights. No matter how much he saw them, the view never got old. “But if others have recorded the sight, I suppose…”

“What?”

“Could be some celestial phenomenon,” Lee mused aloud. “That sort of thing happens sometimes, the Aurora can look like different shapes from certain angles. Once, it even looked like a freshwater trout.”

Lyra frowned at him. “No, it can’t have. That’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” Hester agreed, nipping at Lee’s finger. He hissed and flicked her ear in return, leaning back against the balloon.

“I guess it is,” he said amiably. “But it probably could look like a trout one day. Who knows, you might have seen an actual city there too, like Asriel. Anything’s possible ‘round these parts.”

Anything’s possible indeed, Lee thought.

“Mr. Scoresby?”

“Lyra knew,” he said sharply. “She said that Asriel recorded an image of the city in the Aurora. You don’t think…?”

“It’s possible,” she said slowly. “But there are hundreds of thousands of worlds to cross into, Mr. Scoresby, we can’t risk following her into a place we don’t know only to get lost ourselves.”

Lee sighed. “You’re right,” he conceded. “‘Sides, we probably need to get my balloon fixed first. Though how that can be done in Svalbard I have no idea.”

“You won’t need to fix it in Svalbard,” Serafina assured him. “I summoned the aid of my clan, so my sisters will take you to Lake Enara and assist you with it themselves.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Miss Pekkala, this is – you don’t have to–”

“Perhaps not, but it’s always good to help people when they’re in need.” Serafina’s eyes glittered. “And as I told you earlier, the universe has greater plans for you, Mr. Scoresby. Helping you wouldn’t be as altruistic as it sounds if it helps save the world, or, if my suspicions are correct, worlds.”

“Because obviously I was worried about altruism.”

She laughed.

-*-

“Lee, stop pacing,” Hester scolded. “The witches are here to help you, it’ll be fine.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lee corrected pointedly. “We don’t know where Lyra is, or – or what’s happened to her. She could be injured, and she just lost her friend! Does she even know about that? She’s probably in a strange world, and I have no idea if she’s with safe company.” He kicked a tree root and swore when pain shot up his foot.

“Don’t,” he snapped when Hester moved to speak. She sighed, exasperated.

“Lee, you’re trying to help her. If there’s any way we can find her, it’ll be with the help of the witches. They know of these worlds already, remember? Even if they’ve never been in them.”

Lee nodded. “I know, I know, I’m just–”

“Worried,” Hester completed. “I get it. I’m worried about the kid too.”

“Of course you are, we’re the same person.”

“Lee.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he conceded. “Wait a minute – that’s not a witch from the Lake Enara clan.”

From the distance, a light blur whizzed into view, landing a few paces away from Lee. A witch, certainly, from a different clan – light where Lake Enara was dark, and, lucky him, also familiar.

“Miss Virtanen,” he greeted amiably. “It’s been a while.”

“Mr. Scoresby,” she returned enthusiastically. “How are you faring, I didn’t expect to see you at this council meeting.”

“It’s a weird time,” he answered honestly. “Wait – council?”

She nodded. “I’m sure you know the significance of inviting someone who isn’t a witch into these gatherings.”

Well. Yeah.

“I thought men weren’t supposed to be witness to councils?”

“Like you said, Mr. Scoresby,” she replied sadly, “these are strange times. My sisters are meeting with the Lake Enara clan to discuss what we’ve observed so far, and Queen Serafina tells us that you have some important information of your own.”

“I hope so,” he said. “I’m not sure how relevant it is, but I’d hate it to be insignificant in the end.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” Lisaveta assured him. “I can sense the calling of fate about your daemon.”

“Witches can do that?” he asked dryly. She grinned sheepishly and nodded.

“Some of us pay attention to the energies of the world. Others find it more productive to study people. I can say with utmost confidence that I am gifted in the latter.”

He smiled, and then remembered what he was actually here for. “I’m here about the kid – Lyra,” he clarified. “Apparently, she’s meant to save the world, or something. I want to help her do it, but mostly I just want to find her.”

His old friend cast a scrutinizing look at him. “I’m not entirely sure who you speak of,” she said at last, “but I believe Queen Serafina has something to say about it when we convene at the glen. Though it seems an awful lot like you’ve found yourself a daughter.”

“This conversation lasted for barely a minute,” Lee said exasperatedly. She just looked at him expectantly, and he deflated. “Fine, you’re not wrong. But she hasn’t had much luck by way of parents, so if I find her and escort her through her journey, I won’t push on the subject.”

She nodded and started to move towards the secluded glen, turning around to make sure he followed. “It’s like I said before, Mr. Scoresby. I’m good at reading people, and I generally stick with my first impressions of people I meet, witches or otherwise. They tend to be a lot more accurate than getting to know them before making a judgement of their character.”

“Out of curiosity, could you read an armoured bear that well?”

“Probably not,” she said. “But I will admit that I have never tried. Perhaps when this is all over, I could speak to the Svalbard bears and try.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Lee said. “To know who they are, and all that. I mean, Iorek’s my best friend, and even I don’t know what’s on his mind half the time. Bears are strange like that.”

“They are,” she agreed softly. “Then again, people are also remarkably capable of being strange, especially mortals – humans, that is.”

“I suppose we are,” Lee chuckled.

“But I stand by what I said about you,” she said, amused. “Lyra would be very lucky to have you on her side.”

He shrugged, feeling heat rush to his face. “Well. I just try to help, and the kid’s hard to dislike.”

“Which is more than most would do. You’re a good man, Mr. Scoresby, and I trust a queen’s judgement. If Serafina Pekkala says that you have an important role to play in the fate of the world, I would be inclined to believe her. And not simply because of her rank.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, baffled, “but I still don’t know why I’m here. I thought I was just supposed to stay till my balloon was fixed, but it seems like everyone has other plans.”

“Mr. Scoresby, I just got here,” Lisaveta said, amused. “But I do think it will be interesting to find out, don’t you agree?”

Lee snorted. “Interesting doesn’t begin to cover it.”

#lee scoresby #serafina pekkala #hester #hdmsourcefanweek #*mine: fic #hdmedit #hdmsource #usergeo #usereffie #this was the first piece i worked on btw #i finished this a good week before this started

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beefcakebarnes · 4 years

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Animals - Part 1

Warnings: descriptions of SEXUAL ASSAULT, asshole characters, angst(maybe?), poor language/swearing/cursing, name-calling(bad words)

Word Count: approx. 2,330

A/N: This is the first installment and I’m SUPER excited. I really hope you like it. PLEASE heed the warnings and tell me if I left any out. I am not responsible for any adverse reactions you may have to this story. Feedback is always appreciated!

——

“He’s here.”

Ana nudges your arm, nodding in the direction of the front door.

It’s like clockwork; the bell above the door to the diner rings every morning at 10 a.m. right before the lunch rush. He always takes the table in the corner near the door and always orders the same meal. He’s gone by 11, leaving behind a clean table, a generous tip, and a polite ‘thank you’ as he leaves.

“And?” you huff, scrubbing at that stubborn coffee stain on the bar counter. Your fingers hurt from the effort but it’s been there for weeks and you won’t be satisfied until the damn thing is gone.

“And,” she starts, “you’d better get his number before I do.”

“God, will you stop?” You roll your eyes, tossing the dirty rag through the window of the kitchen and into the sink. “I mentioned it one time.”

“Still.” Ana shrugs, toeing the kitchen door open. “He’s cute. You should ask him.” She disappears behind the door and it swings after her, squeaking on its hinges.

Sighing, you glance over at his table. He’s hunched over his menu like he is every morning, but you know he’s going to get the same black coffee and blueberry pancakes. Pulling your notepad from your apron, you approach his table.

The grin he sends you makes your face heat up like a furnace. That, and those steel-blue eyes and that one sharp canine that pokes out from under his upper lip when he smiles has you as shy as a schoolgirl and weak in the knees. Not to mention the deep timbre of his voice that washes over you like warm chocolate.

“Good morning,” you smile, doing your best to keep eye contact. It’s kind of impossible, though, with that innocent little smirk. “The usual?”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna try the breakfast platter.”

“Oh?” you grin, scribbling his order on your notepad. “Changing it up?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he picks at the edge of the menu. “Yeah, you could say that.”

The way he’s staring is starting to make you self conscious, but it’s not uncomfortable; he’s always been polite and respectful. He’s not looking at you like a piece of meat like some men do. It’s the type of look that makes you sweat and puts butterflies in your belly. “Alright, then.” Stuffing your notepad and pen back into your apron, you pick the menu from the table and hug it to your chest. “I’ll be back in a few.”

Turning on your heel and marching toward the kitchen, you catch Ana in the window grinning at you. She raises her eyebrows as you round the corner of the bar and stuff the menu on a shelf. “So?”

“Just make the damn food.”

Her laugh echoes in the diner as you shove the order slip in her face and force her back into the kitchen.

——

Your eyes have been dancing between the clock on the wall and John Doe in the corner for the past hour. You’ve refilled his coffee once already and you’re anxiously dreading for 11 o’clock to roll around. You’re cleaning the coffee machine when the bell above the door rings at precisely 10:52 a.m..

“G’mornin’, sweetheart.”

The voice makes you jump, nearly knocking you off your stool. Glancing over your shoulder, those butterflies are gone and replaced with nausea. Turning around and stepping down, you wipe your hands on your coffee-stained white polo shirt.

“Good morning, Brock.”

“It sure is,” he grins. The way his eyes rove your body sends a chilled shiver across your skin, and you’re sure that nausea is going to get the better of you.“How’s my favorite girl?”

“If you aren’t going to order anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Easy, I just stopped by to say hello.”

“Well, you said it.” Avoiding his eyes, you pulled a slip from the register and slid around the corner of the bar towards the man with the blue eyes and slicked-back hair.

A cold hand wraps around your arm, spinning you until your spine clashes with the edge of the counter. Brock is on your front in the next second, caging you in with his arms and thick chest.

“I take time out of my day to stop by and this is what I get?” he questions, tilting his head as you turn away. “I missed you.”

“Please, just go away.”

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

“She said back off,” a voice barks, tone deep and aggressive, straight from the chest. You vaguely recognize it, but it’s sharp and demanding, not the soft velvet that you’ve been crushing on for weeks.

Brock’s eyes rake your face as his tongue presses irritatingly at the inside of his cheek. He spares a glance over his shoulder and grins, pushing himself off the counter. “Did she?”

“She did.” Blue Eyes is standing behind him, tall with his chest out and head high. That warmth in his eyes is gone, the blue now as cold as ice as he stares daggers. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, Barnes?”

“Do you really wanna find out?”

They’re chest to chest, staring each other down. You’re frozen, waiting for the first punch to be thrown with a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter. The tense silence between them is almost deafening as the other few customers quiet their conversations.

Instead, Brock nods. “Alright,” he surrenders, taking a step back and glancing at you over his shoulder. He sends you a toothy grin. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You watch as he sidesteps around Blue Eyes towards the door, their eyes on each other until Brock is on the street and out of sight.

He watches through the window for a moment before releasing the tension in his shoulders and turning his gaze back to you. It’s soft, now; the cold stare he gave to Brock is gone, now only replaced with concern and a furrowed brow, his head hung low. “Are you okay?”

His voice pulls you from your shocked state. His eyes are watching you, searching for any bumps or bruises.

“I- yeah. I’m okay,” you nod, sighing and rubbing your clammy hands unconsciously on your apron. “Thank you.”

His lips quirk at the corners. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Nodding again, you run your fingers through your hair. “I, um, I have your bill.” You look down to your hand where the paper is crumpled and the ink is smeared.

“Is it alright if I stay a while?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the clock. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. “I’d like to try the pie special.”

“Of course,” you smiled, toying with the ruined paper in your shakey hands as you move behind the counter. He sits at the bar this time, his hulking form of muscle and leather in plain view of the street outside.

“I see you in here all the time,” you say from behind the counter, kneeling to pull the pies from the cooler. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky,” he replies as you rise to your feet. You hold out the pies for him and he nods to the blueberry, silently watching as you cut a slice and set it in front of him. “Yours?”

You smile, your cheeks once again on fire as he takes his first bite, the altercation with Brock now at the back of your mind. “Y/N.”

Bucky sits at the counter the next day. And then the next, and the day after that. He’s left that lonely table in the corner behind in favor of keeping you company. He stays past 11, now, too. Sometimes he’s here even when you lock up in the late afternoon.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you enjoy his company. Ana teases you about it relentlessly, claiming he’s your ‘lost puppy’. You just roll your eyes and serve his daily slice of homemade blueberry pie.

——

The key clicks in the lock when you close the diner at 5 p.m.. A shiver takes over you at the cool chill in the air, autumn finally setting in as the sun sets.

Bucky had left an hour ago, speeding out of town on his one-of-a-kind Harley-Davidson. The two of you have gotten close in the past few weeks, but it’s not like you’re complaining; he’s charming, sweet, and he’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Sighing, you tuck your jacket tightly around your chest and prepare for your 2-mile trek home as the sun fades. It’s not a bad night; the sky is clear enough to see the stars, and it’s not yet cold enough for your toes to freeze. Which is a good thing, really; you’ve yet to get your furnace fixed.

The back road you walk is quiet and dark, save for the gravel underneath your feet and the light of the moon. The road isn’t traveled often at this time in the evening, so it’s odd to see a set of headlights and an old-fashioned Ford 4x4 twisting around the windy road and through the trees. You step off to the side as it passes, paying it no mind.

It pulls over, he doors creaking open and slamming shut as two sets of heavy boots crunch the leaves along the side of the road. Your gut turns with intuition and you don’t dare look over your shoulder, quickening your pace and taking larger strides.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice slurs as it moves closer, “where you goin’?”

A chuckle and a second voice slurs behind the first. “I don’t think she likes you, Don.”

They’re obviously drunk. Even from their small distance away you can smell the rancid scent of stale beer and cheap liquor. It’s a wonder they can drive that rust bucket they call a truck.

“Hey.” A hand grips your upper arm, pulling you back midstep and twisting you around. “I was talkin’ to you, dollface.”

Even in the dark, you recognize them; they’re occasionally at the diner, only there to ogle at you and Ana. They’re disgusting and rude, and you’ve had to ask them to leave multiple times because of it.

“Let me go,” you hiss, tugging at his hold on your arm.

“C’mon, honey,” the other man coos, coming up on your back. His fingers ghost as the hem of your coat before slipping under and crawling up the expanse of your back. “We’ve had a long day. Can’t you cut us some slack?”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You jerk your elbow back into his face and he yelps as his nose snaps. He stumbles back, gripping his face as blood begins to drip down his lip.

“You fuckin’ bitch!”

The hold on your arm throws you onto the road. Suddenly, your coat is being ripped open and drunk fingers are fumbling with the buckle on your belt. “You’re just askin’ for it, aren’t you?” Don’s weight on top of you is heavy as you kick and shove, his hot breath nearly making you gag. “A pretty little thing like you out here all by yer’self, then you go an’ hurt my friend. What’d you think would happen?”

Your cries and pleas fade into the dark scenery as he chuckles sickeningly in your ear. His fingers pull at the buckle of his belt, and it jingles the light from the moon is suddenly shadowed.

A deep, guttural growl comes from just behind the treeline, branches and leaves snapping under heavy yet careful footfalls. Both men freeze, slowly turning to glance over their shoulders. There’s a beat of silence with them still on the ground, one hovering over you and the other still bleeding from his face, before a loud vicious snarl rips through the trees.

They’re off the ground and stumbling across the road on drunk feet in a flash, shouting profanities at each other. The truck is barreling down the road before the doors are slammed shut, tires squealing on the old pavement as the taillights fade out of sight.

You’re too distracted to notice they’re gone.

Just a few feet away, the moon is blocked by a towering figure. Grey-white fur is illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. Ice-blue eyes glow in the dark and stare down a long pointed snout at your form on the road. Its claws scrape the pavement just inches away from your shoes, and it seems as it’s as tall as the trees.

You don’t dare move. The rational side of your brain is telling you it’s a hallucination from adrenaline, and the other is trying to haul your ass off the ground. Either way, what you’re seeing isn’t possible. You’re suddenly thrown back into your childhood with stories of monsters in the woods that aren’t real.

Whoever wrote that bullshit was wrong.

Your breath hitches in your throat as it lowers its head down to your level. Any malice or aggression it had shown moments prior had disappeared; its eyes are gentle and warm as it watches you, but there’s hesitance in its body language. The crease in its brow is almost human-like.

You blink up at the beast, still as stone and holding your breath. Its claws scratch against the road as it shifts its weight. It raises back to its full height and turns, giving you a last glance over its shoulder before its tail is whipping through the cold air and into the dark.

Your breath comes out as white smoke when you finally release your breath. It’s quiet, now. No crickets or wind, just you and the moon. It’s almost as if nothing had happened.

Had it happened? The bruises, scrapes, and cuts are real. But was that thing real? Either way, it doesn’t matter. You don’t sleep that night; you’re too busy nursing your injuries and watching the woods from your bedroom window.

—— Like it? Let me know!

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan @plums-and-peaches

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