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ccraccz · 6 months

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Hi! Would you be able to do some headcannons with the heartsteel boys with a short/petite, alt partner! They wear all black, black stiletto nails and with a love of skulls. A big fan of all things games and animated shows and a huge collector.

Alternative love

Characters: Aphelios, Ezreal, Sett, Kayn, K'sante, Yone x GN!Reader

APHELIOS

That?? That's his type without a doubt

He lives for the alternative aesthetic and people shorter than him

He himself is probably alt, but he loves to mismatch with his sister

In solo pictures, he's alt, but in pictures with his sister, he's literally wearing the opposite of his sis

Now, he has a reason to wear more black

He would love to match with you in anything you wear out

He'd bring you gifts

From black press ons to some expensive obsidian necklace or leather gloves to fit your style

Anything and everything for you

He'd indulge you with skulls and bones, tarot cards if you're into things like that

He'll even let you wear his precious hoodies and jackets that were made by sett or bought by his sister

Though, when he finds out that you religiously play games he likes and watch the same shows he does

His affections develop rapidly into love

He has more things to both bond and relate to you

He would feel more comfortable with you instantly

Most of the time, it's difficult to relate to people

So, with you by his side, someone who understands him in style and emotionally goes a long way.

EZREAL

Ezreal would not mind at all

Height or style

Actually he loves your aesthetic!

He feels like it's something that represents you, and he loves anything about you

He's all about aesthetic and true representation, and if black clothing, black nails, extraordinary makeup, and skulls are what you like

So be it! Go you!

He might not match you and your energy, but you know what they say.

Opposites attracts 💚

He's so cringe

He literally says that every time when someone asks why he's with someone like you

And he always tells them off after that because that was just rude!

He'd make a special bouquet for you with black and white flowers

He'd buy you fake skulls and skeletons for you to decorate your space

Buy your books and games

He's so in love with how you show yourself off

You can clearly tell he's always mesmerized by your style

Whether you're wearing skirts, leather pants, dresses, or large ripped jeans

Or even if you're wearing a black tank, with a black graphic jacket on your hips and pj pants

He's so into you and how different you are

Every time he sees you, his eyes are literally hearts

SETT

He thinks it's so cool

And he thinks you're so cute with a petite you are

Especially compared to him

Like, an amazing amount of cool

He loves your style and would support it in giants amounts

He would literally be your stylist

You rip your favorite black shirt? He both fixes it and makes it look like a different shirt while matching your style

Is that jacket too expensive? He can diy one just for you that is way better than the one you liked

He'll also ask k'sante to design some clothing for you

The best quality clothing and costumes are given to you as gifts for important days

Dates? There's a gift box on your bed with some clothing that he fixed up for you

B-day? You know those boots you've been eyeing for a while? Wellll, they're on your bed now screaming for you to try them on

And inside the boots, there's a letter

"PLEASE SEND PICS WHEN YOU TRY THEM ON!"

He's so goofy

He'd support you by giving you more clothes and such

KAYN

He doesn't care, actually

But he will tease you about your height

But clothing wise?

You can go anywhere with whatever clothes and he would love you all the same

The only way he'll care is if you're bare outside, OR someone says some shit about you

That's when he really cares

The first scenario is because he can't handle himself and will snatch you and eat you 😏

The second scenario?

He's throwing hands and giving the person a piece of his mind

He goes crazy for you, but that's also the main reason why you guys mostly have indoor dates

Either way, he doesn't give a damn as to what you wear

He will love you because you tolerate him and keep him in place

Either way, indoor dates mean more time with you and your snazzy self

He will give you a good time after or during the "date"

K'SANTE

(This headcanon is mainly for the boys die ti k'sante being a gay man!! I'm so happy I get to write a male implied reader!! Woop woop!)

He finds it cute, actually!

Like really adorably cute

With how big he is and how small you are, it's actually comical

But you accommodate your height with platforms and your looks and that totally fine!

He finds you attractive all the same

He will design you clothes, and even ask for help for some ideas as to what the guys would look good in!

Just imagine

Your head is laying on K'sante's lap, playing a game of your switch that he recently bought you as an appreciation gift.

You were just about to beat this damn boss you'd been stuck on since yesterday, but he send an unexpected attack at your character and sends you to a fame over screen.

With a huff, you let go of the switch and sigh in annoyance.

"Hey, love?"

"Yeaaah, I see that, thanks"

"Mhm?"

"Would Yone and Ezreal look good in short crops?"

"Ezreal yes, Yone sadly no"

"I can see that, thanks"

"Of course love"

"Wait, would Aphelios look good in hip hop pants?"

"Phel would look good in anything Sante, but he'd really rock the cyber aesthetic,"

AAAA

You'd both indulge in different aesthetics, but he'd 100% make clothes for you to make you feel like the best of the best

YONE

Yone would not care at all

Height or clothibg

You wear What you want, when you want

If someone says anything about it, he will give them a look that would make them keep their disgusting opinions to themselves

Even though its not something he relates to, whatever makes you happy and more comfortable with yourself the better

And if that means black clothing, skulls, and more darker stuff

Then so be it.

But the number of games reminds him of Aphelios

And the amount of anime and manga reminds him of his bother

Though not in a bad way!

Either way, he will indulge you by giving you things he finds that remind him of you

He once brought you one of those cute black death doctor plushies

You literally almost cried, but you gave him a present after turning your plush/plushies towards the wall.

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

Note!

AAAA SUCH A CUTE REQUEST!!! 🧡🧡🧡

I tried something new with the display, so instead of gifs, I used some pictures of the boys because the gifs wouldn't load.

I also tried something new with the headcanons and placed a small scenario. I just wanna see opinions on it! Hope you don't mind lovely!! Please do request again!! 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Imma go sleep in a min now 🧡

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dailyaudiobiblechronological · 8 months

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10/7/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Mark 2

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm Jill. It's the 7th day of October and it's good to be alive. It's it's just good to be alive. No matter what tries to get us down, we have breath in our lungs and we have hope on every new sunrise that happens every day. So despite situations around us, despite the state of the world. But people are saying the negativity tries to pull you down. Just now, it's a good day to be alive. Today we're reading Mark chapter two, and we're reading this week in the Common English Bible translation. So just one short and sweet chapter today from the book of Mark. Mark Chapter 2.

Commentary:

I feel like now that we're in the Gospels, we could title these segments at the end of the readings, What did Jesus do today? So we see that he is calling his disciples and some of those men that he is calling are the least likely of men to pick from- tax collectors, fishermen. And then when the Pharisees see him eating with the tax collectors and with the sinners. Then they turned to the disciples and ask why? Why is he eating with these people? Now here's the thing. We might turn our nose up at the Pharisees. We might really sit here and think, who do they think they are? But we might just be surprised when we find our own selves appalled at the people that we see around us, that are loving the unlovable, that are clothing the naked, that are feeding the hungry, that are thinking and acting on the least of these. The homeless, the marginalized, the down trodden. I heard somebody say earlier today, it made me laugh. Sometimes in our Christianity we think you have to take a shower before you take a bath. You gotta get that cleaned up before you come to church. But here's the thing Jesus taught in the synagogues, but Jesus went to the people. Nobody else would. And they went to the people that they thought he shouldn't go to. And we can only sit and the question and ask our own selves, why are we not? If we are to be like Jesus and follow his example, why are we not? And if we just sit with that question the answer might surprise us. We sometimes don't, for fear of what other people might say. We sometimes don't because we don't want to be inconvenienced. We sometimes don't because it's hard. We're scared. Who has time? Somebody else will take care of them. Just sit with the question, why are we not and see what comes up.

Prayer:

Jesus, we know that it will cost something to follow you. We see how you modeled loving people despite societal standards. And we still make excuses. We still have reasons why and behind all of the excuses and beyond all of the reasons and the justifications, the stone cold truth is, we're just not willing. So today we're sitting with the question of what is stopping us from truly following after you. And I pray that every person that is willing to ask themselves this question, have the courage to sit in the silence and listen for the answer. Holy Spirit speak to our hearts, speak to our minds, speak to our spirits as we sit in this question and wait with you. Thank you for being there in the waiting with us. We thank you for being there in the silence and the uncomfortable silence. And it's uncomfortable because we're afraid of what we might learn about our own selves, what we might reveal about us, Holy Spirit, come. We pray this all in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Announcements:

Daily Audio Bible. That's home base. Check it out if you have not already. That's how you find out what's going on around here. That is what our fearless leader Brian always says, and it's true. You can just take a look around that website. Anything you want to know about us, anything you would like to know about- what is in the store. It's all there, right at your fingertips. If you would like to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you immensely for your partnership. We could not do this without you, and that is no small statement. That is the honest to God truth. If you're giving by mail DAB PO Box 1996, Spring Hill TN 37174 or you can hit the give icon. It's up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. Or look for the gift icon on the website as well. If you need prayer, if you'd like to call and pray for someone that's previously called in, you can do so 800-583-2164 or hit that red circle button and that is also up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. Make sure you hit submit. Turn the wheel to chronological and it will get to the right place. That's going to do it for me today. I'm Jill. We'll turn the page together as we walk through the Gospels and hear about this man and the life of Jesus. I look forward to it every day. Until then, love one another.

Community Prayer Line:

Good morning. It's Heather in Santa Barbara. Wanted to see if there was any updates from the gentleman that had surgery in Florida on his heart. And wanted to lift up Diana in Florida, your marriage that has to do with the abuse and you're giving your husband an ultimatum. My therapist said a couple years ago the type of person that you might be dealing with, I don't know, but could be the person that wakes up when they're about 70 and they're alone and they've been through a few relationships and they realize that they might be relationship adverse. Whatever reasons why they can't go deep but the closer that you want to get, the harder they will push you away and it does seem like psychological and emotional abuse is happening. And so what? Whatever it is, God does not condone that. And so I will, I will pray with you for total reconciliation as I did with mine. I asked everyone for total reconciliation prayer to pray with me and agree. And so Lord, I just lift up her heart for total reconciliation with this relationship she has poured herself into. But she is coming to the end and is worthy of a co creator and a partner in life that should be bringing happiness to an already happy life, and I just pray that you would bring umm either reconciliation, Lord, um healing whatever needs to happen in that home. And I pray that they would stay safe. Thank you Lord. And then I want to lift up the boys that have special needs that need jobs. Lord. Pray for those boys that are adopted, that need to get to work. Just pray the blood of protection over assault. Jesus name. Amen.

Good morning DABC. This is Tonya calling in from Suffolk. Today is October the 5th. On Thursday I wanted to lift up green light from Texas. I'm called in in reference to prayer for both of her children. I also want to lift up Kindergarten Katie and praying also Diana from Florida. Heavenly Father, I come to you lifting up green life in Texas Kindergarten from Katie and Diana from Florida. Dear Lord, you know where they all stand in the need of Heavenly Father. Dear Lord, I love you, Lord God, Lord God, We love you, Lord God like no other. Father, I'm asking that you just reign on their behalf, Dear Lord. Open up doors Lord God for green life um son Father you have created created us logo in your image logo so I'm just trust and believe you right now Lord God that the right job is waiting for him. Lord that door will be open in your perfect timing and even her son that's in college heavenly father. Lord God that you just rained down on him, Father. Lord God let him know that we love him. You love him, Father and just give him the mind. Lord give them strength, Lord God to endure, Lord God the things that he's going through, the challenges that he's facing right now in school. Lord God, let them know Lord God that he is not alone. He is not alone Father. And he can do all things through God, through you, because you give us the strength, father they keep moving. And father once again, Kindergarten Katie. Father you know what she's standing in need of Lord God, Lord God. I'm asking you, Lord God, just to strengthen her little garden and her mighty knees. And Diana from Florida, Father asking that your will be done, God in her marriage, Lord God. Open up doors, Lord God for her husband, Lord God for their marriage, Lord God that they can come on one accord. Lord God and he can put you first and realize Lord God the things that need to be changed and your will be done on heaven and on earth in Jesus name. Amen.

Hello my dear DABC Family. This is Jennifer now in Wyoming. I don't remember if I have called in since we did our big move, but it happened and it was crazy and it was lovely and very chaotic ways. So I thank you all who were praying for us for safe travels and a good healthy move. So I would like to ask for you all to join me in prayer. My sister is going in for surgery on Friday the 13th and she is having bowel resection surgery and we're obviously very nervous, but we also know that everything is within God's hands and that she is loved and we are asking for complete and utter healing of her ailments and that her recovery will go smoothly with no additional complications after. So I thank you all for your prayers and I will be looking forward to hearing all of yours. Bye all.

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tales-unique · 3 years

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FAULTS OF THE HEART II

Chapter 2

That night is, quite possibly, the worst night of your life, so far. No matter how you try to position yourself you manage to aggravate your wound, rendering any progress towards sleep null and void in a matter of seconds. You hiss in frustration, sitting up after what feels like hours of fighting, deciding that there was no sense in trying while you were so wound up.

You decide instead to sate your curiosity about the place you have been brought to, starting with the room you’re in. It’s bathed in iridescent moonlight, the fire having long since burnt out, which gives it an almost ethereal glow. In its prime it must have been such a beautiful place to read and study but now it sits abandoned, a sad echo of former glory. All the books, though dusty and stained with age, look to be in good condition and, despite your fatigue, you untangle yourself from your makeshift bed to peruse them. As you edge towards them the wood creaks beneath your feet and you freeze, listening for any signs of life other than yourself in the building. When you hear nothing you release the breath you had been holding, gazing in awe at all the different books before you. Some of the names you couldn’t even understand, their beautiful cursive calligraphy written in a language that was foreign to you. Perhaps the man of the house was an avid collector of interesting books? You gently trace your finger over the spines, ignoring the burn of protest in your shoulder as you move away towards an old desk that sits under the bare window. The wood is chipped and covered in a layer of dust just like the rest of the room, the items scattered about its surface also buried. Your hand disturbs a stack of papers, the paper parched from years of exposure to the sun, to see if there’s anything you can gleam from them, but the ink is so faded that you barely make out the words. You frown at the inkwell that sits near a stack of books, some of which look like writing journals, the quill stuck inside the dried up ink. The feathering had mostly vanished, decomposed until barely any were left to cling to the brittle spine. This was someone's private space once, but not any longer. All at once the feeling that you were an invader hits you like a tidal wave and, with one last somber look, you back away from the desk to look at the door. For all you knew the man could have locked you inside, to curb any possible excursions without him knowing. The thought sent a spark of fear shooting through your system and with a brisk pace you came face to face with the door. It’s old, just as the rest of the room is, and the ornate handle is a deep brass colour under the layer of dust and grime. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the handle, sucking in a deep breath to try and calm yourself. Quickly, you tell yourself, before your fear petrifies you. The grip you have on the door handle is so tight you barely register how your knuckles are turning white, or how your shoulder aches in protest at the awkward angle you're bending at, as you peek out into the dark hallway. After a cautious once over you tentatively step out, careful to tiptoe your way down the hallway so you wouldn’t alert anyone to your presence. But it was already too late for that. The man, the lone inhabitant of the abandoned place, was already awake and wandering himself when you decided to leave your room. He had been angsty knowing there was someone, a human no less, in his castle, and so, like you, sleep evaded him. Your movements were easy to trace, the vampiric blood that flowed through his veins heightening his senses to an alarming degree. Hidden in the looming shadows he follows you, all while you are unaware, to see just what it is you’re doing wandering around at such an hour. At the end of the hallway you find a grand staircase and a hazy memory clouds your mind. You remember being swept up these stairs in the arms of your nameless rescuer, the receding image of the almost comically tall doors receding as your vision grew darker, your consciousness slipping in and out. There was even a trail of drying blood leading up to where you had been left, noticed only now that you were actively looking at the floor beneath your feet. You grimace, making sure to descend on the other side of the stairs. Once at the bottom you come to stand in front of those large doors, ever imposing, and a sense of apprehension settles like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach. Although you had no idea where you were the danger of leaving while still injured with no means to protect yourself loomed threateningly, and that alone made you hesitant. Swallowing your fear you gingerly tread towards the doors, careful in opening them lest you further injure yourself. Whatever you had been expecting, or not , when you stepped out into the night, you could have said with certainty that it wouldn’t have been impaled corpses . You freeze, your blood like ice. Corpses. Impaled. On spikes . Any and all doubts you had about the dangers outside being greater than the ones inside were now none-existent. The man who lived here, the one who had saved your life , was the same man who had done this to these people. A rational person with a sane mind wouldn’t willingly do this to someone, right? No, which meant you had to leave, and quickly, or you could be next. But, oh God , how would you get past them? You barely had time to register that they were more mummified than fresh, having been there for a while, since you were back-peddling as quickly as your legs could take you. Until your back hits something solid and more alive than the doors. You let out a scream, partially from shock and from the pain sent rocketing through your arm, twisting sharply on your heel to see the doors cast open wide and none other than the man standing there, blocking your path. “You’re up late,” he speaks with a casualness that unnerves you more than anything, his gaze solemn. Your chest heaves as you stare at him with wide eyes, panic surging through your veins. Inside you're a mess of emotions that will not be tamed. Utter chaos and turmoil. When you don't respond he lets out a defeated sigh, a weary sound that betrays how worn down he has become. "If you wanted to leave you could have just said so," he muses, frowning when you recoil away from him when he moves to pass you. He stops to look at the corpses that frame the entrance but there's no feeling there. Not anymore. His hate and anger and pain has faded into nothingness, a void he had hoped he would never fall into. You watch him like a hawk the entire time, body tense. At any point he could turn on you and you had to be ready . But the moment doesn't come. There's just him, standing illuminated in the moonlight, broken. "Where would I even go, if I could leave?" The words are quiet but you can't stand the stifling silence any longer. "You could go anywhere," he answers easily, resolute. You scoff, brushing your fingertips over your bandaged wound. It stings and you wince with a hiss. "And do what? I have no money, my arm is useless right now. I'd be dead in a day or two. And that's if I don't get found by the Baron's men first." It's true that the Baron was still a threat to you, even more so now that his hunting party had been cut down, so blood would be demanded. Just not yours if you could help it. "Who are you, anyway?" You ask, changing the subject. There's so much you want to ignore at that moment so you focus on him. There's a moment of silence before he finally responds and his voice has an edge to it that you can’t quite place. You get the feeling that he’d much rather remain nameless to you, but out of politeness he must give in. How quaint. "Your people call me Alucard," he replies, turning to look at you expectantly. You quickly stumble out your name, suddenly feeling like a caged animal under the starkness of his golden gaze. They almost glow in the light, giving him a predatory air. "Well," you clear your throat, quickly stepping past the, ahem, decorations , to stand next to him at the top of the stone steps, "thank you, Alucard. I'd have died if you hadn't helped me." It's the truth; you owe him your life, and he knows it. "You are welcome," he responds slowly, awkwardly, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes before they turn heavenward. "A beautiful night, isn't it?" He's trying to ease the tension and even though it doesn't help much you appreciate the sentiment. "Yes, it's nice," you answer softly. Looking at him as he is in that moment you find that he doesn’t seem so intimidating as you had first thought and you feel ashamed for having judged him so harshly so quickly. Not that it doesn’t diminish what you have learnt from your little excursion outside the castle. After all, there were dead bodies on his front step. Maybe there was more to this than first met the eye, maybe not, but you were determined to discover the truth.

#Castlevania #Castlevania Netflix #Castlevania Imagine #Castlevania Imagines #Alucard #Alucard Imagine #Alucard Imagines #Adrian Tepes #Adrian Tepes Imagine #Adrian Tepes Imagines #Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes

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nervous-young-unhuman · 3 years

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big jacket

Big jacket is arguably the most famous song to come off of 1. It’s been a recurring song in Car Seat Headrest’s discography, but actually dates back to The Loudness War, a 2009 project by Nervous Young Man (aka Will Toledo). Big Jacket later appears as track 16 on a later Car Seat Headrest album, Nervous Young Men.

Before I start I would like to give a content warning for talks of suicide towards the end of this piece, and i will mark right before and after if you would like to skip. Please take care of yourself and if you’re dealing with thoughts of suicide, please reach out, you’re loved and valued.

Upon first glance, the lyrics may seem insignificant, but I believe they could have a number of deeper meanings. While the song details the subject giving all of his possessions away, the why is what sticks out. Why is he giving all of his things away? Obviously this is of some kind of significance based off of the sheer number of times it appears in the CSH timeline.

“You can have my iPod

You can have my guitar

You can have my drum set

You can have my car”

Honestly I can’t pull much out of this. Perhaps it could have something to do with Will giving away what he uses to make music, a way of giving away his vulnerability. Maybe he’s no longer able to express himself, maybe he feels like he doesn’t need to. Maybe he’s just giving away something of value, both personally and of monetary value.

“You can have my CDs

You can have my DVDs

You can have my refrigerator”

CDs and DVDs can go together, sharing his interests and things that can make up traits of his personality, or just things he personally enjoys. I do have a broader theory for this, but I’m going to expand on it a little later. The refrigerator is the line that catches me. Why would he give away his refrigerator? This is another line that can be made sense of a little bit later on.

“You can have my secret collection of pornography

You can have my secret collection of marijuana”

I actually really enjoy this line, and I feel like it adds some value to the song. He’s giving away his secrets and vulnerability. Either this is somebody he trusts, or someone he no longer cares about hiding from. His most personal items are no longer personal, he’s ripping away his privacy and sharing this with someone else. Maybe it’s just weed and porn, but it’s significant that he would include them. In my opinion, it’s a way to achieve a kind of full transparency.

“You can have the keys to my house

You can have my house

You can have my cat

As long as you promise to feed him every day

And let him out when he needs it”

Now he’s giving away his entire house. Everything inside is just another piece of his life that he is willing to part with. This other person or other idea has full ownership over everything he has, and he’s okay with it. This is somebody he trusts or somebody who has come upon this, which will make more sense in just a few paragraphs.

“The cat's left eye is nothing to worry about

Um, the pigment - the left eye is turning from green to brown

It's nothing to worry about

It's nothing to worry about”

I feel like this is more simple than anything. A sense of familiarity with his belongings. Even though he’s giving it all away, he knows the story behind it. Someone looking in wouldn’t know why the cat’s eye is the way it is, he has to tell them. Most of his personal items will have some kind of story, to everyone else it’s just stuff. Words pushed together with no meaning until somebody steps in and gives it one. Isn’t that what music is anyways? Words with meanings, words that represent something bigger than yourself, an idea or a feeling. He reassures this person that it isn’t anything to worry about, the cat is alright, but only he knows this.

“You can have the trophies

I found in the trash can

You can have the trophies

We won in the bathtub”

This is another lyric that has questionable meaning. I see it as this person can have the garbage of significance to oneself. Trophy doesn’t have to mean a literal trophy, it can just be a piece of memorabilia, a memory of a memory. Just little things collected over a lifetime.

“You can have my books

You can have my games, collectors

You can have my clothes

You can have my furniture”

Throughout the first few verses of the song Will is giving away increasingly more valuable possessions, and in this verse he starts to lump in more general items, clothes and furniture. I think the line “You can have my games, collectors” is really interesting. Does he expect for his possessions to be given away eventually, or be sold to just another collector. I think it’s interesting to consider what the effects of someone possessing all of these things would be. You can’t hold onto it forever.

“You can have my piano

You can have my other piano

You can have my curtains

You can have my lampshades

You can have my rolls of duct tape”

Similar to above, he’s giving away everything he owns. I want to elaborate on this at the end, so I will just move on until I can shed more light on why these words mean anything.

“You can have my

Big jacket

You won't get cold when you're wearing

My big jacket”

“You can have my

Big jacket

You won't get cold with

My big jacket”

The final lines offer an item of comfort, Will’s big jacket. He wants to protect this person and keep them warm. Even if it means that he will be cold himself, it doesn’t seem to matter if the person he cares about is warm.

Now onto my two personal theories. One of these could be that the song is about love. When examined from the perspective of love, he is so infatuated with them he would give them everything he owns. This theory tends to be more popular in the fandom, and provokes a great conversation and ideas about young love. If you love someone, you would do absolutely anything to make them happy and feel cared for, even if it means to give up everything you have. When you love someone you feel as if you can go without and it doesn’t mean anything. When you’re really in love anything feels possible. The early works of Car Seat Headrest chronicle young love, heartbreak and the pain and ups and downs of getting older and going through life. That’s something I really love about CSH’s music, it’s real and has so much feeling and emotion in it.

My other theory and one that is met with some support in the community as well. This being that the song is about suicide. It does make a lot of sense. The entire premise of the song is that every single one of his possessions is being given away. If one were to commit, you would want all of your belongings to be taken care of, and why not leave them to someone you care about. If you die, even personal things like collections are there collecting dust, bound to be sold to a collector at the end of the day. This can cause a lot of pain and hurt for the people they’re left to, they don’t have the capacity to keep it but wouldn’t want to part with it. In the end, the person it’s left with is left with a jacket, an item of comfort and remembrance since it’s not needed anymore. While it may keep them warm, it will never be the same. It’s a really really sad idea, and quite honestly one I hope isn’t true. Just know there is someone out there who loves you and would be heartbroken to see you go, even if it feels like you’re all alone.

TW over

Aside from the lyrical content, the song is great musically. It’s gritty and strained, with acoustic guitar throughout. It’s really dynamic and is a really unique part of the album. Something I love about old CSH is just the rawness and emotion of a young person who has something to say. Young people are the future of the music industry and some of the most creative voices we have. I really appreciate the early work of Will, it’s heartfelt and personal, like the look into the inside of a developing mind.

Thank you so much for reading.

#car seat headrest #car seat headrest commentary #car seat commentary #will toledo #csh #cshr #big jacket #song #song analysis #music #musician #musicians #music commentary #commentary #carseatheadrest #1 #1 album

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willwriteforhugs · 3 years

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the boy in the bookstore (part one)

in which you meet a suspiciously handsome boy in your favorite bookstore- but are not cultured enough to know his true identity.

ateez scenario

yeosang x (fem) reader

word count: 1.5k

g: fluff, angst if you’re a sensitive bitch

warnings: none really, light kissing and possible innuendo in later parts

notes:

there are a few things that may turn inconsistent for you personally (aka the POV being american, bilingual, etc. nothing major tho!)

also: if you enjoyed this, i am 100% looking for requests. can be aus, scenarios, or whatever! (atm i can write for atz, skz, bts, and itzy)

happy reading!!

part one

the morning of november 12th is a dreary one. when you wake up, you have little to no motivation to go to work. it's a downcast, rainy day, and seoul looks as sad as it's probably capable of looking.

work is slow. you work on your current project, but writing today feels like this: you write out a sentence. then you delete it. and then you rewrite the exact same sentence. you do this for eight hours, and by the end of it, the air seems thick with your desire to leave.

as you leave the building, a few coworkers try to spark conversation.

“oh, y/n-ssi, you should come have soju with us later, we-”

“hey, y/n! do you want to-”

you don't let any of them finish. today had not been not your day. actually, when was the last time any day had been “your day?” you are exhausted, burnt out. you miss your family, who are busy living halfway across the world. you miss your father, long dead after a tragic accident when you were young. you miss the fleeting friendships of your childhood. you miss what it felt like to have someone greet you as you came home after a long day. you miss being loved.

as you begin your long walk home, a thought occurs to you. when had you last visited the bookshop? it had probably been a while since you’d seen mrs. seon… maybe you should stop by. after all, a trip to the 30 year old bookshop might brighten your mood.

twenty minutes later, you shuffle awkwardly through the front doors of “bookshop”, careful not to get your dripping shoes too close to the new releases. and yes, the store was called “bookshop”. in reality, the store had simply never been named, but everyone who visited it knew it as just the bookshop. you glance around, hoping to find mrs. seon, but she was nowhere in sight. that was alright though… more time to browse. you scrape the last bits of rain off your boots and wander towards the back of the store. this was your favorite part of the whole establishment, and that was saying something. the whole shop was filled to the brim with battered books- centuries old classics, modern literature, old journals of long dead men… and many of the books were not korean, but european or american. this was possibly the most diverse bookstore in seoul. you adore it. but the back of the store was especially amazing. this was where the seon family kept the american classics. authors like john steinbeck and f. scott fitzgerald lined the shelves, their colorful spines making a bold statement about the content within. most were old, beaten up copies, but many of them were in english- something you secretly love.

letting loose a small smile, you run your fingertips along the book spines. suddenly, you see a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye. you whirl around, swiveling your body to your left. and in front of you, not even six feet away, is a boy. a...a beautiful boy. you feel your breath catch. holy shit, he was gorgeous. pale blond hair frames a sharp, tanned face- the boy has sleek, judging eyes, and higher-than-god-himself cheekbones. for a moment you just stare. you can’t help it. but the boy doesn't look up. you lower your eyes again, shifting your attention back to the books. honestly, you aren't sure why you’d reacted like that. he hadn’t said or done anything. and though he is attractive, you are relatively uninterested. this is a bookstore, after all. this is where people came when they didn’t want to talk to people.

a few minutes pass quietly, and you continue to browse the books. after finally deciding on a collector’s copy of steinbeck’s east of eden, you look up again. and there he is. looking right at you. as soon as your eyes connect with his, though, his shoot back down to the phone in his hand. you blink, wondering if he needs anything.

another beat passes. he glances up again, and this time, you force him to hold your gaze, shooting him a small smile. you see his eyes widen slightly before you turn on your heel and head towards the front of the store.

by the time you reach the checkout counter, an employee is there to assist you. she smiles and makes small talk while bagging your new treasure, then sends you on your way. no longer thinking about the blond boy, you pull up your hood and leave to head home.

only a few minutes had passed since you’d left the store when it happens. you feel odd, like someone is watching you...at first you think you’re imagining things, but as you turn around, you are face to face with the boy from the bookstore. a small gasp escapes your lips.

“oh,” is the first thing he says.

you take a step back. "oh-uh," you stumble to find the right words. "hello."

without a word, the boy straightens his stance and reaches towards you. instantly wary, you take another step back. but his arm stops short. resting in his slim hand is a small brown wallet. wait- your wallet. you hesitate, then begin to dig through your shoulder bag. sure enough, the wallet is absent. you look back up into his brown eyes, startled by the intensity of his gaze.

"you- you dropped this." he says quietly.

his voice also startles you. it has a low pitch, but is painfully soft. it reminds you of something, but you don't know what.

"oh, wow. thank you so much," you manage, reaching for the wallet. as you take it, his long fingers brush yours; the lightest touch. his hands are freezing.

"your hands are so cold!" you remark, surprising yourself. talking to strangers in the street. what have you become, y/n?

the young man's pride must have faltered, and his ears turn an endearing pink color.

"it's getting cold out, you really should wear some gloves or something."

he raises his eyebrows. "you aren't wearing any either."

without missing a beat, you respond: "i run hot."

a smile plays at his lips. "well then, i guess i'll wear gloves next time."

up close, you notice he is even more beautiful than you had anticipated. he wears no visible makeup, and he has a big pink birthmark near one of his eyes. it's mesmerizing. by now, you've completely forgotten about your foul mood from earlier.

"by the way," he continues, still speaking quietly. "are you a regular at that shop?"

you pause. "i guess you could say so. i know the owners pretty well, too. mrs. seon is practically my mom here..." you chuckle.

he tilts his head. "what do you mean?"

"oh, it's just that my own family doesn't live here." you pause, and decide you need to elaborate. "i'm american."

his eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. "oh, are you? i wouldn't have known. your korean is amazing."

"well, it is my first language, so i'd hope so." you laugh a little. "but yeah, my family lives in america. i moved here when i was sixteen- i wanted to be an idol." you admit.

this seems to take him by surprise.

you continue without being prompted. "i was a trainee for a few years, but... it just.. it didn't work out. but when it was over, i realized i just couldn't force myself to leave korea. i love it too much."

he nods. "i think i know what you mean."

"so i'm just a student now. turns out i probably should have planned to go to school even if i had debuted... oops."

he nods again, his face remaining neutral and distant.

realizing how much you had just revealed, your body stiffens. "anyways. um, it was nice meeting you-" you pause. he hadn't told you his name.

"yeosang." he said, reading your mind. "my name is yeosang."

"oh. well, it was nice to meet you, yeosang, but i really should be going."

he hesitates, opening his mouth as if to say something. but he closes it and gives a small smile. "okay."

you give a small bow and turn to leave, but he catches you by the arm. "but wait, i want to know your name, too."

you glance back at him, into his eyes, which are shining with hardly hidden curiosity. "y/n." you say.

"y/n," he repeats, as if committing it to memory. "okay, now you can go."

and with that, the two of you parted, going back home to two very different lives.

edit: part two is up now. thank you for reading!!

#ateez imagines #yeosang x you #yeosang x reader #yeosang #ateez #ateez fics #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #yeosang scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kang yeosang #kang yeosang x reader #self insert #fanfic #bts #ateez angst #willwriteforhugsfics

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elylandon · 4 years

Text

Part 1 - Chapter 16.2: Fortune Teller

Summary: You’re running for your life when you cross paths with an ex-bounty hunter and his small, green companion. You never thought you’d find someone throughout the whole galaxy who was as lost as you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 5,407

Rating/Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing.

Chapter 16.1

[Part 2]

Note: (Slight AU) Here’s the second and last of the epilogue chapters! Next up, Part 2 of Lost and Found. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading! 💜🤍

---

In your past, there had been days when you wondered if you’d make it to your twentieth birthday, let alone your twenty-seventh. And yet, here you were, eagerly following a Mandalorian warrior down into the hull of his ship, a green alien child giggling and bouncing in a satchel against your side, the three of you about to venture out into a strange planet to celebrate that very occasion. After everything you’d been through over the course of twenty terrible birthdays, the fact that you were experiencing pure, unadulterated happiness on such an occasion felt like a dream.

And it was all thanks to them. Your partner and his kid. The day itself didn’t matter. It was getting to spend it with them, the two people you cared about most in the entire galaxy, that made it the greatest birthday of your entire existence.

What more could you ask for?

“I have something for you,” Din said quietly, stopping just before the side ramp where you and the child were waiting patiently to disembark.

“Like a gift?” you asked, tossing him a cheeky grin.

Din huffed out that quiet chuckle of his at the familiar words and played along.

“Perhaps.”

He stepped towards his weapons locker, then halted for a moment and glanced back at you over his shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered. You did so, attempting and failing to keep your elated bouncing to a minimum. After a moment of quiet rummaging, you heard Din move back in your direction.

“Hold out your arm.”

You tilted your head a little, eyes still closed, brows bunching, and held out your right arm.

“Left,” he instructed. You made the correction.

Something cold pressed against your left forearm, encompassing it entirely. Whatever it was, it took Din a few seconds to secure before he finally told you to look. When you did, your mouth fell open and you found yourself at a complete loss for words.

The thing that now encased your left arm was a vambrace. It was very similar to the one he wore, buttons lining the belly of it, while the outside was a hard, silver shell.

“Not beskar, but it’ll do. Keep the shell on the outside to use as a shield in a fight, if you need one. The inside is set up with the same controls as mine for the Crest and the kid’s new pram. There’s room for more controls, which I’m sure you could find some uses for. But, all in all, it’ll help you avoid things like this-”

Din pointed a finger at the long scar running down your right arm, helping you understand his motivations.

“You made this?” you asked him, astonishment in your tone.

Din shrugged. “I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself if you need to. But I find myself… uncomfortable with your lack of armor.”

In other words, if you couldn’t wear Mandalorian armor like him, he’d find another way to make sure you were protected. Safe. And that spoke volumes to you. In your past life, Thasar had tried to bribe your love by giving you trinkets and pretty things. Meaningless things, without a trace of true love or thought behind them. But this...to give you something so practical, something made with your safety in mind, plus all the controls Din knew you’d enjoy messing with…

Gods, I love him.

You wanted nothing more in that moment than to whisk his helmet off and kiss him. But as you’d lamented many times now, intimate moments with Din were hard to come by. There were just too many problematic circumstances that prevented them. So instead, you lifted onto your toes and kissed the underside of his chin, right where you knew a scar to be, having spent the last weekend exploring every single one of them.

“It’s perfect, Din. Thank you.”

The rest of your birthday afternoon and evening was spent visiting the last place on your list of vacation destinations. As it turned out, this suggestion of yours triggered a memory in Din from his early childhood. One you both shared, apparently.

Going to a festival.

You’d always begged your parents to take you to one when you were younger, hearing about them from other kids your age. Evidently, so had Din. But that was before both your lives had shattered in their separate but similar ways.

Your parents had died when you were six, his when he was eight.

You felt a sense of melancholy, going to such an event without them. But your goal over the last four months had been to enjoy your freedom, and to experience all the things you had missed growing up. So you would regret not taking this opportunity to go. Especially on the last night of your respite before jumping back into yours and Din’s responsibilities; especially on your birthday.

The festival that Din was able to find was some kind of seasonal celebration, not too different from the summer events you heard about from other children on Earth. An overall celebration to kickoff the start of their warmer months. The point, though, was that it had vendors, games, food, rides, and seemingly endless entertainment.

It was perfect.

You started with food. Well, food for you and the child. The plan was to eat and shop, then make a trip back to the Crest to drop off purchases and give Din some privacy to eat something himself. The child thoroughly enjoyed the meatier options, nibbling on beef and squid skewers, while you indulged in sweeter, deep fried treats. Terrible for you, but how could you resist the opportunity? As you ate, the three of you perused the stalls, much like you did at Din’s favorite trading hubs.

The vendors mostly sold handcrafted knick-knacks and collectors items, nothing you really needed for dangerous space travel, but it was fun to window shop, and you did want to at least find a small souvenir to hold onto in order to remember this time in your life. There were a couple stalls run by craftsmen and armorers, in which you eagerly checked out, hoping to find more items to add to your growing collection of weapons. It was hard to justify spending credits on something, though, when you already had a blaster, a dagger, and now a vambrace, plus your pick from Din’s own collection.

Instead, you found a military-grade weapon cleaning kit. You purchased it while Din was examining a few blasters in the adjacent stall, and quickly stuffed it into the satchel under the child to keep him from seeing it. You wanted it to be a gift for his… well, you didn’t actually know when Din’s birthday was. You’d have to find out and hope that you hadn’t missed it in the last few months.

After a few more purchases, and a quick drop off and break back at the Razor Crest, your party returned to the festival as night began to fall and went in search of rides and games. The rides were where you lost Din. He merely stood by and watched as you and the child went from spinning in giant teacups to riding the kiddie train around the perimeter of the festivities. Din donned the satchel and kept watch over the child while you tried the rides that were a little less child-friendly. They were exhilarating and fun, of course, but you quickly realized that they were an experience you were alright with trying the one time, just to know you’d done it.

With some coaxing, Din participated more in the games, especially the marksmen ones. It didn’t matter that they were completely rigged. The vendors took one look at the imposing Mandalorian and knew they wouldn’t be conning the credits from this particular patron. In fact, a few of them bribed him with bigger prizes than what he’d initially won, just to stop him from playing any longer while people watched.

The child got a few new toys out of that.

Hours went by, more food was consumed, rides taken, games played, vendors visited, and street performers watched. While you and Din were not huge on the crowds of people, you could tell that he was enjoying himself just as much as you and the child were, even if he simply appeared to be a Mandalorian bodyguard following you around to anyone looking on. You knew it was Din here with you. The man, not the warrior.

Eventually, your energy started to flag, as well as the child’s. You could sense that Din was about to suggest calling it a night when you spotted something on the outskirts of the festival. You gasped excitedly and trotted in its direction as Din called after you, following. When you approached it, you could practically feel Din’s reservations behind you.

It was a small carriage, like the kind carried by horses in the old fairy tale books your mom used to read to you. Only, this was stationary on the side of the street, painted in deep reds, blues and golds, with soft tendrils of smoke seeping through the open back window. A large sign in front of it advertised tarot, dream, and palm reading.

A fortune teller.

“I’ve always wanted to try this sort of thing,” you gushed, turning back towards Din and gesturing at the carriage. Din’s helmet tilted, hidden gaze finding yours, body language screaming skepticism. You sighed.

“Yes, it’s most likely a complete hoax, but the point is that it’s fun.”

He said nothing.

“It’s about the-” you gestured vaguely with your hands. “-the vibe of it all. The experience.”

Still nothing.

“Okay, well you can keep standing there thinking it’s a complete waste of time, but I’m going to-”

The carriage’s door popped open then, and an elderly woman bundled up in a corset and wrapped in scarves stepped out, solidifying the stereotypical aesthetic of a medieval-looking fortune teller. She looked between you and Din before giving you a warm smile.

“Are you here for a reading?” she asked.

“Yes. Let me guess, you sensed that your next client was near.”

“No,” the woman stated, her no-nonsense tone making your smile falter. “I could hear you arguing through the open window. At first I thought you were arguing with yourself, but now I can see that it was simply a one-sided conversation.”

“Oh,” was all you said, deflating a little as Din snorted softly.

The woman gestured for you to step inside the carriage, and you quickly glanced back at Din, sticking your tongue out at him as you followed her inside. He shook his head, and leaned himself against a nearby stone wall, settling in.

The wagon’s interior looked exactly as you expected it too. An extravagant, colorful rug covered the floor, the middle of the space housing a low tea table surrounded by lounging pillows. The walls were lined with shelves, cluttered with dusty tomes, jars of various items, crystals, and candles. And you loved it! As you had tried to express to Din, visiting a fortune teller was about the entire experience, not just some stranger telling you that you’ll marry within the next five year, have three kids, and live a happy, comfortable life.

You sat on one of the pillows, eyes still taking in all the details of the wagon as you twisted the satchel around so that it and the child could sit comfortably in your lap.

“What kind of reading would you like, my dear?” the fortune teller asked as she joined you.

“I guess that depends on what you charge for each,” you admitted. She relayed her menu to you, and you decided that you could justify spending the money on a palm reading. You passed her the credits.

“Thank you,” she said, slipping them into a coin purse. “Now, all I want you to do is relax. Take in a long, deep breath, hold it for three seconds, then release it. Do that as many times as you need, and when you’re ready, hold out your dominant hand.”

You hesitated at her instructions, glancing between your right and left hands. The thought had never really occurred to you until now, but… you were right handed, unless you were using your power. It was involuntary, like a gut reaction, but you always used your left hand when you were trying to control that force.

Seeming to sense your conflict, the woman’s warm smile from earlier returned.

“How about the hand that’s been dominant the longest?”

You agreed, and performed her breathing exercise a few times before finally feeling more relaxed. When you were calm and collected, determined not to give the woman any obvious tells to use to her advantage, you held out your right hand for her to take.

The fortune teller leaned forward, bending over your palm, gingerly taking your hand in hers and-

She sucked in a sharp breath, dropping your hand and flinching back as if she’d been shocked by your skin. It wasn’t really an exaggerated reaction, and for a second, you wondered if it was an act, for dramatic effect. But then her eyes darted up to meet yours, and you knew she wasn’t trying to have you on. You read turmoil in her eyes. Turmoil and devastation.

“What’s wrong?” you asked slowly, not really sure you wanted to hear the answer. It took the woman a moment to compose herself, and when she did, her smile was now sad.

“I apologize, Y/N. The images of your past were very... overwhelming, and they took me by surprise. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You stiffened, your entire body coiling, already kicking into flight mode.

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You didn’t tell me about the scars on your back either, but I know that they are there.”

This time it was your turn to flinch back. At that, the woman huffed, tilting her head and giving you a disbelieving look.

“Honestly my dear, you didn’t really walk into a fortune telling business with an understanding that other powers exist in this galaxy, thinking I couldn’t possibly have some psychic powers of my own, did you?”

Her demeanor helped you unclench, curiosity outweighing your instinct to run.

“I just thought that, with a shop like this, you’d be-”

“A complete and total con artist? Well girl, you can’t tell a good lie without throwing a little bit of the truth in there. You’re not wrong. I’m a very successful con woman. But that’s only because I can use what information comes to me naturally, and bullshit the rest.”

The honesty in her tone was evident, and also refreshing. You couldn’t help but chuckle at her admittance, but then a thought made you sober.

“Are your powers like mine, then? Like the child’s? We’re looking for-”

“I know,” she cut in. “ But I’m not what you’re looking for. I can only see and feel things, not move things with my mind or compel the weaker wills of others.”

You nodded, disappointed. But the chances that you’d find one of these “Jedi” before you’d even started looking were minimal at best. It was nice, however, meeting someone else with strange gifts; someone who had been able to find a way to use them without dark intent… even if it was to help her con people out of their money.

After a moment, the woman spoke again.

“I apologize again for seeing something I shouldn’t have. Sometimes, there are energies in a person that are louder than others, and at this time in your life, your past definitely seems louder than your future. But, I can tell that it’s something you don’t care to talk about. If you’d permit me to try again, there was a flash, a moment where your future was peeking through. I could focus on that, and at least give you your money’s worth for this reading.”

You were reluctant, knowing now that she could see things you rather her not see. But the damage was already done, and while you were uncomfortable, you still felt safe. You had your weapons, your powers, and your Mandalorian outside. Only moments ago, the idea of getting a reading from a hokey fortune teller was all fun and games. But now, there was the possibility that she could see something useful, something that could point you and Din in the right direction. Whether it be towards the Jedi, or Zekir, it didn’t matter. She was right. You wanted your money’s worth.

And so, you held out your hand for the woman to examine once again. She still cringed when she made initial contact, but it was very brief before her eyes fogged over with focus, her vision boring into your hand as if she could follow the path of every last nerve ending.

“I see curtains. Sheer, white curtains.”

You scrunched up your nose, perplexed.

“Curtains?”

The woman snorted. “Hey, I don’t get to choose what I see, honey. There’s a lot of interference, and what I can focus on at the moment is curtains.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, urging her to continue with your silence. When she did, her remarks were very disjointed, as if she was sifting through the loud mess of your past to see or sense the tiny tidbits of your future.

“A cabin. Warm, white and yellow colors. Home, simple, quaint. You’re joined by the presence of two others. Hard to accurately pinpoint, but I’ll use my bullshit guesswork here and say that they belong to this child in your lap and that armored fellow outside.”

You chuckled, holding back a smile.

“You’re very calm, grounded; I’d say you’re even at ease. Your past feels quieter, as a lightness fills you, exudes from your very skin. There’s simply too much to really focus on the details, but I can at least feel what you’re feeling, and it’s joyous.”

The woman tried for a few more minutes, but as she said, it was hard for her to focus on more than that. While it wasn’t the information you were hoping for, it wasn’t at all unwelcome information.

“Do you see things that are absolutely going to happen?”

The fortune teller smirked and shook her head. “Of course not. You of all people should know that the future is not set in stone. For a long time, you were convinced that you wouldn't make it to twenty. But here you are, happily celebrating your twenty-seventh birthday. I simply saw a strong possibility. But it could still change. You could wind up having purple curtains instead of white. I’ll warn you now that they would clash horribly with the aesthetic of that little cabin, but it’s a possibility nonetheless.”

You laughed and nodded. “Well, either way, thank you. That possible outcome sounds very pleasant, and I’m happy to know that it could truly happen someday.”

Just as you were about to stand to leave, the child in your lap squirmed, then reached out his own three-fingered hand, eyes trained on the fortune teller. She gave a hearty laugh, eyes dancing as she met his.

“You’d like a reading too, huh, little one? Very well. And since you’re so darling, this one’s on the house.”

The woman took the child’s hand in hers and told him that he’d have a hard but fulfilling journey, and that he’d live to be several hundred years old. You suspected that she was more the con artist in this moment, than the actual seer, until she winked at him and said he’d delightfully consume many frogs in his lifetime. That must have been the truth she used to fuel her lie.

When everything was all said and done, the woman followed you to the door, escorting you and the child out of her carriage. You beamed as Din glanced over from the wall he was holding up and met your gaze.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

“Very,” you quipped, eager to tell him back at the Razor Crest that the fortune teller was the real deal. However, before the two of you could start heading back, the woman called over, addressing Din.

“I’m going to insist that I perform a reading on you as well, young man.”

Din paused, glancing back in her direction. Young? The woman was a terrible fraud if she really thought “young man” was a fitting assumption. Granted, he wasn’t really that old, but “young man” sounded like something one would call a teenager, or a man your age.

Din kept the snark from his voice, though, when he replied. The entire charade may have been a scam, but your time with the fortune teller seemed to make you happy, so he’d at least concede that she’d helped you have a little fun on your birthday, and politely said, “No, thank you.”

“I strongly believe that you’ll regret the decision not to hear me out, Din Djarin.”

Din halted, and you gaped. You met his eye and your brows inched upward, clearly in awe that this fortune teller knew his true name. He knew you wouldn’t have told this woman, a stranger, whether you believed the con she was spewing or not. So Din sighed, and turned back to the wizened woman.

She nodded graciously at him, then stepped aside, directing him to enter her cart. Din cast another glance in your direction, and you merely shrugged. Then smirked.

What did that mean?

Din ducked into the warm cart and sat, thankful for the filtration system in his helmet. He had a feeling that the incense burning in the corner would give him a headache. The fortune teller took her seat in front of him, and watched him carefully. She was like an old crow, eyes glued on her dying target, waiting for him to take his last breath so she could feast.

“I understand that you might not believe the things I do. And that’s fine. As I told the girl, I admit that a good portion of this business is conning the gullible. However, I really am gifted with the sight, and if you truly care for that girl out there, you will want to heed what I have to say.”

So this was about you, not him. Din remained silent, reluctant to give the woman any tells. Unfortunately, while his armor hid his expressions and reactions from most people, his body language made him an open book to those who knew how to read the language. A con artist fortune teller was definitely one of those people. When she didn’t get a response out of him, she nodded, as if satisfied.

“I will start by saying this. There is darkness in all of us, Din Djarin. Sometimes people can overcome it, while others cannot. To some, it may be just a drop, or a puddle. To others, like you, it is a well. That isn’t to say that the darkness of one person is greater than another, or that the experiences of those with only a drop is anything less than those with a well. I like to think it represents how hard one has to work to become the person they want to be, in spite of the person they think they are, what a person thinks they are worth.”

Again, Din said nothing, and waited for the woman to get to the point.

“For Y/N, that darkness is a pit. A yawning, bottomless pit that she is trying so desperately to climb out of. When I was reading her, I could tell that you-- regardless of the exact parameters of your relationship with her-- were like a lifeline, a rope thrown over the edge in order to help her up. The child you are caring for together helps as well. Like a light that is guiding her out. Her muscles are sore, and her spirit is weary, but she will stop at nothing to reach the top, and find the two of you there, waiting for her. The future I gave her is one where she reaches you, and is able to bury the pit. Not entirely. But enough that she doesn’t have to fear falling into it again.”

“Are you going to warn me that you varnished her future? Doctored it up so that it was something she wanted to hear, instead of what she needed to hear?” Din asked, unable to keep the irritation from his tone.

“No. I told her of a future I really did see. But, as I told her, no future is actually set in stone. The sight is like an experiment. You can control certain variables, and arrive at a certain outcome. However, there are always external, uncontrolled variables that can come into play. For example, at one point, there was a future in which the Mandalorians never came to your rescue, and you were killed that day by that droid.”

Din’s entire body seized, and he felt the urge to roast the fortune teller and raze her cart to cinders.

“There was a future in which Y/N never found you, and she did everything in her power to end her existence during her recapture, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to psychologically survive going back to Thasar.”

Din’s fingers clenched into a fist, and his jaw worked. Just who the hell was this woman?

“There is a future in which she climbs out of that pit. Several, in fact. However, of all the outcomes I had seen when I touched her hand, an alarming majority of them show her falling back into it.”

“So you’re warning me then, that she’ll slip, and won’t be able to climb out again,” Din stated, but the fortune teller’s frown deepened, and she shook her head, eyes clouded in sadness.

“No. I’m warning you that she won’t want to.”

Din hesitated. “I find that hard to believe. Not for one second that I’ve known Y/N have I seen her stop fighting. She’s possibly the strongest, most stubborn person I have ever known.”

“While this is true beyond more than you currently know, she is on her last leg. She has fallen, over and over again, and as much as she thinks she can bounce back each time, she can’t. If you don’t believe me, then consider how she was willing to die rather than go back to her enslavement. You know of what I’m referring to. You saw her eyes when she was back in Thasar’s grip.”

“What will happen then, if she doesn’t want to get back up?”

“There is a force in her that is, overall, fairly neutral. It’s been growing stronger, the more she’s felt love and acceptance from others in the last few months. But it has also grown stronger the more she feels hatred, and rage, and sometimes… sometimes nothing at all. If she falls, that power too will fall to her darkness, and the consequences will be irrevocable. The girl you know will no longer exist. She’ll die in that pit, and something else will climb out.”

“The past is easy to see,” the woman continued. “It’s already happened. The sight, of course, isn’t so transparent with the future. However, there is one thing I felt in Y/N with absolute certainty; there are two possible events of immeasurable grief in her future. Either one will happen, or the other. Both are devastating in their own right, but one she’ll be able to overcome. Unfortunately, with the amount of bad outcomes outweighing the good, I fear that the second instance is more likely.”

“How do I know this isn’t just some elaborate hoax?”

The old woman glared at him.

“Haven’t I proven with how much information I know of the two of you that my business isn’t a complete sham?”

“It’s all information Y/N could have easily shared during her reading.”

“I don’t need to see your eyes to know that you don’t believe that for a single second, boy.”

Din said nothing. The woman sighed.

“You know it’s all a possibility, because you’ve already seen her slipping. In that moment between her and the Twi’lek. You came around that corner, looked into her eyes and saw that pit. She didn’t even look like the girl you knew, the girl you cared about.”

The old woman stood as Din clenched his jaw. He knew damn well you wouldn’t have breathed a word of your past to a complete stranger, just like you wouldn’t have given her his name. This fortune teller was the real deal, there was no denying it. It wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility. He’d seen stranger things. For gods’ sake, he’d watched you straight up mind control someone once.

The woman plucked something off one of her shelves and turned back to him as Din also stood.

“As a sign of my earnestness, this conversation was free of charge, as was Y/N’s reading.” She tossed him the coin purse you must have given her to pay for your reading. “In all the long years I have been with the sight, I have not once seen something so terrifying, and so devastating as that girl giving up after all she’s been through. For my own peace of mind, I hope that I have helped her in some way, and that’s enough payment for me.”

“In addition, this is the best parting advice I can give in all this. Keep looking. I can see that you will find who you are looking for. I don’t know who they are, but they have similar powers to your girl and child out there, and they know what it’s like to lose someone to their darkness. They will be able to answer some questions you have about them. And there are others you’ll meet along the way who will be able to answer some questions you have about yourself.”

Din hesitated before asking, “But meeting these people, getting those answers, it doesn’t change the certainty of the two possible events you mentioned?”

“I’m afraid not,” she murmured, tone heavy with remorse.

Din felt the woman’s sincerity, and finally, with only a small amount of reluctance, nodded, and said, “Thank you.”

He made his way to the door, but the fortune teller spoke up once more.

“She’s seen it, you know. The outcome of what you’ve been planning for some time now. It seems her powers give her some kind of sight as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Din rumbled, turning to face the woman.

“The good future I told her about. She’s seen it too. In a dream. Not that she remembers it, though, and it won’t come to pass exactly as she’s seen it. But I just thought you should know. In that ideal outcome, whenever you finally decide to make that journey, to take them both somewhere safe, it works, and she’s happy. All of you are.”

“It just depends on all the external variables that pop up between now and then,” Din stated matter-of-factly.

She smiled gravely. “Exactly.”

The fortune teller watched as the Mandalorian left her wagon. She crept over to her open window in time to see your strange group walking away, assessing as you animatedly chattered at the warrior as he led you down the street.

In this moment, you seemed so happy, just content to be accompanied by those that cared about you. And after everything she had seen in you from one simple touch-- the screaming, the pain, and the darkness-- the fortune teller couldn’t help but lament that you deserved more. For the first time, she felt like her gift was more of a curse. To see such a divide in your life, know that it was inevitable, and not be able to help you avoid it? A curse indeed.

However, you did have a Mandalorian in your corner, and a fine one at that. One that was going to be able to mend a connection that you couldn’t, and that was why she had chosen to warn him, not you. Still, the woman did not like the odds. Not one bit.

As the three of you disappeared into a throng of people, the fortune teller sent out a silent prayer to whatever gods looked over this galaxy, and murmured, “Good luck.”

---

Tag List: Please let me know if you used to be tagged in this story and have changed your username in the last few months. If you’d like to be tagged again, I’d be more than happy to add you!

@doubtedbus409 @shadowfoxey @knockbeforeyouspeak @ispilledmyink @sinon36 @marvelobsessiononastick @pascalisthepunkest @yepimthatperson @sunkissed-winter @the-feckless-wonder @fruitsaladtrees @adikaofmandalore @sevvysaurus @pisss-offf-ghostt @mrsparknuts @marvgrrl @kateb013 @readsalot73 @absurdthirst @everythingaboutnothingstuff @leo-moon @notawhitegirlblog @tastefulmisunderstanding @gracieadorable @depresseddarth66 @fioccodineveautunnale @earthtokace @weirdowithnobeardo @altarsw @mcakiecorgana @multifandom-fiasco @paryl @apples-of-february @weebnumber3622 @kirstiehenderson29 @justanotherblonde23 @paintballkid711 @16boyfriends-and-me @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11

(Previous tags that no longer link: @sirianfromsixties @imaginebeinlovedbyme @stevieharrrr (miss you stevie!) @irishleesh93 @eli-bourne @legendofcilla @nanutsch @rogerandhiscar)

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #baby yoda #Al's Sharing Corner

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ibijau · 4 years

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The modern xisangyao I’ve been talking about yay /o/ also on AO3 (and big thanks to the xisang discord for listening to my ramblings a while back + providing a lot of ideas for this!)

Lan Xichen hangs the phone and slumps against the back of his office chair. It is unusual enough to catch the attention of his assistant who looks up from his laptop with a concerned noise.

"Something wrong?" Mo Xuanyu asks

Lan Xichen nods weakly. "It was a fake after all."

Mo Xuanyu immediately understands what he means, and relaxes upon learning it is something he wouldn't count as important. To Lan Xichen though, it is devastating. That painting has been all he's been thinking about for weeks at this point. A lost Nie Huaisang resurfacing is always exciting for the very small circle of people who care about these things. And Lan Xichen cares, of course.

He wrote his thesis on the master, and he has a deal for a book so more people can learn about that forgotten genius. He has been called the leading expert on the Tang era scholar, though it isn't hard when hardly anyone else bothers with him.

That's why when 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', long thought lost to a fire early in the last century, resurfaced on the market, the buyer turned to Lan Xichen to ensure that it is the real deal. It is well known that there's a staggering number of fake Nie Huaisang paintings out there. One of many oddities about the man’s work, since his fame never rose high enough to be so eagerly copied by other artists of all periods, and his paintings have rarely sold for a price that would justify the attention of skilled forgers.

Lan Xichen is also trying to write a paper on that, when his book and teaching leave him the time.

It had been a treat to behold 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe'. There are no known copies of that one, only descriptions which do not do it justice. Lan Xichen could have cried at those delicate lines, fraught with inexplicable melancholy, like a last goodbye to a beloved home. 'Winter moonlight' is the last known work of Nie Huaisang before he dropped off the record, well into his eighties or possibly his nineties, and Lan Xichen did get a sense of finality upon seeing it. It wasn't just a painting, it was a farewell.

As to its authenticity, Lan Xichen had no doubt at the time. The lines, the subject, the sense of light and darkness, everything was perfectly fitting with the master's other works. It really had to be the lost masterpiece, the culmination of a great artist’s life. Lan Xichen had only recommended further analysis to confirm it, certain that it was the true 'Winter moonlight'.

The painting's owner has just called to explain that the paper is too young by a few centuries.

Lan Xichen is distraught to say the least. It's not that he is above mistakes, he is only human after all, but he was convinced that this painting was real.

It's the thing with Nie Huaisang though. Not only has he attracted many counterfeiters over the centuries, they are always forgers of rare talent.

"Well, that's disappointing," Mo Xuanyu agrees, more out of politeness than anything else. "Not really surprising though. How many fakes does it make this year?"

"Three. No, two, 'man with rabbits' was tested last month and confirmed as being authentic after all. He painted that one in his youth so his style wasn't quite settled yet, but the paper and ink are right and it does look exactly like that copy they have in Beijin."

Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes, and turns back to his laptop.

"I don't know why anyone bothers with that guy's paintings," he huffs, having never shared Lan Xichen's passion for the artist. "Most of the ones we have are fake."

"The estate sale that got us those two fakes also produced several confirmed ones," Lan Xichen protests mildly. “It’s a shame 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe' turned out to be fake, but apparently ‘Mountains longing for snow’ has been confirmed as real, even if it didn’t sell. I’d give anything to have a look at that one too.”

Mo Xuanyu, who clearly lost interest in the conversation the instant he realised it was about an artist Lan Xichen has heard him describe as mediocre at best, turns his full attention back to his laptop when he sound warns him he has a new message.

“Then do that,” he mutters without conviction. “Go have a look or something.”

Lan Xichen stops breathing for a second, and stares at his assistant as if Mo Xuanyu had just handed him the key to the secret of the universe.

It is always a little awkward to contact owners of paintings once they are in private collections, and Lan Xichen has learned the hard way to avoid it. Some collectors are rather defensive, and a few don't want it publicised that they own rare art. But surely the antiquarian who currently holds those works wouldn’t mind letting him have a look? His interest in them, if publicised, could certainly create a ‘buzz’ of some sort in the small community of Nie Huaisang enthusiasts. It is for that sort of things that his little brother has convinced him to get a social media presence after all, so why not use it to his advantage?

Already recovering from his disappointment over 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', Lan Xichen gets to work and starts looking for information about whoever currently holds those unsold paintings. It takes a surprisingly long while, but he eventually discovers that the series of paintings was bought by a man named mister Shanzi, apparently after the death of their former owner whose identity has not been revealed.

It is not the first time Lan Xichen encounters the name Shanzi. The man is a reputed antiquarian and art dealer. Part of his reputation comes from rarely ever being fooled by fakes and copies, and for often being the one to spot lost works from obscure artists. If mister Shanzi was fooled by 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', then Lan Xichen feels a little better for his own mistake. The copy really had to be excellent.

The problem with mister Shanzi being involved is that he is not an easy man to contact. In this digital age, mister Shanzi is an art dealer without an online presence of any sort, though after some probing, Lan Xichen learns from one auction house that in recent years mister Shanzi has hired an assistant, and that young man is slightly less elusive than his employer. Not by much though, and it takes all of Lan Xichen’s persuasion and good reputation to obtain the email of that assistant.

It would be an understatement to say that the assistant in question is unhappy to have had his contact leaked to a stranger. The first email Lan Xichen gets in answer to his painfully polite enquiry is probably the most passive-agressive thing he has ever beheld, and that includes family dinner with his father and his mother’s new girlfriend.

If it were earlier in his career, if he were a few years younger, Lan Xichen would have given up at that point, fearful to disturb. But he’s learned to fight for what he wants when it is needed, and what he wants, right now, is a chance to look at paintings he will otherwise never see unless by some miracle a museum in the country buys them… and he knows how unlikely that is. Nie Huaisang doesn’t attract the crowds and academics.

Not yet, anyway. Lan Xichen’s book will change that.

And the more of Nie Huaisang’s work he gets to see with his own eyes, the easier that book will be to write.

So Lan Xichen replies to that unpleasant email with an essay detailing his hopes of attracting attention to his work, the possibility that prices might rise in the future, but above all his interest in an artist who deserves to be admired along with more famous names.

To his surprise, it works.

Mister Shanzi’s assistant’s reply states that he also has deep admiration for the forgotten master, and that his employer has a private collection of Nie Huaisang’s works. He is unsure whether mister Shanzi would be willing to show those, since they are stored in his own home, but perhaps an arrangement could be made. Hopefully, Lan Xichen might agree to meet in a few days at a café near the university where he works, so that they can more easily discuss what he would need for his book.

Lan Xichen readily agrees, and the day of their meeting cannot come soon enough.

When it does come, at last, Lan Xichen is almost half an hour early at the café. He tries, at first, to grade some essays from a class he teaches, but quickly finds that he cannot focus on that at the moment. It is ridiculous to be so nervous over this, he’s met with plenty of antiquarians and art dealers before, he’s been invited to check private collections as well, but on that late afternoon, his skin is buzzing with excitement, as if he were on the verge of something extraordinary.

That excitement spikes up when an elegant young man enters the café, browsing the table with searching eyes, only to smile when he spots Lan Xichen. The young man, who might be one of the most beautiful people Lan Xichen has ever seen, quickly gives him a short bow.

“You must be Lan Xichen?” he asks.

Lan Xichen can only nod, and gestures to invite the gorgeous stranger to sit across from him.

"I'm mister Shanzi’s assistant,” the other man says as he takes a seat. “Meng Yao, at your service."

#xisang #xiyao #lan xichen #jin guangyao #mdzs #jau writes #counterfeit au

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tinydooms · 3 years

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Original Short Story: written in early 2016 while I was minding the doors at Handel and Hendrix in London (in my glamorous past life). Content Warnings: demons, assault, demonic sexual assault, murder.

The Death of Andromeda Ashton

Now darling, you know that there is a big empty house on this property, away up past the formal gardens; you can just see it from your window when the leaves are down from the trees. Ashton Manor is its name, so called because my ancestor, Joseph Ashton, built it centuries ago, when Queen Anne ruled this isle. A solid English manor house, with wings stuck on it during the reign of the Georges, built of grey stone and with hundreds of windows peering down at us like so many curious eyes. It is the country seat of the Ashton family and has been for almost three hundred years. But we do not live there. Not anymore.

I can see impatience in your face. I know all this, is what you’re thinking. Patience, dear one, for I am going to tell you why.

They were great collectors, the old Ashtons were, and as the years went on they filled the Hall with all manner of treasures, ancient books and paintings and sculptures from far off lands where strange gods were worshipped and men look nothing like you’d believe. Every generation of Ashtons contributed to the Collection, until one day, one of them brought home something monstrous.

The house is empty now, its windows stare unseeing; its treasures are locked up and guarded by an aging caretaker. All know that it is abandoned, most of its treasures still inside, though some were safely moved to London around the time Queen Victoria died. But never, in eighty years, has anyone broken in to steal anything. There are too many stories about the place. You’ve heard some of them, of course. The crying that can be heard in the east wing. The singing heard on stormy nights. The dark figure that prowls the corridors and the woods by the park, thinning the packs of rabbits that live there. The woman sinking into the lake. Yes, I can see by your eyes that you know of what I am speaking.

Her name is Andromeda Ashton. She lived here many years ago, when the house was an open and happy place. She was the darling petted baby daughter of older parents, born when her elder siblings were almost grown and had thought their parents were passed the age of engendering children. Her eldest sibling, Henry, was already well into his first year at Cambridge, her sisters away at school. The closest brother in age was Edward, seven years older than she, a quiet and thoughtful boy.

Now, because she was the baby, and in no small part because she was a beautiful, intelligent little thing, Andromeda was given license to behave in ways that were most unusual for a girl of her class in that time. She had a governess and a tutor, learned Greek and Latin from childhood, and could always be found prowling the family Collection or reading books by great explorers and renowned antiquarians. By the time she was eighteen, Andromeda was widely considered to be one of the brightest Ashtons for a generation. What a shame, people said, that she was not a boy and could then use that pretty head of hers. What a shame such remarkable intelligence was all for naught.

They need not have feared, for Andromeda had plans for making her mark upon the world, in the form of her family’s Collection. She may not be allowed to attend Cambridge like her brothers or study theology like Edward, but she was allowed and encouraged to contribute something to the Collection. And it would be more than just her portrait, which showed a slim, wind-pale girl with dark hair and eyes, gazing at the painter with a fiery intensity. No, Andromeda had not spent her life reading the tales of antiquarians for nothing.

Now dearie, you know that there are many stories of ghosts and legends in these parts. The hills are as dotted with stories as they are with sheep. On the eve of her nineteenth year, Andromeda began to collect them. With her father’s blessing and the help of her former governess, a project was begun: to compile the county’s folktales. It was no small task. For months, Andromeda could be seen riding from farm to farm, speaking to laborers and landowners alike, and writing down their stories. The Crone of Tetley. The Wailing Well of St. Edmund’s. The Fenbury Witch. She recorded them all, never realizing that she herself would one day become such a whispered story.

“I don’t know how you sleep at night, after hearing these tales,” her mother said once.

Andromeda smiled. “They are not true, Mother! They’re silly superstitions that came about because people in the past had no learning. People tell stories to ascribe meaning to what they do not understand, that’s all. There’s no truth to them.”

This, my dear, was Andromeda’s firm belief: that superstition had given way to science, and that all the ghostly tales of the past, while amusing and interesting, had a rational explanation. It was to be her undoing.

Now, as is sometimes the case with amateur antiquarians, Andromeda began to be curious as to the truth behind these stories. There was one in particular that caught her fancy, and that was of the Chalice of Tilbury St. Bartholomew. What’s that? The what? I knew you would ask; it’s certainly not talked about anymore. Not since-no, I’m getting ahead of myself.

The story goes like this: centuries before, at the time the plague first appeared in England, there was an alchemist who thought he could escape the illness by coming to the countryside. And where did he come? Why here, of course. Tilbury St. Bartholomew, though in those days the name was rather different. It was whispered that this gentleman-I use that term lightly, for he was no such thing-continued his strange experiments in his cottage, and that he not only practiced alchemy, but the dark arts as well. You’re skeptical, I see. So was Andromeda. What were considered the dark arts then is known as science now, of course. But for all that, the villagers were afraid of him. It was said that he conjured devils, and that one such devil was contained in a silver cup he kept with him in his bedroom, ready to do his master’s bidding. Village maidens dreamed of a dark shape coming into their beds at night, bending over them and stroking their hair. The alchemist leered at them in church on Sundays, leading to speculation that his demon was kept for the hunting of women. Unease and unrest grew in the village, yet the alchemist continued his work unmolested.

But when the plague finally came to Tilbury St. Bartholomew-for no part of the country was left untouched-the villagers said it was the judgments of God upon them for allowing an evil sorcerer to live unhampered in their midst. The alchemist was dragged from his home and burned at the stake. The village maidens breathed sighs of relief, for though the plague raged about them, the dark creature came to their chambers no more. The alchemist’s cottage was burned, too, and the silver chalice was lost. No one knew what became of it.

Andromeda, though, had her suspicions. She was a learned young lady, and figured that there had to be some record somewhere of a necromancer and his effects. I don’t know what sort of research she did, but one summer evening, when her brother Edward was visiting from his Cambridge seminary, she asked him to ride out with her. No one knows where they went, but when they came back, Andromeda looked quite pleased, and shortly thereafter presented an ancient silver goblet to the family.

Why did she want it, you ask? Why, if such demonic stories were attached to the thing, would a young lady wish to bring such an object into her home? Come, child, haven’t you been listening? Andromeda was not a believer in such things as demons. She was an active and intelligent young lady, and it rankled that she could not use her brains to their fullest capacity. A book was all very well and good, you see, but a treasure such as this cup was a real asset to the Collection, and it gave her a measure of fame, besides. She wrote the card for it herself. Silver chalice, English, circa 1330. What a find! Everyone in the family and many people outside of it admired the discovery.

All of this is common knowledge. You can find Andromeda’s book in any bookshop in the county, and the local historians will tell you about the silver goblet. They will also tell you that the goblet has been lost under strange circumstances, and when pressed for an answer, they will sigh and tell you it was a great tragedy. For you see, darling, very few people know exactly what happened to the Ashton family in the months following Andromeda’s discovery.

Most of what I know comes from Edward’s personal diaries, and they are to be treated with much caution. He lost his mind that year, you know. But I think he was saner than anyone knew.

Nothing went right for the Ashtons after Andromeda’s discovery. First Mrs. Ashton, who had never been strong after the birth of her daughter, succumbed to illness, soon followed by Mr. Ashton, so that Henry, the eldest son, living in London, found himself head of the family. That was in September. Then there began to be problems with the livestock. Horses went mad, sheep began to die for seemingly no reason, and the gamekeepers reported outrageous amounts of dead rabbits and birds in the woods. The servants began to complain that tricks were being played upon them, for it seemed as though they were being pinched and grabbed at by unseen hands. Edward recorded in the days that followed his mother’s funeral, was the sense of being watched when you knew you were alone, of a cold breath at the back of your neck, the creak of a chair that only creaked when sat in. There was a presence in the house, he said, and everyone knew it. But no one spoke of it.

Andromeda was not spared. Alone in her room at night, as she lay in bed, she felt the gentle caress of fingers across her cheek, in her hair, running over her body, cold as a breath of winter air. She told herself that she only imagined the icy kisses on the back of her neck, on her shoulders and breastbone. They were the products of a fevered mind, surely, imaginations brought about by grief at the death of her parents. She ignored the caresses. What’s that, darling? She must have been very brave? Yes, or very foolish.

By late November, the events had become too real to ignore. When serving tea to visitors, Andromeda would feel whispery fingers on her thighs, and moments later her stockings would loosen as her garters untied themselves. Something tugged her hair as she brushed it, or grasped her hand as she reached for a pen. At night, the sensation of someone cuddling close to her became unbearable, until she jumped for a light, gasping. And then she would hear it: a soft, cold laugh.

At last, after one such night, Andromeda swallowed her pride and told Edward what was happening. He was a priest, or nearly so; of course he would help her.

“It has only been since we brought home my goblet that this has happened,” she told him as they walked through the portrait gallery. “But artefacts cannot truly contain demons. Can they?”

Edward rubbed his hand through his hair, eyes straying to Andromeda’s portrait, swinging in its frame against the far wall. “We cannot know what devilry a sorcerer can conjure when he goes against God. I fear we made a mistake in unearthing that cup, Meda.”

“What must we do?”

“We must put it back where it was. As soon as possible.”

They agreed that Edward would write to one of his teachers, Reverent Dr. Padgett, to come assist them in exorcising the demon. The letter was duly dispatched. The reply came by telegram the next morning: Dr. Padgett would arrive that evening on the six-thirty train. They would commence their business immediately.

That afternoon, Andromeda asked the servants to leave the house for the night. She found them eager to do so. None of them liked to say how relieved they were to be away from the house and its unseen occupant. At half past six, the head footman was dispatched to the station to collect Dr. Padgett. In the back of the carriage was his own trunk, for he had no intention of remaining alone with the family in the house once he had safely delivered the doctor. It was a cold, windy evening, and later he said that his master and mistress could not have picked a worse night to be alone in that house.

All of this is fact; you can find the records in the village police archives, if you’ve a mind to. But what I’m about to tell you know, darling, are the words of a madman. You see, the only two people who know what happened in that house are Andromeda and Edward, and the latter was in no fit state to speak coherently of what happened for some months afterwards. Besides, his tale was dismissed by doctors and magistrates alike as being too unbelievable to come from a sound mind.

What Edward said was this: believing that Padgett would soon arrive, he and Andromeda set about making preparations for the exorcism. The house was empty, but the air around them seemed heavy, oppressive. As there were no servants to light the lamps, they sat in near-darkness. Their black mourning clothes must have made the scene even darker. Once or twice, Edward felt as though something touched the back of his neck, but there was no one there but Andromeda, sitting on the sofa by the window, peering out into the windy dusk.

“Perhaps we should bring the cup here,” she said, at last. “Perhaps Dr. Padgett will be willing to go out with us immediately.”

“Certainly,” said Edward. “Shall I go for it?”

“No.” Andromeda stood, smoothing her black skirts. Edward says that her hands were shaking. “I feel certain it has to be me.”

Though neither of them said it, the fact hung in the air that Andromeda was the one to have meddled in what she should not. Still, Edward, being a kind soul, rose from his seat and put her arm through his.

“We will go together. Come now, little sister, chin up. Everything will be all right.”

The silver cup was in one of the many rooms that housed the Collection, deep in the bowels of the cold house. I’ll show it to you one day, if you like, through the window. Night was falling fast as they walked through the halls, the strong wind driving dark clouds before it as it screamed around the manor. The lamp in Edward’s hand flickered in the draught, and his diary says that it was with some relief that they gained the Collection rooms. Leaving Andromeda by the door, Edward moved across the room to light the lamps, thinking to bring some cheer to the evening, if cheer were at all possible.

It was as he was lighting the lamps that Edward heard the screams. He ran to the door to see Andromeda lying in the corridor, beating at something unseen with both hands. He ran to assist her and all at once found himself picked up and flung back into the room he had come from. Undaunted, he picked himself up and made to run to his sister, only to again be thrown down by the unseen creature. It must have been terrible, fighting such a force while Andromeda’s shrieks echoed through the halls. Edward says that she twisted this way and that as though grappling with something. He made for her a third time--and this time, Andromeda was thrown down on the floor, gasping, and the thing, the monster, the demon, grabbed Edward by the neck and dragged him back into the Collection room. He was sure it would kill him. But it did not. A moment of white hot pain, and Edward found himself pinned to the floor with an arrow through the leg. Where the dart came from, he did not know. He could not move. Apparently satisfied that the young priest would prove no further nuisance, the thing returned to Andromeda. Helpless, crying with pain and horror, Edward heard his sister’s screams renew, growing more and more awful until they were drowned by a low, terrible laugh. Then there came the sound of a body dragging, and Andromeda’s shrieks faded as she was carried away.

Dr. Padgett, arriving an hour later, found Edward, alive but in a terrible state. Having asked his driver to wait at the door, Padgett was able to send for a medical doctor, and a search was made for Andromeda. It did not take them long to find her, for though the wind continued to buffet the county, there was no rain. You know where they found her, of course, my dear, for you can see her there still, some nights. She was in the lake, just under the water, her dark hair a loose cloud around her, her heavy black frock covered in hundreds of tiny gashes, her shoes and stockings gone. Her eyes were closed, her skin bleached of color in the green water. She was quite dead.

For months afterwards Edward screamed in the night, howling that the monster had come for him. Certainly in the mornings he was covered in scratches that had not been there the day before. A team of doctors agreed that his mind had been shattered by his sister’s murder, for they did not believe that anything but a mortal man could have done such a vicious thing to the Ashton children. The best thing for him, they told Henry, was to retire to the coast in the care of a nurse. And so Edward never returned to Ashton Hall.

And the cup that had started the horror? Dr. Padgett conducted a search for it, but it was nowhere to be seen, though Edward swore it was in the room when they were attacked. No one knows what became of it. Perhaps it had gone, and the demon with it. I see the doubt in your eyes, dearest, and I have to agree with you.

Ever after, the servants whispered that there was something still haunting the rooms and corridors of the hall, and the gardeners swore they saw Andromeda slipping out of the lake on icy winter nights. Henry’s family certainly never felt comfortable in the Hall, and so it was shut up. And so it has remained for these eighty years, and who knows if we will ever return to live in it? But one thing I know for certain: on nights when the wind blows and the moon is dark, shapes can be seen moving in the windows of the Hall. And out in the lake, a dark-haired Victorian lady floats just underneath the water. Watching. Waiting.

#original fiction #my writing

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aidendh · 3 years

Text

Explosions, Wings and Power (A Bnha fanfic) (WIP)

(I haven't touched this in weeks, so I thought I'd post the WIP)

Word Count Goal: 2500 - 4000

Description

Nightmares,

He didn’t have them often, but they tended to feel familiar and real. ‘Doctor’, ‘Sludge’, ‘Dome’. What did they mean? Only one Katsuki Bakugo knew and he would use them to keep his friends safe. He was not gonna waste this second chance.

It doesn’t hurt if he changes the future, right?

When given another chance at life, the newly named ‘Katsuki Bakugo’ treads through it with his best friends on their path to become a hero.

Chapter 1

“Basa, wait up!” Cried out Izuku, his mop of green hair bobbing as he ran. The little boy's emerald green eyes kept his best friends in sight while falling behind.

“Yeah! We can’t fly like you ya’ know!” exclaimed Katsuki while narrowing his piercing red eyes, trying to see through his spiky ash blond hair. He was faring better than Izuku, but he still couldn’t keep up with their airborne friend.

Said boy (Chujitsu), despite being less than a meter off the ground, called back, “Well maybe you guys should hurry up!”. He turned his grey barely haired head back with his narrow grey-blue eyes glancing at his flightless pals.

What was keeping him airborne was a pair of red dragon-like wings, his Quirk.

Quirk: A power usually manifested at around the age of 4 and what 80% of the world's population had.

Chujitsu Tsubasa: Known as Wings, his transformation type Quirk allows him to temporarily grow wings on his back.

_______________________________

-9 Years later-

*Jet set r-*

A 14-year-old Katsuki Bakugo swiped his phone to rid it of his alarm. He then turned over in his bed and drifted off.

*All Might The-*

Katsuki swiped his alarm off again then pulled his phone over to check the time.

‘Time: 8:20’

‘7:30 Get up Alarm-Missed’

He blinked, giving himself a moment to wake up and process the screen. ‘8:20? ...! Overslept!’

Scrambling out of bed, he quickly changed into his black Junior High uniform and grabbed his bag and phone. Booking it out of his room and past his parents, he gave a quick “See ya!” to them and left for school.

His mother (Mitsuki Bakugo), the spitting image of her son, just shook her head in amusement.

“See ya trouble!” She yelled after him.

Katsuki’s phone rang in his pocket. After checking the ID and confirming who it was, he answered.

“Kacchan, where are you?” Chujitsu asked.

“Booking it to school while rethinking my life, you?” He replied.

“Waiting at the gates with ‘zuku. What happened? You’re normally the first one here.”

Katsuki slowed his run as Aldera Junior High showed in the distance.

“Just Overslept,” he paused, taking in a breath, “nightmares again.”

Chujitsu took a minute to process this. It was rare for Katsuki to have nightmares and was considered a big deal if they kept him up for more than one night. This would cause him to become paranoid and overprotective over the subject of his night terrors.

With any other person it wouldn’t be considered this big of a deal, but whenever this happened to the blonde danger was sure to follow. Chujitsu knew this better than anyone as it had saved his life once before.

“Just don’t push yourself today,” was heard just beyond the nearby gate that the sprinting teen was approaching. After hanging up the phone Katsuki rushed in and grabbed the other greenette’s arm to stop his momentum.

“Hi, Kacchan!” Greeted Izuku, as Katsuki started to regain a steady breath. After some small talk they headed in to find their class so as not to be late.

________________________________

-Last Period-

“So, as third year students, you need to start thinking more seriously about the future, and what you want to be doing with your lives.” Started the non-descript teacher.

“I could get Bakugo-San to hand out some Career Aptitude Tests.” Said Bakugo got ready to stand up but stopped at the boring tone of his Sensei.

“But... Why bother, I know you all want the Hero track!!” At the sign of Sensei about to throw the papers across the classroom, Katsuki spoke up.

“Sensei, even if that is true, we still need to fill out the High School part of the form. We’re not all aiming for the same school.” Many students groaned at his gruff and demanding tone, most expecting this from their Class Prez.

“Ah, Bakugo-San, you are correct on that front. Now that I think about it, aren't you, Tsubasa-San and Midoriya-San aiming for U.A High?” At this accusation, their classmates went into an uproar of voices.

“Really!?”

“They’re trying for the national school?!”

“Isn’t there a 0.2% acceptance rate?”

“It’s impossible to get into!”

Though one stood out more than the others,

“A Quirkless loser won't stand a chance!” After hearing this, the class stilled. Not many people mess with the Quirkless student, not with Bakugo and Tsubasa on his side.

“I think the principle wouldn’t like to hear that someone is disrespecting one of Aldera’s top students and my best friend?” Katsuki stated with a threatening sweet tone and piercing grin. He may be one of the top students, but he was willing to snitch on others if it meant his friends would be safe. That shut the accuser right up.

“Now, now you two. I don’t want another fight breaking out in my classroom.” Stated Sensei,

“Bakugo-San please pass out the sheets.”

________________________________

-Elsewhere-

A woman screamed in the populated streets as a man that appeared to be made of green sludge rushed past with Yen Bills scattered inside his Liquidus body.

“Hey, get back here!” Yelled the store clerk that just ran out of a nearby store. Some more people shouted in protest of the thieving criminal, but all was for null as he rushed out of sight.

“Yell all ya’ want sucker! This cash is mine!” Grinded his gargling voice. Other bystanders just carried on with their days, this wasn’t the first criminal, and it won't be the last.

“Dude where are all the Heroes?” asked a civilian, confusion etched his face, “Normally one would attack right away.” Despite the worried looks of others, however mild, a nearby senior scoffed and turned to a fellow colleague.

“Remember when we didn’t need to worry about criminals using their Quirks left and right?”

“Seriously there’s no stopping them.”

Back at the same store a sickly blond man exited with shopping in each hand. His lanky body then expanded and grew in size to a buff and well-known Hero.

“Yes, there is,” At hearing the recognizable tone, bystanders looked over and were immediately stripped of their worries. “You know why? Because I am here!”

_______________________________

-After Class-

“Wanna go to karaoke?”

“Sure.”

“A Gigantification quirk huh? Didn’t Kacchan come up with one just like this?” Muttered Midoriya, scrolling down the news on his phone about a new Pro Hero’s debut.

Leaning on the greenette’s desk, Bakugo glanced at Izuku’s phone.

“I’m heading to the shopping district in a min, you guys want anything?”

Jumping up spooked, Izuku stuttered out,

“K-Kacchan! Um... it’s fine I don’t really need anything.” The third member of the trio piped up from the doorway,

“You paying?” asked Tsubasa, his thin grey ponytail resting over his shoulder.

“Yeah right!” Answered the blond while as he rolled his eyes, “Sure. What’cha want Basa?” The long-haired teen pretended to think it over.

“Not sure.” Was his reply. Bakugo just scoffed,

“Candy it is then.” He looked back at Izuku who was typing something on this phone, most likely notes on the new Hero and Criminal from the news.

“You sure you don’t want anything ‘Zuku? I heard the new Hero collectors' cards are in.” His face overcame with a sly playful look, knowing that Midoriya was collecting them.

“B-but Kacchan! You don’t have to; I can just pick some up tomorrow!” Though he tried to persist, the greenette looked thankful knowing that the blond would do it anyway.

“No buts!” Bakugo grinded heading to the door.

“See ya guys!” The trio then headed out their separate ways, though Katsuki couldn’t get the feeling from the back of his mind that disaster was sure to come.

Stopping in his tracks, he turned his head back to his Best Friends.

“...Chujitsu, stick with Izuku for me, will ya?” At the sight of the blonde's wariness and the worried tone of his voice, Chijitsu and Izuku were quick to agree.

_______________

Feel free to critique this in the comments!

I love hearing from you guys!

#aidendh's writing #writing #aiden's aus #rau #bnha #ewp au #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #Chujitsu Tsubasa #bnha tsubasa #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #bnha au #ewp katsuki

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shanie-the-toyaddict · 3 years

Note

1, 9, 15, 17, 21, 25, 26, 29, 33, 41, 46, 48, 54, 59, 68, 73, 81, 96, 98

😊

Oh my word! That's a lot!

Ok, here goes.

Behind cut for length

1. Name - I prefer Shanie but my parents call me “Mis”. Well, my mom calls me “Mis” my father calls me “Pooch” which I despise. Just stick with Shanie.

9. What did you study - I changed majors midway through college. I started out as an art major focusing on computer animation. That didn’t work out at ALL. Turns out I sucked ass at computer animation. Too much math involved. So I switched to a major in teaching with minors in history and popular culture. Unfortunately I failed at that too and, while I did graduate, it was with a degree in “Planned Program” which is a polite way of saying “General Ed”. I did earn my two minors though, so I guess that’s something!

15. Relationship Status - Single. Very Very Single. I haven’t had a single date in about 10 years. By the looks of it, I’m going to stay single.

17. Do you have a crush - Do celebrities count? If not then no. I don't even know anyone IRL to have crushes on. I legit have nobody in my IRL life outside of my parents and my case manager. Kind of hard to have a crush when you don't have any friends or even acquaintances.

21: How was your day - Well, today I got nothing accomplished. I did have a meeting with my case manager, so that was nice. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and infodump on (which she lets me). Outside of that I woke up, had breakfast, lunch, and dinner, had a nap, and went to Dairy Queen for ice cream on the way home. Unfortunately, DQ is on the far side of town and by the time I got home, it was melted. So it went in the fridge to eat later once it refreezes. Outside of that it was a pretty boring day.

25. Your fears - Whoo-ee. Ok. So coming in with the borderline I’d say my biggest fear is abandonment. That just comes with the territory. After that I have a huge fear of storms and waking up in a fire, both brought about by recurring nightmares. I also have a fear of flying (too much Air Crash Investigations) and I hate elevators. I’m not claustrophobic mind you, I just have a fear that they will fall on me. Anything over 3 stories and I’m having an anxiety attack. There are other, lesser fears but those are some of the big ones.

26. Your dreams - Well, in a literal sense, my dreams are wild, crazy adventures that I get most of my fanfics from. From a metaphorical standpoint I really don’t have any. I’ve given up on hoping for anything good in my life. I’m too busy trying to get from day to day to indulge in long term planning. I know it seems terrible, but it’s the truth.

29. Hobbies - Obviously action figures, that much is clear. I collect and customize them to display in my apartment. I also like making digital art (sometimes) and am starting to get into illustrations/artwork. However, I don’t have a tablet/pen for the computer so everything is done with the mouse and GIMP (which makes it difficult). I’m an avid collector of digital media. Some of my big ones are Doctor Who DVDs, Wrestling Entrance Themes, and Official Xena Photos (not the physical ones, jpeg scans). I used to be big into Wizard101 and, while I don’t really play anymore, I still like following the game on YT and on here.

33. Languages you speak – Only English, except it’s a very specific English. I usually speak what’s called the “Yinzer” dialect which is a dialect that is unique to the Pittsburgh region. That’s why you see me use the word “Yinz” a bunch. That’s our word for “You guys” or “Y’all”. However, while most of my speech is Yinzer, I have watched enough British TV in my lifetime to have picked up some Brit speech. It confuses the hell out of people when I use it because you’ll have me say things like “My apartment needs cleaned” and then follow it up thirty seconds later with, “I’m rubbish at cleaning.” My mother has picked up on this and sometimes calls me her “British Daughter” because of it.

41. Your Device Background – My phone’s lock screen is a picture of Shane in his Roman Centurion outfit from the one Royal Rumble photo shoot. My phone background is a checkered wallpaper with “SZ” on it for Sami Zayn. (That one might be getting changed if he stops being Sami.) And my computer background is just a night sky over the mountains. I rarely ever see my computer wallpaper so I don’t mind that it is a generic background.

46. The most dangerous thing you’ve done – You know how Lucy breathes fire on Xena? I taught myself how to do that. That wasn’t bright to begin with but it was made so much worse that I was underage and couldn’t buy Bacardi and was using lamp oil instead. I was young and dumb.

48. Some things you’ve tried in your life – Funny thing, I’m a sucker for strange foods. There was a list going around that said “How many of these weird foods have you eaten” and I think I had eaten all but six of them and that was only because I didn’t have access to them. I’m proud to say that, since then, I’ve knocked Quail Egg off the list! Turns out the local Japanese restaurant served it. So that knocked it down to five. Still need to get ahold of some gator meat and haggis. I’d love to try Foie Gras but it’s just so damn unethical that I don’t know if I could bring myself to eat it. Pheasant is another one that I’d love to try but I can’t convince my parents to buy me one (and I’m far too poor to afford it myself). But, yeah. I love strange foods. I’ll pretty much try any food once if I know it’s safe to eat.

54. Any tattoos or piercings – Unless you count partially pierced ears then no. And my ears are only partially pierced because after I had them done they got infected so I tried to let them heal shut. They ended up not closing fully and now, if I’m not adverse to a bit of pain, I can still wear earrings occasionally.

59. Song you wouldn’t normally admit you like – Judas is my guilty pleasure song. I know Jericho is a douchebag and I have tried to hate the song but I can’t. I end up singing along every time.

68. Favorite Movie/Series - Hmm... well, my all time favorite movie is definitely “The Towering Inferno”, hands down. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve seen that. I’m a sucker for disaster movies and, in my opinion, that one is the cream of the crop. I actually like it better than “The Poseidon Adventure” simply because I think the movie is inferior to the book. That said, I’ve also read both of the books that “The Towering Inferno” is based on and I like the combined movie better than them. Favorite series, however, I don’t think I have one definitive favorite series. I’ve had favoriteS like Xena, Buffy, Sherlock, Doctor Who, etc, but I’ve never had one all time favorite.

73: Favorite Greek God – Oh geez. Hmmm... You know, I’m going to have to go with Hermes here, primarily because I have this theory that he is the god of the internet. I know there was no internet in ancient Greece but, frankly, Hermes is the god of commerce, communication, travelers, and thieves. While it’s true that Hephaestus is the god of technology and would probably be the god of computers, I fully believe that Hermes would be the patron of the interwebs.

81 Favorite Books – In all honesty, going to college for 8 years burned me out for reading and now I can barely bring myself to read a comic book. For this reason, most of my favorite books come from childhood. My all time favorite book as a kid was “Flight #116 Is Down” by Caroline B Cooney. It was a disaster story about plane crash in a young woman’s back yard. Somehow, everyone didn’t die – a fact which was called out in the final pages when a fireman says that the crash was extremely odd because “usually they’re all dead.” That book might be another reason I’m terrified of flying. Other favorite books of mine was the “Fear Street Saga Trilogy” (Not the Fear Street Series, the trilogy that served as the origin story). I also like the Hitchhikers Guide saga but when I found out that Douglas Adams died before he could finish the saga, I stopped reading after book 4 so that the story had a happy ending. Novelizations in general are a big thing for me too, I’ve read some really good ones over the years and it’s fascinating to see how they differ from the movies they’re based on.

96. Hero or Villain – Well, if my dreams are anything to go by, I’m a villain at heart. I know, weird right? You all think I’m such a nice person but really, I have a huge dark side to me IRL and, if I was in a world where superheroes were real and I had superpowers I would almost certainly use them for evil. Or, at the very least I would use them to force social change ala Dr. Horrible.

98. Shapeshifting or Controlling Time – SHAPESHIFTING! Oh my goodness shapeshifting! I would love that so much! First of all, I wouldn’t be this huge anymore. I could be as heavy or a skinny as I want. Also, I wouldn’t have to worry about looking old or losing my hair! Plus, can you imagine the cosplay potential!? Forget dressing as the 13th Doctor, I AM THE 13th DOCTOR! That would just be the best!

PHEW! That was a lot! Thanks so much for the ask! This was fun. I love ask games.

#ask games

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kreekey · 4 years

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examples of people being racist toward yoko unintentionally: 1- calling her a weird stalker when they glorify/don't mind the many white fangirls who used to stalk the Beatles. 2- spreading misinformation that she lost custody of her daughter when in fact she'd won against her white crazy ex despite everything NOT in favour of her 3- bashing her for using John's glasses on the album cover she worked with John on, when they would've praised the artistry and bold statement if she was a white woman

Hey sorry I got around to answering your ask so late! You make a lot of really interesting points and I rarely hear people consider that.

1 - reminds me of a Tumblr post I saw about an obsessive Beatlemaniac stalker and people were like “me” or “bless her” haha. Definitely different when they can interpret Yoko’s actions as “stalking”. And your point also reminds me of this quote, which isn’t about fangirls but still somewhat kinda related.

“Like Yoko when she met John, Linda was a divorced woman with a daughter when she met Paul mere months later. There are stories similar to those about Yoko of her “scheming” to meet and marry Paul. In the same way that Yoko is said to have joked prior to meeting him that she was “going to marry John Lennon,” Linda joked like any woman with a celebrity crush about how she was “going to marry Paul McCartney.” (Bob Spitz notes both in his book The Beatles. Guess which one he thought was conniving, and which one he thought was adorable.)... Was it the lucky fact that Linda got the scene a few months later than Yoko, or was it her whiteness?“

And I don’t have the answer if it was Yoko’s race that made her such a target, but it’s something interesting to consider and note. [And I’ll clarify this, I'm pretty sure Yoko didn't know about the Beatles until she became face to face with one, like she wasn't a fan who got lucky enough to meet her idol. In the David Frost interview and the 1971 Rolling Stone interview, John noted that Yoko didn't know him when they met, and Yoko Ono: Collector of Skies by Neil Beram says this on their meeting: "She was about as familiar with John's work as he was with hers. "I was an underground person, and such an artistic snob," she said later. "I knew about The Beatles, of course... but I wasn't interested in them." Just about the only thing she could recall about them was the drummer Ringo Starr's first name, because ringo means "apple" in Japanese.”] Also, and this definitely wasn’t stalking, but I posted a quote from Bob Spitz’ biography where he writes along the lines of

“[Linda] always insisted that she was going to marry Paul McCartney,” [Nat Weiss] recalls, “even before she met him”... It was no accident that Linda Eastman veered into his aura. She’d taken a few polite shots of Ringo and George before “zeroing in on Paul,”... Linda had come dressed to kill. Most days she played the typical rock chick, decked out in rumpled jeans and a T-shirt, with little or no makeup and unwashed hair. But today her hair had been carefully blow-dried so that it fell perfectly forward in wing points at her chin. And she was dressed in an expensive double-breasted striped barbershop jacket arranged just so over a sheer black sweater, with a miniskirt that flattered her gorgeous legs. When she squatted down – not so subtly, in what must have been a rehearsed gesture – in front of Paul for an intimate chat, he had trouble keeping his eyes from wandering below-decks...

, and some people commented that it appeared kinda predatory/pre-planned (reminds me of some criticism of Francie Schwartz’s meeting with Paul), but overall cute and everything. At the time I wondered how people would react if Yoko did that to John lol. No way of knowing, just a thought. And also, I know Yoko sent him Grapefruit and little instructions often, I think that’s usually what people cite as the stalking, that she tried to ensnare him with it. Again quoting Yoko Ono: Collector of Skies,

For a time Yoko kept in touch with John by mailing him daily instructions-she called this Dance Event-that said things like "Dance" and "Watch all the lights until dawn" and "I'm a cloud. Watch for me in the sky." John found the instructions as perplexing as he found them intriguing.

And quoting this interview (in which she also asserts that “each and every occasion she visited John at Kenwood, it was at his invitation.”),

Despite the popular theory that Yoko was frantically inventing schemes to snare the wealthy Beatle, she was struggling with problems in her marriage [with Tony Cox] and also working hard to establish her career in the UK. Arriving in London in September 1966 to perform at the ‘Destruction In Art Symposium’, Yoko was already respected as an avant-garde artist and performer in New York, where she was allied to the Fluxus movement. She had a trained musical background, and had recently been involved in the improvisational music favoured by her peer group. She had also compiled a book of conceptual and instructional pieces called Grapefruit, and printed up a limited edition.

Yoko distributed copies to a number of influential people during 1966-’67. And John Lennon was one of the recipients. This has since been interpreted as one of various ruses on Yoko’s part to enchant Lennon.

She retorts: “There was a myth that I sent Grapefruit to him… how I wanted to trap him. It was a printed, published book. I had an orange carton of them, a lot of it. I would be giving it to critics. It was that sort of thing. He wasn’t the only one who got it.”

And by then, John had already eagerly offered to sponsor one of her shows, I think he was genuinely interested in her work. I don’t think John was actually threatened by these notes or felt he was harassed, especially since he made the jump to invite her over while his wife was away (and Yoko just thought it was a party!). He once referred to Yoko “someone that could turn me on to a million things” in the Lennon Remembers interview, he admired her art. And I know he said to Cyn that the letters were just junk from another one of those weird artists, but c’mon, what do you think John would say to his wife regarding the woman he’s romantically interested in? I don’t think it would’ve been fully truthful IMO, especially considering when John said that he nearly invited Yoko to India around that time because he liked her so.

2 is very true. Tony himself tried to make it seem like Yoko and John were crazy heroin druggies, and that's the case he tried to make (and that’s what he tried to tell Kyoko, that he was “saving” her from drug obsessed occultists). But, Yoko had gone “cold turkey” (ala the song) off heroin in 1969. This was 2 years before she won full custody in 1971.

Although neither parent had been awarded sole custody of the child, Mr. Cox became increasingly reluctant to let Yoko and her new husband spend time with Kyoko, and finally refused to permit it at all. For a year before the Lennons came to America, they had been chasing Mr. Cox and Kyoko around Europe. In Majorca, Spain, the Lennons caught up with them and spirited Kyoko off to their hotel; but Mr. Cox called the police, and a Spanish court gave the child back to him. The incident added to his fear that the Lennons wanted to take her away from him for good.

Soon after the Lennons arrived in New York, they went to the United States Virgin Islands, to the same court where Yoko had been divorced, and that court awarded her permanent custody of her daughter.

But, Tony then took Kyoko to Texas (hiding/kidnapping her) which was in violation of that court order. Then more custody battle due to Tony’s stubbornness and evasiveness, but yes, Yoko did win custody then despite everything (even though John was very threatened by Tony lol, to the point he disallowed Yoko to visit him alone in order to discuss co-parenting when that was an option and suggested kidnapping Kyoko. But then again Tony was also kinda crazy. Seriously though IMO Yoko really tried gallantly to have Kyoko in her life, and the loss hurt her. To hear people try to spin it as Yoko being the monster in the situation through misinformation is unfortunate.)

3 is hypothetical, but I do speculate that if Yoko was white, the attitude toward her would’ve been different. Sean said, “It’s intense how racist the world is. If my mother had looked like Debbie Harry, I really think the reaction would have been different.” (X) Yoko’s former partner, Sam Havadtoy, also touched on this in an interview from 1990:

Q: ...No matter what Yoko does, she’s frequently the victim of a bad press. Any idea why?

Havadtoy: After John’s death, newspapers wrote that Yoko was this selfish person hoarding John’s memory, controlling it, not willing to share it with his fans. So after two years, she puts out 200 hours of film footage and a record and they say she’s exploiting John’s memory. She can’t win.

Q: Why not?

Havadtoy: Racism. If she were blond-haired and blue-eyed, nobody would have blamed her for breaking up the Beatles. They were the darlings of the universe; she was an outsider, an Oriental, an avant-garde artist--easy to pick on. When John married Yoko, the British press wrote: “At least he will have clean laundry.” And it’s still happening. America is infatuated with Japan-bashing.

And I do think Season Of Glass was a memory thing, I posted about it here: X.

And yes, I think that much of Yoko’s criticism/legacy was rooted in that initial reaction, which was pretty sexist and racist. But I think that influence can still be felt today, in ways that aren’t obvious. And like you said, unintentional. (Before anyone gets mad, if you dislike or hate Yoko that doesn't automatically make you racist lol. But the narrative built around her might’ve influenced your opinion of her, and the narrative was kinda rooted in a racist mentality. So that’s why and re-interpreting her in a fresh light is necessary).

#sorry I know i've said something like that last paragraph many times but just to clarify y'know #yoko ono #the beatles fandom #asks #answers #long post #it got longer than i expected sorry!!#also anon sorry i left your ask unanswered so long!! hope you see this <3 #retrospective

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dailyaudiobiblechronological · 3 years

Text

10/7/2021 DAB Chronological Transcription

Mark 2

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm Jill. It's the 7th day of October and it's good to be alive. It's just good to be alive no matter what tries to get us down, have breath in our lungs and we have hope on every new sunrise that happens every day. So despite situations around us, despite the state of the world. What people are saying, all the negativity tries to pull you down. Just now, it's a good day to be alive. Today we're reading Mark chapter two, and we're reading this week in the common English Bible Translation. So just one short and sweet chapter today from the book of Mark. Mark, chapter two.

Commentary

I feel like now that we're in the Gospels, we could title these segments at the end of the readings. What did Jesus do today? So we see that he is calling his disciples. And some of those men that he is calling are the least likely of men to pick from. Tax collectors, fisherman, and then when Pharisees see him eating with the tax collectors and with the sinners, then they turned to the disciples and ask, Why, why is he eating with these people? Now here's the thing we might turn our nose up at the Pharisees. We might really say here, who do they think they are? But we might just be surprised when we find our own selves, appalled at the people that we see around us that are loving the unlovable, that are clothing the naked, that are feeding the hungry, that are thinking and acting on the least of these, the homeless, the marginalized, the downtrodden. I heard somebody say earlier today. It made me laugh. Sometimes in our Christianity we think you have to take a shower before you take a bath. You got to get that cleaned up before you come to Church. But here's the thing Jesus taught in the synagogues. But Jesus went to the people that nobody else would. And they went to the people that they thought he shouldn't go to. And we can only sit in the question and ask our own selves. Why are we not? If we are to be like Jesus and follow his example, why are we not? And if we just sit with that question, the answer might surprise us. We sometimes don't for fear of what other people might say. We sometimes don't because we don't want to be inconvenienced. We sometimes don't because it's hard. We're scared. Who has time? Somebody else will take care of them. Just sit with the question, why are we not? And see what comes up.

Prayer

Jesus, we know that it will cost something to follow you. We see how you modeled loving people despite societal standards, and we still make excuses. We still have reasons why and behind all of the excuses and beyond all of the reasons and the justifications, the stone cold truth is we're just not willing. So today we are sitting with the question of what is stopping us from truly following after you. And I pray that every person that is willing to ask themselves this question but have the courage to sit in the silence and listen for the answer. Holy Spirit, speak to our hearts, speak to our minds, speak to our spirits. If we sit in this question and wait with you. Thank you for being there and the waiting with us. Thank you for being there in the silence and the uncomfortable silence. It's uncomfortable because we're afraid of what we might learn about our own selves, what we might reveal about us. Holy Spirit come we pray this all in the name of the Father and His Son, the Holy Spirit, amen.

Announcements

Daily Audio Bible That's Home base. Check it out if you have not already. That's how you find out what's going on around here. That is what our fearless leader Brian always says. And it's true. You can just take a look around that website. Anything you want to know about us, anything you would like to know about what is in the store. It's all there right at your fingertips. If you would like to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you immensely for your partnership. We could not do this without you, and that is no small statement. That is the honest to God truth. If you're giving by mail, it's DAB PO Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee 37174. Or you can hit the Give icon. It up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. Or look for the Give icon on the website as well. If you need prayer, if you'd like to call and pray for someone that's previously called in, you can do so. 800 583-2164. Or hit that red circle button that is also up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. Make sure you hit submit. Turn the wheel to Chronological and it will get to the right place. It's going to do it for me today. I'm Jill. We'll turn the page together as we walk through the Gospels and here about this man and the life of Jesus and I look forward to it every day. Until then, love one another.

Community Prayer Line

Good morning, everybody at Susan from Canada, God's Yellow Flower calling. And I want to pray for Diane Olive Brown and let her know that we are all sinners and do the same things over and over again. And it's so frustrating. But there is no sin too big that the blood of Jesus cannot cover. So we can boldly come before the throne of God, knowing that he clothed us in white and pure and Holiness, and we are His no matter what. So I hear your repentance in your heart, Diane, and I know God does too. I pray God I that you would help her to see that she is your daughter and that you love her no matter what. And that Jesus let your right hand thinks I died for this woman. I died for this beautiful, beautiful child and that you can rise fully clothed and righteousness of Christ in Jesus name. I pray. Amen.

Hi, DABC. This is Cricket from Iowa. It's October 3. I just heard Diane Brown. Diane Olive Brown's prayer request. And so I could hear the anguish in your voice. And maybe some fear. I want you to know I'm lifting you up to God that he wrapped his arms around you and keep you safe and give you the strength that you need right now. And I hope you also know that there's a lot of people praying for you right now, since you have prayed for so many people and you're such a strong prayer warrior, that right now we're going to give you some of our strengths. Okay, here's a virtual hug. God bless you, sister.

Hello, Daily Audio Bible family today is October 4. I just listened to the October 2, I Believe broadcast. I think it was audio Bible chronological where Diana Brown called in. Sister, I love you here on you so much. I love hearing your voice when you ask for a loan alone to come upon us. And I just want to pray that over you now. Shalon Shalon. Diana Brown. We love you. We know that God loves you. And you know that this man, some things are just plain and positive. But as God, all things are possible. And Jeremiah 32, I believe the verse is a Lord God, thou hast meet the heaven and the Earth. By Thou by noun stretch that arm. Nothing is impossible for you. And again, I believe in not feel in the Luke. Jesus tells his disciples with men, things are impossible with God. All things are possible. Diane, my sister, I just prayed that she would lay a heavy burden that you're carrying down a seed of our precious part of Savior. And you know that he will make all things possible things possible. Diane, you're not alone. Many of her share those same burdens and issues. But we have one God, one loving father who helps us through it all. Be at peace, my sister. Shalom Shalom. Nothing is missing. Nothing is broken.

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obsessivelollipoplalala · 3 years

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*HEAVY SIGH*

I see people accusing Jim of stealing stuff from Garden Lodge all the damn time and it's really getting old, because there is zero evidence that this is true and is based on nothing but hearsay from a bunch of loudmouths on the internet. It's no coincidence that the people who spread this rumour are bitter Mary stans who hate Jim and will do anything to demonize him. If Jim, Joe or Phoebe had stolen anything from GL, they would have been arrested. I've seen Mary's fans claim that she let them get away with it because she "didn't want to cause a scandal" but we know that's bullshit, given that she's publicly slated the GL boys and the band to the press, gave several interviews right after Freddie died where she made all these dishonest claims about his final days, and that huge fiasco with Oscar the cat. If any of them had taken something from Garden Lodge that Mary wanted, she would have raised merry hell over it (or should I say, "mary" hell, lmao.)

So, either A) the jacket was specifically left for Jim as well as other things B) Jim asked if he could keep the jacket and Mary let him, or C) Jim "stole" the jacket and Mary didn't give a fuck. Take your pick.

I'm also tired of people criticising Jim for selling the jacket. Like you said, the most important memories of Freddie for Jim were the ones he had in his head. At the end of the day, it was just a jacket. A piece of clothing that would have undoubtedly ended up at an auction or in a stranger's hands after Jim died anyway. I've heard some accounts that Jim was sick at the time and needed money for his cancer treatment, but whether that's true or not is irrelevant to me. I don't see anyone criticising Mary for selling some of Freddie's furniture, despite not needing to, right after he died. I don't see anyone criticising Freddie's mother for selling his beloved piano, or his sister for selling his car. These were all items that meant a lot to Freddie but that's what they were, items. Freddie was dead and had no use for them any more.

People can't hold onto that stuff forever and they inevitably have to be sold, lest they just sit around and gather dust. When my grandmother died, all her clothes were given to charity or recycled, including her wedding dress which meant the world to her. But it was too old to be used and would just have sat abandoned in a closet for the rest of its existence; it was sad to see it go but there was just no point keeping it other than sentimentality. The charity shop were able to use some of the dress' materials to fix/fashion other clothing, so it was put to good use in the end.

On that note, from what I've read, the jacket ended up in very good hands. The people who attend these auctions are usually responsible collectors, not just random people off the street. They're not going to waste thousands of dollars on an item that they're not going to look after. The collector who bought the Wembley jacket often temporarily donates it to museums, along with other celebrity clothes, so all Freddie's fans get to see and appreciate it. Had Jim left the jacket to a friend or family member, there's no doubt in my mind that it would have ended up right in the same place. But people just love to shit all over Jim, so of course they're going to criticise him for it.

TL;DR: There is no evidence that Jim stole anything from GL, only crazy theories by homophobic fans who love riding Mary's dick. Also, when someone famous dies, their items are often sold for various reasons. It would be great if we could keep everything forever, but sadly that's not the reality. People need to get off their high horses and stop policing who can and can't do what.

Not sure if I could add much else lol. Idk if it was the case with the other anon—it seems like no—but it’s no coincidence that most people who accuse Jim of stealing also love Mary. It’s hilarious when people act like she didn’t want a scandal or media attention when that’s the opposite of her actions. She would’ve loved to paint herself as the victim of theft at GL.

Yeah Mary sold GL furniture but no one questions that, and Freddie’s family sold some of his belongings, like you said. Objects mean different things to different people. Contrast this with Brian, who is very sentimental and owns Freddie’s touring piano, and Roger who takes care of some of his stage outfits. It’s a good point that collectors at that level take really good care of their memorabilia and don’t let items just sit and rot. The jacket is probably in better hands now than if it had been left in the Hutton family after Jim passed. I think this is another case of something that’s really common with celebrities after they pass being treated as some big scandal, like when people freak out over Jim writing a book.

#since when did asks get so long btw #people can write essays in my inbox but it wasn’t always the case #and I think it’s only on mobile #anyway even if Jim did take it? good for him #lol #Queen #replies #Anonymous

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 years

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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Drawn That Way

Tom and Jerry was awful, man. I don’t like Tom and Jerry in general, never a fan of the cartoons or anything, but this movie that just got released was the absolute worst. There are A LOT of reasons why this was such a hard watch, and i went over several in my reviews of that sh*tshow, but my biggest issue was the fact that the integration of animation and live action never meshed. Its not like there weren’t films that totally nailed this aesthetic that they couldn’t pull from. Off the top of my head, Space Jam, Cool World, and Mary Poppins all immediately come to mind but the best to ever do it, and one of my all-time favorite films, is definitely Who Framed Roger Rabbit? I made a reference to this flick in my Tom and Jerry review because the comparison is kind of hard not to make but i wanted to make sure that contrast was fair. Was i fondly looking back on Roger Rabbit through the rose tinted, perspective killing, lenses of nostalgia or was it truly as excellent as i remember? I had to know so i rifled through my old collection of DVDs and found my Collector’s edition of a movie i watched so much as a kid, my mom had to but three copies of it on VHS because i literally played them to death.

The Outstanding

These characters are outstanding. I started to list them individually but, b the time i was finished, all of the principal cast had made it in this section so i opted to just make this one entry instead. Roger, Jessica, Eddie, Herman, Benny, Judge Doom, the Weasels; All of these characters are timeless and fantastic editions to the American cinematic zeitgeist.

The live action and animation integration is the best I've ever seen on film. There is a weight to the interaction of the actors and the cartoons that you rarely see in films like this. The artists in post made that extra effort to fill the void in missed cues or weird physics gaffs, adding to the reality of this world. It was incredibly effective and made for a more authentic watch. Stuff never felt as meticulous or curated, like, the real people were real people and the Toons were Toons and it felt “real” in the sense that they would interact with the world in completely different ways. Nothing the Toons interacted with really felt floaty or the real people interacting with toon stuff felt fake or pantomimed. The technical aspects of this film are absolutely brilliant and lacking in films of it’s kin, that came after.

The Great

I spoke about the characters previously but they’re nothing without exceptional performances to bring them to life. You have to match the energy of a rubber faced, carton rabbit or the sultry, curvy, man-eating, redhead and these this cast does an exceptional job of that. Charles Fleischer was perfectly cast as Roger Rabbit, Benny the Cab, and Greasy, and Psycho. Dude really was the workhorse of this film, man. Lou Hirsch was hilarious as Herman the baby while Kathleen Turner killed it as Jessica Rabbit, though she went uncredited the role, and i have a particular fondness for David Lander‘s Smartass. Dude was my favorite character when i was kid and Lander’s performance went a long way to making that happen. I also have to mention the immortal Bob Hoskins as well. Even though he wasn’t a cartoon, his Eddie Valiant was the perfect foil to Roger’s madcap antics. None of this would have worked if Hoskins didn't have the wherewithal to play Eddie as straight as he did. That said, my absolute favorite performance belongs to...

Christopher Lloyd as Judge f*cking Doom. Holy sh*t, was this dude terrifying to me as a kid! Up to this point, Christopher Lloyd, for me, was Doc Brown. He was this goofy, weirdly voiced, lovable scamp of an older dude. The second i realized he was Judge Doom my perception of his ability changed considerably. Everything that Doc Brown is, Doom ain’t. This cat is sinister, sadistic, cruel, and absolutely out of his f*cking mind; A reality that Lloyd hone to a focused point which he used to stab at my young emotions. Dude was a straight up terror, delighting in the slow, tortuous, death of Toons in the dip, only to go full nutbag after getting steam-rolled. Bro, that scene? That scene f*cked me up for years! It was pure trauma for five-year-old me and, even today, makes me grimace a little bit. One of the best and most underrated antagonist performances I've ever seen on film.

The writing is completely on point. It had to be. There were quotas on time for every cartoon cameo i this thing and they needed to be worked into the script organically. That, alone, is enough to earned recondition but, beyond that, this film was a solid showing in it’s own right. It’s a great murder mystery with enough intrigued and gaff to enthrall kids while simultaneously, engaging adults. Roger Rabbit was based on a book so there was an established narrative to pull from but the adapted screenplay is truly brilliant, not only on a narrative level with it’s simplicity, but on a technical one with the character complexity.

A dope script can only go so far without a proper eye to guide the action and Robert Zemeckis did a fantastic job in the big chair with this one. The Eighties and Nineties found Zemeckis at the height of his powers but Roger Rabbit is one his best showings, hands down. To visualize all of these Toons interacting with real actors, to box out those scenes properly in order to get the necessary performances our of his actors with nothing there, is a true testament to how clearly this cat could see his narrative. Dude has fallen by the wayside in recent years, that Witches remake was decent but nowhere near as awesome as Back to the Future and Forrest Gump, but Roger Rabbit shows what he can do when he’s firing on all cylinders.

The world of Roger rabbit is so goddamn lush and full of rich characters that i immediately fell in love with it. That unique perspective from the book, vividly brought to life onscreen, was incredible to see, especially for the young version of me. Going back, now, as an adult, and i still feel the same way. Zemeckis really pulled off something special with this film, especially considering it still stand up to this day, some three decades later.

The Verdict

I love Who Framed Roger Rabbit. It’s required viewing for any movie buff. It is, literally, the best of a genre. It’s the Godfather of these animation/live action hybrids and really proves itself upon repeated viewing. You always catch little tidbits that you missed before and it just lends itself to the level of detail Zemeckis put into his direction. Outside of that, as a film, it’s exceptionally entertaining with a accessible plot to tie in all of these cameos and technical wizardry. The performances are completely on point, with particularly great showings from Haskins, Lloyd, and Fleischer, giving a real authenticity to a movie about cartoons living with people, provably didn’t deserve. Who Framed Roger Rabbit is an outstanding film that deserves all of the accolades and love. It’s a great film for kids, a fun watch for their parents, and true classic of American cinema.

#Smokey brand Movie Reviews #Who Framed Roger Rabbit

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dragonstoravens · 3 years

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Babylon Vol. 1: Outside Looking In

(Just one more update after this until the end of book 1! I hope you’ve been enjoying this wild ride with us, and I hope more people will continue to enjoy is as we post book one on Wattpad and start in with book 2 in the new year. In the meantime, I hope you like this little jaunt into what Azzy and Trinity look like from an outside perspective, featuring some side character Kit and I got WAY too attached to.)

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @charlottedotexe @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites @viawrites-andacts

21. Outside Looking In

Everywhere those two went, Jericho and Garza, they matched. It wasn’t a common sight at these events, to see a pair so constantly at each other’s sides. If it hadn’t come on so suddenly, Frederick may have thought Jericho had actually found himself someone willing to overlook how cold he was. But showing up very suddenly with a bombshell like Camilla Garza on your arm was an impressive feat, especially for an upstart like him. And keeping her around would ordinarily have been impossible, with the types of vultures and trophy collectors Jericho kept in his company. No one knew who she was, but he brought her along out of the blue and she’d done nothing but electrify rooms ever since. This night was no exception, and he was convinced this would be the night he’d at least speak to her. Figure out where she’s from, what she does, something.

Rumors said she was anything from a gold digger, to an escort, to an heiress, to a blackmailer. As far as he was concerned, she could be any of those. She’d spoken to him once, in passing. Flashed him a charmingly crooked grin and made some off hand joke about the champagne he wished he could remember so that he could use it. It had been truly, genuinely funny, which was very rare to come by. Maybe it had all just been in the delivery.

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear in something bright red and low cut. He let his eyes wander over her form from afar as he sipped his drink. Even from here, he could feel the static as she moved about the room, her expression stubborn except for her eyes. He’d noticed her eyes were always soft. Faraway, like she was thinking about something else. Her body moved around people like water, hips swaying enticingly, always looking ready to stretch out over the nearest surface with a slouching grace you just never saw in people that came to these dinners. He couldn’t help but recall the arch of her back on the dancefloor as Jericho had dipped her, long and low and romantic in the way that made bystanders look away, feeling they had trespassed on something too deeply personal for prying, voyeuristic eyes to behold. That moment alone had nearly turned Frederick off the idea of speaking to Camilla entirely. But with two months gone by without so much as a hint of that same passionate romance between Camilla and Jericho, Frederick had allowed his hopes to rise once more. Shame that she was always stretched out across Jericho’s shoulders, like a grapevine draped along the length of a trellis. It made her nearly impossible to get to.

He finished his drink and set his glass down. Adjusting his tie, he strode across the room to get her attention. He was going to talk to her. Just see what she was doing, where she came from.

He made it almost within speaking distance of her before he saw Jericho. At her side, like always, but half turned away to set his drink on a passing tray. This was his chance-- or as close to it as he was going to get. He tapped her on the shoulder. Little sparks flew off her as she looked up at him.

Jesus, her eyes were dark. It felt like she was looking straight into his mind, he couldn’t tell where his gaze started and hers ended.

“Can I help you?” She looked him over warily, assessing his every molecule. He didn’t think he’d ever felt quite so exposed. He covered his surprise with a cough. Her voice had a gentle drawl to it he hadn’t remembered, a genuine note of curiosity he hadn’t foreseen.

“I was just hoping you’d join me for a song once the dancing began.”

Before she could open her mouth to respond, a quiet clearing of the throat pulled Frederick’s attention quite a ways up from Camilla’s face and to the left. Jericho. He addressed his date, ignoring Frederick entirely-- except for the fact that his eyes never left Frederick’s face for a second, like a predator watching something he hadn’t quite decided to make prey yet.

“Ready to go, dear? We have some... important people to speak to still.”

She turned her head to face the man whose arm she occupied with a smile. Lopsided and beautiful. Frederick hadn’t ever seen that smile before. He hadn’t seen really anyone like her before. She looked back at him with an apologetic glance, little sparks jumping off the tips of her fingers, and then nodded to her date, who whisked her away. As he turned away, he tipped his head down close to Camilla’s ear, saying something Frederick couldn’t make out-- just two words, maybe, the slightest movement of his lips, but she laughed aloud, almost snorting, and Jericho’s face broke into a grin unlike anything Frederick had ever seen on him before. It was almost… warm. Familiar? Comfortable. Frederick sighed, picking up a glass from a passing tray and draining it. He’d done his best. Maybe he’d try again later, some other day. For now, he’d resign himself to taking in Camilla’s figure from afar, imagining just what kind of person she was that she could smile like that.

***

It wasn’t as if Delilah hadn’t been interested in Trinity Jericho before. She’d always admired what others reviled in him. The coldness he seemed to show in front of others was either simply being uncomfortable with the attention he was forced to have on him or a stroke of business genius, and she was inclined to believe it was both. And it didn’t help that he was handsome as hell, too. She’d happily cut herself on his cheekbones anyday. She’d never wanted to approach him at an event, though. She saw how many women tried and were rebuffed, how many hung off of him while he ignored them completely. She’d done her share of the same to men who were only after her for money or looks. Instead, she’d just tried to think of a way she could talk to him for real-- maybe a business proposal, or something else he’d have to look at. Until the day he showed up with a woman no one had ever seen before, a woman who cleared away other suitors like some kind of bug zapper for overly interested ladies.

Somehow, this only made Delilah want to talk to him more. She knew it was possible Trinity had just happened to find someone, she knew better than most that his cold, hard exterior was an act. She’d seen it break before, in small moments when he was on the phone or away from the crowds, or even once when he’d dipped Camilla nearly to the floor in the middle of a crowded ballroom-- and despite Miss Garza’s frustrating presence in that last one, it always made her heart pound to catch just a glimpse of the soft Jericho that lay hidden. However… she couldn’t exclude the possibility that the bug-zapping function was what this woman was really here for. Maybe, just maybe, if she could get past whatever it was about this woman who scared all the others away, without being obnoxious or rude, it would make Trinity stand up and pay attention. She at least had to try.

Azzy scanned the crowd. All things considered, it had been an easy day on the keep-Trinity-free front. No hangers-on, no overt staring. She leaned into his side, a rare moment to relax. Her mind wandered wherever it pleased, face looking largely uninterested. She kept a vague ear out for the sounds of approach she hadn't planned for, her arms around him sparking slightly as she tuned out whatever business drivel he was occupied with. From within, it was a moment of rest.

From outside, she looked pissed.

Delilah made her way across the room towards Trinity, not paying much mind to the woman on his arm. That was the first part of her plan-- whatever Garza did to scare off other people, maybe it would show off something of Delilah’s true nature if she was able to just ignore it. She ignored it so well that she didn’t notice anything off until the hair on her arms started to stand on end, as if electrified. Confused, she broke from the plan just slightly a few feet from speaking to the man she’d been crushing on for months, glancing down to his right.

Azzy locked eyes with some pretty thing on her way over. She blinked, head tilted. Something behind her eyes turned as she thought about what she should do, but she figured in the end it was only one. One woman wasn't going to ruin anything, and she at least looked like she had something to actually say. Much better than the horrible sly small talk, maybe even someone for them to actually make a worthwhile acquaintance with. She rolled her shoulder and turned away, only slightly nervous that she'd also probably have to talk. Sparks flew off her a little more as she stood on tiptoe to whisper in Trinity's ear. A fair warning he might have unforeseen company.

Delilah’s eyes locked with this woman’s nearly black ones, feeling them bore into her, and literal sparks flew. The set of her jaw looked like she’d happily tear Delilah apart if she took one step closer to Her Man, she rolled her shoulder like she was getting ready to start swinging, and… ok, those scars on her arms were clearly not just for show, and one of them looked fresh. Delilah involuntarily gulped, taking half a step back. If this was what she was here for, then… damn, was it effective. Had Trinity hired an actual bodyguard to be his arm candy? A fucking pirate?? But she couldn’t fail. Delilah Peterson did not fail.

She surged forward with her last burst of courage, trying to keep her movements graceful as she pulled a business card out of her purse and held it out. “Mr. Jericho, Ma’am. I just wanted to inform you that the Peterson business would be delighted to work with you any time. You can reach me as a representative at my personal number.” She dropped the card into whichever hand reached out for it first, smiled as sweetly as she could manage, and scampered. God, she hoped it didn’t look like she was scampering.

Azzy blinked after the woman who had so quickly entered and exited their shared field of view.

“She was in a hurry, huh? What an elevator pitch.”

Trinity frowned, and shrugged. “It was actually kind of refreshing. I think I’ve heard of her. Their company does bulk material supply, I think? I’d rather work with her than some blowhard who tries to sell himself to me all night.” He took the card, glancing it over and pocketing it.

“Pretty gutsy to just slam dunk a card into your hand and call it good. Can’t imagine why she looked so spooked, though.” Azzy rolled her shoulder once more.

Trinity brushed a few sparks off of his suit jacket with a smirk. “I think perhaps you’re doing your job too well.”

She glanced at her hands. “Y’think? I thought I was bein’ friendly, I’m not glarin’ at anybody.” She thought for a brief moment, and he saw the lightbulb go off in her head. “Its that thing with my jaw, ain’t it?” In response, Trinity just chuckled.

Delilah couldn’t help but turn back once she’d made it a safe distance away from Trinity’s apparent pirate girlfriend. She watched the woman relax, her face no longer set in an expression of murder, practically draped across Trinity’s shoulders, and say something she couldn’t make out from this distance. Whatever it was, it elicited a smirk from him, and Delilah’s heart fluttered. She wanted to get him to make that expression herself. She watched as he glanced over her business card, and tucked it into his shirt pocket, and allowed herself a tiny smile. Maybe all wasn’t lost, even if this strange bodyguard could break his mask in public in a way she’d never seen anyone do before. At least she could hope.

***

Frederick spent the rest of his evening over an ever-refilling flute of champagne. He watched silently as Camilla glided along with Trinity across the floor, the two of them in their own world as he looked on. They stuck out like a sore thumb, speaking in low voices, Camilla occasionally laughing at something no one else would ever hear, clearly having a grand old time. He sighed and glanced around him, only to find a woman looking in largely the same direction as he was.

Delilah, in a similar fashion, had stationed herself for the remainder of the night over near the bar, and once the dancing started she’d found a place to stand where the only person nearby seemed far too absorbed in watching the dancers to pay attention to her. The last thing she wanted was some creep telling her to ‘smile, you’re prettier that way’ when she had absolutely no intention of doing so. She was shocked slightly out of her reverie when the man actually turned and noticed her, looking about as dejected as she felt.

“They look like they’re having almost too much fun, don’t they?” He looked forlornly back at the dance floor, as Jericho twirled Camilla and she giggled into his arms.

“Yes.” She sighed, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “Rough night for you, as well?”

He followed suit, draining his own glass. “Oh, I’m sure come the morning I’ll realize I’ve had worse. Dancing’s silly, anyway.” A nearby waiter replaced his glass, which he took without comment.

Delilah just nodded in agreement. She paused, finishing her drink and setting the glass down as the silence stretched. “Would you like to, anyhow?”

He raised a brow and set his own glass down, relief all over his face. “Oh Jesus, anything is better than looking sad against a wall all night.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly took.

At the very least, it was something to do.

#wip: babylon #writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #chapter update

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