#anyway onto the organizational tags | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arctic-hands · 9 months

Text

I learned what a bullet journal was by watching a few YouTube artists set theirs up and my algorithm spiraled out of control from there so I guess I have all the bujo influencers to thank for getting into it because it has been a godsend so far on my third attempt, but damn if the over emphasis on aesthetic over the actual practical organizational aspect of it doesn't rankle me a bit

[thirty rambling tags later] huh. I didn't know there was a thirty tag limit in all the years I've been on tumblr. Whatevs I can't copy paste the tags onto the main body because I'm on mobile and I don't want to write it out again so I'll just summarize the last bit here:

If you are browsing the bujo tag because you feel bullet journaling will help you but you feel intimated because you don't think you can make it look pretty, or that the bullet journal method could never help you because it looks exhausting or the inspo you see doesn't cover what you need, I am pleading with you to ignore all the pretty inspiration, take the most common and even original Ryder Carroll formats and spreads with a grain of salt and eliminate or change them as needed, and talk to people who have similar needs than you even if they don't bujo and suss out what's important to keep track of. My bujo is eighty percent important medical bullshit, because that's what I need more than a book tracker. You prolly have your own unique needs. And hell, if you want a book tracker then add a booktracker. It's your bujo to format and plan out.

So like if you want to start bullet journaling, go to Michaels and get a seven dollar Artist's Loft dot grid journal. Or a binder you have left over from school years past and print out your own dot grid paper if you have enough ink and paper and printer that can do double sided (Kevin McLeod's site I forget the name of has free adjustable dot and other grids I've used), or buy a pack of 8.5x11 dot grid paper, and grab a crappy hole punch that just barely does the job. Get yourself a nice pen you think looks and feels nice in your hand and on the paper–or if that doesn't matter to you go get pack of Bics or even pencil if that's what you prefer (I use a pencil for things I can't have be permanent, like temporary meds or the dates of yearly vaccines). If you're twitchy about messing up then get the cheapest wite out they have (but don't worry about messing up especially if you're not even showing it off to anybody). A cheap yellow highlighter if you think it'll help. And a ruler if straight lines are important to you. I lost mine so I just wobble my lines now I don't care (and it's marginally easier to get a line adjacent to straight with a dot grid)

Anyway. If you want to bullet journal but don't know where to start or how to make it pretty or how to make it work for your needs, just try it in the cheapest way possible and rearrange the guts of the bujo as you see fit. And don't worry about the optics as long as you can make sense of your methods and writing.

(and for the love of God if you're bipolar don't make an hourly mood tracker yes our moods can and will fluctuate throughout the day but goddamn was that a bitch to log and abandoned a few weeks after inking it out)

#i see this with in regular journaling/diary circles too #people saying 'i want to start a bujo/diary but I'm not good enough at art ☹️'#like more power to you if you can make it pretty but it shouldn't be the primary emphasis especially with how useful it is #(it's especially depressing with just regular diaries and journals because like. you're under no obligation to share that shit with anybody)#I'm on my third bujo attempt because i got overwhelmed with my first two because i didn't know how to customize it with me and my needs #the most i got about symptom tracking was like a weekly layout checking off if the criteria was hit #and mood tracking was like daily smiley or frowny face in the corner #like my siblings in planning that is not enough for my chronically ill bipolar ass lol #i went way overboard my first attempt with just mood tracking. i planned it out HOURLY. every week #and that got overwhelmingly tedious and i use overwhelmingly deliberately. so i just stopped mood tracking #and then the whole thing got overwhelming so i stopped it entirely #gave it another shot because my method of scheduling things and symptom tracking was to write appointments and symptoms on post its #and pray they didn't fall off and i could remember where i even put them #and i see a lot of doctors so that was a LOT post its to keep track of #so i did another bujo but had the same problem as lack of resources and inspo and how to make it work for my needs #plus future logs were hard to parse AND i often felt too tired to lay out a new month or two every time #so like there were just whole months and the symptoms and appointments within just missing and i might as well not even have a bujo #so i stopped that one too #FINALLY after a little bit more watching Ryder Carroll and looking at prefab medical planners that were still woefully inadequate #AND MORE IMPORTANTLY talking to my fellow chronically ill. mentally ill. disabled. or all three. friends on what i should jot down #i finally got a system that worked for me thus far #i got rid of even staples like future logs and just laid out a monthly calendar format because that was easier FOR ME #and i laid out the year in advance so i could still have the scheduling part of i was too tired to do entire layouts at the beginning of the #month #my mood tracker was merged with my symptom tracker and turned into a symptoms *list*#with a section for every specialist i see. mood stuff just went under psych/therapist #also i switched to a binder format instead of a bound book for even more flexibility #i can easily remove things i no longer need. i can rearrange what goes in what section. i can easily add more to a section before the next #bujo #bullet journal

16 notes · View notes

fallsfcrged · 3 months

Text

Hey, so, for those that haven’t written w/ me before here or on my other blogs - ages and ages ago I started the habit of reblogging memes that people answer for me with specific tags so that I can go onto my blog and find all of them at once and figure out which ones I want to continue when I have time and muse. I originally started doing it back when it was customary to answer a meme from the inbox and I didn’t want to reblog the inbox block mess so I would reblog the answered meme then start a new post w/ the continuation & link to the original on my blog.

This was also back when tumblr had a bad habit of deleting blogs at random for no rhyme or reasons and that way I could keep the whole thread on my blog from start to finish for organizational purposes and anyways, I ended up really liking doing that for a number of reasons. One, again, it kept the whole thread on my blog which saved the hassle of if blogs got deleted accidentally or intentionally or url changes or someone deleting / purging old posts from their blog etc and two: it allowed me to have all the answered memes in one place on my blog so I could look and see which ones I wanted to continue at any given time. Honestly, even w/ ‘liking’ the post of an answered meme, I’d never find it again or just flat out forget that it exists and it left a whole lot of interactions never getting continued or getting properly noticed / credited etc.

#RULES.

0 notes

kittypunkd · 11 months

Text

here’s a tail

i do not know what i’m doing with this account or whatever still but i’ll probably post art on here like twitter… however i don’t like tagging stuff (except for the my art thing, purely for organizational purposes) so i have a feeling i’m kinda just gonna be putting my art onto the feeds of the few ppl who follow me for awhile

but that’s probably not a bad thing. i kinda like using these websites as public archives for my art anyways. maybe someone’s seeing this after i’ve died or something. that’s a little exciting

anyways i’ve realized as i’ve been typing all of this that i enjoy using this as a blog that’s nobodies reading so maybe i’ll just write some basic diary stuff with the art i post. even if no one sees it i could use some more reflection probably

#my art

0 notes

incorrectcentaurworld · 2 years

Text

Horse: Can you keep a secret?

Zulius: Do you know anything about my life?

Horse:

Horse: No, I do not. Good point.

#this is so funny when you consider that yeah he's the only one she doesn't know the full backstory for but that's because he told her.#he literally just gave her his account before she got backstory magic. and she was like. cool that's good enough for me.#and just refused to use her backstory magic on him. like. of all the people to claim they can keep a secret. lmao #anyway onto the organizational tags #source: brooklyn nine nine #centaurworld #incorrect centaurworld #queue!#horse #zulius #centaurworld s2

131 notes · View notes

dcfcrged · 3 years

Text

So yeah. If you’re wondering why, those are the reasons. (:

#PSA.#RULES.

32 notes · View notes

intangiblyyourswrites · 3 years

Text

Day 2: “I can’t take this anymore”

It’s not even midnight yet!!! Anyway, fair warning, there’s hardly any whump in here. Like it’s there if you squint, but otherwise it’s tooth-rotting fluff.

I cannot help what my brain comes up with, okay? Like, I intended for it to be more angsty and that is just not what ended up being created. Haven’t met my fluff quota in the last few months or something. Brain needed happy moments.

Also, I uploaded these prompts to AO3 for organizational purposes (but I hate posting things on there I haven’t combed through so don’t be surprise if I take it down).

Universe: BotW AU

Rating: G

— — — — —

Zelda thinks she has loved Link all her life.

They met for the first time when she was five and he was seven, both clinging to the trousers of their fathers. It was a playdate of sorts, likely just something to keep them distracted as they went about adult matters. Kids were few in the castle, so she relished in having a friend to play with. They instantly set upon a game of tag.

At five, however, her gross motor skills were not as good as his, and she ran into a pedestal when she rounded a corner. It shook, horrifyingly so, and from the top tumbled an antique vase. It shattered on the ground in one of the most deafening sounds she had ever heard.

Terrified, she hid behind Link, knowing that his presence would only hold off the inevitable scolding for so long. But when their fathers came rushing out, demanding what happened, he stepped forward and took the blame. She tried to protest, but he merely brought a finger to his lips and discreetly shook his head. How foolish, this boy was—surely punishment for a princess was more lenient than a knight’s son—but it warmed her heart in appreciation nonetheless.

Zelda has long since realized her appreciation had morphed into something else as they grew older. By ten, she was clearly infatuated. By fifteen, she was head over heels in love. Now seventeen with her next birthday fast approaching, she has come to terms that she had, and will only ever have, eyes for him. He could ask for her hand in marriage at any time, and she would say yes.

Sadly, she doesn’t know how he feels about her. After Link drew the Master Sword at twelve, he became rather withdrawn. Rising through the ranks to become a royal guard member and then her very own appointed knight, he was the epitome of what a Goddess Chosen Hero should be—silent, stoic, powerful. She thought he had merely wanted to be a pillar of support for the people, so she studied hard with her mother to control her powers too, but even after the defeat of Calamity Ganon, his mask never slipped. She fears what she feels for him is truly one-sided.

Six months. Zelda has been given six months to find herself a suitor, or else her parents will choose for her. While she wouldn’t call herself discreet exactly—both her mother and Urbosa are quite aware of her favoritism towards her knight—she is a far cry from the other women who fawn over him. Her displays of affection included holding onto his arm, sometimes interlacing their hands, and leaning against his shoulders to watch the clouds on clear, sunny days. She knows he sees her as a friend, and a close one at that if the way he stays up with her to stave off nightmares is any indication, but not once has he shown any signs of being attracted to her. The most expressive he’s ever gotten is his curious gaze when she does her experiments and the gentle smile on his face during private moments.

So when they’re out shopping in Castle Town and she watches some pretty redhead intimately lean in and whisper in his ear, it’s no surprise that something in Zelda cracks. Not because the girl is all over him—women throw themselves at him constantly—but because for once, his façade breaks. His eyes widen, his face flushes, and his mouth opens to stammer something she can’t hear. Twelve years, she’s known him, and in the last seven, she hasn’t been able to draw that reaction out of him once.

Even worse, the girl obviously leaves a lasting impression on him. For the entirety of their walk home, he’s different. His gaze is distracted and no longer burns into her, and that flush is ever present. For Hylia’s sake, he almost walks into a wall with his inattentiveness! Her hope for his reciprocating feelings plummets exponentially.

When they arrive at her room, she stops right outside of it. He gives her a questioningly look, but she braces herself for one last ditch effort. What’s another few minutes of humiliation after years of constant pining?

Zelda looks him square in the eyes, grabs fistfuls of his surcoat, and smashes her lips against his. It lasts all of two seconds before they’re arms length apart again, and her reward is Link’s shocked expression, mouth slightly agape.

And that’s it. No blush. No words. Just an incredulous stare. Zelda thought she might have built some resistance over the years, but her heart shatters like the vase she broke when she was five.

Eyes downcasted and hands clasped harshly together, she says, “My apologies, Sir Link. I have been foolish,” and shuts the door behind her.

The next day, she tells her parents she’s ready to accept suitors. They’re shocked but they acquiesce, and Zelda mentally prepares herself for a life without Link.

It’s terrible because even six months later, she can still recall the warmth of his lips against her own.

—

Link thinks it was love at first sight.

Which isn’t saying much when you’re seven years old and meeting the Princess of Hyrule, but when you’re nineteen and that pounding in your chest has only amplified when she’s around, it’s the equivalent of a death sentence.

Because he’s a knight, and princesses don’t fall in love with knights.

Never mind that he’s the Hero that slayed the Calamity. What is a hero in the presence of a Goddess? He is and will always be beneath her, and he would never drag her down to his level, nor could it even possibly be allowed. He accepted this fact long ago, and then unwisely chose to stay by her side despite the yearning clawing at his chest. Zelda is his beacon of light, beautiful and spirited, incandescent on the inside and out. Death itself couldn’t tear him from her.

But marriage—marriage is a different matter, and Link dreaded her coming of age ball. To watch her replace him as a partner, to have her laugh and raise children with another...He rather be on the receiving end of a Yiga’s sickle.

So when Malon cornered him at the market one day, whispering in his ears that perhaps the very princess that haunted his dreams might actually feel the same for him (“I see how she looks at you,” she said slyly), he didn’t know how to respond. Even worse, he couldn’t look at Zelda without a blush erupting across his face. Did he really have a chance with her? Was she really in love with him too?

But that was six months ago. Six months ago, Zelda kissed him in front of her room, and nothing has been the same since.

They still spend much of their time together—he’s still her appointed knight, after all—but there’s an added space between them, both physically and metaphorically. She stands further away now, hardly looks at him when she talks, and those private moments in the field with her head on his shoulder no longer occur. He can’t make sense of her actions and she refuses to talk about it. Maybe she had been curious, and then simply lost interest in him. Or worse. Maybe she did love him, and realized it was an impossible match.

Regardless, there’s a hole where her light had been, and he doesn’t know how to mend it.

But after tonight, he may never be able to. Tonight is her suitor’s ball, and tomorrow, she’ll be betrothed to another. What will he do then?

Link watches from the sidelines as Zelda switches from the arms of one suitor to another, twirling in her navy gown and looking every bit a mixture of princess and Goddess. For months, he acted as a chaperone as other men pursued her hand, making sure none of them got too handsy and reveling in the way she never took a liking to any of them. Rightfully so too; they all saw her as a means to an end and not the brilliant scholar that she is. But who she likes doesn’t matter as much now; it’s all about who is the lesser evil. Frankly, none of them deserve her.

“If you glare any harder, you might set the poor guy on fire, Son.”

Link glances to his right to see his father stepping in line with him. They’re both sporting the same royal guard uniform, finely pressed and tucked neatly as proper for escorts of the crown. His father nudges him lightly on the shoulder. “You should ask her to dance.”

He jolts back, a furious blush staining his cheeks. “What? I can’t. The only ones dancing with her are those asking for her hand.”

His father's grin is shameless. “And do you not want to do the same?”

“I—” The practiced denial is on the tip of his tongue, but it’s the end of the line now, and the look he’s getting tells him it’s futile. “—I do.”

Wrapping an arm around him, his father sighs. “How long have you known Princess Zelda?”

His answer is instant. “For twelve years.”

“And at any point in time, have I or either of our royal monarchs try to separate you from her?”

Link swallows, hope stupidly budding in his chest. “No.”

“Has the Princess ever ordered you away?”

“No.”

“Then…?”

“We’re just friends,” he says, insists. Because once he gets it into his head that he can actually have her, he may never let her go.

“You’re not ‘just friends’ if you’re hoping to marry her, Son.” His father shakes his head, exasperated. “Link, take some advice from your old man. Just ask her.”

And before Link can even respond, his father pushes him into the crowd and towards the Princess.

He only barely stumbles before regaining his bearings, straightening his surcoat and making sure his cap isn’t skewed. Zelda, luckily, is not dancing with a suitor, but rather conversing with Urbosa, and he momentarily reconsiders interrupting.

That is, until he sees Prince Argus approaching the two. Much to Link’s disdain, Prince Argus is the highest contender for the Princess’s hand, being the only royalty on the list. Hyrule isn’t in need of any political powers, but allies are always beneficial to have. Even he can’t argue with that.

But he has seen how Prince Argus treats and speaks about Zelda. He never actually listens to her talk, doesn’t even bother trying to understand her research, and constantly brags to others about who his new wife will be like she’s some prize to be won. It’s utterly revolting—Zelda isn’t a trophy to be showcased.

So Link’s feet move before he even registers it, and just as Prince Argus extends a hand to Zelda, he grabs her by the waist and spins her so that she’s looking at only him.

“Link?” she gasps, eyes filled with wonderment. It’s the most honest expression he’s seen on her in months.

“Dance with me?”

She glances back at Urbosa, who merely nods, and then says, “I’d love to.”

They both ignore the prince staring incredulously at them.

He leads her in a waltz, slow and steady, mesmerized by her close proximity and being able to hold her again. It’s Zelda who taught him these steps long ago, and he refined them at home by practicing with his mother. He’s glad the lessons have paid off.

Midway through the song, he feels her grip tighten in his hand, and he nearly panics at how her brows suddenly furrow.

“Zelda?”

“You know, Link,” she starts, but her gaze is set firmly over his shoulder, “People could get the wrong idea with you asking me to dance.”

“How so?”

Oh, she’s glaring at him now. “Because. This is a suitor’s ball. The people trying to dance with me are also trying to marry me.”

It’s his moment of truth, which comes sooner than he had hoped, not that he intended to pursue her tonight. But his time is running out. She has to pick.

“I know that,” he says, drawing her closer. She doesn’t resist him; allows herself to be pressed to his chest. He can feel her heart beating against his sternum. “And I’m tired of seeing other people vying for your hand. What would I do if I lost my best friend?”

She scoffs, pulling away. “Your best friend—”

“I love you.”

Zelda freezes midstep. Looks up at him with some mixture of shock and longing. “As...As a friend?”

He just chuckles, finding her astonishment endearing. Whether consciously or not, she has gripped him tighter, fingers digging into his shoulder and hand. He feels silly for not doing this sooner. “As someone who wants to spend the rest of his life with you.”

“But Link—”

But nothing, because he kisses her. And unlike their first kiss, he holds her there, relishing in her warmth and pulling her impossibly closer when her arms wind around his neck.

“Anything,” he breathes against her lips, “Everything. I’ll be whatever you want me to be as long as I get to stay by your side.” And then, just for good measure, he places a kiss beneath her ear. “But preferably, your husband.”

“Yes,” she whispers immediately, tears welling up in her eyes, and then tugs him in for another kiss. “Absolutely. Yes!”

He thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

Distantly, he hears Urbosa say, “It’s about time!” around the same time his father shouts, “That’s my boy!” Finally, the King and Queen announces him as Zelda’s betrothed, and several approving murmurs call them a match made by Hylia. Perhaps everyone had been waiting for this official proclamation.

Link simply shrugs it all off and doesn’t stop kissing her.

#intangiblymine #I almost didn't post this #BUT I WROTE IT #so I posted it #but I feel kind of ashamed #sorrynotsorry #BUT ACTUALLY I AM SORRY #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday2 #also this was longer than I cared for it to be #zelink fanfiction

69 notes · View notes

calpops · 4 years

Note

finding out little surprising habits you hadn't known about the person before you started living together. always sitting on a remote, because cal never puts it next to tv, him drinking coffee and then having a shower, her choosing boots to wear before actually choosing clothes or falling asleep with a book practically every time waiting for him from the studio. little things that sometimes annoy but really only make you fall for the person more

~It’s been a minute since we’ve visited the dates with cal universe. Hope this 1k word blurb makes up for it~

You and Calum find a rhythm as living together finally settles in. Once the boxes are emptied and each other’s organizational preferences are figured out it becomes second nature. Calum finally gets used to your precise placements of kitchen items and you don’t even blink at the fact that a stray bass always somehow winds up in the living room; even though Calum has a dedicated room for his music. Those kinds of things start to feel normal. The function of the house itself becomes innate to your daily routines. It’s the smaller things that need time for adjustment. Surprises seem to crop up; habits you hadn’t known and behaviors becoming learned.

You’re aware of some of your habits. Your tendency to be a whirlwind in the kitchen. The sentiment of cleaning as you go is always seemingly lost on you during the chaos of your personalized process. Other habits are more subtle. Falling asleep with a book still in your hand; Calum coming to bed later than you on nights in the studio to see a half read novel nearly falling out of your lax grip. It always makes him smile as he knows you were trying to stay up for him. He carefully takes it from you before it falls and turns down the page you’re on as you lose bookmarks as soon as you start using them. Once he finally finds himself settled into bed on those late nights he always kisses your forehead and whispers a good night, sweetheart. Sometimes your eyes flutter open and a mumbled response comes from your groggy voice. Sometimes all you do is snuggle in closer to him.

You learn his habits quickly. The way he splits his serving of coffee; half in the morning for a kick and the other half in the afternoon when drowsiness of late night sessions starts to grip him. His morning routine confuses you—coffee, shower and then breakfast—but his morning voice, bed head hair and pouty lips begging for a good morning kiss are more than charming. You’re usually in a rush to get to work and he usually functions in slow motion; grumpy and tired, complaining that the sun isn’t even up yet but always waking to be able to see you off to work anyway. You appreciate the good morning and goodbye kiss that keeps you blushing all the way to work more than you can fathom.

You’re surprised by some of his habits. Getting a remote to your back because he discards it on the couch cushions rather than the end table or on the entertainment center where you believe they belong. Finding picks discarded in disarray, littering more places than you can keep count of. You find yourself reminding him in a light hearted mimicry of his own reminders to you; put your picks away in one place and then you’ll be able to find them as he scours the house looking for a particular one.

You cultivate habits for and with each other. You always brew coffee for Calum in the mornings though you don’t drink it. He sends you promo codes for your favorite online shoe retailers because his activity is now curated with your interests too. You turn Calum onto certain shows in which downtime forms habits of binging Chopped and conceiving dishes out of the ridiculous requirements. Finding his lost picks and exchanging them for your lost shoe Calum stumbled over earlier in the day. Leaving sticky notes around the house you can both come back to. Evening walks with Duke and stealing each other’s bath products. Running your fingers through his soft hair as he smirks after using your special shampoo. Having the scent of him cling to you from the body wash you swiped in the shower that morning.

You realize living together is a never ending journey of each other. As much as you knew about each other before moving into the new house a new territory comes with new adventures. Every day highlights something new or something old. Time brings about more and more habits and behaviors. You both learn the wavelengths of each other. Find new intricacies of each other everyday.

It’s those little intricacies of Calum and his habits you come to know that make you love him even more. And it’s the little intricacies of you and your habits that he comes to know that makes him love you even more. It’s the habits you form together that bring you even closer. Makes the love between you even stronger.

***

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash @irwinkitten @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos @caswinchester2000 @wildflowergrae @empathycth @cuddlemecalx @calumsmermaid @babylon-corgis @outerspaceisbetterthannothing @mariellelovescupcakes @xhaileyreneex @goth5sos @gosh-im-short @feliznavidaddycal @loveroflrh @findingliam-o @flowerthug @g-l-pierce @talkfastromance4 @cashtonasfuck @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer @wastedheartcth @calumscalm @thesubtweeter @akafeliznavidaddy @myloverboyash @treatallwithkindness @cals-wildflower

#calum hood #5sos #calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #5sos x you #5sos x reader #chblurb #cal!dates

371 notes · View notes

faerociousbeast · 2 years

Note

I feel as if I change into an entirely new person the moment I log onto my alternate account. Why do I even speak formally here? No one knows.

i just get more unhinged here i think.. except now with organizational tags that i keep on forgetting to use anyway !

#organizedbuu

5 notes · View notes

midnightactual · 3 years

Text

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving at the Urahara Shōten was not the typical affair.

While having come to recognize the complicated and frankly dark imperialist and colonialist overtones of the holiday during her decade-plus spent touring or residing in the United States over the 20th century, Yoruichi found there was still something in the basic idea of it that was worth preserving and celebrating. The togetherness of a shared meal was certainly worthwhile. And so she’d brought it back with her.

For most of the early years, they’d treated it pretty much just like how a lot of Japan did Christmas: they’d just place a massive order at the nearest KFC. The upshot was that pretty much nobody else was celebrating it except the Americans over in Fussa at Yokota Air Base, and some scattered expats, and those lot usually weren’t settling for chicken, so getting their order filled was easy enough. But with increasing frequency lately, that hadn't been satisfactory. It felt a bit lacking.

What the ‘real’ Thanksgiving was, as a meal, was in essence a celebration of native American—and Native American—ingredients. And while none of them had any real ties to the continent or its people (save for Westly after his arrival), variety was the spice of life. If they were willing to go for the North American model of fried chicken, why not something more?

She’d made more than a few connections in her sojourns around the Greater Tokyo Area, so she pulled some strings and managed to acquire some locally hard-to-find items from Yokota’s Commissary this year. Quite a lot of them, in fact. And she’d scoured YouTube and the rest of the internet's culinary nooks and crannies in preparation. She staged it like a military campaign, complete with organizational and flow charts, and started in earnest fully three days early, drawing in the others as necessary. Tessai was most often by her side.

And so on the appointed day—they celebrated on the Japanese date, of course—the final preparation of the core of the meal ticked over like clockwork. Trying to parcel it up among several rooms indoors was unsatisfying, so they’d thrown open both oku zashiki, set up patio heaters (and a few tiki torches, because what was theming anyway?) and brought the whole massive spread onto tables outside in the garden, treating it more like a buffet than a sit-down meal.

Oh, sure, Kisuke (@mysteriousshopkeeper) was still trying to deep fry one of the spare turkeys in a barrel of oil off to one side rather than get a plate and eat like a sensible person. Jinta, plate in hand and face stuffed, and Grimmjow (@deivorous), empty-handed, were cheering on his struggles and possible failure and self-immolation, while Kouta (@the-lightning-underdog) continued to opine around a drumstick about the merits of using lightning instead. Tomoe (@amaranthineoni) seemed to have no such inhibitions, eating happily off a plate while trailed about by Ururu, who seemed taken by her style. Tessai continued to dutifully police the status of the food while eating. Various guests from Karakura, Soul Society, and even Hueco Mundo who could be bothered to show up milled about, seemingly putting aside their differences for the evening in deference to a hearty meal. Westly (@bleachedoracle) and Udyati (@nirgama) roved to and fro among all the others, excited by all the presences and chatting.

And beyond it all, standing at the bar in her oku zashiki with a big plate of turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, was Yoruichi herself, pouring herself a glass of eggnog—because hey, what was theming anyway?—and allowing herself a smile.

Maybe things weren’t so bad.

Tagging: @ice-cold-shihoin, @strcngered (Yūshirō), @senboago (Kaede), @hirako5hinji, @viciousvizard, @irondamsel @rukia-kuchiki-divided, @wild-pineapple-butt, @shiroiacha, @petalhime, @waspandr, @windstormwielding, @themercyless (your choice), @pure-patissiere, @maddmuses (Shoyo), @praedulcis--helianthus, and you, if you feel like your muse has reasonable odds of being there due to history (manga or anime) or interaction and wants to show up!

#In Character #Drabble #Verse: BLEACH MAIN #Era: IMPERIAL #[ keeping the tags a bit limited ]#[ mostly based on activity ]#[ and my personal experience ]#[ do feel free through! ]#[ I imagine the Kurosaki ]#[ various different Shinigami ]#[ and even some Arrancar ]#[ might turn up ]#[ this includes duplicates and twins! ]#Yoruichi: Don't give Kisuke ideas for multiversal holidays...

22 notes · View notes

starship-squidlet · 3 years

Note

“I’m going to pogo stick my way out of here”

Ahhh I’m sorry it took me so long to write this!!! I set it in the Theatre AU, so I hope that’s okay, and I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt from this list

Word count: 1,075

“Ugh,” Elaine groaned, heaving a misshapen plastic bin stuffed full of fabric up onto the cutting room table. “This is my least favorite thing.”

“I thought you said you liked inventory,” Sarah laughed, already marking off a new section on the sheet of scrap paper in front of her. “What’s this one?”

“Uh… Polar fleece, bin two of three.”

“Two of three?”

“Yeah, but… Where are the other two?”

On the floor on the other side of the room, Crutchie laughed. He was surrounded by piles of jewelry that he was sorting, reorganizing, and inventorying for the updated costume storage binder that the three of them were working on. They had quickly discovered that very little of the organizational “system” in the cutting room—or costume storage in general, which was also spread over the sewing and receiving rooms on the third floor, as well as most of the basement two floors down—made any sense, and was horribly out of date, as things had been thrown out and added to storage without being logged in the inventory lists. Fabric storage was possibly the worst off, and Elaine and Sarah had been slogging through the wall full of storage bins for almost the entire week, pulling out, measuring, logging, and refolding fabric cuts, swatches, and scraps, while Crutchie sorted through endless drawers, smaller bins, and other storage containers full of things like pocket squares, jewelry, socks, undershirts, and much more.

In the rest of the theatre, the boys on the crew were doing similar work. Jack and Albert had been pulled by Weisel for props organizing, and were up to their elbows in dust and dirt in the storage hole above stage left. Jack pulled a plastic bin off of a shelf and began to sputter and cough as a cascade of dust and a handful of dead bugs poured off down onto his head. “Gross,” he groaned, trying to brush it off, onto the floor instead of the other props around him.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Albert made a face as he ran a finger across the top of a toy drum, leaving a streak in the layer of dirt there.

“Why do we keep some of this stuff?” Jack asked, opening the offending bin to reveal that it was stuffed full of cheerleader’s pom-poms.

“Christmas stuff needs to be saved because shows are recycled, and you never know what you might need for them when they get redesigned anyways,” Albert droned, repeating the line that they heard regularly from Weisel and the other authority figures around them when similar questions were posed. “And other stuff is really the same thing: you never know when you might need it again.”

“How often do we really need cheerleading pom-poms?” Jack asked, holding one up and shaking it, the plastic rustling.

“Well, we did just use some for Ovation, last summer,” Albert mused. “None of those, obviously.” Both boys laughed, Jack shoved the pom back into the bin, and placed it on their pile of “things to ask Weisel if we can please throw away”.

.*.*.*.*.*.

That afternoon, as the crew was wandering out of the theatre into the brisk winter air—not cold enough to need anything more than a light jacket, and a few of the boys weren’t even wearing those—they were chattering cheerfully amongst themselves, happy to be out in the bright sun and fresh air.

“Hey, Laine, Crutchie,” Jack grinned, appearing between his roommates and slinging his arms around their shoulders as they headed for the front of the building to walk home. “You guys find anything cool today?”

“Check it out!” Elaine said, holding up a misshapen white tophat, the tags still attached. “Brand new. They couldn’t use it for the show they bought it for, ‘cause it was so messed up, so Weisel said I could keep it. It was going to get thrown out otherwise, because of the way the brim is warped and stuff. Perfectly good—well, not good, but useable—and brand new.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Jack asked.

“I dunno,” Elaine shrugged. “But it’s cool.”

Jack laughed.

“What about you?” Crutchie asked. “You guys find anything cool or weird or whatever?”

“Oh, yeah; check it out.” Jack pointed across the parking lot, towards Finch, Elmer, JoJo, Albert, and Race clustered together near their cars, laughing about something. As they watched, Albert’s head popped up over everyone else’s, bobbed up and down a few times, and then Race and JoJo lunged to catch him as he fell.

“What is that?” Elaine laughed.

“Come on,” Jack grinned, steering the other two towards the group.

As they got closer, the object Albert was holding became visible: a pogo stick.

“Where did you find that?” Crutchie asked as Albert started to climb back up onto the device, JoJo hovering worriedly behind him in case he fell again.

“Props hole, over stage left,” Albert grunted as he took a test hop forward. When he didn’t immediately fall over, he kept going, making it almost a full six feet before losing his balance and starting to fall.

“Albert,” Elaine groaned. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Or at least break something,” Finch grumbled.

“No, I’m not,” Albert grunted as he untangled himself from the pogo stick. “I’m going to pogo stick my way out of here.”

“Pogo stick your way to death, more like,” Race laughed.

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Albert retorted.

“I’m literally watching you right now. I have the appropriate amount of faith.” ”I’m getting better,” Albert protested.

“That’s what everyone says,” said Finch, “right before they fall and break their face.”

“I feel doubted,” said Albert.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” said Finch. “The only thing I don’t doubt right now is that you’re going to get hurt.”

Albert stuck his tongue out and started to climb back up onto the pogo stick, only to immediately start to fall towards the asphalt, a look of horror frozen on his face. JoJo scrambled to try and catch him, the others lunging uselessly forward with no way to cross the distance in time to help, but he managed to get a foot down to partially catch himself to avoid slamming into the pavement.

“You okay?” JoJo asked, helping Albert once again untangle himself from the pogo stick.

“Yeah,” Albert laughed sheepishly. “Maybe you guys are onto something. There’s a slight possibility I should get some pads before I try and master this thing.”

10 notes · View notes

actuallylorelaigilmore · 4 years

Note

TONI TONI TONI I CAN SEE TAGS ON MY ACTIVITY PAGE AGAIN AND IT'S ALMOST LIKE THE OLDEN DAYS!!! Xkit must've figured out how to make that extension play nice with the tumblr update, bless them. Anyway, just wanted to make sure you were aware! :)

i saw that!!! :D i couldn’t figure out what was going on when i first noticed it, because the activity page style now shows tags exactly like when people copy&paste tags onto a post? so it looked like someone had reblogged from me to add tags, but they were organizational tags, not noteworthy ones. i’m slowly getting used to it--it’s even more convenient this way than having to go to the # on each post to read all tags...though i’m so used to doing things the hard way that this feels weird, too, like i’m cheating to be able to see what everyone has to say so easily!

#tumblr stuff #literally the only part of tumblr i think they changed for the better this year is the tag viewing options #in this they have done well #bethanyactually #replies

4 notes · View notes

rykerelias · 3 years

Text

RULES ADDENDUM.

So yeah. If you’re wondering why, those are the reasons. (:

#RULES.

0 notes

occasionalfics · 7 years

Text

The Arrow and the Flame, iv

part iii

Summary: Yondu’s finally well enough to start training, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, and you show him your favorite space.

A/N: I’m glad y’all are liking this! :D This one is, also, SFW. Also if you reblog this I will look at the post for tags. I live for emotional tags. Tag things please, not because it’ll be an organizational tool, but because I like reading tags XD

Tags: @thewildomega @pitrymcbride @overwatchemporium (let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter!)

Words: 4,202

~~~

His leg had healed enough to walk on after a few weeks. Most of his people had turned down the offer and had been taken to shelters on various planets and ports, with the hope that they could be acclimated into civilian life. There wasn’t much else that you could do but suggest to your father that these people were, in fact, people and deserved help.

A handful of Centaurians had joined the Arcturian faction. A few joined most of the other ten factions, so there was an almost even spread of Yondu’s people living out their days as Ravagers. He was excited, in particular, to train and fight and learn how to be useful in a way he chose.

For a bit, though, the only training he could do was target practice. You’d pleaded with your mother to assign you to the target room, but at first she didn’t want you anywhere near there.

“With all the new recruits, you could get seriously hurt, (Y/N).”

“I want to help them. You can’t tell me I’m not one of the sharpest shooters in the faction, mom. I had you and Papa teach me everything - let me impart that wisdom on the Centaurian recruits.”

She sighed and gave a sidelong glance to your father. He nodded, but his face was stern.

He stood and came to stand between you and your mother. “I know you want to help that one,” he said, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes. “Let me guess. Reyus told you something.”

Your father nodded. “They’re excited to see you focused on something.” He turned to your mother and said, “We’ll put Reyus in there, too. They’ll keep one another safe.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, then gave in and nodded with a sigh. “I have to find someone to replace Reyus in C ward.”

She did. You and Reyus went to the target room, which consisted of a few metal dummies that had to be rotated out every other day, a gun rack with blasters and shotguns of various sizes, and padded floors. Six Centaurians, including Yondu, were waiting in a circle, talking in their language. Reyus went to the wall, pulled a blaster off the rack, and shot it just to the left of the group. They all stopped and turned, eyes wide.

“Welcome to target practice, Cadets,” they said, reloading the blaster.

You stepped into the room, trying not to smile at Yondu, and crossed your arms. “Have any of you ever held a blaster before?” you asked.

Four of them, including Yondu, nodded. Of course they had. They’d been battle slaves. They’d held much worse than blasters, and probably done worse than you ever had, but it was easy to remember they’d had to do all of...whatever it was they’d done against their own will.

Reyus picked up a few more blasters and brought them over, handing them out until they had none left. “Have you ever actually been taught how to use one?” they asked.

“Not well,” a woman said. Her red hair fell over one side of her head. The other half of her scalp was bald, and her crest stood much taller than Yondu’s in the center. It had kinks and cracks in it, though, and didn’t look to be 100% functional. She turned her blaster over in her hands, then turned and aimed at one of the metal dummies. Her blast hit the dummy in the shoulder, then bounced off and burst against the wall.

Reyus winced. They went to the Centaurian woman, lifted her arms, and positioned her for a better mark. “Stay focused, use both eyes to aim, and remember to breathe.”

The woman let out a sigh before shooting the next blast. It hit the dummy in the thigh, but didn’t bounce off this time.

“Better,” you said.

You and Reyus went around and helped the new recruits hit their marks for a while. It was easy to forget that Yondu was among the group while you worked with the others, but then you would come around to him and have to force yourself to focus on his shooting. He seemed to be learning fast, which was good, but there was still something off about his posture.

A few hours into training, you approached him while he reloaded the blaster. “Does your leg bother you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“You’re not standing straight.”

He rose an eyebrow. “What’dya mean?” he asked.

You went around him and adjusted his shoulders. You pushed on his back until he stopped slouching, then put a foot between his legs and pushed one of his feet further from the other. “That’s what I mean. Try again.”

He hesitated, but not for long. Yondu rose the blaster, aimed, and shot off a blast that hit the dummy square in the chest, leaving a sizeable hole in the metal surface.

Reyus went to inspect the dummy. They put their hand right through its chest and sighed. “Looks like this one’s outta commission,” they said, looking at you through the hole.

You laughed and nodded. “It’s probably time for a break anyway,” you said.

Reyus went to call for maintenance while you lead the Centaurian recruits to the cafeteria. Yondu was right on your heels, though neither of you said anything the whole walk.

The room was full of crew members, serving food at all hours of the day and night. The thing about the Arcturian faction was that it was massive - it had to be. The ship was large and required work to be done as well as Ravagers to, well, ravage. Crew members took shifts throughout the ship, but then there were the cafeteria workers, who mostly rotated between night and day shifts without having many other assignments. Most of them were ex-cons who used to be renowned chefs anyway, so they didn’t mind. Mostly.

You brought the group through the service line, explaining how meals worked on the ship. “You take a tray and pick up whatever’s out as you go along.”

“And it’s free?” one of the recruits, a young boy, asked.

You nod. “The crew here accepts tips, but otherwise the food’s all paid for. It’s kind of included with your service to the faction.” You admitted to yourself that the actual situation was a bit more complicated, but you didn’t feel like getting into the whole explanation. Your stomach was rumbling, so you moved down the line, picked up some food, and went to find a table.

Kraglin was sitting alone in the middle of the room, so you went to him. He seemed surprised to see anyone approaching him, but you just smiled as the recruits joined you.

“Kraglin, these are some of the new crew members,” you said. “Everyone, this is Kraglin. He’s our blacksmith’s apprentice.”

Yondu held his hand out to the boy and smiled. “Yondu,” he said.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, thinking that you’d taught him that. Kraglin nodded and shook Yondu’s hand, then listened and shook hands with the rest of the recruits.

“How long you been with the faction?” Yondu asked after introductions were out of the way.

Kraglin bit off a piece of bread, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “‘Bout six months or so, I guess.” He looked at you, as if looking for confirmation.

You shrugged. You didn’t know how long he’d been there. Up until more recently, you didn’t even remember his name. To be fair, you didn’t normally spend a lot of time in the weapon room.

“Where ya from?” another one of the men asked.

“Xandar,” he answered. “Kinda snuck onto this ship to get outta a shitty situation at home.”

You continued eating when someone else asked, “They been good to ya here?”

Kraglin nodded. “As good as I could expect. Better’n what I came from.”

The Centaurians all nodded. You paused and watched as they gave a silent confirmation of solidarity. Something like pride surged through you at the thought that everyone you sat with had something in common to be grateful for - your faction. Maybe your parents weren’t perfect. Maybe being a Ravager wasn’t a glamorous life, but at least the Alliance was helping people.

The rest of lunch went about the same. The new recruits got to know what it was like to be an Arcturian Ravager from Arcturian Ravagers. They asked questions about what to expect and how the faction worked, mostly which you had to answer.

“My parents are at the top,” you said, almost begrudgingly. “My Papa, Stakar, is the Captain. He gives the orders to his Officers, and orders trickle down from there. My mom, Aleta, is his most trusted advisor and is practically his equal. Everyone listens to her orders, too, even if they’re not approved by the Captain. I’m an Officer, and so are Reyus and Dunker, Kraglin’s boss.”

“What’re we?” the woman asked.

“You’re Cadets. New recruits. Cadets become Officers after proving themselves worthy and useful. Officers can become Advisors or Marshalls, but Papa doesn’t usually care for those. They’re just positions some of the other factions hold, so the Alliance recognizes them as official positions,” you said. “Then we have a few apprentices, like Kraglin, who can skip the Cadet phase if they’re good at a particular trade.”

“What’s the Alliance?” the younger Centaurian asked.

You took a sip of water. “As it stands, it’s a group of eleven factions, including this one. The Captains and Advisors meet once every few months, normally here on the Arcturian, to discuss important matters. They plan big heists together or form business deals and stuff like that. Mostly, though, it’s set up to keep Ravagers alive and paid. It’s kind of a safety net for the factions.”

“And they all agreed to the same terms?” another Centaurian asked.

You nodded. “Took a while, but eventually the factions all decided they were content enough to allow Papa to oversee the whole operation.”

“Was yer papa the first Ravager?” Yondu asked.

You stared at him for a beat. “No,” you said. “Ravagers’ve been around for centuries. But the factions were small and weak. There were too many of them, and they all fought one another. Somewhere in the last...hundred years or so, a lot of the smaller factions grouped together into larger factions. Sometimes new ones pop up, but if they’re not large enough to sustain themselves, they normally dissolve into the other factions. So then Papa had the idea for the Alliance, so that no one faction could get too big without the others also growing and so that Ravagers would be able to take care of one another.”

“So we’ll be taken care of no matter what?” the woman asked again.

You shrugged. “If you stay with a faction and follow the Alliance’s rules, then yeah.”

They stared at you, all with blank, unreadable faces. You couldn’t tell if tension had filled the air or if you were just imagining it, so you stayed quiet. After a bit, one of them asked what those rules were. You shrugged and went into some of the more common rules: Mutiny is punishable by death; Captains choose their successors; The closest faction to any other faction in trouble has to at least respond and/or send an emergency assistance team.

“We’ve outlawed slavery within the Alliance,” you said, trying not to look any of them in the eye for too long. “Everyone earns their keep and is paid according to the statutes set up by each Captain. We get paid in tiers here, depending on our rank.”

Kraglin cleared his throat then. “There’s also a rule outlawing trafficking. We only stop it if it’s within the Alliance, but we don’ like it much anyway.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. Reyus came over to the table and smiled then, and you silently thanked them.

“Time to get back,” they said.

You nodded again, picked up your tray, and lead the group to the trash bins. Once everyone had cleared their trays and put them in the return area, you and Reyus brought them all back to the target room.

You didn’t know why, but for a bit after that, you felt uncomfortable. They’d had so many questions, and you’d had to answer them all, and something about that put you off. It was nice that they seemed to trust your word, but having that kind of responsibility wasn’t something you were used to. Papa would say I need to get used to it, you thought.

For a good hour, you were pretty out of it. Reyus hardly seemed to notice, thankfully, as they were busy working with the Cadets. Eventually, you were sick of the weird feeling in your stomach that had settled after lunch, so you approached Yondu and suddenly had an idea.

“Come with me,” you whispered to him.

He looked over his shoulder to watch you walk away, but listened. Reyus either didn’t notice you leaving or just didn’t say anything. Sure, the new Cadets were supposed to be training, but there weren’t set times for these things. Some assignments had them, like ones in the medical wing, but not all of them. And neither you nor Reyus would tell anyone if you left. Not only was Reyus reliable, but they knew about the mark. They’d been the one to push you to talk to Yondu in the first place. Whether or not they believed in the soulmates aspect of whatever drew you to Yondu, they’d let you go.

So you went. There was one place in the giant hulk of a ship you’d always called home that was your favorite spot. Yondu followed you silently as you went down long halls, climbed stairs, and walked across bridges to come to a small corner. There was an opening in a wall that you assumed was supposed to be some kind of storage closet, though it didn’t have a door. It was just a little alcove, totally empty. One side faced a walkway that went to the cockpit, but the other faced...space. You crouched into the alcove and sat against the window, watching as stars floated past, wondering where in the galaxy you were exactly.

Yondu followed your lead, sitting with his back against the wall. Silence hung between you for a bit, but eventually Yondu was restless.

“Did ya just bring me up here ta look at space with ya?” he asked.

You shrugged and smirked at him. “Maybe,” you said. Giving your attention back to the window you said, “This is my favorite spot on the ship. No one ever comes here. I think my parents are the only other people that know it’s here.”

Another silence, then Yondu said, “Tell me more ‘bout you.”

You watch him for a couple seconds, so that you’re just staring at one another, then give a short nod. If the stars say he’s worthy, then he’s worthy, you remind yourself. Plus, you do like him. You want to get to know him, and if he wants to know more about you, then you should tell him.

“I was born on this ship. In A ward, actually,” you said.

“Ya ever left?” he asked, his face twisting in curiosity.

“Of course,” you nodded. “We have to make stops to restock resources. And for morale, according to Papa.”

He stared for a bit. You expected a question, but it never came.

“They kept you on that ship...all the time?” you asked, hoping you weren’t pushing too much. It was only one question, but it seemed like a lot.

He nodded. “We was only ever let off ta fight.”

You didn’t know what to do or say at first. Sometimes the Arcturian ship felt like a prison, sure. Sometimes the bunks felt like even more of a prison, with such little privacy. But now you couldn’t imagine them like that. At least you could leave the Arcturian or the bunks whenever you felt like doing so. You couldn’t imagine being shoved into a tiny space with six other people and never being allowed out except to hurt other people.

“We’re gonna land on Contraxia in a couple of days,” you said. Your father had told you so two days before. “I’ll show you around.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t like before. It was a thankful kind of smile from someone who’d been offered something they weren’t sure they wanted. Yondu looked out the window this time and asked, “You been a Ravager yer whole life?”

You nodded. “Basically,” you said. “Papa’s crew was smaller when I was born, but not by a lot. He and mom’ve been running this ship since they were my age.”

“They didn’ have no worries ‘bout raisin’ a kid ‘round all a this?” he asked, gesturing widely.

You shrugged. “I guess not. They only keep people around that they trust, so I guess they thought I was in capable hands. Went on my first job when I was twelve and decided then that I wanted to do what Papa did.”

“Ya close to ‘em?” he asked.

You gave him a soft half-smile. “Mostly. When I moved into the bunks, I saw them less and less, but they don’t go long without making sure to check in with me.”

He looked down. “Must be nice.”

You thought you could hear a part of him breaking, but you tried not to focus on it. You weren’t sure what the right thing to say or ask was, but you had to start somewhere. You barely knew anything about Yondu, except that he’d been a slave up until about a month ago. If you were supposed to be soulmates, you’d have to know more eventually.

“What was your family like?” you asked, only using the past tense because he hadn’t said anything about a family before. You didn’t want to just assume that he had one left, and you hoped that was okay.

He didn’t look back at you before he answered. He just grunted and shook his head. “My parents sold me inta slavery,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember’em. Don’t know if I even want to.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at him. You wanted to tell him that your parents were his, that they would take care of him...but you couldn’t promise that. It was childish and romantic. It didn’t matter that you thought he was connected to you by the stars. Your parents didn’t believe that, and they wouldn’t accept him on your word alone, especially since you hardly knew him yourself.

The only thing you could think to say is, “I’m sorry,” which sounded so pathetic, you immediately lowered your eyes and pulled your knees to your chest. You hadn’t even meant to do it, but the hurt in his voice and the pitiful excuse of a response from you made you want to turn into dust and float away.

He cleared his throat and you saw him shift. The leg that had been broken had healed nicely, though it wasn’t perfect yet. You remembered that that was why he’d been relegated to target practice.

“What’d’ya think these mean?” he said suddenly.

You glanced up to see that he’d pushed his sleeve up and was holding his mark out to you again. “I told you. They’re supposed to mean we’re connected-”

“Yeah, ‘s not what I’m askin,” he said. “We got the same shap’n everythin’. What does that mean?” he asked.

You hadn’t given it much thought, truth be told. You moved and spread your legs out in front of you, then pulled your own sleeve back to study your mark like you had so many times before. With a shrug you said, “I’m not sure. There isn’t much in lore about the meaning of the mark itself, just how it connects people.” You ran your finger over your mark and prepared yourself for the normal ache that came with that move, but nothing happened. It was as if you touched any of your other scars. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking up at him, wondering if his proximity had to do with that.

“Looks like an arrow ta me,” he said, staring at his arm.

Without a word, you pushed yourself off of the window and turned around, then scooted back to the wall he was sitting against. You held your arm up to his and inspected them both, trying to ignore the heat from his body against yours. “I think you’re right,” you said. “But the end...it doesn’t look like the end of any arrow I’ve ever seen. There’s too much going on.”

He looked down at his jacket and pulled on one side to show you the crest of the Alliance, a bronze insignia with flames that leapt into a point at the top. “Fire, maybe?” he asked.

You looked back and forth between the crest and the marks. You’d never even thought that could be an option - that the flames in your mark was a symbol for you. Your whole life, you’d just been looking for someone that had the mark, regardless of its significance. But of course the flames were meant for you. You’d been a Ravager since day one. The crest had been sewn into your clothes since the Alliance had been formed. It made almost too much sense that you were the flames. That just meant that Yondu was the arrow, though you didn’t know why.

“Fire for a Ravager, but an arrow? What does that mean to you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I was never good with a bow,” he confessed. “I could do a crossbow just fine, but if I had ta touch an arrow, I was dust.”

You sighed and without thinking, you traced your finger over his mark. Yondu stiffened, but not in an awkward way. It was more like he was alert all of the sudden. He leaned into you and let out a deep breath, and then you removed your finger.

“Sorry,” you said with a small smile.

“Watch it, will ya?” he joked, shaking his head as he sat back straight again.

You laughed with him and bit your lip, trying hard not to focus on how close he was. You didn’t know if being so close to him was a good idea until you knew exactly how you felt about one another, but it was too late to worry about that. You’d been the one to move next to him. You’d touched his mark. It seemed like you were the one sending all the signals before you even knew you wanted to. But...you did admit to yourself that you didn’t really regret it. You just reminded yourself that he was your soulmate, if you were right about the marks, and one way or another, these things were going to happen.

“If I ‘member correctly,” he said quietly. “My people used’ta use Yaka metal to make weapons. One’a the old ladies in my cell used’ta tell us ‘bout the mines on Centauri IV. Place was loaded, she said, and we were...I dunno, connected to it or somethin’.”

You watched his face as he searched for words. He looked focused, his brows low, mouth open, eyes lost in memory. You had a thought that you kind of liked him that way, at least for a bit.

“She used’ta say our warriors could control it by sound. No need fer a bow if all ya gotta do is whistle ta control an arrow,” he said, finally looking at you again.

You let him look, let his red eyes focus on yours for a bit. You’d half heard what he’d said, so you needed the time to catch up, anyway. Suddenly he was so distracting for no apparent reason, and you knew you needed to force yourself back to reality. The only way you could think to do that was to look back at the marks and nod.

“A Yaka arrow for you,” you said, pointing to his mark without touching it this time. “Flames for me. Of course.”

It made so much sense. So did his hand reaching for yours. His fingers were hard and calloused, but yours weren’t so soft either. Still, the contact felt right. It made sense. He was warm and close, and he moved slowly and sent goosebumps all over you. Withy our fingers intertwined, you thought of sunlight, of oceans and music, of gentle whispers and moments like this that would mean nothing to anyone except the two of you. You wondered if those thoughts were preordained, or if you’d had them because of how well you fit together.

“Ya don’t mind me holdin’ ya, do ya?” he asked, his voice so low and close you could feel vibrations in your chest.

You shook your head. “I don’t mind at all,” you said, and even went so far as to lean your head on his shoulder so you could see out the window again. “I like it a lot, actually.”

#yondu x reader #Yondu Udonta #the arrow and the flame

61 notes · View notes