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kyoomiii · 4 years

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♡ Burnt out [hcs]

- ➣. . . ❝ Could you maybe do headcanons for literally any Haikyuu character/characters with an s/o who's just done with everything and exausted and feels like shit?❤ If that makes sense😂 Again I completely understand if you don't want to do this request!❤ ❞

― requested by: @bitweird1 ―

- ✎ characters ❝ daichi, kuroo, and tsukishima ❞

- [ trigger warning(s): none ]

- ⚘ genre ❝ fluff, angst ❞

❝ i’m so excited~ this is my first request! but anyway, putting that aside i hope that all of you out there are doing well and if times are currently difficult for you, just know that there’s someone rooting for you. i’m not particularly good with words- which is ironic for someone who writes, but, i hope you can feel my support through this hc~ ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡ ❞

-kyo ♡

Life is always moving, it passes and waits for no one. And lately, as the school year draws to a close with tests upon tests cluttering your life, it’s been feeling like the days have merged into one, passing and passing with each one feeling exactly like the last.

As of tonight, you find that you’ve had enough... Unable to cope much longer on your own in the dark confinements of your room.

Instead, you find yourself at his house- 12am on a school night. And though it seemed like a good idea at the time, the feeling of guilt seems to bloom in your chest the longer you stare at the doorbell.

You knew from the beginning that Daichi is a busy man, the volleyball club, and his schoolwork, both something that he invests so much time and effort into, so surely he doesn’t have the time to deal with someone else’s problems, and with the little amount of sleep he does get, you feel bad stealing these precious hours away from him.

But even so, you find the courage to press the bell, knowing full well that he is home alone.

The feeling of anxiety buzzes throughout your body as you wait for some sort of response. A gentle flutter filling your chest when you finally get one in the form of Daichi opening his front door, disheveled and confused.

“y/n? What are you doing here?”

However, no matter how hard you try to let it out… You just can’t. It’s like the words have been caught in your throat, hanging onto your cords and refusing to let go.

“I just- uh… I just missed you is all…”

Daichi cocks an eyebrow, and you can tell he finds it odd- perhaps not even believing what you have said. But nonetheless, he steps aside inviting you in, though not without a yawn as he rubs his eyes, highlighting the dark circles that have formed just beneath them. Once again you feel bad for intruding in on his time.

He leads you to his room, where he opens his blanket to you knowing full well that the both of you have school the next morning.

Gladly, you accept crawling under his comforter with him and snuggling close because while it wasn’t exactly the reason why you were there, it was definitely something on your mind.

But even with the undeniable comfort that is his embrace and gentle touch as he traces your bare skin with his gentle touches, you still can’t fall asleep. No matter how long you close your eyes, or how many sheep you count, your mind is just racing.

“y/n… why are you really here?”

Suddenly, everything you were holding in becomes overwhelmingly strong. It starts with small tears until you’re sobbing into his sheets.

And even then, you can’t bring yourself to just say it, but at the same time you don’t really need to, because he knows, and he understands.

Turning on the small bedside lamp, he pulls you into his lap. His hold becoming tighter than before as he rocks back and forth with you.

“Shhh… It’s okay.”

“I’m so tired Daichi... “

“I know… I’m here.”

All at once, you feel so much lighter.

The day seemed to drag on longer and longer with each passing minute. It was like one thing after another, something always weighing down on your shoulders from the moment you decided to get out of bed that morning.

You haven’t said anything, but Kuroo can see it from the moment he greeted you at the entrance of the school. He notices it in the way your shoulders tense up, and the way the corners of your lips twitch just the slightest as you try so hard to smile at him as if nothing were wrong… But he knows, and he refuses to let it slip.

“y/n, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing Tetsu, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… I’m okay.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push either, simply nodding at you as he grasps your hand in his own, intertwining your fingers together as he always does.

Though this time you notice that his grip is slightly tighter than usual, his thumb caressing the back of your hand gently, and for a moment, it appears as though everything eases and the weight of your world doesn’t feel so heavy.

But, it seems like all good things come to an end and the pressure on your shoulders return, only getting heavier and heavier throughout the day until you feel unable to truly be there as the lesson goes on, the teacher’s words flowing through your head and out your ear.

You tell yourself repeatedly that it’ll be okay… And maybe, just maybe it will, but you can see past your own lies, and you can feel yourself slipping as the lecture portion of the class comes to an end.

“l/n?”

“May I please go to the bathroom?”

“Alright, make it quick”

With hurried steps you leave the room that has grown insufferably small, head hung low as you avoid the gazes of your fellow peers, because you know he can see you from his seat just a couple of rows from your own, and that terrifies you.

However, despite your quick pace, you can’t seem to make it to the bathroom, because with each step the walls begin to close in, and with every breath, it seems that your lungs are set to fire. So instead you opt for the nearest empty staircase, hugging your knees to your chest as quiet sobs rip through your body.

Cupping a hand over your mouth to suppress your cries, you don’t notice the heartbroken look in Kuroo’s eyes when he sees your trembling figure.

Silently, he makes his way over to you, engulfing your body against his frame.

“Let it out…”

You finally do, removing your hand from your mouth to set your sobs free into his chest as he runs his fingers over your clothed back. He’s warm, and that eases your mind just a little.

“Tetsurou?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not fine…”

“I know… And that’s okay…I’ve got you...”

And he means it.

Tsukishima noticed the abnormalities in your behavior throughout the day. He saw it in the subtle strains as your words wavered, and your feigned smile, or the simple sharp intake of breath you took when your brows pinched together. And while most were oblivious to your behavior, he had caught all the oddities, docking each one down with a mental note as the day went on.

“Are you okay y/n? You seem… Different.”

“I’m fine Kei, don’t worry about me.”

“...If you say so.”

But now, as your finger’s lace with Tsukishima’s on the walk home together. He can feel the remaining tenseness that has been lingering in your body the whole day. He concludes that his suspicions were correct. You are not okay.

However despite this revelation, you can’t bring yourself to admit it, even as you think back to the bad grade on your math test or the group project, that has more so become a you project with the lack of effort your partner has put in. You feel as though it’ll all come crashing down when you finally give in, and that scares you.

The thought makes you inhale sharply. Your grip on his hand tightening just ever so slightly as your mind becomes so scattered that you don’t even notice his gentle squeeze in response.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I told you already, I’m okay."

A breath of relief that you didn’t even know you were holding is released at the sight of his home, which in this case has very much become one of the places you call home as well.

The familiar scent of his mother’s cooking fills your body as you enter the house, offering her a polite bow which she returns with a bright smile.

All these things have been embedded within you with how many times you’ve done them. So it’s all the more frustrating when this routine is broken in the form of this constant lingering of tangled negative emotions that have you tightening your grip on your pencil, threatening to snap it.

Tsukishima watches the way you slump over your work, your grip on the pencil tight before loosening until it clatters onto the table followed by a broken cry as you curl into yourself.

He doesn’t necessarily show it, but he can feel a piece of himself break along with you as he watches you crumble. Especially since he doesn’t exactly know what to do- he’s never been good with comforting people, not when he was young and not now.

And as you hear his footsteps around the room, you figure that he’s probably left, knowing that he must be a little overwhelmed too. But the sudden weight that’s placed over your shoulders surprises you causing you to look up, only to see that he had wrapped his (secret) favorite dinosaur comforter around you.

Hesitantly, he brings you into his arms, settling you between his legs as he rests his chin upon your head letting you cry into the fabric of the blanket.

It’s in his comforting warmth that you find the courage to finally admit what’s bothering you.

“It feels like everything is going wrong- I try so hard and it feels like everything just breaks… I’m so exhausted Kei.”

He listens silently, letting you vent out your emotions into the quiet space because he wants you to feel heard and safe.

“You are the most capable person I know. All anyone can ever do is their best y/n… And sometimes it doesn’t work out, that’s just life… But I’ll be damned if I let you experience that on your own.”

“Thank you Kei… I love you”

“... I love you too.”

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thebluelemontree · 4 years

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I don't know if you've already answered a similar question, if you have I apologize and will look better for it. But do you think Sandor and Sansa would still love each with how much they've both changed? They've almost become new people, but still the same beings.

It’s no problem. I’ve written about that here and probably touched on this in many other posts.

I wouldn’t frame the question as would they “still love each other with how much they’ve both changed.” It implies that their feelings were already understood as love by them when they were together. What they had was a confusing mess of conflicting emotions that neither were fully capable of understanding or accepting at the time. Each had their reasons for why that was so, which goes to some of the issues that stood between them. While there is chemistry, intimacy, and empathy shown, IMO, it’s better to think of them as possessing the building blocks that can lead to love in the future.

On the other hand, there was also:

The fact that she’s too young, immature, and unready for a consummated romance with anyone. She needs space and time to grow up and figure out what she wants. Until AFFC, she’s still only comfortable consciously fantasizing about Loras Tyrell, who is non-threatening, conventionally attractive, and uncomplicated. They are still relatively chaste/borderline erotic fantasies. The unkiss takes time for her to consciously accept and embrace as reciprocated erotic desire.

The fact that he has no idea how to express himself without resorting to the language of violence that he understands best.

The fact that he copes with the unresolved childhood trauma and PTSD in unhealthy ways like his abrasive Hound persona, his overly-cynical worldview, and sometimes abusing alcohol when he’s under stress.

His immaturity and inability to simply ask for and accept the emotional support he wants (which she was perfectly willing to give) without freaking out over being vulnerable with someone.

The fact that they are on opposite sides of a war where Sansa’s family is in open rebellion against her captors who Sandor owes fealty to.

The fact that she’s the king’s betrothed. She’s his property. To explicitly act upon any romantic attraction would be considered treason, punishable by torture and death.

The fact that there is a massive class disparity between them that overshadows the age difference in their world. That’s one reason why neither can put a name to this thing between them. A future queen / high lord’s daughter from an ancient house should not be fraternizing with a non-knight from a house only three generations old. That’s why they struggle even knowing what to call each other because using first names shows too much familiarity and intimacy. This would be true even without any of the other conflicts. Class controls everything in Westeros.

And yes, he still owes her a big heartfelt apology for his abhorrent behavior during the Blackwater, and he should beg her forgiveness.

Most of these points I elaborate on in more detail in the links above. If you notice, though, most of these things have either been resolved or are in the process of being resolved. None of these issues were ever insurmountable obstacles.

The ways in which Sansa and Sandor have evolved even in their separation has been largely positive and complementary of each other. They haven’t grown apart or become incompatibly different at all. If anything, it’s pushed their feelings further along, and it’s clear they are very much on each other’s minds. Since we can see Sansa’s perspective firsthand, she’s only thought about Sandor more since he left.

Sansa has grown and matured a lot more when we see her in the TWOW sample chapter. Had the five-year gap panned out, she would be legally an adult in Westeros; however, dropping it doesn’t seem to have affected GRRM’s intentions for any of his POVs. She’s in the company of unconventional, sexually mature women in their early twenties who can be role models in navigating adult relationships. The sassy way she takes no shit from a brutally honest Harrold Hardyng shows she has confidence and the ability to go toe-to-toe with Sandor’s gruff personality without getting flustered and running away. After she wipes the floor with him with her wit, she ends up winning Harry over to the point he’s begging for her favor. There is no point in the sample chapter where she voices any anxieties about not feeling ready for marriage, sex, or children. This no longer seems to be an issue for her, so we can assume she feels okay with having an adult relationship at this point.

Her time as a bastard girl has made her warmer and friendlier. She was always kind, but proprieties and courtesies can also read as aloof and re-enforcing strict class boundaries. Can you imagine Kings Landing!Sansa hugging someone like Lothor Brune, a landless knight, as she does in TWOW? Or preferring the company of a sex-positive widow who enjoys taking lovers or a bastard girl over the “perfect sister” she saw in Margaery Tyrell and her cousins? Hell no. That would never happen. This new Sansa lacks those prejudices and is openly affectionate towards people she was raised to keep at arm’s length. Once she loosened up and stopped reciting courtesies, people actually got to know her and like her for who she is. That’s what Sandor always wanted from her, right? To drop the courtesies and flattering bullshit and just be a real person with him, not a talking parrot. While that criticism was harsh and rudely put, it had a lot of truth to it. It seems to have made Sansa into a happier person and more in touch with her authentic self. Now that she has accepted in Feast that she wanted Sandor like that, what is there to stop her from acting on it later?

The Quiet Isle didn’t exist before Feast. It was written for Sandor to recover and rehabilitate. Not just physically, but he’s getting what constitutes psychological counseling and a treatment plan that deals directly with his worst traits. He appears to meet with the Elder Brother often enough because the latter seems to know quite a bit about Sandor’s backstory, what his issues are, and exactly who Sansa Stark is. The rest of the time, he must observe the no talking rule and do meaningful work as a novice. This man, who once flaunted his contempt for those who couldn’t defend themselves as weak and deserving of death, is put to work digging graves for the innocent victims of violence. All day long, he has to look at the faces of men, women, and children killed by evil men with that philosophy. One brother even yells at him for carelessly tossing dirt around with the shovel, and he silently takes it. No smart ass backtalk. In the evening, he has to serve food and clear plates for men he would have once mocked. They’re men of faith, they’ve renounced violence, and Sandor sits lower in status than them. To Sandor’s credit, he humbly submits to all this in a show of respect and humility. It’s like he wants to learn these lessons they are offering and is allowing himself to be schooled. Now Sandor may always be Sandor on some level (if Stranger kicking down the stable doors and refusing to be gelded is any indication). Still, it does look like he’s become a gentler, healthier, and sober version of himself. The only part of Sandor that Sansa rejected was the Hound, and it’s both stated in the text and by George himself that the Hound is dead. Period. And yeah, it seems like Sandor is in a place where he is unlikely to backslide into old behavior, and he can make that heartfelt and necessary apology to Sansa. I don't think Sandor could ever be okay with moving their relationship forward without making amends first. It wouldn't sit right with his sense of remorse and personal responsibility, which is a good thing.

All these changes are for the better for them as individuals and as a possible future couple. Contrary to your ask, I would say a positive, fully-fledged romance with "HEA" potential wouldn’t be possible or believable without all the growth and changes they've undergone. When they reunite, they can do so on more equal footing.

Not that there aren’t more conflicts to overcome. They both are currently wanted fugitives for murders they didn’t commit, so they both need to clear their names and reclaim their true identities. There is still the matter of Sansa’s marital status as Tyrion isn’t dead but their marriage was also unconsummated. She could try to have her marriage officially annulled by the Faith somehow, but to do that, she’ll have to take the risk of revealing her true identity. Again, these don’t seem like plots that won’t be resolved anyway at some point. What about that class divide though? Well, the Starks aren’t like Tywin or Cersei, and they actually value things like faithful service. No reason why Sandor couldn’t be awarded a lordship and lands in gratitude for saving the lives of both Arya and Sansa. I’m just sayin’.

#valyrianscrolls #sansan meta #sansan #sansa stark #sandor clegane #asoiaf meta #my meta #future romance #asoiaf characterization #twow spec #asoiaf spec

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blueeyedgeorgie · 4 years

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Death In The Family-Eboys

“could i please get a fic where reader dies and the boys are trying to cope with their death and being there for eachother. platonic or romantic doesn’t matter, may be they were all friends“

Pairing: Eboys x reader (PLANTONIC)

Word Count: 2k+

Pronouns: She/Her

_____________

When finding out about Y/n's death, each of the boys handled it differently. It wasn't every day one of your closest friends would be killed by small store robbery. It was late at night when it happened, Y/n was a constant night owl, it was no surprise she was up late. She had been filming a video about creating a large box fort inside of her apartment. Halfway through filming, she had run out of duct tape. It was around 2 am, and there were barely any stores open. But Y/n being Y/n, there was no way she was going to put a pause on filming for something as small as running out of duct tape. She had eventually found a small store that was open 24 hours a day, it was surprising to think about. Maybe staying open for 24 hours was the only way the family who ran to the store made it capable for them to live the lives they had. When she finally got to the store, she went to the aisle where they held the arts and crafts, immediately beginning to grab as much duct tape as she could afford. She was the only one in the store at the moment. When she had finally become happy with what she had, she made her way towards the front of the store. Only to find a man in all black standing in front of the counter, a firearm pointed at the middle-aged woman working the register. It wasn't smart of Y/n to take another step, because when she did, the wooden floor had given a creak, making the man turn on his heels, refusing to hesitate on shooting. With the usual sound of a click when a bullet would be released, followed by the sound of tens of duct tapes being dropped onto the floor, Y/n grabbed her stomach. Looking down, she already saw a pool of blood beginning to redden her shirt as she fell to the ground. "Shit, shit, shit," the man mumbled before making a break and running out of the store. "I'm calling 911! Hold on!" The middle-aged woman behind the counter had already grabbed onto the phone sitting on the counter. Y/n looked down at her stomach, her blood was already pooling around her on the ground. She already knew it, there was no way she'd be surviving this one. Closing her eyes, she thought about what she was going to plan to do after she finished her box fort. She was going to invite the boys over, Mia, Gee, and Aria would tag along too. They'd all have fun playing hide and seek and tag in the mazes. Eventually, it'd get late and they'd all say fuck it and spend the night at her place. But none of that was going to happen now. Nothing was going to happen. Y/n had bled out to death on a musty wooden floor of a 24 hours store all by herself.

` The boys had all found out right about the same time. Will had gotten a call from an unknown number in the middle of filming a TWOTI video. It was y/n's parents, telling him about her passing. George and Alex had found out next. They had been playing FIFA at the time in their living room, George had gotten a call from an unknown number. He didn't pick it up, considering it was an unknown number. After three tries of the number trying to call him, Alex's phone begun to ring, it was the same number. Luckily, Alex picked up. Hearing it was Y/n's parents who had called brought a smile to his face, they were always kind people. Mr. and Mrs. L/n had asked if George was with Alex at the moment, and George had given a short apology for not picking up their calls. The boys thought that maybe Mr. and Mrs. L/n were planning something for Y/n, after all her birthday wasn't too far away. When Y/n's parents had finally explained how Y/n had passed, Alex had immediately started crying as George just stayed silent. James had found out when he was with Aria. He had received a call from Mrs. L/n, he already had her contact incase of emergencies. When Y/n's parents had explained the situation to James, he had started crying, along with Aria joining in the crying as he told her the news. Aria adored Y/n, she was a sweetheart, they had filmed so many videos together of them just being dumbasses. The days following after when the boys had found out about Y/n's death had been handled differently with each boy. Will had tried not to dwell on thinking about Y/n's passing. Whenever someone had mentioned her death, a sick feeling would come to his stomach which would make him excuse himself from the room. The funeral was hard for him, he didn't spill a tear, not once. Seeing the closed casket was heartbreaking. Alex had quickly become incredibly miserable, he couldn't smile anymore. He became sad around the clock, his mind was constantly on the fact Y/n had died. He had become sensitive over y/n's death, he found himself crying more often. It was hard for him to try and film videos, he had decided to take a break for filming stuff on his channel. Y/n's funeral was brutal for him. There wasn't a moment he wasn't crying at the ceremony. With George it was the complete opposite of how Y/n's death was affecting Alex. Instead he had closed up and refused to show his true emotions on the situation. When George was alone, he was completely different. He was heartbroken over Y/n's passing. He would cry at times when he was alone. Y/n was on his mind 24/7. At the funeral he had been extremely quiet. He had been the shoulder for Alex to cry on most of the time at the ceremony. James had become easily stresses over simple tasks. He had begun to avoid music too, anything he would try to play something it would end up with him thinking about Y/n. Most of the stuff he'd play would end up with him thinking about her, it was hard for him. At the funeral he had been mature, barely any tears left his eyes. Eventually, a couple of days after Y/n's funeral, the boys decided to meet up in person. They had decided to meet up together at George's and Alex's apartment. "Do you think... we should film a video for the Eboys channel? To address... Y/n..." Alex had trailed off, biting his lip. He was already fighting back tears. "That sounds like a good idea," Will whispered. "I'll go get my camera and disguise," George had spoken quietly. The boys had all gotten positioned on Alex and George's couch. Alex and George sat on the ground as James and Will sat on the couch. As soon as George had pressed a button to turn on the camera, he sat back. "So, who wants to start it off?" His voice was shaky. "I will," Will let out a soft sigh, sitting up. "Right, welcome back to the Eboys channel. If you didn't already know, we have something to address... a dear friend of ours has passed away. Y/n L/n..." "Today we'll be talking about her. We thought it'd be best to address the situation together on the group channel instead of film four different videos on each of our channels," James had continued for Will. "If you didn't already hear, Y/n had passed away from being caught up in a small store robbery, she had bled out from... being shot," Alex had spoken, his voice cracking. George stood p, walking out of camera frame to take off his glasses. He had started to cry. He grabbed a tissue from the tissue box sitting on the coffee table, wiping away his tears with a sniffle before putting his glasses back on and walking back into the camera frame. "Y/n use to make jokes about if she ever got more subscribers than me she'd make me do an unmasking video." It's was George's turn to speak next, so he had decided to talk about one of his happy memories of her. "I remember the first time I met Y/n. We had bumped into one another at a convention and started talking. We ended up following each other on Instagram and collabed together. I introduced her to the guys," Alex had looked up at the ceiling, fighting back tears. "She and I did a video where she put a full face of makeup on me," Will let out a small laugh, remembering how Y/n struggled to make him stay still. Tears were forming in his eyes. "We made up a follow-up video where I did her makeup. I still remember after we finished filming and I made her go out with the makeup I put on her." 'Holy shit! Y/n made me hot! Gee, come look! Would you date me if I was this hot?!' Will shouted, looking at himself in the camera screen. "Y/n loved my music. She'd always ask me to play something for her when we hung out. I even taught her how to play her guitar," James was staring at the ground. His voice cracked. "I bought her very first guitar for her, gave it to her at Christmas. She was so excited." There was a moment of silence. The boys sniffled and refused to make eye contact with the camera. "What if we read the last text she sent us?" Will had offered an idea, glancing at his friends. "Sure," Alex mumbled, already pulling out his phone. Each of the boys had pulled out their phones, pulling up their text messages. "The last thing she told me was 'I'm working on it atm'," James was the first one to read out his text. "We were talking about a new song she wanted to learn. It was a Nirvana song." "Mine was 'fuck, thanks for reminding me. I'll call you when I'm done'," Alex looked down at his phone. Tears were streaming down his face. "I reminded her to film the video. I never got a call." 'This is all my fucking fault,' Alex thought to himself. "She said 'I love you too'," George let out a shaky breath. " 'I'll ttyl loser'," Will mumbled, "sounds about right coming from Y/n." The boys had continued to share their stories until they had around an hour's worth of footage. They then decided to wrap up the video and turn the camera off. "Oh god..." Alex mumbled as soon as the camera's filming light turned off. "It's my fault she's fucking dead." "What are you talking about, mate?" Will raised a brow at his brunette friend. "I reminded her that she had to film a video for her channel, I'm such a fucking idiot," Alex had begun to cry once again. "She'd be here if it wasn't for me." "Alex, shut up. It's Y/n. She should've known not to go out to a shady store in the middle of the night for a nonessential item, but she still did. You had no control over if she went out or not. You were just trying to be a good friend and remind her in case she forgot," George had snapped. George was also crying. "I miss her so fucking much," Alex mumbled. "We do too, buddy," George sighed. "She's gone, but not forgotten. We'll see her again at some point," James rubbed his eyes, keeping himself from letting out any tears. "She'll always be in our hearts," Will muttered quietly. "Things will get better," George placed a hand on George's shoulder. "I promise you that, Alex." "Thanks, George," Alex nodded, wiping away a tear. "We love you, Alex. We're here for you," Will joined the pair. "Thanks, guys," Alex had given a small nod. "It means a lot to me." Without thinking, George wrapped his arms around his friend, fighting back tears. Will joined the hug, followed by James. There was no possible way for the boys to get Y/n back. But that didn't mean they were gonna forget her.

Taglist:

@daddydobrock

@anyasthoughts

@multifandom-but

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ohwaitimthewriter · 4 years

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Ner naak (My peace)

Pairing : Din Djarin x earthling!reader

Warnings : none but cuteness.

Summarize : Din Djarin meets you, an earthling, who has no idea of the existence of an outer space.

Words count : 1935

A/n : Here we are! Enjoy your reading!

Masterlist. // Ner naak Masterlist.

You didn't know why you had convinced yourself that leaving the child in the care of a dog was actually a good idea. And when the front door opened on your dog, sitting with his tail wagging frantically against the ground and his face painted with black marker, you bit your lip with regret. Because it was not the only thing to regret.

As soon as you looked up, you noticed the child taking small, resolute steps towards the living room patio door, proudly brandishing the marker that he had probably found in a drawer of your desk.

And if Lucky Luke was shooting faster than his shadow, you had been at least as quick to catch the child on the run before he smeared your window in black. Reassured that you had saved the window, you turned to Mando, who had taken the time to get a grip on the state of your living room.

"I should've known better. " he sighed. "I'm really sorry."

His voice was filled with sincerity and after looking around the room, a slight sensation of panic fluttered in your chest. You suddenly wondered how such a small being could turn your living room upside down all by himself. The cushions of the sofa, including those of the seat, had all landed in a corner of the room, forming a kind of wobbly hut. You could imagine that your dog must have taken some pleasure in destroying a cushion because of the foam on the floor and your wall separating the living room from the kitchen looked like a Picasso painting.

You observed the child in your arms naively enjoying drawing on his little hand with the marker. You wanted to get angry at him and at your dog, who had understood the moment you saw the foam, that he too hadn't been very good. But seeing so much innocence quickly soothed you. You let a sigh escape from your mouth and put the child down on the ground, taking the marker from his hands at the same time.

"It doesn't matter, I've been putting off cleaning this room for a while anyway. "You said to comfort Mando, who didn't seem to know where to stand anymore.

"I'll help you. " He replied hastily.

In your shoes, Din would have been furious, he had even seen a glimmer of anger in your eyes, but you had smothered it with a flutter of lashes. And unlike being angry at him, you had smiled kindly to thank him for his help. Din didn't realize it at first, but he had tilted his head slightly to the side to observe you carefully. He was trying to understand where you got that serenity, that composure you always let appear. A calm attitude that was always welcoming, and Din even dared to think, restful and comforting.

Comforting.

It had been a long time since Din had felt his heartbeat so peaceful. No rush. That steady and constant "boom-boom-boom" was almost foreign to him, but it felt good. Din realized that his muscles no longer hurt and his back and legs were not so stiff. He hadn't slept much that first night, but the little he had allowed himself in this strange environment had been more than restful. Din could not even remember the last time he had slept so well.

And it had simply been enough for him to see you control your nerves perfectly to make it all come true.

"We'll take care of it tonight," you said. "First, the ship, I've got to get some tools and..."

"The Crest can wait." Mando cut you off.

Mando had suddenly gotten your undivided attention. A wave of confusion made you open your mouth to say something that didn't seem to find its way up to there.

" B-but..."

" The Crest can wait. " Mando said again.

And he took an interest in the pile of cushions, grabbing one of the seats and meticulously returning it to its original position.

You didn't understand Mando's motives, even Din didn't understand them. He simply felt the need... to slow down. He'd followed you this far with the idea of repairing the ship as quickly as possible. Within two days he had guessed with one glance that your thoughts were all about the ship and how you could fix it, and so far Din hadn't had a problem with that. But something, beyond the feeling of gratitude, beyond the feeling of guilt he felt after his son had turned your living room upside down, something, a thought, no, a hunch, a bud of an idea, had occurred to him that he wanted to drag things out a little.

Din didn't know you that well. Let's be clear, you were both nearly strangers who had only spent the equivalent of 24 hours together. Even so, he had no doubt you were capable of restoring the Crest's old youth. And it was because of that. Din had quickly done the math; once the necessary pieces would be gathered, it would probably only take you a week to two or three more days to finish what you intended to do. And to him, a week was short. Too short.

He couldn't really explain it. It was a feeling he'd only experienced once before, a long time ago, on Sorgan. This feeling of wanting to stay, of wanting to put off leaving. And he hadn't fully been able to understand the essence of this feeling, or even how to cope with it or how to control it. All he knew now was that this emotion stirred his heartbeat every time he thought of leaving this planet soon.

So, the Crest could wait a little longer.

You were still a little confused about Mando's decision. You were watching him put the cushions back one by one on your couch when a slight warmth crept up to the center of your chest to embrace your heart.

Din didn't immediately notice the rather shy smile that had been slowly forming on your face. But when he saw it, you were already on your way to your kitchen, probably to get something to clean the wall.

And there was something special about that smile. It wasn't like usual, it didn't come out of any kind of goodwill, it was deeper than that. Din felt it like that and he lingered on it a little longer, he wanted to remember that smile.

Cleaning the wall was no easy task. Mando had even joined you to help, but the marker had probably already won the battle. After more than half an hour of trying to get rid of the nonsensical drawings that the child had drawn, you threw in the towel. In both meanings of the word.

"You don't have to." You said, "I'd have to use bleach, and I don't know if you've ever seen the effects of bleach, but it's not pretty."

Mando looked at you, probably wondering what bleach was, when you heard the squeak of a felt pen on a surface where a felt pen should not be. And suddenly, even though you couldn't see Mando's eyes, you knew he had the same expression on his face as you did at that moment. That expression specific to adults being in contact with children that said, "oh no."

And after a second of common hesitation, you both lowered your eyes to the child, sitting next to his father's outstretched leg, trying his hardest to draw on Mando thigh's beskar.

The child was so focused on his drawing that he was literally crushing the tip of the marker against the iron. Mando was like... frozen. He watched his son carefully scribble on the beskar. You wondered why Mando didn't react until you tilted your head to the side a little more to see what he was drawing.

Children had a gift for finding their way into your heart. Well, yours started to melt. On the beskar, you could make out three characters, Mando, Banjo and the little one sitting on his back. It certainly wasn't high art, the features weren't straight and went over the edge, but you were sure of what you had seen. And then he seemed to think for a moment. What was he thinking about? It was a big question, but he ended up adding to his mini painting a star in the grey sky of the beskar.

The child then looked at his father and cooed softly. Mando seemed to regain consciousness and sighed.

" You' re getting dangerous with this." he said as he took the marker from him.

"He's a creative one." You said with a smile.

" Uh, what about the bleach you were talking about?"

"Believe me, it won't help."

"Really?"

" We can always add paint?" You said.

"It's always better than this." He said.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?" You giggled.

"Uh, I'm not lying... am I?" He sighed.

You raised an eyebrow, not buying a word. You stood up, giving up the idea of ever getting back a clean wall without graffiti.

"Dare to tell me you don't feel anything special for this." You said "If you weren't his father, maybe I'd believe you, but fathers are all the same."

Mando turned his eyes to his son. He waddled over to Banjo, who was lying by the couch.

"Maybe." he said. "That's, uh, pretty new to me."

"New?" you asked.

Mando was still sitting against the wall when he looked at you again.

"What was your father like?" He said.

"My father?"

Din was observing you thinking. He could see in your eyes memories of which he didn't have the keys to decipher, and he was surprised to think about who his father was as well. He didn't have many memories. He had been too young to really remember. But Din wanted to know. What was your father like? What was his father like? Because if you were right, maybe he'd find out how to be a father.

"He was a patient and strong person. He didn't show his feelings much because of that." You said. "I blamed him a lot for that, actually." You went on. "but I realized later on that he was actually showing me his emotions through his actions. I mean, for example, through mechanics." You started. "My father was a pilot in the Air Force, but what interested him most was the mechanics, what was going on inside the belly of the plane, you know?" And you looked for some kind of validation from Mando who nodded gently, enthralled by your story. "And all these years, he taught me mechanics. He taught me how to take a car to pieces and rebuild it with my eyes closed." You said. "And you know, you don't take the time to share something you're passionate about with someone you don't love." You added. "And that's how I knew who my father really was, by his actions." You said. "So, I think if you really didn't want to have that drawing on your armor, you wouldn't have let him do it."

You smiled softly at him while Din thought long and hard about your words. It was something he needed to ponder.

Din watched you go back into the kitchen with the towel and the bowl, before he looked at the child. He had joined the dog, sat down against his belly and played gently with the long hair of the animal. And Din wondered, did his actions with the child make him a father?

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #mandalorian #star wars #the mandalorian x earthling #ner naak series

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thebardish · 3 years

Text

Orientation

We see a series of scenes; a deep cavern illuminated by large glowing mushrooms with a small caravan traversing a narrow ledge, a fiery hammer sparking against an already red-hot anvil, industrial lights of a submerged city-scape of domes shining brightly against dark water, aerial bands of white marble populated to the fullest with every creature capable of achieving flight, dark forest floors of gangly trees covered in a thick green carpet. Then, we see a quaint study of an old man in a large pointy hat, a deep dungeon-like dugout housing a ragtag group gathering supplies led by a wheelchair-bound silhouette. We see a thin Tiefling chasing after an even thinner Elf, laughing and collapsing together against an old tree, a regal Triton in a think armchair with piles of books, tomes, and scrolls scattered around him, two bright purple eyes form from the darkness and out steps a tall woman, almost floating across the cobbled roads, she darts her eyes across any and every living thing. And then, we are back in the study, a dim candle burns at the edge of a messy desk as lightning gives brief clarity to what he is writing and then a knock at the door breaks his concentration. The dugout is now packed with all sorts of creatures looking to the same silhouette, who’s pointing to a large map on the table with pins. Thunder cracks and dust falls from the ceiling and then it fades to black. We see a pitch black void, and then a light. A flash of bright white light and then an enormous chunk of Earth with a vast array of ecosystems comes into focus. The Academy sits in the vast expanse of nothingness. Inter-dimensional doorways blink into existence and snuff out just as quickly. The Academy has come into being, and that’s where our story begins.

JOVIS:

Jovis is struck with a vision: He sees a ring of sparks that turn into large circular flames, and a hooded figure clutching something to their chest quickly jump through and vanish. He sees himself as a child, but from outside himself. He is swaddled in a tight crimson blanket, the same blanket used for the back portion of his cloak. He recognizes the location, it’s Mimi and Momo’s front doorstep. He remembers this scene from a third-person point of view, looking down onto himself.

Jovis awakes in his room to the smell of pancakes. Mimi and Momo are playfully arguing and Jovis grabs a quick bite before running out to meet Oliver at the courtyard. Oliver spills the contents of his backpack and tries to build a tower with the copious amounts of energy drink cans, but Jovis crushes all but one.

Hathor pipes up and says, “Jovis, why are you friends with this excuse of an Elf?” and follows it up by insisting. “You are at an age where you should learn the extent of what it means to be my vessel and have my power flowing through you.” Jovis agrees and fires his first actual spell, a large purple fireball into the final energy drink can. He hits it directly but as he does there is an overwhelming feeling within him.

Sekhmet, a voice Jovis has never heard before, speaks up and says, “Back off, it's my turn to shine!” and without moving or initiating anything, two more purple fireballs shoot off past the crisp of a can and burst through the window leading into the library.

Jovis freaks out and runs away, trying to find his way home or an adult to try and fix this, but he finds instead a large set of engraved Oak doors. He pushes them open and is stuck mid-fall and an invisible conveyor belt tracks him to the center of the room. Someone is already waiting in this room.

CAL:

Cal is found in the Library. He zones out and replays the last fight he had with his father. He stands opposite to his father, flanked by Cal’s younger brother Prince Zelzes to the left, and to the right is Roven Silverspear, the king’s literal right-hand man. The argument is nothing of note, besides that Zelzes and Silverspear interject with belittlement by name-calling and undermining his side. He returns to his bedchamber after training that night to find something is off, the hallway is just a little too quiet. He stands back at just the right time before his doors are blown off and guards try and storm in. He makes a break for it. He manages to injure one of the attackers before fleeing.

He spends a week on the lamb, ducking in and out of the public eye and trying to derail the search for him. He overhears talk of his disappearance, with no mention of the assassination attempt. He develops a split personality to cope with this newfound trauma, and towards the end finds himself cornered in a supply warehouse. The guards are closing in and in a last ditch effort to get away, he summons a rectangular portal of frosted glass that lights in the darkness. He gauges his options and jumps through.

Cal unfurls a scroll that details The Sicarius, a group of Grung assassins known for their use of poison and ability to sneakily topple unruly governments or monarchs. He scans it with more detail when suddenly a large, purple fireball blasts through the window right above his head and begins to burn the Library. Cal jumps up, and knocks over his ‘to read’ pile, where a tome falls open and has a large picture of Adrian, followed by a brief description. Adrian is a Grung who helped found the Academy.

Shelby, a high elf, screams for help because a second fireball has smashed into the Library farther down, causing a bookshelf to fall and pin her. Cal rushes over and lifts it up, allowing Shelby to escape. She thanks him graciously before running off.

Cal rips out the page about Adrian and stuffs it into the scroll about The Sicarius, and runs. Cal finds his way to a set of large Oak doors, he checks them for traps, but doesn’t find any. He takes a step in and is tracked into the center of the room, where he stands and briefly after, a Teifling almost falls in.

THARA:

Thara finds herself full of so many emotions as she points to a carriage with The Baron of a far off land, but corrects herself at the last minute, letting go a blast of pure necrotic energy, decimating and reanimating the horses. Her outburst turned the attention of the onlookers to her, and she ran. The two guards make chase, almost catching up to her, but in a brief instant of clarity, she stops at a shimmering pond of silver water and her reality shifts. Instead of jumping downwards, she is spit out sideways out of the backdoor of a restaurant.

Thara is now in an alleyway, and she makes her way out and into the street of a bustling farmers market, and across the way she makes out a pink skinned, wheelchair-bound Dr. Cantaloupe holds a plastic bag as his adoptive daughter Cherry zips around and fills it up with assorted groceries.

She rushes over to him and immediately collapses at his feed, sobbing. He helps her up and brings her to a park bench overlooking a large lake. He explains how the Academy works and how everyone here was once a newbie. Cherry hops up and sits next to her, playing with her hair or asking questions about how she got there.

They sit and talk for a bit, enough time where now Dr. Cantaloupe and Thara are walking and talking through the hallways of the Academy. Dr. Cantaloupe looks around and registers that Cherry isn’t with them, and as he gets a little nervous a loud explosion blows dust into their hallway a few intersections back.

Dr. Cantaloupe wheels around and speedily disappears around a corner, leaving Thara alone. She investigates the explosion to find the Library is alive with flames, and across the hallway are two large Oak doors. She looks around and enters them, and just like the others, is tracked to the center. She is last to arrive.

COUNCIL ROOM:

All three are now within the Council Room, where they are stuck in place, staring at a wall of thrones. In the center, an old Human Wizard sits. He has a large pointy hat and a long white beard. He is clutching a staff in one hand. On either side of the wall of thrones sits two doorways with swirling black portals in their frames.

To his right sits a towering robotic humanoid with eyes of all shades covering most of her metal flesh, she has eyes seemingly everywhere besides where normal people have eyes, where she has a large red gemstone for the right socket and a large black eye patch covering the left. On her shoulder sits a mini throne where a blue and green Grung sits.

To the right, sits three large, but ultimately normal-sized thrones. Two on ground level and one positioned above their heads in the center. On the ground sits an elderly Tortle. Next to him is a young, dirt-stained Svirfneblin, and above them sits a dark Kenku with a bow string across his chest.

The party hears a voice, and they can tell it’s coming from the Council, but none of them are moving in any way. The voice says, “This Council has presided over the Academy of Adventurer’s since its inception. Now, The Chosen, The Lost, and the Re-claimer, find their way into this hallowed hall. You are here for a reason, yet none of us called upon any otherworldly deities to bring such a group here. There must be another reason for strings as intertwined as these,” and the voice pauses, as Dr. Cantaloupe, with Cherry on his lap, comes bursting in.

Dr. Cantaloupe shakes a finger at the council and demands the doorways out of the Academy are fixed this instant. He’d like to, at the very least, have the option of leaving and returning to his family. Cherry even jumps off his lap and makes a game of running through the portal and being spit back out into the room.

The Council speaks up, “The exit doorways are free and open to use for anyone who needs them, just as the Academy is.” This frustrates Dr. Cantaloupe. He apologies to the party before leaving to wait outside, since the Council seems to not be answering their questions. “The Doctor seems to be not a fan of our Academy, all he has to do is leave,” the Council says.

RESISTANCE:

Dr. Cantaloupe is waiting outside the door, still calming down. He explains of a place they can go that will be safe to speak of such private matters. He leads them down a hallway and taps the wall in a design and it slides up and over to reveal a hallway. Cherry speeds down into the darkness and out of sight. He then creates a sigil of sorts with his hands and begins to lift himself up. His wheelchair folds up into a briefcase and he floats down. The stairs are a rough stone and the walls and ceilings are dirt.

At the bottom, there is a landing that splits in three. To the right is a locker room, the left a bunk house, and forward to a long meeting area. Dr. Cantaloupe unfolds his wheelchair and sits down on the opposite side of a round stone table. He leans back and folds his hands and tells the players he will answer any question they have.

The Resistance was formed as an underground and covert way of learning more about the Academy. They learned that the Academy heals itself overnight, almost exactly at Midnight. When he found out none of the exit doors were working, the Resistance changed into a full-blown operation to fix them and find out why they aren’t working in the first place.

Dr. Cantaloupe slides contracts to each member and offers them a safe haven to train as well as learn more about what’s going on. Each person signs the contact, and with the last one being signed he brings the party down a more secure tunnel, this one with sparse lighting from bulbs until they reach a stone doorway that the party walks into. There are no lights in this room and Dr. Cantaloupe explains that to be a part of the Resistance they need to prove their might, trial by combat style. The three of them were taken to the Council Room for a reason, so having them in the Resistance is more than beneficial.

The party defeats the Purple Wormling and it disintegrates, only to be brought back the next day. After that, The party splits up. Jovis runs home, waking up Oliver and shouting at him about the very eventful day he had. Cal meditates in the lake to gain some clarity, and Thara prays to her god.

#orientation #d&d #dnd #prologue

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forlorn-kumquat · 4 years

Text

something stupid

“This is quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

Standing in the doorway to the bookshop, an infant’s car seat dangling from one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other, Crowley shot Aziraphale a disarming grin. “Aw, c’mon, Angel. I’ve done stupider things than this.”

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Aziraphale snapped, pulling Crowley into the bookshop while looking frantically up and down the street, like he thought the forces of Heaven and Hell were going to jump out at them from the shadows. “Crowley, what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted, with a shrug. “Maybe, ‘hey, it’d be great if the world didn’t end in a decade or so’.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, not sure if he’d heard him correctly. “Is that - is that the Antichrist?” he demands, aghast.

“Of course it’s the Antichrist!” Crowley looks confused, first, and then offended. “What, you thought I’d just nicked some random baby off the street?”

“I didn’t know what you’d done!” Aziraphale threw his hands up in disbelief as he stalked away from Crowley, away from the baby - Satan’s baby. “I can’t believe you stole the Antichrist,” he shot back over his shoulder as he started an impromptu reorganization of his entire shelving system. It shouldn’t take long, just a few weeks, and then maybe by then Satan’s baby would no longer be in his bookshop. “Crowley, what were you thinking?”

“You asked me that already,” Crowley pointed out, from where he’d made himself comfortable on the couch he’d summoned into the middle of the room, the rather immense piece of furniture defying several laws of physics in order to fit in and around the bookshelves. He was lounging on the couch, glass of liquor dangling from his hand, and using his foot to carefully rock the Antichrist to sleep in his carrier. “You’re repeating yourself, Angel.”

“Because your first answer was ludicrous,” Aziraphale told him. “Crowley, you can’t just stop the Apocalypse!”

“Why not?” Crowley asked, and the utter reasonableness in his tone had Aziraphale stopping in his tracks.

“Because-because-” he stammered, staring down at the book he was holding as if it might give him the words he was so desperately searching for. The pristine first-edition of Hamlet offered no revelations. “Because you can’t,” he finally insisted, re-shelving the book and grabbing another to stare at.

“Well, I did,” Crowley retorted, “so obviously I can.” He gave Aziraphale the same charming smile that had gotten them into so much trouble over the centuries. “Angel, you of all people can’t really tell me that you want the Apocalypse. That you want the Earth and all its wonders - all its people - to be destroyed.”

“But it’s the Great Plan!” Aziraphale protested.

“I’m a demon,” Crowley reminded him. “Defying the Great Plan is a pretty big part of the job description.”

“But not a part of mine.” Abandoning his reorganization as a lost cause, Aziraphale wound his way back through the bookshelves to join Crowley on the couch. “I’m not like you, Crowley. I can’t just disobey my orders whenever I want.” Summoning a tumbler into his hand, he poured himself a generous portion of Crowley’s scotch and downed it in a couple of quick swallows. “I don’t even know why you came here, tonight.”

On the other end of the couch, Crowley was suddenly, suspiciously silent. Aziraphale looked up from his glass to see Crowley facing away from him, bent over the infant carrier in order to fuss over the Antichrist. Aziraphale watched him for a few seconds, worrying at the baby’s blanket, before he reached out and smacked Crowley’s hands away.

“Stop that,” he scolded. “You want to wake him up? Heaven only knows what he’s capable of if you upset him.”

“He’s not going to wake up,” Crowley muttered, but he slouched back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. He still wouldn’t meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale pressed, watching him closely, “Crowley, why did you come here tonight? This isn’t exactly part of our usual Arrangement.”

“You’re right, I should probably go,” Crowley started, half-standing as he reached for the infant carrier, but Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Crowley, please, won’t you just tell me?”

Crowley was silent for several long seconds, and then finally, “I think Armageddon is a mistake.”

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath, half expecting a bolt of holy fire to come through the ceiling to strike Crowley down. Crowley, for his part, looked afraid but defiant.

“Armageddon is a mistake,” he repeated, louder, like he was daring God to smite him for his blasphemy. “It’s one thing to make plans to destroy the Earth when it’s brand new and there’s nothing on it, but it’s different, now. There’s people, and dolphins, and ducks - the ducks don’t deserve to have their planet wiped out. None of them do.”

“But why come here?” Aziraphale asked, for a third time. “Why come to me with this?”

Crowley jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “Be awfully hard to hide a baby from you for the next decade,” he said. “Besides, why wouldn’t I come here? You’re my best friend.”

Aziraphale blinked, genuinely taken aback by the emotion in Crowley’s voice, the casual way he admitted his feelings. Feelings that he, himself, couldn’t even think about without developing anxiety.

“Do you really think we can do it?” he asked instead, once again shoving his emotions down into some deep dark corner of himself where he wouldn’t have to think about them. “Do you think we can raise the Antichrist so he won’t want to destroy the world?”

“Only one way to find out,” Crowley responded.

“And how do we know we’ll be able to do this?” Aziraphale asked, warming to his topic. “Crowley, do you even know anything about raising a baby?”

“Well, no,” Crowley admitted. “But, look at him, Angel! He’s so tiny compared to regular humans. How hard could this possibly be?”

----------

Later, both Crowley and Aziraphale would come to regret that comment. Deeply, deeply regret it. But for now, they barely had the time to rest, let alone regret.

They’d named the baby Adam (”We have to call him something, Angel, and he’s the first of his kind, too”) and set up a room for him in Crowley’s flat. They’d gone shopping for baby supplies - the human way, at Aziraphale’s insistence.

“If we’re going to raise him as a human,” Aziraphale had said, firmly, “then we need to do things the human way. That means no summoning things whenever we need them.”

Not that Crowley had minded going shopping with Aziraphale; it had actually been fun, wandering around the shops and watching Aziraphale cuddle Adam. He hadn’t even minded standing in the impossibly long lines while the understaffed shop tried to cope with only one open register (a little demonic invention he was particularly proud of). And he’d convinced Aziraphale to let him use a small miracle to send the packages back to the flat ahead of them, since it would have been even more suspicious for people to see them loading everything into a car clearly not meant to hold that much stuff.

They’d gone back to Crowley’s flat, and gotten all of Adam’s new things set up: crib, changing table, rocking chair, and an amount of stuffed animals that might charitably been called excessive. There’d been other things too, diapers, and wash cloths, and every little thing the shop assistants had insisted was absolutely essential to raising a newborn baby. So many things that they began spilling out of Adam’s designated room and rapidly encroaching on the rest of Crowley’s space. It was a problem that he could have solved easily with a miracle or two - if he hadn’t promised Aziraphale.

“Who knew babies needed so much space?” Aziraphale asked, wonderingly, staring in stunned shock at the veritable mountain of baby things filling the room and beyond. “You know, I don’t remember it looking like this much stuff when we were in the shop.”

“The shop’s bigger,” Crowley told him. “Makes everything look smaller by comparison.”

“Well, we can’t move Adam into the bookshop with me,” Aziraphale told him. “I’ve got even less space there than you do.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he wondered out loud, “How do humans do this over and over again?”

“Usually by finding a different place to live,” Crowley said, without thinking about it.

Aziraphale’s eyes positively lit up with glee. “Crowley, that’s it!” he said, excitedly.

“You want me to find a new place to live?” Crowley asked.

“Well, not just you,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley felt like he was missing something. “Well, who else-” He trailed off at the beaming smile on Aziraphale’s face, the barely-restrained eagerness. “Oh, no. We can’t, Angel. We’ve spent the last six thousand years going to great lengths to hide our Arrangement from both our sides, and now you want to throw all that hard work out the window by moving in together?”

“How else am I going to help you raise Adam?” Aziraphale pointed out. “This will all go much smoother if we’re both living in the same place.”

“What about discretion?” Crowley argued. “What about being careful and not getting caught?”

“We’ll still be careful,” Aziraphale hastened to assure him. “Just as we’ve always been. But I really do think this will be what’s best for Adam. Our best chance at raising him to be a normal boy with no aspirations of destroying the Earth.”

Crowley heaved a sigh, knowing when he’d been defeated. “I suppose you have some kind of idea of where we should live, too?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Aziraphale told him, “I have always wanted to live by the sea.”

----------

They settled on a cottage at the seaside. Well, the realtor called it a cottage; Crowley, personally, had seen smaller castles. But, it had more than enough space for their little Antichrist to flourish, and that was all that mattered.

Four spacious bedrooms, a library big enough to house all of Aziraphale’s books and then some, a garden in the back for Adam to run around in when he was older - the house had everything they were looking for. It even had an overgrown garden that Crowley couldn’t wait to get his hands on.

It was perfect.

----------

Despite the impression he gave off, Crowley really did love his plants. He loved the quiet, meditative feeling in the early morning when he goes through his greenhouse and the gardens, tending to his plants. He loved the little thrill of pride every time someone complimented his gardens. He especially loveed yelling at his plants and watching them tremble in fear (and Aziraphale could just stop with his talk of “unhealthy coping mechanisms” and “indicative of old traumas” all right, because that’s not what he’s doing, Aziraphale was wrong, completely wrong, and which one of them influenced Freud, again?). Point being, Crowley really did love his plants.

Crowley does not love grass.

He’d never been responsible for a lawn full of grass before moving with Aziraphale to their house in the South Downs. There wasn’t a lot of grass running around Soho, after all, outside of St. James Park, and it had always been lushly green and vibrant with life whenever he was there. And he’d assumed, upon seeing the stretch of yellowish-green grass out front, that taking care of this lawn would be just like the rest of his plants.

The realtor had apologized for the unkempt state of the lawn, muttering something about the previous owners, but had quickly reassured them that all it needed was a little TLC to restore it to its former glory. And Crowley had just as quickly reassured her that he would have the lawn looking better than ever before.

He had been wrong. So very wrong.

Grass, he discovered, wasn’t like the plants he was used to dealing with. His plants were young, malleable, easily intimidated. Grass was old and immune to his demonic charms. Grass weathered the changing seasons to come back every spring, survived fire and flood alike, laid down deep, complex roots that weren’t about to give quarter to anyone. Grass had been there long before humans had ever existed, and would be there long after they ceased to be even a blip on the planet.

Grass, quite frankly, did not give two shits about Crowley or his thoughts on how it should be.

Crowley would have been impressed - if he hadn’t been busy declaring all-out war on his new nemesis.

----------

Crowley’s other nemesis was named Karen.

Karen was the head of the village association. Karen’s main responsibility was ensuring that everyone who lived in the village abided by the rules the association laid down. Karen’s main stickler was the state of people’s lawns. Therefore, Karen did not like Crowley.

Crowley could have lived with dislike. In fact, he would have thrived from it. But Karen didn’t just stop at dislike. Karen leveraged every bit of power she had in the village association to levy sanctions and fines against him for the state of his lawn. She insulted his gardening ability. And worst of all, she’d made Aziraphale unhappy. And that could not stand.

In a way, Crowley figured, he’d brought this on himself. One of his few acts in America had been the creation of homeowner associations, organizations that existed supposedly to help the people who lived in their communities, but instead served to make everyone miserable. He’d even earned a commendation for it. But he’d never foreseen people in England deciding to adopt the idea to torture themselves - and by extension, him.

So he’d tried, at first, to be patient when Karen had knocked on their door and informed him that his yard was not up to association standards. He’d politely replied that they’d just moved in and he was sure he’d have the yard back in shape in no time. He’d also assumed that would be the end of their interactions.

As with too many things recently, Crowley was wrong about this.

Karen became a near-constant presence in his life, stopping by the cottage almost every day to tut sadly about the lawn that refused to turn green, no matter what Crowley tried. She’d purse her lips, giving Crowley a Look that suggested that she regarded him as little more than a disobedient child. She’d stare down at the yellowing grass for several long, silent minutes, like she expected it to bloom into life under her watchful gaze. And then she’d heave a deep sigh, fix Crowley with yet another Look, and remind him in her polite, icy tone that he’d incurred yet another fine for the month, and was facing another next month if he didn’t get his situation under control.

Despite his hatred, Crowley was grudgingly impressed. She’d have made a fine demon.

----------

Luckily, the rest of their neighbors were much more reasonable. About half a dozen of them had young children and were more than happy to lend their expertise when it came to raising babies. They even had a weekly parents’ group that Aziraphale was more than happy to join - and host monthly in their house while somehow forgetting to tell Crowley each and every time. But he looked so happy that Crowley couldn’t even pretend to be angry.

“It’s so good of you to take in your nephew,” one of the mothers - Crowley thought her name was Martha - said, cooing down at Adam in his arms with a sappy smile on her face. “You and Ezra, coming together to raise an orphaned baby - it’s so romantic!”

Crowley choked, feeling his face burn. “I-I don’t know if I’d put it that way,” he stammered. No matter how much he might want to.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about anyone around here giving you grief about it, sweetheart,” Martha said, conspiratorially, patting Crowley on the arm. “Besides, you two aren’t fooling anyone.”

“We aren’t?” Crowley asked, weakly.

Martha just smiled at him again before wandering away to talk to Aziraphale on the other side of the room, leaving Crowley staring down at Adam in stunned shock. The baby blinked up at him.

“We’re fooling everyone, aren’t we?” Crowley asked.

The baby had no answer.

----------

After seeing the last of their neighbors out the door, Aziraphale shut the door with a happy sigh, turning around to regard the empty room behind him. The too-empty room, come to think of it. Where were Crowley and Adam?

Poking around the house, he finally found them in the one place that, once he thought about it, should have been the first place he looked: Crowley’s beloved glass-walled greenhouse. Crowley was stretched out on the battered leather sofa in the center of the room, sound asleep, Adam lying on his chest. Aziraphale had to bite back a smile at the sight of the two of them.

“Crowley,” he said, instead, reaching out to jostle Crowley’s shoulder. “Crowley, everyone’s gone.”

Crowley blinked sleepily up at him, one had curling around Adam as he slowly sat up. “Angel?”

“Everyone’s gone,” Aziraphale repeated. “You can come out of hiding, now.”

“Wasn’t hiding,” Crowley protested, his cheeks tinged faintly pink. “Just spending some one-on-one time with the munchkin, here.”

Now fully awake, Adam babbled a string of nonsense, curling his fingers tightly around Crowley’s shirt. Crowley smiled down at the baby, bouncing him in his arms and making him giggle.

“Not to belabor the obvious,” Aziraphale pointed out, “but the whole point of hosting the parents’ group over here is for Adam to get to spend some time with other children.”

“You’ll have more parents’ groups,” Crowley told him. “And Adam will have plenty of time to play with the other children when I’m gone.”

“When you’re gone?” Aziraphale echoed, feeling suddenly very confused. “Crowley, are you planning on going somewhere?”

Crowley grimaced, looking uncomfortable. “Hell got a hold of me a couple hours ago,” he said. “They’re sending me on a job; I leave in the morning. Don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Could be a few days, could be a few months.”

Aziraphale stared at him in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” Crowley dragged a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping slightly. “Besides, you looked like you were having fun talking to Martha and that other one. I didn’t want to ruin your afternoon when there was nothing you could do about it.”

“But I-” Aziraphale broke off, unable to put what he was really feeling into words. He was hurt, and a little angry, and more than a little scared at the thought of whatever Hell had planned for Crowley, once he was somewhere Aziraphale couldn’t protect him. “What about Adam?” he tried, changing tacks. “We’re supposed to be taking care of him, together.”

“We’re also supposed to be keeping him off Heaven and Hell’s radars,” Crowley pointed out, “which means that if Hell tells me to jump, I can’t very well say no. Can’t risk them getting suspicious; not now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale conceded, reluctantly. “Just, promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Which one of us got locked in the Bastille for a bite to eat, again?” Crowley asked, teasingly. “I promise, Angel, I’ll be careful.”

----------

Aziraphale would never - never - ask Crowley to be less careful, to risk himself while he was on a job for Hell. But over six months without a word? Without anything to let them know that he was still okay while he was working for Hell, that he was safe and unharmed?

Aziraphale would have given a great many things for simply a reassuring whisper.

But as worried as he was, he tried his best to not let Adam pick up on what he was really feeling. The boy grew stronger every day, and not just physically. He hadn’t yet shown any overt displays of his powers, but he was so sensitive to Aziraphale’s thoughts and emotions that there was no doubt that he was at least strongly attuned to the occult. And the last thing Aziraphale wanted was to inadvertently upset Adam with his worries and fears.

So he smiled, and he laughed, and he tried to keep things going as normally as possible for Adam’s sake. He couldn’t let himself do anything else.

He’d spun a tale to his parents’ group about Crowley being unexpectedly being called away on business - although he was careful to stay vague on just what that business actually was. He was sure that more than a couple of their neighbors now thought that Crowley was into something shady and illegal, as a result, but better than raising suspicions by forgetting exactly which story he’d been telling them.

But whatever they might have thought, none of his neighbors had shown the slightest hesitation in showing up day after day to check in on him and Adam, to give them comfort and company and make sure they were never alone for very long. It was exactly the very best kind of humanity that Aziraphale had wanted Adam to experience and be influenced by.

They were alone tonight though, just him and Adam and his wayward thoughts. Adam had been restless all day long, refusing to eat or sleep, just all around fussy and upset. Aziraphale couldn’t really blame him. He wanted to give into his fears, let himself get fussy and upset, too.

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do anything other than pace the length of the greenhouse while Adam cried in his arms, hoping that Crowley had imbued enough of himself into his plants for Adam to sense and be soothed by.

“Dada, dada, dada…” The litany of Adam’s newest word, sobbed into Aziraphale’s shoulder, broke his heart. Dada was reserved almost exclusively for the picture of Crowley that Aziraphale showed him, and Aziraphale acted to be able to give Adam what he wanted.

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothed, as he turned on his heel to make yet another circuit of the room, “I want your dada to come home, too.”

Then, he stopped and stared at the doorway, and at Crowley leaning against the door jamb, a tired smile on his face.

“Why, Angel,” Crowley quipped, “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Crowley, you’re home.” Aziraphale was so relieved, he couldn’t even be slightly irritated at Crowley teasing him. “Are you all right?” he demanded, anxiously.

“More or less,” Crowley told him.

Crossing the distance between them, he held his arms out to Adam, scooping him up and promptly holding him close as Adam snuggled happily against his chest. Then, he surprised Aziraphale by freeing an arm and wrapping it around Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulling him into a loose hug.

“Crowley, what-”

“I know this isn’t what we usually do,” Crowley interrupted him, voice muffled from where he had his head pressed against the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, “but I just - I need this right now.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, wrapping his arms around Crowley in response. He could feel tremors running through Crowley’s lanky frame, and he rubbed his hand up and down Crowley’s back to try and comfort him. “You can have whatever you need,” he assured him.

“Just this,” Crowley said, still holding on tightly. “Just need to know that you and Adam are safe.”

They held each other for a few minutes more, only parting reluctantly when Adam started fussing again.

“He’s probably tired,” Aziraphale told Crowley. “I’m afraid neither of us has been getting much sleep, lately. And it is rather late,” he added, glancing down at his watch to see it was already after midnight.

“It’s not just late,” Crowley said, after a moment. “It’s officially Adam’s first birthday.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale checked his watch again, surprised to see the date he hadn’t really registered until now. “Well, how about that?”

“We did it, Angel,” Crowley told him, as they carried Adam down the hall to put him to bed. “We made it through the first year.”

“Only ten more to go,” Aziraphale reminded him. “If only they’re all like this one.”

“I think we’ll be okay, Angel,” Crowley told him. “The three of us, I think we’ll be okay.”

(And they were.)

#Crowley #Aziraphale #Good Omens #kumquat writes

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raeyvies · 7 years

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What happens when Seven finds out about MC’s anxiety? pt.2

MC has anxiety revolving fear of being abandoned/thrown away as though she were worthless. However, she has violent and destructive tendencies to cope with her distress. Luckily she has it under control with medication, but what happens when MC stops taking her meds and Seven accidentally triggers her anxiety once again?

Suggested by @revalya : “What would Seven do if he meets an MC who has anxiety like Saeran and she only wants to run away?”

You can read the Saeran version of this story here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Part: 2/3

Warning : 2562 words

Pairing: SevenxMC

Warning: some violence

Sorry for any grammar mistakes ^^;;

Thanks to Saeyoung, you finally felt in control of your life and felt even more comfortable with commitment. After all, you two christened all of Saeyoung’s cars after about two months after doing it in your car. Things were changing, and now you were anxious to be with him rather than to be away from him. Your therapist cleared you and ended your sessions with her for good. Your nights became more meaningful as you talked with Saeyoung usually past midnight until he’d be the one to tell you to rest.

On the other side of the phone, Saeyoung was so relieved to know you always went to bed calmed and not frustrated or fearful. Now he tapped into your phone every night just to hear you sleep instead of checking if you were having a breakdown or smashing things. He was doing everything because he genuinely loved you; he wasn’t making up for what he didn’t do with his twin brother all those years ago by trying to protect you from fear itself. Most nights, your steady breathing was soothing to his ears as he laid in his own room trying to imagine what you looked like at the moment. On very rare nights, he would catch you moaning his name and he could only imagine what you were dreaming, making him chuckle but soon enough he would have to take care of himself too.

♦ ♦ ♦

You were in the midst of analyzing a gun that was sent down from the upper floors. It was for a criminal investigation and they needed you to determine if such a gun was capable of a list of things they gave you. Wearing gloves and sound cancelling ear muffs, you were testing out different guns for a match, and you barely noticed that someone was knocking on the door to get your attention. Taking a brief moment away from your work, you turn around to attend whoever it was when you noticed it was Saeyoung. You gave him a confused look before smiling that he was actually here.

You saw him hold his hands up with documents in one hand as though you were pointing a gun at him.

Oh wait. You were pointing at him accidentally. You just failed basic firearm training and put it back on a table close by, taking off your ear muffs.

“Saeyoung? What..Why are you here,” you asked him as you walked him out of the firing room and laid a kiss on his lips. “I don’t think I’ve told you this is where I work. Wait, have you been stalking me?!”

Well technically yes, he thought to himself. You didn’t have to tell him where you worked for him to know because after all he had run a background check on you since the beginning, months ago. But he actually had to come down here because he needed you to run an analysis on some firearms. Though, he wouldn’t mind making excuses to come down here more often.

“Actually this is purely coincidental. I work here too, MC, just on the seventh floor. I’ve never had to come down here so that’s why I never knew you worked here too,” he explained as he placed the documents on the first table he found. Seeing around, he only saw one desk, and quickly concluded, “You work down here alone? This whole floor is yours?”

“Pretty much. I’ve been begging to get an assistant at least but not much I can do. The higher ups are fine with just me down here,” you sighed as you propped yourself onto one of the tables because you can. And Saeyoung invited himself to close the space between you two.

“I’d say you’re just fine here alone. No one to tell you what you can’t do either.” Oh he was so implying what you already thought. You chuckled, letting him slide his hands under your shirt, but only to tease him. Just as Saeyoung thought you two were about to have some fun, you gently pushed him away with a finger to his chest.

“I’d love to but like I said. I work by myself so I have a lot to do,” you pouted, laughing internally as you saw his kicked puppy face. “Come over to my apartment and we could, you know, finished what we started.”

With that said, Saeyoung left as he gave you a wink walking out the door. Outside, he applauded himself because you had finally opened up enough to let him into your home. That night you had bought some alcohol of your choice and casually drank with Saeyoung at first, until it became a contest to see how many shots each one of you could take. Admittedly you both said some strange things and then at one point, Saeyoung started babbling on about things you couldn’t comprehend. It was all funny until he said two intelligible sentences, “I wonder where Saeran is--oh yeah by the way I have a twin brother--since I practically abandoned him. Some brother I am.”

Just with the word “abandoned” you were triggered. You never thought that would come out of his mouth. He abandoned his own brother and regardless if he was regretful of it, to you it was all the same. You were determined to cage up those thoughts of Saeyoung.

No he won’t abandon me. It won’t happen.

But that was the start of your downhill spiral. After he said what he did, all you did was drink up whatever was left of the alcohol until you laid down on the floor and passed out. The next morning you woke up with a terrible hangover, Saeyoung laid down right next to you, spooning you. You sat up slowly for a few moments attempting to regain awareness of your surroundings. A few moments later, when Saeyoung was also waking up, you stumbled to get on your feet and dash to nearest bathroom and regurgitating the contents from your stomach into the toilet. Heaving, coughing, wheezing. You gripped the sides of the toilet tightly; you grazed your knees against the ceramic tiling. Saeyoung was there for you just as you were finished vomiting. Flushing the toilet, you got back up with Saeyoung’s help. Seemingly, he was alright after last night’s drunken adventures but you felt like death was waiting for you.

While you sat behind your counters, Seven prepared some coffee for you to help you get something into your stomach first. Your face was completely void of life because unconsciously, your anxiety was coming back but you were fighting off any urges to hurt him.

You needed your medication again but you had none left.

“Here, MC. Go easy with it, I’ll go out and buy something that won’t upset your stomach. Sorry I can’t cook anything for you but I don’t want to poison you,” Saeyoung sheepishly said as he handed you a mug filled with black coffee. As he went back to serve himself some coffee, your grip on the mug (not the handle) tightened and you just dropped your hand to the granite counter top. The mug shattered, the contents spilled all over your hand, and fragments of glass punctured your hand.

But you felt nothing at all except your own fear. You remained expressionless.

Saeyoung snapped out of what he was doing and freak out as he saw your hand dripping with scorching hot coffee and blood. He tried to move you from your seat and take you to the bathroom to clean it up, but you refused to move. It was as if your body was vacant of the only soul to inhabit it.

Staring off straight past Saeyoung, you monotonously said, “You should go to work. It’s getting late. I’ll just take something for this hangover and go to work late.”

“MC,” he started, sounding worried about you, but nothing about his emotions was registering in you. You only heard words but didn’t listen. “Let me take care of your hand though.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to burden you.”

Saeyoung kept insisting but you really wanted him out of your home as soon as possible. You wanted to scream, cry, smash things, anything to just stop flooding your mind with negative thoughts. You eventually snapped at Saeyoung, immediately apologizing but he started to catch on but he didn’t understand why all of a sudden.

As he left your apartment, he thought, Shit, what did I say? He absolutely could not remember anything from the previous night. It was all a blur of laughs and unintelligible phrases.

When you saw him outside walking back to his car and driving out of the building’s parking lot, you cried out. Your demons were reentering into your life. You were no longer numb and felt the pain emanating from your hand. Your fingers twitched and your hand shook under the pain.

Having found your first aid kit, you disinfected your wound over your kitchen sink. A mixture of rubbing alcohol and blood streamed down into the sink, and you weeped in pain. Even though it was arduous, the thought of Saeyoung leaving you behind soon was even more agonizing. Between cries, you whispered audibly, “Please don’t leave me. Not like you left your brother.”

Your phone was on the counter right in front of the sink and Saeyoung heard everything as he drove back to his home.

God dammit. I ruin everything!

He desperately wanted to visit you at work to see how you were doing, but he wasn’t sure if he should. You yearned for Saeyoung to come see you to comfort you but how could he know if you wouldn’t even let him see you like this.

You didn’t want him to leave, but you did nothing to tie him to you either.

That week, and the next, Saeyoung hadn’t contacted you, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t monitoring you from his phone. He wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was because his mind was spinning too. He thought he was repeating the same mistake from before with Saeran and his mind was just completely blocked. Saeyoung heard your whimpers at night pleading for him to not leave you. He heard your angered screams. He heard you smashing anything breakable in your apartment.

MC, I’m not going to leave you. I just don’t know what to do…

You seriously needed your pills. But now, you couldn’t even make an appointment with your therapist. All her appointments were booked and it was already hard enough finding a therapist in your area to begin with. You were desperate for relief, for medication. Or sedation, honestly.

Your apartment was trashed by your violent outbursts, and not once did you even give thought to cleaning up. You no longer slept on your bed either. You ripped holes into the mattress so you slept on your couch, until you destroyed the cushions too and began to sleep on the floor. At work you didn't let your emotions show and worked diligently. After all, your fears and anxiety had nothing to do with your occupation. You waited for Saeyoung to one day enter your office as a surprise, but it didn't come. At one point you even made an attempt to visit him in his office, but you never found at where he worked. You asked around and nobody knew, and those who did know only said that he was not allowed to have visitors. You figured that he had a prestigious job then and it explained why he had his own garage full of cars.

Your self-destructive habits didn't stop and Saeyoung took a step forward to visit you at your apartment, only to sit outside your door and listening in to the hurricane blowing through your home. For a few weeks, he visited you and you didn't stop breaking things. How many things did you have in your home that you could still be breaking after three weeks? Finally, it was as though the eye of the storm was passing through, and it became silent, so Saeyoung took the chance to make his way into the apartment.

He only had one foot inside the door before you saw him, and threw an old picture frame at him. Thankfully, it didn't hit him but he was shocked enough to back out of the door. You immediately felt remorse for having done that to him and dashed to the door. However, you didn't open it and rather fell to your knees, crying out to Saeyoung if he was still there, “Don't go. Please. Saeyoung, help me.”

He was still there, sitting against the door, hearing every word. “I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“But I'll hurt you. I'm so scared. Just get away from my apartment!” Words were spilling out of your mouth with no sense or logic.

“I'll stay out here then. You won't hurt me if I'm not in there,” Saeyoung sighed. This was as close as he could get to you. As much as he loved you and wanted to help you, he had to figure out another way. There's no use if he was hurt anyway. After all this time, he couldn't figure out what to do. If there was some logical answer to this whole situation, it wasn't coming to him, frustrating him more than necessary. “I'm staying here MC. I'm not going to throw you away. I won't repeat the same mistake if that's what you keep thinking.”

The next thing he heard was silence and the door opening behind you. The two of you just stood there staring at each other. You were shaking as though you were fighting something inside you. And Saeyoung only waited for you to make your next move. He wouldn't force you to decide what to do. A few moments later, you started hitting Saeyoung’s chest, shocking him as his breath hitched for a moment. You repeatedly hit him, unable to stop until he grabbed you by your wrists and begged to you, “Look at me, MC. Just look. I know everything. I know you resort to this to protect yourself. You're anxious. You're scared. But I need you to calm down if you want anything to change. I'll find a way to get your medication, too.”

You were unable to process what he was just saying. Since when did he know? Turned out that your efforts to hide your demons were in vain. It didn't matter to hide them anymore because they were never hidden from the start if that's when he found out. If you were being truthful, it felt more like a relief than a violation of privacy because you wanted help. Even if you couldn't tell him yourself, at least he already knew. You couldn't form any words as your mind was spinning.

“Tell me. What do you need from me to believe I won't abandon you? What do I have to do to prove I won't leave?”

Saeyoung was pleading to you. He needed to know what to do if he was ever to help you through this. His voice was shaking. He didn't want to lose you like this. It wasn't right.

And the truth was that you had already said it before. The answer to his question.

“Help me.”

To be continued

#mystic messenger #mysme #mysme angst #mystic messenger angst #mysme scenario #mystic messenger scenario #mysme fanfic #mystic messenger fanfic #sevenxmc

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nebou · 7 years

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analysis of Brotherhood: ep 4

a thing i’ve always found interesting about ep four of Brotherhood is how cold Noctis’ and Ignis’ relationship comes off as compared to how it’s portrayed later in game. in game there’s witty banter, inside jokes, loving, nagging, sarcasm, overall you get a very mother/son vibe. this is in stark contrast to the anime where it’s painfully servant/lord with none of the humor and lightheartedness that we’re used to. it’s easy to overlook this as just inconsistent writing and some ppl leave it at that but the Lore Whore in me just won’t go down w out a fight, hence this long tangenty rant about what the hell Ignis(and Noctis but mostly Ignis) is thinking in Brotherhood Episode 4: Bittersweet Memories

i think it’s first important to establish that the Ignis we all know and are most familiar with isn’t the same Ignis that is in the majority of episode four, and i don’t want to write this off as poor writing because, even if there are some differences, the anime still gives us an Ignis that is if not relatively close to the one in game, he’s the one to first react to Noct doing stupid shit

he worries over Noctis

and gives into Noct’s sillier behaviour

so i don’t think it’s an issue of poor writing so much as it is the writer’s intended younger!Ignis to come off as colder and more stoic than his older counterpart. we see it throughout the episode that younger!Ignis(screw it im just gonna call him Youngnis) acts far more cool, aloof, and detached towards Noctis, giving us the impression that he thinks of himself as just a servant and of Noctis as a lord and nothing more- except that doesn’t make sense. it was released that Ignis and Noctis knew eachother since they were six and three respectively, meaning Noctis knew Ignis since most likely before he could remember. on top of that, Ignis knew about Noctis’ and Luna’s journal, something that Noctis is at least somewhat private about, but didn’t seem to mind Ignis handling it and only got upset once Youngnis started nagging him about it. in in-game dialogue it’s implied that they both have a tons of memories together, all of this suggests that Noctis and Ignis would be incredibly close friends throughout their lives but for some reason, all we get from Youngnis is

Youngnis acts like he is just a servant and advisor to Noctis, and i would be tempted to believe that he had behaved this way his entire life(hell, the thought of small, dedicated little butler Ignis warms my heart) had it not been for this. this little bit of dialogue tells us that when Ignis was a kid, he wasn’t the cold calculative type, meaning Yougnis’ behaviour we see here was something that he picked up later, but why? and when?

an important thing to know about Ignis’ character is how he sees and judges himself. if you haven’t already, please check out this wonderfully worded post because it sums up Ignis’ biggest fear in detail far better than i ever could, but to sum it up: Ignis measures himself in his usefulness to Noctis, and so everything he does is for Noctis. it’s the reason why, even though Youngnis acts objectively about Noctis’ position as crown prince, he’s able to spend countless hours trying to perfect a recipe that Noctis offhandedly mentioned he liked and continue this for years. but that still doesn’t explain Youngnis’ behavior, for that, we need to go deeper.

this bit of dialogue confused me every time, mostly because we literally just saw Youngnis pick up all of Noctis’ trash that day, and also because it implies that Ignis won’t be there to pick up after Noctis. now, a lot of the conflict in this episode centers around Ignis trying to prepare Noctis for kinghood,he’s constantly telling Noctis that he needs to study, he needs to take responsibility, he needs to look after himself, all the while he’s not giving Noctis the opportunity to take his nagging seriously because he’s too busy coddling him. i mean think about it, he neatly sums up political reports for him so Noctis can go to public school, he cleans up his apartment so Noctis doesn’t have to move back to the palace, he carefully manages Noctis’ diet but still lets him refuse vegetables. Youngnis knows that Noctis has to step up as prince so he can be ready when he has to be king, but part of him can’t let go and is afraid to let Noctis embrace his fate. why?

because ignis knows what being king entails, and the thought of Noctis slowly withering away, duty or no, can’t be a pleasant thought for Ignis. at the end of the day, Ignis wants what’s best for Noctis, but he also knows what’s needed from him. he’s at war with himself because he knows he can’t just let Noct run away from his duties, but the last thing Ignis wants is to see Noctis die(i guess he never did because of the whole Blind thing, but anyway). Ignis can’t possibly choose, he’s reached an impasse, so he just does his duty, he tries his best to make Noct’s life easier, and he detaches himself from the other to minimize the pain of being unable to give Noct the normal life he wants, but that’s not without it’s costs.

Youngnis can provide everything Noctis needs-physically, he can feed him, make sure he lives in a clean environment, give him the tools to succeed, but by detaching himself from the situation, he loses the companionship he had with Noctis. it sucks. look at him.

that’s not the face of a happy advisor i’ll tell ya

but what’s equally important is that Youngnis isn’t the only one suffering. Noctis lost a friend, too, and Noctis doesn’t have many friends, and Ignis was his friend before anyone else, before Luna, before Prompto, before Gladio, literally Ignis was Noctis’ very first friend. and to have Ignis, either suddenly or gradually, close off from him, it must have hurt, and to top it off, Noctis still has to deal with the stress of watching his father slowly die, the tension from both those ordeals reaches its apex at the climax of the episode.

this is possibly the worst thing for Ignis to hear. Ignis is Noctis’ advisor, it’s his job to offer his perspective and counsel, and again, Ignis values himself as much as he’s useful to Noctis, and to hear that Noctis doesn’t want his advice leaves them both at their lowest points.

both are left clearly very agitated and compromised by the argument. both do their best to cope(both trying to act like nothing happened) until Gladio intervenes. Gladio does his best to acknowledge Noctis’ troubles about his father, but it’s still very clear that same night when Youngnis doesn’t show up that he’s torn up inside.

on the other end, after his outburst in the car, Ignis seems to be functioning normally, but still confides into Gladio impulsively. Ignis feels the weight of Noctis’ fate, and as someone who places so much value in Noct, he can’t not care about the outcome, but thankfully, Gladio gives him advice that Ignis couldn’t have realized in his closed-off state

Ignis was so blinded by his devotion to Noct and wanting him to lead the best life he could, he forgot Noct is capable of making that decision for himself. but that still leaves the issue of their relationship

Ignis still feels like he needs to be useful to Noctis. fortunately for him, Noctis could care less about all that, and shows Ignis that he doesn’t have to always be helpful to be around Noctis, since they are, no matter what, friends first and foremost.

this episode isn’t about Ignis learning to go soft on Noctis and understanding the the emotional weight of being prince, it’s about Ignis letting go and learning to trust Noctis to make his own life decisions. it’s about Ignis realizing that he can be for Noctis just to be there. and this is why i love the thought of the Tenebrae dessert so much because no matter how many times Ignis makes it, it’s not going to be perfect, he still has much to learn but can only succeed if he listens to Noctis and Noctis makes sure to be honest. it’s such a good metaphor for their relationship: it’ll never be perfect, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be good.

anyways this was just something i couldn’t stop thinking about and needed to put into words, please let me know if they’re any blatant mistakes

#ffxv #ignis scientia #ignoct #kinda???? thats how i see it anyway #also if u have a different interpretation i'd love to hear it #final fantasy #the raccoon discusses #the raccoon speaks

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seamonster · 6 years

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this month but one year ago, in comparison. from my old diary blog v intense v personal

start from bottom. REVERSE Chronological order, random days throughout the month -------------------------------------- second guessing all my “parenting” decisions is this week’s theme for myself and everyone else apparently. i’ve also found that when i’m unsure, i ask myself “when they’re older and reflecting on my decisions, what will they think if i [x] right now” and idk if that’s smart or just part of that shit i do where i am just viewing things from a mile away instead of living the things in the moment.. ------- cousin today listed off some meds and weird mental side effects. flonase causes him to be short-tempered and snap at people, supposedly. i know physical side effects too fucking well, and i know suicidal ideation as a side effect but……… i’m stupid apparently and didn’t consider actual mood issues like that. i need to experiment i guess. what if zyrtec is what makes me hate myself…. hahahaaa sure (actually pls i hope not, i would hate myself more if i found out that i’ve been hating myself all this time because of an allergy pill) ------- how can you tell someone you could never love them a tenth as much as they love you, without sounding horrible? i really wish i could… it’d be most convenient… how am i capable of feeling all emotions except love. i don’t feel like a robot all the time or anything, i just… don’t know how to experience love? how to desire physical companionship? how to be romantic or loving? i know how to love my friends and how to want to be around them… i do really get a lot out of companionship in daily activities, confiding in people, whatever… but dates??? romance??? sounds useless to me. why can’t i just have a best friend lifemate, why do people have to want more than i can give them ------- talking to my cousin about his bipolar. i don’t talk to him a lot and pretty sure he doesn’t know that i Get It but i thought it was important to talk to him. he tells his parents everything tho so i didn’t say much. when he started talking, he had the exact same fucking thing i do… the really stiff cold “testing the waters” internally panicking thing where your voice gets a lil hollow. it’s a thing every queer person does when gay topics come up in mixed company, tbh… anyway, he talked a little abuot it. made me wish he wasn’t a raving homophobic obsessively-transphobic conservative. he told me his coping tips, fresh out of therapy, which i had already noticed him doing but didn’t tell him.

------- why can’t i care about anyone or anything why can’t i feel feelings ------- talking with doctor about what to do for things going on mentally, specifically because i need to be okay for the girls for a little bit. at least for two more years. i guess. weed was helping in many ways but lately causing more social paranoia? don’t know what’s up with that. not happy with it. haven’t been drinking much which seems to be doing good for me. ------- idk still thinking about it and i mean. it was totally fair. i am an asshole yeah but that doesn’t change the fact that everyone else is too. ------- maybe none of that is fair and i’m just an asshole maybe it’s fair but i’m still an asshole and tbh i do get why no one would want to be there for me lmao and aforementioned friend can really there for me, he’s just emotionally stunted and doesn’t know how to do anything, but he tries, sometimes, right ------- but tbh it’s just another saga in the age-old classic called “i’m there for everyone no matter fucking what but no one can make time for me” (sometimes appended “unless they want to bone”) ------- to expand on yesterday……….. friend is being really fucking weird and annoying lately and it makes me feel crazy and small. because he is specifically acting like i am crazy, and small. he prides himself on being ~~just a chill ass dude with no time for drama~~, which combined with how easily influenced and ignorant on all topics he is, leads to flipping the fuck out and running in the opposite direction anytime anyone has a single solitary emotion? like………. emotionally stunted is right. he’s the sweetest person but a total dudebro …. and anyway ????????? he knows shit is happening in my life and this apparently makes it impossible to treat me like a regular human, so instead he looks at me with a furrowed brow and then looks at someone else with that “is she gonna be cool” or “god damn i don’t have time for this” or “jesus look at this poor pathetic bitch” look on his dumb face. i love him to fucking pieces but i wish he didn’t pull this shit because i can not fucking handle being treated like i’m a tiger on a leash. if he doesn’t want to hang out with me, he just doesn’t have to. it’s that fucking simple. i really would not care if they went out without me. but if they go out without me and purposely hide it from me??? what is that shit???? that is not even healthy ???? what kind of person do they think i am??? i really don’t understand this. i don’t want sympathy… empathy is a cool trait i wish some folks had but even more than empathy, i just want to be treated like a human who isn’t LESSER THAN for having shit fucking happening ------- i got home tonight and started crying because who i am, to anyone… my best friend used to look at me like i was the sun and stars, smart and cool… now it’s more like starving orphan. a bad development of 2017. ------- i keep smoking indoors like a fucking weeny. bad? probably. i don’t want to fucking get up and go outside. at least i’m alive what more do you want from me

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psychicwolftraveler-blog · 6 years

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Bipolar and the stigma

Bipolar and the stigma against mental illness

When people hear mental illness they tend to shudder with fear and smugness as if there better than anyone who suffers from something. When people hear Bipolar they run a mile! Some may say I am exaggerating but I am not. Iv seen it first hand. I myself suffer from Bipolar Type 2. Now i emphasise the type as thats important. When people hear Bipolar they think of manic, mania, psychosis, hyper, unhinged...the list goes on. But I am none of those things. Type 2 sufferers tend to have long bouts of low periods and very intense anxiety, in all honesty the anxiety can manifest into paranoia-so there is an element of psychosis but nowhere near as much as a Type 1 sufferer.

I was diagnosed 3 years ago at the age of 27 going on 28. Prior to this, Id only ever had one other breakdown and that was 10 years before hand in my late teens. I had always suffered from some form of anxiety but i had always managed to control it. My job as a manager kept me mentally busy and challanged and i thrived on stress, in fact in one interview i even said i loved it! but in the end it was stress that broke me down, and now sadly that aspect off any job i do in the future will be a no no for me! But since my diagnosis iv noticed a wave of stigma attached to mental health. People are geniunly scared of it! There scared of what it means and what it can do. they dont realise the effects that can have on the person suffering!

I myself have never told any of my employers about my illness for this reason, because a lack of understanding on their part can make them nieve, and regardless of how qualified I am I wont be fit enough for the job because my brain ever so slightly works in a diffrent way to others! I know my triggers and I can control it to a point...the only thing that stops me having control is pregnanacy, because adding those hormones to an already altered mind makes for very confusing times! I spend weeks indoors not talking to anybody or seeing the outside world-but its all for the greater good, and though i can turn into a hormonal nightmare when pregnant, having a baby is a blessing and ill take all the bad that comes with it!

I recently wrote an open letter on twitter to many celebrity ambassadors for mental health, including the young royals- below is the letter i wrote:

I am writing to you today as I have been reading about all your work that you are doing surrounding mental health namely the stigma surrounding it. I am writing to you in a capacity of desperation to get my voice heard. You both are the voice that can speak for the millions so I figured it was worth a shot so here goes. Let me give you a background on myself. I am 31 and am a freelance journalist/poet and a manager within the NHS. I has my first mental breakdown when I was 16 at the time people thought it was a mixture of hormones and family factors, none the less I had to leave 6th form and was medicated for a few years. When that fog lifted I returned to college and went onto university to study new media journalism. To support myself I had to work in the post room within a NHS trust. I worked my way up that corporate ladder very quickly and after graduating kept the journalistic side to freelance and continued to work my way up in the NHS, iv worked in A&E as admin manager, iv worked as unit managers for CNWL's Addiction services, and even ended up managing the admin team at the same unit that treated me when I was 16 within west London mental health trust, which was ironic really but also showed how far I had come and accomplished! The same doctor that treated me still worked there too! I went from being her patient 10 years before to drinking with her in a pub at 26 a fully fledged cured adult who managed the admin team including her secretary! The signifance of me telling this will become apparent soon.... In november 2014 I suffered a severe break down and voluntarily went into a low secure mental health unit just to rest and get the treatment I needed! Again it was west London mental health I was treated by, but this time I had two perspectives, one the patient and two the employee! The same doctors and nurse I had been drinking in a pub with 2 years before now saw me as a patient, some wouldn't even say hello. The only people to acknowledge me were the patiebts who rembered me from the services they attended, but now i was one of them. This was my first experience of the stigma of mental health, I was no good anymore I was just another patient. It was at this point I was diagnosed with Bipolar type 2, I would like to emphasize the type 2 as that's another stigma I get. The difference between type 1 and 2 is vast, there is no mania with my type and more anxiety and depression. It was a hard diagnosis but it hadn't come from nowhere I had it since 16! It made sense all the times I'd have down patches I just put down to environmental factors, a bad relationship, argument with friends, stress at work etc... I just thought it was what the doctors had said when I was 16..hormones and family factors, but it wasn't it was bipolar.. So the entire time I had been working I had bipolar and nobody had known, not me, not my colleagues not even the doctor who treated me at 16 and drank with me on Friday night and now wouldn't even say hello to me after seeing me in hospital! Stigma is stigma and even employees and doctors have them. Knowing that keeping busy controlled it and stress made it worse I went straight back to work in a brand new job at the RNOH in stanmore in January 2015!! I took a step back and went in as a EA to the hospitals operations director....not an easy job but less stressful than managing things myself but it wasn't long before I got the urge to take the reins once more and within 9 months I was unit manager of paediatrics at the same hospital! Again nobody knew until I fell pregnant in March 2016, I was not on any medication apart from calming pills to stop my anxiety flaring up but I stopped all these when I found out. I had my first and only encounter with perinatel who are a great team and service, unfortunately I miscarried at 20 weeks, and within 3 days I was discharged from the perinatal service and was on my own. The pregnancy hormones and lack of medication had made Me very edgy and anxious more so than I had ever been, then losing the baby caused more emotions which were hard to deal with. I had to finish at my job in the June of 2016 as the stress and the commute were making me sick again and being pregnant I had to make that my priority not my career. It was the first time I hadn't worked since I was 18 and being at home made my illness worse. None the less me and my partner tried again and I fell pregnant in may 2017 but again lost it at 6 weeks. This sent me into a downward spiral and I had to make a decision to try again or go back to work but we tried again and here I am 11 weeks pregnant and everything thus far going well and being monitored everything but my mental health. Iv had no further contact from a perinatel team and am on no medication. When I do see my midwife my mental health always gets used as a weapon. Iv been told I must have a cesarean for my own health but I also must have meeting regarding mental health to see if I could cope with a baby and what my support network is. That is what has pushed me to write to you both.... The stigma. Just because I have a diagnosis does not mean I am not capable or of sound mind! I went 12 years with nobody none the wiser not even the doctor who had originally treated me at 16, but now they can name my problem I'm not a worthy and am treated a second class citezen. People Dont talk about mental health because of this reason, and things need to change. If I had another invisible illness like epilepsy would I have the same stigma... Probably not. With my corporate mindset I ask you, when you work with mental health issues, departmentalise each issue.... Suicide, depression, psychosis, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorders . within each of these things there is a stigma and within each of those boxes is a person like me who can control, hide and survive through my issues everyday with nobody knowing, working in high level jobs too scared to say anything because when I do I become somebody everybody is scared of abd treat differently just because I'm labeled with a mental illness and as the voice of the many I do hope the work you all do goes someway to helping the case I have put to you today because this is an issue that needs changing and changing fast.I have enclosed copy's of 2 poems I have written about mental health which are also published online, I look forward to your response Yours faithfully

Needless to say I never got any replys-which made me more determined to start a blog, to have my voice and get it heard!!

Iv recently read in the news today that they believe the grand old president of the USA, Mr Donald J Trump is apparently suffering from a mental illness-which could in effect cost him his job! According to the BBC, experts believe he is suffering from narcassistic personality disorder- now hes the kind of person that gives people with genuine mental illness a bad name! He's not mentally ill, hes an egotistic old man who is too twitter happy and obscessed with big red buttons. Everything he says is pathetic and he cant be taken seriously, the way the USA can justify thier horrific mistake of electing such a gorrilla is to brush it off with, "we didnt realise he was mentaly ill"!! cop out if you ask me!!! Just take his tweets with Mr Kim Jung un- iv seen 3 year olds in nurserys have better arguments than that!! Thats not a mental illness its a child in a 70 somethings body!! Hes the human real life version of Tom Hanks's character in Big, just not as nice or as clever or as entertaining!! I defenitly wouldnt want to play the big piano with him in a toy store-god forbid you were better than him- you'd be banned from America and called a loser on twitter before being handed a shovel and some bricks to go and build his mexican wall!

My point is, mental illness is a stigma and when its used to describe somebody like Donald Trump its no wonder people get scared!! We should be allowed to talk about it more freely and openly without the fear of being judged-but if that will change who will know...Until then all we can do is live on and fight the big fight that is mental illness which ever one it may be..... we'll talk more on this subject... but until then take care...

The typist behind the screen xxx

www.gogsworld.net

#blogger #bipolar #stigma #donald trump #strong

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