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blu-joons · 3 years

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DATING EXO HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Park Chanyeol

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Chanyeol loves to use his height to his advantage when being affectionate with you. He’ll make sure you know how tall he is by resting his head on top of yours or pressing kisses directly against the top of your head.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

He was captured by you very quickly when he spotted you whilst he was out with the boys. He snuck off without any of them knowing when he saw you walk up to the bar, standing beside you and introducing himself. Once he had your name, he offered to buy you a drink, as long as you gave him your number in return.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Chanyeol knew quite soon after meeting you that he felt something special with you. It scared him at times how quickly you became such a huge part of his life. It didn’t take him long to know that he wanted to confess to you, and of course, he was a proper gentleman when he did. He took you to dinner, letting you know he had something to talk to you about, but the last thing you expected him to tell you was his feelings for you.

D ⇴ DATES

Dates with Chanyeol varied. They could either be very romantic, with a lot of heart put into them, dinners, late night walks, romantic settings that felt like something out of a movie. Or he could take you somewhere physical and show off to you. Chanyeol was super competitive so he loved to turn game dates into a competition, whilst boyfriends would play easy on their partners, Chanyeol never went easy on you. Either way, you loved every date you had with Chanyeol, they were always special for you both.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

There had been a few brief relationships for Chanyeol in the past, but never anything serious. He worried a lot about dating, he knew how quickly he became attached to things, and the last thing he wanted was for his emotions to run away with him. He made sure that everything would work out for you both before making things official. There were still many times that he worried, but as a team, the two of you worked through them all and promised to have each other’s backs through all of the problems you faced.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

It was very rare for the two of you to argue, and if you did, it was exhausting for you both. It wouldn’t take long for the emotion of it all to hit Chanyeol especially, encouraging him to take a step back from it all. There’s nothing he hates more than arguing with you, he loves to try and be the perfect gentleman and never let you down. It’s usually you who will end up trying to resolve an argument, when you can see that Chanyeol is beginning to tear up or worry, you’ll put the burners on, take a step back and talk things through. The both of you are very aware that talking is the answer for all of your disagreements.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

Chanyeol was very keen to introduce you to his family, he wanted to show you off to anyone who would listen. They knew Chanyeol took a lot of looking after, and more than anything else, they were thankful towards you that Chanyeol had found someone who could look after him well and support his career.

H ⇴ HOME

His quick attachment towards you meant it didn’t take him long to know that he wanted you to move in with him. He didn’t want to rush you, but the excitement in his voice when he offered for you to move in meant you couldn’t say no. He was thrilled, and helped you move everything in that night so you could be with him.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Again, his emotional side meant it didn’t take long for Chanyeol to say, ‘I love you.’ He said it one night at dinner, he was rambling, completely unaware of what exactly he was saying when he said it. There was a moment of pause before you asked him to repeat it, and when he did, he was more than surprised when you said it back.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He tended to get jealous quite often, he was incredibly in love with you and hated the idea of someone else being around you. When he felt jealous, he’d get very quiet and observant, silently he would keep an eye on you, and when you met his eyes, you’d be able to tell straight away how he was feeling. You’d casually step out of the conversation and guide him over to a more secluded space so you could listen to how he was feeling. For the rest of the event, you’d always make sure to stay nice and close to his side.

K ⇴ KIDS

Chanyeol was very keen on the idea of having children with you. He wasn’t afraid to have the conversation around you and listen to your own thoughts about kids, he’d tell you all about the dreams he had most nights the following morning. You could always see the panic in his eyes once he’d finish that he’d scared you off, but you’d quickly assure him that no talk of children would ever be able to scare you off.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

He loved to make you laugh, he was a huge jokester, and laughed to go around doing quirky things to make you laugh. If you weren’t smiling, he’d often begin to panic and rely on his humour to try and pick you up. He’d love to mess around with you and play pranks, he’d always make sure to practice on the other members first, and if they worked, he’d do them on you after. You’d always get him back for them though, Chanyeol hated how you managed to seek revenge on him, but he knew it was probably deserved for the countless pranks that he always managed to pull on you. Just as long as it all made you smile.

M ⇴ MISSING

It was very obvious to everyone when Chanyeol was missing you, he wasn’t afraid to make it clear either. At the end of a call with you he’d often get a little bit teary, relying on his other members to cheer him up. He was prone to tearing up too however when you answered his call too, it was overwhelming for him to see your face and feel safe in knowing that you were well. The worst moment for his tears would be when he came back home to you, the pent-up emotions, that sometimes would-be months’ worth, would finally hit him, being able to wrap his arms around you again was a huge relief for you both.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

His favourite nickname to hear you call him by was ‘Chan.’ It was simple, but something he loved to hear. It always made him smile whenever you called him by it, and of course, he’d respond straight away to you.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Chanyeol was obsessed with your height, he loved the difference between the two of you and always used his tall frame to make you feel protected and safe beside him.

P ⇴ PDA

He loved to wind you up with affection in public. You were a little more reserved, whereas Chanyeol didn’t mind. He’d often approach you and kiss your cheek to make you squeal, if someone was watching, he wouldn’t mind at all, he loved to take you by surprise with his affection and make sure you had blushed cheeks.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

When the two of you had deep conversations, he tended to ask you questions. He loved to push you for your opinions on things and learn as much about you as he possibly could, making sure to always pay close attention to what you said.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Chanyeol loves to take photos of you when you aren’t paying attention and save them to an album. He makes sure to put a passcode on the album so that no one else can see it too. When he’s on the road or away from you, he’ll often go through the album and use it to pick himself up when he can feel himself missing you. He loves to look at how natural the images are and how unaware you are to what he’s doing.

S ⇴ SEX

A complete romantic in every way, it’s hard to describe how else Chanyeol is. He doesn’t tend to joke around in the bedroom, he wants to use that time to fill you with love and affection. He loves to whisper closely into your ear and leave his hands to explore your body. He loves to be close to you and shower you with love, every occasion with him his special, he always leaves you feeling on top of the world.

T ⇴ TEXTS

Chanyeol isn’t fond of texting you, he much prefers to call you. Texts are usually left for when he’s on tour, if he knows you’re asleep, he’ll make sure to text you so that he doesn’t forget what he said to say to you.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

The two of you were like two peas in a pod, on the outside no one quite knew how the two of you managed to get on so well, but on the inside, the two of you knew you were perfect for each other in every single way.

V ⇴ VACATION

He’s fond of travelling and loves to take you with him. From his many appearances on Law of the Jungle you know exactly how much he loves to experience new places and adventure. You love experiencing new things with him too, seeing how invested he gets in it all certainly brings a smile to your face.

W ⇴ WHINING

Chanyeol doesn’t whine often, but if he wants attention, he’ll be sure to let you know that he wants you to be around him and won’t stop until you are.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Every kiss Chanyeol gives you is romantic; he loves to make you feel special and loved with his kisses. Whenever he’s upset, you’ll always make sure to kiss away his tears until he feels better. He’s not fond of kissing you for the sake of it, if he wants to kiss you, he’ll make sure it has a reason and a meaning, and that meaning will very quickly become clear to you too when you feel his lips press to any exposed part of your body he can find.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his absolute rock, the only one that he needed in life.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Sleeping is another occasion when Chanyeol likes to use his tall frame to keep you close. He’ll often be the big spoon and wrap you tightly in his arms, he loves to make you feel protected and safe pressed against his chest.

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wincore · 3 years

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childhood dreams | mark lee

pairing: singer!mark x reader

words: 3.3k

summary: you’ve been thinking of childhood dreams lately, and it seems like mark’s been doing the same.

genre: childhood friends to strangers to lovers(?), fluff, angst

warnings: none

song rec(s): childhood dreams - seraphine (cover) [orig. ARY]

a/n: im obsessed with this cover and i need to write cheesy drabbles to prevent writing droughts so here u go friends 👁👁

Mark sits at his desk, bouncing his leg in compulsive habit as he has for the past half an hour. Your presence doesn’t make much of a difference to him—and it would be far more disheartening if there wasn’t more than half a decade of unsaid things between the two of you. With notebook pages crumpled on the floor, a mild scent of musk in the room and Mark’s refusal to look you in the eye, you don’t think this reunion could get any worse.

Or it could, you tell yourself when Mark clenches another page in his hand, glancing at you before turning back to the neatly bundled pages on his desk. He looks uncomfortable, and discomfort wasn’t something you ever recalled in your friendship.

“Mark,” you call. “Why don’t you take a break?”

He looks up at you again, doe eyes and rosy cheeks, and you wonder where it went wrong—where you could have gone wrong. There’s no explanation and there hasn’t been one since tenth grade. He used to look you in the eye back then at least, and joke with you, study with you, hang out with you. Is it wrong to say you were best friends then? You can’t really tell right now, as you cross your legs, withering into your own being on his bed that looks like it hasn’t been made for three days. Some things don’t change, after all.

And some things do.

“Okay,” he says, pushing himself from the wooden desk, which now looks a little lonely. He turns his chair to you, eyes still trained on his lap and occasionally shifting to your form. Dark, messy mop of hair and a face much more grown than you remember—he’s lovely to look at.

You’ve never seen him agree to a break when you were kids. The memory that surfaces makes you hold back a smile. The school library closed at 6 p.m. and Mark had all the books you needed for finals week by four. The sky used to be a warmer colour and so did your room, though you can’t quite remember the colour of your walls. You remember the hot pink ink you used to doodle with though, and Mark’s tired complaints when you wouldn’t let him study. Half of your doodles were inevitably on his notebook pages.

“You know, I didn’t think we’d meet again this way,” you start, trying to smile.

“Yeah,” he says, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly.

There’s a quiet pause, filled in by the rustling of leaves and the reminiscence of winter winds outside. Late January nights aren’t close enough to winter and yet still, far from spring. You think of third grade, all of a sudden, of the first snow you saw and Mark Lee’s terribly postured snowman.

“I… didn’t know you were songwriting for idols,” he says, with hesitant punctuation.

You chuckle, looking down at your feet.

“I- I don’t mean it like that- I mean- I—”

“Mark,” you interrupt the mess that’s leaving his mouth. “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

He scratches the back of his head, looking a little guilty. You can’t really pinpoint exactly what’s going on in the space inside his head and it bothers you more than it should. You have been apart for a long, long time. You’re not as entwined as you used to be, not two peas in a pod anymore and not a matching set.

It feels colder, even in Mark’s modest apartment room.

“We’re friends,” you say. “Since college. Sohee and I. She wanted to sing and I wanted to write.”

“Oh. That’s neat.”

You chuckle. “You get to do both. I’m kind of jealous, you know? You’re talented. You’ve always been good at everything.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not- No way.”

You roll your eyes. “Some people see modesty as incompetence, Mark.”

He blinks, something rekindling inside his eyes, you tell with the way he stares at you.

“Oh my god. Mrs Wilsbury used to tell us that.”

The two of you laugh. It’s not particularly the thought of old Mrs Wilsbury, with her sharp words and shriveled face, but the spark of recognition in Mark’s boyish laugh that makes you feel a trembling inside your chest.

“She was horrible,” you say, pulling a face.

“She was nice to me though,” Mark defends.

“Everyone was nice to you.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows and you roll your eyes at him trying hard to remember your high school days. The expressions he used to make haven't changed much; he’s just grown up and into his larger, masculine frame. It’s endearing now, more than ever.

He gasps suddenly and scrambles back to his desk, scribbling in a bunch of lines onto the paper. You lean back on the bed, sighing. It’s supposed to be the two of you writing verses but the way Mark works differs so much from yours that you decided it’d be better for him to do his thing while you’ll be the supporting cast. You don’t really mind when you’ve missed his words so much. You don’t really mind if it leads to him.

“Sorry,” he says when he’s done, a little awkward in tone.

A part of you feels sad for him, however. You feel sad that he’s had to work alone all these years as a solo singer-songwriter. It can’t be easy. You know it’s not easy. But Mark—he has a way of making dreams come true. Every kid dreams and yet, your best friend from years ago is living his. Perhaps, it makes things better, easier to look at.

You glance at Mark again, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and lips pressed together. Something tells you he wants to scowl right now.

“Hey,” you call again, feeling comfortable on his bed now that it’s warm. “What was your debut song again? Dreamer?”

You know the answer. You just don’t want to give in to the feeling that’s calling for proximity again. Things change, and sometimes—most times—they’re out of your hands.

You should be worried about nosy reporters right now. You in Mark Lee’s own room would give anyone attuned to celebrity news a sickening, sugary treat. A few headlines pop in and you shove them aside. You were surprised by the offer but apparently, his studio merges with his bedroom. (It did take an awkward explanation on his part as to why he invited you to his bedroom.)

Embarrassingly, you wish some of those headlines would come true. Your feelings haven’t changed since you were fifteen.

His walls are blue like the sky and there’s more than enough lights but he only uses the one at his desk. It’s like a little sun, rays caressing his cheeks, nose and lips with a warm, orange touch. You would make fun of the gamer chair but he said it’s from Lee Donghyuck before you could even start breaking the ice you’re standing on. You wish the warmth would return between the two of you, the faint memory of holding hands in second grade floating in.

“It was Dreamer, yeah.” Mark’s voice breaks you out of your old teenage daydreams. You chuckle to force the heat off your cheeks.

A sudden impulse takes over your cold fingers and you take the acoustic guitar by his bed, playing the opening chords to his debut song. Mark’s eyes widen at your action and you give him your biggest smile—it’s like back then again. It used to be Mark on the bed though, with fingers strumming his worn out guitar and kind smile and honey eyes. You pause your playing. Mark’s still smiling at you in awe and you pat the spot beside you on the bed.

All of a sudden, you desperately wish for the past even if it isn’t meant to be recalled this way.

You start playing again and Mark mumbles the beginning of the song, unsure, eliciting an annoyed sound from you. You stop playing and glower at him.

“Those aren’t the lyrics,” you say with mock distress. “You’re ruining the song.”

“It’s my song,” he responds with an incredulous laugh.

You begin again, and though Mark has to google his own lyrics, you spend an hour or so figuring out beats and tunes that vaguely resemble feelings you don’t feel anymore and thoughts you only remember empty decorated shells of. You’re not fifteen anymore, or fourteen or thirteen. Someday is now today. You’re not fifteen anymore but being fifteen is a part of you. The music floats seamlessly.

Your cheeks heat up when you think of the last time you met him, when you said you liked him and laughed it off in the awkward teenage fashion. You pray he doesn’t remember that embarrassing parting. It would be too silly an ending.

That’s why when you heard his name from Sohee’s manager, you couldn’t help yourself. After all, old friends should meet up once in their lives, right? You should close the door you left open if you can’t set foot into the house.

“Okay, but I genuinely didn’t know you write songs for Park Sohee,” Mark says, legs crossed on his bed as he leans in a little towards you. The dim lights of his room make his face look more rugged than usual, the tired lines spread across his face. You wonder if he’s kept up his habit of ditching breaks.

“I’m surprised you’re not in a boyband,” you reply, leaning against the wall. “And that your bed is this small.”

Mark stammers out a garbled explanation and you gasp.

“Wait- wait, oh my god. Don’t tell me… don’t tell me you’ve never had anyone over! For, you know...”

The comment runs a deep flush through his cheeks and you giggle at his expression.

“I- I- I just- I just didn’t have the time,” he says, biting down his lower lip possibly at his own awkwardness.

“Looks like you’re still a loser, Mark Lee,” you say, smiling smugly.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Looks like you’re still mean to me, (name).”

“Oh lord, when was I ever mean to you?”

“When were you not?”

You stick out his tongue at him and he laughs, relaxing against the sound of you and him—old friends. It could have been this way; it should have been this way.

“Why did you move away?” is what you want to ask. What was so urgent that you were left staring at the ghosts of his figure in his empty house, in his empty room and at the empty classroom desk? It’s not anger but a soft sense of regret, boosted by his quiet breathing and tired, thoughtful eyes. You could have stayed this way but instead, there’s a rift between the two of you. There’s years and years, and time isn’t a product to sell back and forth—you can’t buy those years back. Your chest hurts but you clutch the feeling tightly in your hands, afraid it might escape.

“This collab means a lot to Sohee,” you say, after a while. “You know, after the hiatus she’s been on.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I totally get it,” he says, sitting up straight and sobering from the bubble of you two. “We should get back to work.”

You hum. “You mean me staring at you tear all your hair out?”

Mark reddens in the face. “I’m not usually like this. Just saying. I need to be... inspired, I guess.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to revive your soundcloud account from when you were twelve,” you say, leaning back against the soft material of the bed.

“You’re making fun of me again,” he says, the smile lines on his face deepening.

You let out a smiling sigh. It’s just so easy. The thought still eats away at you, however, of what could’ve been. If you were younger, you wouldn’t care for this, you suppose. You’d just get along like nothing had passed at all.

“(name).” His voice sounds deeper and softer. “It’s nice having you back. To talk to, you know? It’s been a long time.”

Your face must have fallen because he straightens, eyes wide and wavering lips trying to form words. You sigh, looking away and see his form inch closer, some sort of fuzz leaving his mouth.

“Mark. Mark.” You shake your head. “I think I’ve been a bad friend. I don’t know why I didn’t keep in touch—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, looking you in the eye. “It’s on me too.”

If you were younger, you would have confessed over and over again in ways private to everyone but you.

You nod instead. If your childhood together was a prelude, there’s quite the long, awkward silence following it. You have to start the music soft and slow.

“It worked out though, didn’t it?” you ask, looking up to find his face nearer to yours than you would have expected.

When he tilts his head, you explain further, “We’re both doing fine, right? We- We did things, got our life and plans set and… now we’re here.”

Mark leans away from you. “I- I guess.”

There’s a pause, and you know there’s a lie fluttering between the two of you.

“I… I still feel like I’m running,” he says, a weary undertone carrying his voice forth. “I know I’ve done things… achieved things and I still- I still feel like I’m running a marathon. There’s still something out of reach.”

You scoot closer to him and offer a smile, your hand resting on his shoulder.

“You can say you’re tired. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Thanks, (name). I appreciate it. I just don’t know where I’m going anymore.”

You give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling him into a hug. You can’t hear his breathing over the sound of your pulse drumming in your ears but it’s warm, at the very least. His arms wrap around you after a few moments, heavy but comforting when his hand holds the back of your head, just like old times. The fabric of his mellow green hoodie is warm with his skin and you bury your face into it deeper.

“I’ve worked alone for a really long time,” he whispers. “It’s nice like this. I wish… I sometimes wish we could go back.”

You giggle, looking back up. “We could build a snowman for old times’ sake.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “There’s literally no snow. Besides, you just want to make fun of my snowman. Again.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course.”

His cheeks colour, one of his hands leaving your torso to scratch the back of his head. Suddenly aware of the lack of space, you pull back slightly to a more decent enough distance. Mark frowns but he rests his palm against the bedsheet, leaning his torso onto it.

“You could also let me draw in your songbook for the memories,” you suggest, smiling wide. “In hot pink.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh no. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m not as immature as you think, Mark.” You roll your eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to draw a bunch of hot pink dicks.”

Mark opens his mouth and closes it. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t suggesting that.”

One look from you, however, and he realizes his defeat. It’s almost the same look as the one in spring break after tenth grade, except much happier and more carefree. Your eyes shift elsewhere when you remember the argument you laughed off, details lost but the gist was clear. You acted as though it didn’t matter if he moved away—something about that happy-go-lucky persona you’d developed. Oh god, you were an idiot.

The silence isn’t welcome. There’s no rhythm, no melodies in moments like these—moments in between things that should be happening and won’t ever happen. Mark takes a sudden precise intake of breath, making you look at him. His eyes are rich and resolute, and somehow as pure as they were when he was younger.

“When you- when you said you liked me,” Mark begins, and you hold your breath. “When we were fifteen, you said you liked me. Before I moved. I- I don’t really know if you were joking but… Do you- do you think you still would? If we started over?”

You look at him, his eyes unable to meet yours and shoulders tense, and find yourself at a loss for words and for breath.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Stupid question.”

“I- I do- I would.”

Mark looks up at you reluctantly, almond eyes shimmering with some sort of emotion—innocent and curious as though you’re fifteen again.

You cough awkwardly and he looks away in a similar panicked fashion. This isn’t as romantic as you thought it would be and you almost think about taking your words back.

No. Not again.

“I would,” you continue, dragging the syllable. “If you maybe asked me out on a date, at least.”

Mark blinks, slack jawed like he’s seen the birth of a phoenix, or something equally dreamlike.

“Yes! I mean, wait- I- uh…”

He clears his throat, cheeks flushing with scarlet heat. “Do you- do you wanna get coffee tomorrow? No, wait- it’s a Monday. Th-This Saturday? …I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

You can’t hold back your laughter anymore, clutching your stomach at the sheepish look on Mark’s face and his slouched shoulders, much like the ones you were used to seeing as a stressed, sleep-deprived teenager.

“We can make time after this project.” You smile.

“We have to wait until after—no, I mean, that’s totally cool.”

The defeated grin makes you laugh some more. Your eyes drift to the deserted work desk and notebook paper, and you gasp. Dawn will arrive at this rate, crashing in waves.

“We really should get back to work,” you tell him, your fingers against his chest. “Twelve year old us would be very disappointed in us now.”

The two of you laugh in shared memory, of the time when romance was as appealing as ice-cream dropped on the sidewalk. With eyes full of stars and a head full of clouds, where do you go? Right back to each other, you think.

“We’ve come a long way,” you marvel. “We used to think of a different future every five minutes. Me, more than you, perfect poster boy.”

“You wanted to be an astronaut,” he laughs.

“And you wanted to be a swimmer. Said you’d even swim in a lake in Russia. In winter.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he says, eyes faraway. “We had all those childhood dreams.”

“You’ve reached one of them,” you respond, laughing.

There’s a short pause. Back then, everything was visionary. What the two of you had in mind had evolved, molted, shed its skin but now you’re here, in each other’s arms again—in a way that you haven't been before.

“It’s two,” he whispers, and the next thing you know, his lips are on yours and his arms are around your waist, pulling you closer.

He pulls back in wide-eyed, careful consideration. “I- I meant to ask first.”

You respond with a kiss, his mouth warm against yours.

He pulls back again.

“That was cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“Just shut up and kiss me, oh my god.”

You can’t help it, smiling against his lips and making him laugh at the feeling. Your finger brushes over the mole on his neck, unchanging in the same way he still uses too many hand gestures to talk or the way he still likes to lean his head on your shoulder.

There are unchanged parts of him so vivid in your memories that some time through the night, you wonder if you’re dreaming. Then a terribly executed joke later, you have to nudge him with your elbow or smack his arm—and it falls into place in your reality again. Maybe you could’ve saved time; but it’s so much sweeter this way.

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gryffindorkxdraws · 3 years

Note

Want to start off by saying that I love your mind! I was hoping to get your opinion on: what is it in jackunzel that makes it feel so right?

EDIT: changed a few things ehe

ngl i found this challenging cus it made me think of how the answer would vary per person (yeah i went there idk why sdjkknds) so lemme get logical for a sec here haha

what exactly is the definition of “feel right”?

to make someone feel relaxed and comfortable, as merriam-webster states

simple as that, right? but wait there’s more

what makes something/someone go under that category?

now from there it expands because there are so many ways of answering that with everyone having different opinions and mindsets.

fair warning before we push on, this is going to get messy (like a word vomit) with how i’m just going to pour out everything i can think off, but just know i really like this question hence the, uh, mess? lmao

so back to your question, what is it in jackunzel that makes it feel so right?

in one POV, it could be because of how rapunzel and jack represent the sun and the moon respectively, making them two contrasting sides who shouldn’t collide and yet, against all odds and opposing forces that would come between them, they did.

and we can bet on the fact that they fought hard/struggled for it, depending on how fanfic writers play with it (reminds of this sun/moon au that sold me to this trope lmao).

just because others said it’s impossible or it’s against whatever, why should they listen to the “norm?” what even is considered “normal,” when the two can explore so much more of what they could be missing from life after stepping out of others’ shadows?

i just love sun/moon dynamics. i’m obsessed lmao i read the ones below somewhere and idk where but it’s been living in my head rent free and i can’t escape it tho feel free to correct me about any of these symbol topic!

like the Sun, thoughtful and full of energy to share with everyone, is connected with one’s self and known to, yeah, radiate warmth or light. it also symbolizes firmness, strength and power. oh and life too i guess?

while the Moon, subtle but full of mysteries and wonders, can also get emotional and sway others to be more nurturing. cus like it also symbolizes calmness, beauty, and nurture. plus eternity and enlightenment?

the list goes on if we head into more of what it both symbolize, but when these two celestial bodies get together, masculine and feminine energies unite. the Sun gives out life, while the Moon cultivates it.

i have no idea where i’m going but moving on

maybe it’s that taste of rebellion with going against the authorities/society/rules/of what has always been set to find out who they’re meant to be or, y’know, finding their identity without the shackles of others (like jack learning he has the potential to be a guardian and embracing it in his own time, and rapunzel realizing she’s the lost princess and works hard to be a good one),

or there’s something about the mystery that follows the other because they’ve never met anyone quite like them (like exploring a world they’ve never set foot on),

or finding all the good and bad in each other and in their differences, but still loving the other for who they are,

or what one lacks the other makes up for it and vice versa. with or without them realizing they can help each other grow to be a better version of themselves.

opposites attract who are bound to be full of surprises.

but on the contrary, they could also be two peas of a pod. aight this definitely goes against what i said above with all the opposites and stuff, but hear me out.

while they grew up and learned how to cope with life differently, they somehow still share the same sentiments when it comes to, for example, reaching their goals.

they have their own way to go about it, sure, but my point is they can reach a common ground better together compared when they’re with others.

like rapunzel with the lanterns, and jack with his memories. at first, one hesitated and wavered, while the other disagreed and pulled away. it was only after they saw a chance/realized this was it that they agreed in a heartbeat

they ultimately made the choice of diving in head first regardless of their initial thoughts in the first place. kinda like the moment they realized they can be a step closer to what they’ve been yearning for their whole life

bam, out of the way, they’re coming through lmao

not only that, but they can also be soft, gentle, understanding despite rapunzel’s spontaneuosness and jack’s mischievousness. we’ve seen them interacting with children and they’re so good at lifting their spirits up to have some fun and that there will always be a tomorrow.

and with their peers too. rapunzel lights up even the darkest of rooms, may it be like fireworks to bring joy or a campfire to warm one’s heart. jack meanwhile keeps things light when everyone else feels tense, easing others to relax and remember there’s always a way out

don’t forget the way they both sacrifice themselves for who they care for. like, they just do that, putting others first before them. that scene of saving eugene and baby tooth aaahhhhdjhdskdjkbkfjdkjf

and when everything comes crashing down and the world feels heavy on their shoulders, they both know they’re not alone with the other there for them.

maybe it’s the mutual understanding they have for each other after opening up, and finding a friend/partner/home through the connection they made together,

or they could be a push and pull that leads them to showing an unexpected side of the other, but in reality they always had it in them and all they needed was someone to show the way,

or how they complement each other, but they’re not two halves of a whole, no, rather they’re already whole themselves and they only reminded each other that they are,

or it’s simply because they don’t feel the need to put up walls or anything of the likes, because they know that no matter what they’ll be accepted for who they are.

opposites who have so much more in common than they originally thought

in another POV it could be because of how they give such partners in crime vibe. lowkey or highkey, take your pick. nothing would stop them from moving forward to a new tomorrow, or honestly whatever it is they put their minds to.

and i am here for that

like i said in one of my posts, “They were a magnet for trouble, with the Sun being a free-spirited and vivacious fellow, and with the Moon’s knack for mischief and being a rebel without cause.”

while both are adventurous, ready to explore whatever is out there, all the while just wanting to have some fun, they still balance each other out.

with jack usually ready to do what he needs/wants to do (which helps rapunzel to trust her gut and take the risk. that he’ll be there for her whenever she’s ready to step out of her comfort zone and jump away from her tower)

and with rapunzel knowing how to handle sticky situations properly (which reminds jack that not everything has to be done harshly and abruptly. that while freezing someone could be fun, it won’t solve things in the long run)

am i making sense? idek but you’re stuck with me lol but before i forget and i can’t believe i just remembered now. the way they can help fill in on what the other is missing

rapunzel wants to see the world, what goes out there, with the people, society, and history i feel. and jack can take her to wherever she wants to go. hell, he’ll even surprise her and bring her to places he’d think she’ll like.

with his experiences, he’s bound to have an endless list of plans for them to go through and it’s no surprise that she’ll love it, and (him) his gesture, nonetheless

jack wants to be noticed by others, to be seen and heard for who he is. and rapunzel is such a welcoming person that she accepts him wholeheartedly. give him the love he was deprived of for years.

reassure him that even he has a place to call home because why would he be excluded from that? he deserves it just as much as she and everyone else does

also i like to think they brainstorm ideas together

maybe it’s how they’re both game for an adventure, sudden or not, and this makes it easy for them to team up together and take on the world

or the feeling of familiarity as they click and everything flows naturally to them, where nothing is forced or uncomfortable between them

or how it’s like they can hold on to each other, knowing the other won’t let go no matter what because they’ll always have each other through the ups and downs

or it’s in their shared smiles, mischievous sparks in their eyes, moving together to the music of their synchronized heartbeats, as they step forward to the vast unknown

finding the ‘one’ who understands them inside out that they feel at home with them

i’ve said so many things and threw out so many brain rot, but what exactly is my final answer?

it’s simple: who knows? now before you toss me aside, and i hope not lmao, lemme just say even with that kind of final verdict, you can still find beauty in it.

you see, there’s so much more to explore and delve into with jackunzel because of their potential, that i don’t want to make a set answer for your question. i’d rather much help you, and anyone else wondering, to come to an answer yourself and maybe even share/discuss it with others.

i’m running out of brain juice, but i at least hope this helped satisfy your curiosity behind your question since this is all i can give… for now, maybe? who knows lmao

tho i’ll be honest and admit i based these on how i feel about jackunzel. so if ever someone else out there wants to add more points they thought of, feel free to add on this

#rotbtd #jackunzel #rise of the brave tangled dragon #the big four #jack frost and rapunzel #jack frost #rapunzel corona #holy hell what possessed me to type a damn essay lmao #my writing

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dreadwulf · 4 years

Text

Love is a Burning Thing

(part 1) (part 2)

He is riding away from her. Farther and farther away.

Jaime is riding at the head of his battalion across the Crownlands. Glory trots along quite amiably, at pace with hundreds of other horses around him. Without his needing to move a muscle, at every moment Brienne is farther away. He can feel the distance stretching between them like she is still holding onto him somehow and pulling with all her might, ever since she had left him this morning.

It hurts. Like a steadily increasing stomachache, only it’s some other organ down there in his gut. If there is a structure in the body that secretes devotion like eyes spill tears, it is surely there, somewhere in his belly, and it is contracting violently, whispering at him to turn around and go back. But his gut is perpetually wrong, and cannot be trusted. This is exactly what he wants, to be getting away from Brienne as fast as he can. If it hurts, well, Jaime is quite accustomed to being hurt by the things he wants.

They ride for King’s Landing, and the ache simmers inside him like a low fire. But there is enough else to occupy his mind, and surely it will fade into the background, unimportant, beside the urgency of a Targaryen invasion.

His squire is watching him worriedly from his palfrey nearby, and Jaime straightens under the young man’s scrutiny. Smiles back at him until his squire grins cautiously back, and spurs his horse to ride over to the flanks. There, that’s more like it. Lord Lannister is no lovesick boy pining after some maiden. He made a foolish mistake, but fortunately it has cost him little. A few days away from his post, some chagrin before his men, and this wretched ache in his gut. That is nothing he can’t recover from.

His squire is riding, he notes, much more smoothly than he did when last they rode the Kingsroad, leaving the capital. He has grown tremendously in these months. Just as he had told Brienne, he will have to knight him sometime soon, Peck. Else some other knight will do it, and deny him the honor. He has been a good squire, and Jaime will regret losing him.

Does he hope for it? Jaime wonders. At his age I thirsted for battle, and if there are truly Targaryens on the march there will be some promise of glory. If he knights him today, Peck will have to fight for his King. He will probably have to fight either way, but as a squire he will keep to the periphery, and a knight will be expected to charge on horseback, into the thick of the fighting. But Peck has not shown any remarkable talent at swordplay, not as Jaime had when Ser Arthur Dayne had knighted him. Not that, not yet. Let him squire a little bit longer.

His eyes drift to the wagon where the sons of the Riverlands are riding, where until this morning Podrick Peck had sat chattering and playing at dice with the other boys. What will he do with the hostages when they ride to battle? They could squire for his men. But if he loses any of them in battle, he will lose the cooperation of their parents as well.

I think Peck was sorry to see young Podrick go, Jaime thinks. His squire had taken the smaller boy under his wing, and the younger Payne had looked up to him with the kind of hero worship reserved by young boys for older, not-quite-grown boys. Peck enjoyed that attention, clearly. Podrick had a starry-eyed eagerness that his squire would be just outgrowing. An innocence.

Jaime had spoken with the child as well, the night they had caught him sneaking into the camp. A scared and reticent boy to begin with, with a fearful glaze and a pronounced stammer that made one wonder if he had lost his wits. But with only a little encouragement, he had turned into a fair chatterbox. He had been startled to learn that the boy had squired for his brother Tyrion during the battle of the Blackwater; it had been he that saved his life, though not his nose. Timid he may be, but the young squire does not lack for bravery. It seems he had left King’s Landing looking for Tyrion, and followed the Maid of Tarth in hopes that her quest would lead him there. His brother had been good to him, Podrick said.

As not many people have been, I’ll wager. Cast-off of a cast-off of House Payne, small for his age, and guileless as a newborn.

Jaime had offered the boy a berth in his army. He could squire for Jaime’s cousin Addam Marbrand, or at least apprentice to someone in his camp, earn his keep. He would not be a hostage like the Riverlands’ noble sons, but he could still run about and play with them, as he seems to enjoy doing. I suspect the boy has not done much of that either, he notes.

Pod refused his offer, however. He said, with some hesitation, that he hopes Lord Tyrion is well, and thanks Ser Jamie for the kind offer, but he would rather stay with Lady Brienne, wherever she will be. He has a fair cavalcade of praise for the lady, which Jaime endures without comment. All in all, he seems a good lad. Loyal. From what little he saw, they are quite tightly bonded, the boy and his lady knight.

He ought to feel better knowing that. If he was to be sacrificed for another, at least the other was a good-hearted and clearly beloved child. It could have been Lem Lemoncloak.

It does not make him feel any better.

He had gritted his teeth to look upon the boy, to be honest. Can one be jealous of a child? But Podrick very obviously had his lady’s love, and Jaime does not.

He has only just learned how much the wench meant to him, and how comparatively little he had meant to her in return. For her, at a moment’s notice, he had thrown over his family, his house, his responsibilities, to follow her into the Riverlands on the flimsiest of excuses, all because he thought she needed his help. It had been startlingly easy to do it, and as he walked away from his life he had felt lighter and merrier with every step.

What a fool he had been. As it turns out, she would not do the same for him - no, he was no more than a hostage himself, intended to free the companions she valued more. This boy, and that Hunt fellow, a hedge knight of some sort, who awaited them at the Dread Lady’s Gallows. Brienne had risked a great deal to come and find him, but the risk had not been for his sake.

But no matter. She is gone now and he will not see her again. He will return to his life and go about forgetting her. That should make these feelings stop. It will have to end sometime, the crawling betrayal, the creeping shame, the sharp sting of rejection, and that time will come much sooner without the constant reminder of her presence. With time he will stop thinking of her, and it will be like he had never met that stubborn, ugly beast of a woman.

This is not making him feel any better either. Cheer up, he tells himself, tomorrow you may die.

The Targaryen pretender has already taken Storm’s End in a rout. This “Aegon” has a band of supporters and a hired troop of mercenaries, the Golden Company, and at last word was riding out to face Mace Tyrell and the Crown forces. Of course it isn’t Aegon Targaryen - Jaime knows all too well the babe was slaughtered, skull crushed against the wall by his father’s creature The Mountain - but he looks the part, with the Targaryen hair and eyes. Perhaps he is some unknown cousin, some lost branch of the Targaryen family tree using Aegon’s name. Should Westeros be nostalgic for the relative peace of Targaryen rule, they might find the young man very persuasive.

He turns the details over and again in his mind. The Golden Company, a fearful force, and Targaryen banners stirring the populace to rebellion. They could be marching into a battle they cannot hope to win. Impossible to tell from the increasingly vehement missives he has received from the Queen Regent. She commands him to victory, but does she truly expect it? As has been amply demonstrated to him recently, he cannot expect even his closest allies to place much value on his safety. After all, what does anyone care if the Kingslayer should die?

My sweet sister would summon me regardless. She has shown that often enough. As coin she would spend me on a hopeless trial by combat merely to flaunt her purse. No doubt my beheading at the gates of King’s Landing would be just as gloriously pointless.

Though Cersei, it seems, wants him only to return to her side directly, to serve as her personal bodyguard. She is grown obsessed with some prophecy that the children will all be murdered and her choked to death at Tyrion’s hands. Hearing that Tyrion himself is approaching the city has sent her into a kind of frenzy. Her last letter was nearly incomprehensible, raving.

Yes, that had been the last bit of news the Spider had passed along, with the rest of his whispers: his own brother Tyrion rides with Aegon, and advises the Targaryen pretender how best to defeat their House in battle. That was the lowest blow, and it had knocked his usual confidence right out of him. Jaime does not fear battle, but he dreads this confrontation.

If one side wins, his sister and son are dethroned and probably executed. If the other side wins, he will have to kill his brother. Jaime loses either way.

He should not worry about defeat. The Crown forces are superior, the Lannister army vast and well-provisioned, and King’s Landing is by design a difficult city to take. But his brother is fearsomely clever, and he was Hand. He defended King’s Landing against Stannis Baratheon, and a man who knows how to hold the city will know how to take it. If he does, he will have his revenge for a lifetime of slights. He knows Tyrion holds it against him still, the lie he had told him about Tysha. After all the years they had been beloved brothers, after Jaime had set him free and saved his life, his little brother saw fit not only to murder their father but to conspire with their enemies to contest Cersei directly for the throne. He does not expect Tyrion will pull any punches now for old time’s sake. Not when they will face each other across a battlefield.

If there is anyone left who has not yet stuck a knife in my heart, they are running out of time to do it.

He mulls over such thoughts feverishly as the dimming winter sun lowers in the sky. For a time he considers pressing the Lannister troops onward into the night to reach King’s Landing. It will be only a few hours march from here, and their summons have been increasingly urgent. Still, he would rather rest his men so that they can arrive fresh to the fighting and not exhausted from the road, and he commands them to set camp.

“Milord,” a lieutenant interrupts him tentatively as he unhorses, “we have Thoros of Myr bound in your tent as you requested, awaiting interrogation.”

Jaime smiles thinly. They have captured Beric Dondarrion’s Red Priest, who had somehow turned Catelyn Stark into the apparition who had lead the Brotherhood without Banners to capture him. Somehow during the conflagration with the Brotherhood he had run away and vanished into the trees. But Jaime’s scouts found him in the night, Thoros, stoking a meagre fire near Maidenpool. There was no time to deal with him in the morning, so they bundled him up and brought him along on the march - though they gave him no horse, and forced him to walk along tied to one of the wagons, thinking it would make him more cooperative.

The Lord Commander’s tent is first to rise, and resplendent before ever he sets eyes on it, not that he notices. He leaves Peck to unsaddle his horse and enters it in full uniform. He will get through this interrogation before undressing and taking his supper.

He sits in the armchair they have carried across the Riverlands for him, and accepts a glass of sherry. The muddy priest is bound on the floor before his desk, and at his command his bonds are loosened, and he is allowed to sit in a wooden chair before his desk. Jaime observes all of this as he finishes the first glass of sherry, and requests another.

Once a huge man, both tall and fat, Thoros of Myr is now considerably diminished. His red robes are cavernous around him, his skin hanging loosely off his skeleton in great folds. Formerly a fierce swordsman, the fire that he once brandished by burning swords has seemingly gone out. The old Thoros could wear this one like a cloak.

Even before Jaime can begin to question him, the Red Priest is firing questions back. First among them, “What have you done with the girl?”

“Which girl?” he stalls, disconcerted.

“The maiden with your blade.” He may be physically smaller but his eyes are bright and sharp, and he holds Jaime’s gaze without flinching. The priest explains patiently, “the tall young woman with the king’s seal, she who brought you to the Brotherhood. I saw you strike her down. Where is she now?”

Jaime ignores this questioning; it is none of the man’s concern. Instead he asks him of his escape from the ambush that night, which quiets him a bit. He could have fought them, could have produced a flaming sword and defended his Lady Stoneheart, but instead he had fled. Thoros does not seem to be interested in explaining why, averting his eyes and answering him shortly with “yes” and “no”.

He questions the Red Priest about Catelyn Stark, about Berric Dondarrion, about remaining members of the brotherhood and the commonfolk who supported them. Still Thoros turns the conversation back and back again to Brienne.

“But what of the Maid of Tarth? I saw her nowhere in your formation, amongst prisoners or soldiers.” He pokes and prods, Thoros, and his brow furrows with concern. “It has not gone unnoticed that she is gone. Some here have it that you have done away with her.”

His patience at an end, Jaime snaps back, “And what if I have?”

Thoros puts on a perplexed expression, blinking at him curiously. “That cannot be. Surely even you are not so cruel as that.”

“Surely I am, ask anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.” Thoroughly tired of judgement, he decides to go along with the Red Priest’s poor opinion of him, if it will loosen his tongue. “The wench lured me to my barely-averted death. I am well within my rights to punish traitors such as she.”

“Brienne of Tarth never betrayed you for a moment.” The Red Priest is disturbed, shaking his head sadly. “That poor, brave girl. She defended you to a crowd baying for your blood, said that you were a changed man, that you were not responsible for your reported crimes. We called her your whore. But you never touched her, did you? Wouldn’t trouble yourself with someone so pure of heart, when you have your sister the Queen in your bed.”

Ah, so Thoros still has a sense of humor after all. Jaime snorts. “So pure of heart she would lead me to my death, while calling me friend. How is that not a betrayal?”

“She was forced to it. Our dread lady commanded her to kill you and she refused. The entire Brotherhood demanded it and she refused. We offered her a choice, the sword or the noose.”

“And she choose the sword to save her own skin.” Jaime swallows from the glass. “I understand it, of course. It is a hard lesson for one such as her. No one is pure.”

“No!” Thoros smacks the palm of his hand against the commander’s table, and Jaime cannot help flinching. “She chose the noose. Brienne said she would not betray you and they put a rope around her neck and hung her, hung her choking and kicking from a tree. She would have died there without relenting but for Podrick Payne, the boy.”

No. No, it isn’t true, he tells himself. But it tracks with what the boy had told him. She did it for me, my lord, you have to understand… He had assumed the choice had been a simple one. Podrick or Kingslayer. But had there been another choice as well? Hadn’t he seen the angry red marks around her neck, or decided not to see?

“They hung him from the tree next to her, and when she saw him dying, she called for a sword. Not before. Not for herself. She would have died for you.”

“Lies.” Jaime has gone very still. Only the muscles of his hand flex, where he holds tightly onto the drinking glass. “The Brotherhood’s Red Priest. Why should I believe anything you say?”

The priest raises his hands, palms beckoning to the air. “What reason have I to lie about this? What benefit to me? I care no more for factions or grudges. I have seen war render this land a hell beyond anything my lord R’hllor or any the Seven could dream up. So far as I care whoever is left standing at its end is welcome to its rotten fruit. All that matters is that in the ruins of honor and justice I met a maid who embodied both, and now she is dead. That, my lord, is a calamity, and I would have you know just how great of one.”

He hardens his heart. “In this world you are either faithless or dead. She is both, and soon enough we will be too. It’s no calamity.”

“You utter fool.” The Red Priest has the nerve to look sorry for him. “Let me tell you: when we found that girl she was dying of fever, battered and broken by brigands, and all she would do is talk about Jaime Lannister. She said your name in her sleep. She said she had to find your honor. She pleaded for you to come for her when she was next to dead. Not her companions, or her kin. Only you. No sword could have been more loyal to you, and no woman more true to anyone.

Jaime’s guts are churning now, his heart clenching painfully enough to turn him inside-out. What a stupid organ, the heart. If he could, he would carve it out himself.

It makes him snap back at Thoros tightly, “Gold will buy loyalty as reliably, and a woman too.”

“Not like her, not to you. You are only too cynical or too stupid to see it. That girl loved you. She loved you.”

The glass in Jaime’s left hand abruptly shatters.

Thoros jerks back, more at the noise of it than anything else, and stares down wide-eyed at the Lord Commander’s desk. His hand had squeezed and squeezed the glass until it finally popped, in a small explosion of shards and blood. Now his hand opens and stretches, and the Lord Commander examines it curiously. A few jagged bits of glass stick out of his palm and fingers. It hardly hurts at all, but it produces an impressive amount of blood.

Lannister guards burst into the tent at the sound of breaking glass, and the sight of blood makes them draw their swords. Jaime waves them back. “My golden hand holds drinking glasses not so well as I’d hoped. Stay at your post.”

“My lord…” Thoros, distinctly alarmed at his lack of reaction, darts his eyes between the bleeding hand and Jaime’s impassive face. “Your hand…”

“It’s nothing.” For a second he moves to pluck the glass bits out of his hand, but his other hand is made of gold. Not much good for that. He can only poke at the bloody shards with a strange fascination. His guards watch warily, not leaving but keeping their distance.

“You know I am a healer. Allow me.”

He shouldn’t allow it, and his guards are visibly appalled, but Jaime makes no move to stop him when Thoros kneels at his side. He moves aside the golden hand, taking his flesh hand and extracting shards of glass with careful attention.

“I can’t imagine why,” the priest murmurs, “but Brienne thought very highly of you. I owe her some kindness, for what we did to her. If she is gone, you will have to do.”

Then it comes again; the pain. Worse than ever. Jaime bows his face to the floor at the weight of it.

“I let her go,” he manages to say, hoarsely. “I gave her the sword and I let her go. Her and the boy.”

“Truly?” Thoros looks up at him dumbfounded, uncertain whether this could be another of his jests.

But of course he let her go. What else could he do? He couldn’t keep her prisoner forever.

He sees it now, too late. Brienne in the cell, wasting away. The tears she had shed when he denied her Oathkeeper. How she had hesitated so inexplicably when he allowed her to leave. The way she had looked on him, as though she would accept any punishment he would give her. He had thought it was her simple goodness that made her contrite. But it could have been more. It could be true; somehow, she had loved him.

When he could not bring himself to harm her, he thought it his own weakness that stayed his hand. Perhaps they share the same weakness.

He jumps up from his chair with that thought, snatching his one working hand back from the damned Red Priest and sweeping out of his commander’s tent. He strides rapidly to the stables and grabs the bridle of the first horse he sees. Honor, not yet unsaddled from their ride.

Jaime rides hard against the twilight, back down the trail they’d come. Back to the place where he’d left her. It was a day’s ride back as an encampment, but a single man riding as fast as his horse is able made the distance in a few hours.

She won’t be there. She could have gone in any direction with a day’s advance. But if she stopped there. If she stayed to rest, and to think out her next move. If she waited there. If she waited for me.

He urges Honor to run faster at the thought.

The Riverlands rush by headlong and the pounding hooves drive every thought from his head until he is pure instinct, animal-simple: find her.

The clearing is empty when he arrives, and quiet.

Jaime slings down from his horse looking around him wildly. It’s dark. There’s no sign of anything. No fire, no trail, no sign she had been there at all except that he knows this is where he had left her. He knows that in his bones. He will never be able to forget this place.

He walks aimlessly in one direction and then another. Which way would she have gone? East is Maidenpool, closest of anything, where she might find Tully allies. Riverrun in the other direction, a farther walk but where she might potentially find a ship, go back to Tarth. Or would she have headed singlemindedly North, towards the Vale, without even stopping to supply herself?

He takes not much time to decide. He thinks Maidenpool, then North. Climbing back onto Honor he rides East, alert for any campfires or single riders,scouring the forest hour after hour, and shouting out her name until his voice is nearly gone.

He reaches Maidenpool with the dawn and sees no sign of her there.

In a haze of desperation he accosts passers-by, one after another. Have you seen a maid pass this way, with a sword and a young boy? Riding a chestnut horse?

They all say no. They step back from him like he has gone mad; but of course it sounds a bit mad, doesn’t it? A lady knight with a Valyrian steel sword, as big as The Hound, with her own squire. While he’s at it, he should ask after Galladon of Morne, and mermaids, and the Crone with her lantern. But perhaps it is the stench of a cursed man they respond to, a man who has held riches and lost them. Such ill fortune is catching. They give him a wide berth, they murmur, they leave him standing in the street lost and alone. Perhaps they do not know a Kingslayer when they see one, but anyone can spot a man laid low by love.

Have you seen a woman, an absurdly large woman? With the bluest eyes you’re ever seen? A woman with a sword - a broadsword, two-handed? Looks like she knows how to swing it? Have you seen her? Big and strong as an ox but pure as a maiden? Straw-blonde, a hand taller than me, shoulders as broad as a barn. Has no one seen her? A knight? A true knight? The truest knight that ever walked this land? Tell me where she’s gone. Please, tell me if you’ve seen her. I saw her and I sent her away. She loved me, and I let her go.

******************************************************

The sun is marking mid-morning by the time he returns, and there are dark clouds looming in the distance, swirling up from the horizon.

He has hardly left the saddle before he is accosted by a barrage of debriefs and dreadful news.

King’s Landing is burning. Aegon’s forces arrived faster than anyone predicted, are thoroughly breaking Mace Tyrell’s formation, and their secondary forces sneaking up the bay have set Flea Bottom afire. The Goldcloaks have surrendered already, and the Red Keep will soon be under siege. Even if they ride full-tilt for the capital it will be a rescue mission now, not a defense.

“Ready us to ride directly to battle in an hour,” he instructs his captains. “Leave the camp set here, and I set my cousin Addam in command. Peck, you and your lady Pia will stay behind with the hostages and the provisions. If we face defeat see that they are returned to their homes - quickly as you can, the Kingsroad will be dragon territory before long.”

His squire’s face turns quite red and he looks ready to argue with him, and Jaime quickly turns his back to him. He hears the lad sputtering behind him as he throws the tent flap aside and goes into his Commander’s Tent.

Jaime sits alone in his tent for that hour and he burns. He feels the flames of wildfire in King’s Landing, hears the screeching laughter of Aerys Targaryen getting his fiery baptism at last. His most sacred oath is to guard his King, and his King is in mortal danger and he is not there. He left Tommen unprotected. Left his sister, his son, his duty. His doom awaits him there, is waiting for him still. He must go.

All around him his men are making ready for battle. He knows, with a dreadful foresight, that it is not a battle they can win. It will be glorious, and at the end of it he will be dead and he will never see Brienne again.

Brienne. Brienne. His heart blazes in his chest.

He should have kept her with him. He should have let her tell her tale. His stupid pride would not allow it and now she is gone.

Where is she now? Sheltering in some rain-soaked forest? Hiding in some Tully supporter’s house in Pennytree? Could she have seen him foolishly asking after her, and held her tongue?

He has been cruel to her. He has let her suffer. He denied her Oathkeeper. He had been badly wounded, his pride wounded, his poor sore heart wounded, and he had wanted to hurt her too. When he saw her tears some sleeping part of him wanted to take it back. He felt monstrous for doing it, and told himself it was because he was a monster. He had stood there and watched her with her shoulders hunched and fists balled at her sides, tears running down her face. What might she have done if he had tried to soothe her tears? He could have been kinder.

Now she will remember him as bitter and petty and hateful when he is gone, and there will be no one left in the world who thinks on him fondly.

But at least she will not see this battle; at least he gave her Oathkeeper to keep herself safe. She will have to think on him when she wields the sword, and perhaps she will remember whatever it was that had made her care for him. Perhaps she will know, when she holds the blade, that he had loved her too.

Mother, let her know it for certain. Give her my love.

When the hour is up, he leaves his tent, mounts Glory, and rides to battle.

#ring of fire #tumblr fic #oh hello there plot #middle chapters are tough - there's two more after this

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samanthalightning · 4 years

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She's Got A Date-EoWells X Allen!reader- Part IV

*The GIF is not mine. All rights to the owner*

Part III

Summary: After getting wasted last night, you meet up with Barry and he offered you some advices. Based 1x03

Warnings: None. Just a tad angsty.

***

Extremely groggy, currently having a mind-splitting headache and has the worst case of hungover, it was a miracle that you woke up early— well, thanks to your siren-like alarm. You hate yourself for drinking like a viking and like your liver regenerates like Barry.

Last night was a blur— or at least the part you got home. You blacked out. You have absolutely zero recollection of how you ended up in your bed, in your pyjamas, and your car parked the wrong way. You figured you drank and drove, you might have someone to do with that one. You are so lucky no one caught or Joe would've made sure you won't see the light of day. But everything prior that was still very much intact in your mind. Everything.

You were supposed to meet up with Barry for breakfast today at Jitters. You were headed there anyway for some coffee. It's not far from your apartment, which was nice, because you don't trust yourself with driving hungover as much as driving drunk.

When you arrived at Jitters, Barry was already there. He waved as his eyes caught you entering. You smiled in return. You went to him, put your bag on the floor and took a seat on the stool. Cups of coffee were on the table, it seemed like Barry had already gone through half of his coffee.

"I already ordered for you," he said. "And I got you this ham and cheese sandwich from that bodega." He placed a brown paper bag in front of you.

"Thanks," you mumbled, taking a sip of the coffee. You rummaged through the bag, and took the foil-covered sandwich. It was still warm. Your favorite bodega was all the way downtown. It's a trip to get those treats, which is why you almost never get them. Thank God for Barry and his super speed.

You quickly removed the foil and took a large bite. You groaned happily as you chew. Coffee and greasy sandwich; it was heavenly and bitter. It hits the right spots, it feels as though a part of your soul re-entered your body.

Thank God for Barry and him knowing you so well.

Barry chuckled amusedly at your reaction. "Had some fun last night?" He teased, pointing to your sunglasses covering your eyes.

In your defense, it was very bright outside today.

You rolled your eyes, not that he can see through the lens— or can he? You didn't know. "Just had a few drinks with Iris," you said.

He nodded, half convinced, took a sip of his coffee. "Once upon a time I was falling in love but now I'm falling apart," he sang in a low voice, but enough for your heightened hearing to hear.

Your head quickly jerked up to him, eyes mortified. "How did you know that?" You whispered. Your thoughts ran wildly. Maybe someone took a video of you drunk as hell, and maybe you're trending on all social media platforms or maybe you became a meme.

He shrugged, pursing his lips. "I don't know, you belted those notes in the streets last night,"

Perplexed, you look at him, and it's like he was waiting for something to click while smirking devilishly. Then it dawned on you. All of those questions you asked earlier were answered. He took you home. Which makes sense why he got these sandwiches for you.

"Oh my God," you groaned, burying your face in your hands, cheeks turned into a dark shade of red. Though, you still remember nothing.

Barry laughed hysterically. He loved teasing you so hard.

"Yeah. You called me last night, begging me to pick you up, because you're too drunk to drive," he said as his laughing ceased. "You both refused to enter the car. You started screaming, giggling like 5-year olds. I was lucky the street was dead."

Oh poor Barry. You can imagine, he must be so embarrassed.

It was a relief that even if you're drunk, you didn't risk driving. Maybe you're not as hopeless as you think you are.

Still, you dwelled in your embarrassment.

"So, who is it?" He asked. You look up to him again, eyebrows furrowed with once again cluelessness and confusion. You had a hunch what he was talking about, but it's always safe to pretend you don't know. It can't hurt them. He looked at you incredulously. "Come on, Y/N. You were talking the whole car ride. About some guy, and how things are so complicated and you were tired of it. I've never seen you like that before—"

"—clearly haven't seen me in a frat party before," you snickered, taking off your glasses.

"I'm serious. What is that about?" He insisted firmly, anticipation and a squint of frustration was evident in his face.

You grimaced, mentally hissing at yourself. You couldn't just zip your mouth and reveal your secret. Might as well announce it.

You messed up. You can lie, but what's the point? He's Barry. If he's anything, that's persistent. He tried breaking in Iron Heights.

"I'm dating someone," you confessed.

Barry blinked, clearly caught off guard with your confession. He expected it, but what surprised him is that you hid it from him. He stuttered for a while, before he was able to form a coherent sentence. "Oh. Okay. What happened?"

You sighed, looking down at the table. You took another bit of your sandwich, taking your time to chew. Contemplating whether to elaborate. It's pretty heavy to unload, you didn't expect telling your brother you're dating someone so secretly. And for sure he won't be able to take it all at once. You have to be vague.

"He—he doesn't want anyone to know we're dating, because there are certain consequences that come with it," you explained. It felt foreign to talk about your love life. For the past 6 months, you kept it all to yourself. The bad, the good. You bottled it up inside.

He raised an eyebrow, concern crossed his features. "And you're comfortable with this?"

"At first. But then it felt restricted and suffocating," you explained.

"Did you talk to him about this?"

You nodded. "Yes. He wasn't very convinced. I honestly don't know what to do," you huffed, slumping your shoulder.

It ain't rocket science to figure how deeply i troubled you. It breaks his heart that his little sister is going through some stuff, and she was going through it alone.

"Talk some more. Be honest of what you're really feeling," you thought was pretty rich and ironic coming from him. "You're part of this relationship as much as he is. You have a say in this, and if you don't feel like this isn't working out for you, then maybe you shouldn't be in it at all."

His words hit you like a brick— thousands of bricks hitting you all at once, if you're being accurate. It hurts, because it was right. It hurts, because it deeply matters. You felt the sting in your heart, your jaw tightened. You don't want to think about it, but he's got a point.

Barry was worried with your lack of response, as you think deeply in the distance. "I'm not saying break up with him, okay? I'm just saying this is something you should really talk about and consider. You can't bottle it all up." He doesn't want to screw up his sister's love life or push her to do something that might hurt her, but not exactly disregarding the advice he made.

When he's not being a total dork, he's pretty wise.

You pressed your lips is a hard line, taking it all in. "I know," you murmured.

You weren't able to say anything after that. So did he. It was some heavy weight of emotional stuff to unload to your brother. Your hungover was gone, and who knew these kinds of talks are better than coffee and grease.

Barry decided to break the silence. "This explains so much," he laughed and so did you. You weren't pretty subtle. "Do I know him?" He quirked an eyebrow.

You hesitated, but it's not like Wells' is the first that will come to his mind. Gradually, you nodded. "Yes. But I'm not gonna say who!"

"He isn't someone like Oliver Queen, right?" He half-joked, but deep inside he meant it.

You almost spat your drink. "No!"

Barry went to the precinct, and you headed to S.T.A.R Labs.

You tried to act as normal as possible, even though what Barry said deeply affected you. Thank God Caitlin arrived before you, so you wouldn't have to deal with interactions with him.

You couldn't still believe how much emotion you felt last night; how intense it is. You minded it, but you didn't think you would actually get drunk about it. You have no idea how to deal with it, and if it's the right time to deal with it. You can't go on and help your brother save the city, while your mind is filled with thoughts about him.

Right now, you choose the city.

As soon as Cisco arrived, which wasn't very long, you worked on finishing the pipeline.

It wasn't easy though, you worked on the same thing, be in the same room, act like you didn't get hammered because of him last night. Every time you spare him a glance, and he would look back and he would smile, having no idea what you were going through, it would break your heart just a little bit more. Each minute that you let your feelings be unknown, Barry's words sink into you furthermore. But it occurred to you that the reasons why it was hard were also the reasons why you should keep it together.

The prison was done before lunch. He and Cisco worked over-overtime last night, so there wasn't really much to do, but set it up. It came up together well; durable, functional. The cells slightly look like pods, and given Francisco Ramon's obsession with Star Wars, it makes sense. The test run will happen when 'The Mist' is captured, since Barry doesn't want to participate. But rest assured, you and Cisco worked on it very hard to make sure it works.

Now with the biggest task done, the only thing left to do is go through a bunch of workload and have lunch.

"Hey, Caitlin and I are gonna grab lunch, wanna come?" Cisco asked, putting his coat on. "It's that new place that serves amazing cheap steaks and burgers,"

You realized that the place he was talking about was the very restaurant that you told Wells.

You shook your head. "No, you guys go. I already ordered some food." You smiled, declining.

"Okay, your lost. That place is amazing," he elaborated, clearly pleased with the place. It's Cisco, though. And food.

You snorted, turning your eyes back to the computer. "As I heard," you murmured underneath your breath with a tinge of bitterness, as Cisco strided out of the cortex.

On the bright side, someone from this place already went there. But much to your dismay, it wasn't you.

Your phone dinged. You picked it up to check, and it's what you have been waiting for. The delivery guy is right outside the lab. You quickly headed down to pick it up. You gave the delivery guy some tip, before excitedly went back inside.

You were salivating when the intoxicating smell of Chinese food filled your nostrils.

When you got up, Wells was there. He took a waft of the take-out foods. "Is that from Mann-Lee?" His eyes lit up in recognition. He was the one who introduced you to the restaurant. He said it's the only Chinese place he likes, because it tasted like the food he had in Shanghai. Of course, he's been to China.

You nodded, placing it on the desk. You quickly took out every box of food in the bag, and dug into your chow mein happily and satisfied, not bothering to take a seat.

"Did you order some for me?" He asked.

Unable to speak due to your mouth being filled with noodles and potstickers, you nodded. "It's in the box," he chuckled at your attempt to speak.

He helped himself and rummaged inside the bag's remaining contents. Upon opening one, his face fell, seemingly disappointed. He opened another box only to be disappointed again. He was looking for something specific. Your wonder started to grow, watching him.

He turned to you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Did you order some of their Beef Broccoli?"

"No. Did you want that?" You inquired.

"Yeah." He forced a half-smile, waving his fingers dismissively. "It's okay. I'm fine with Kung Pao Chicken; it's decent enough,"

For some reason, your mood soured. Decent in Harrison Wells' vocabulary means it's not good enough; he doesn't hate it, but he doesn't love either. You felt bad that you didn't know what he actually likes, but in your defense, he never says, and he lets you eat it. He never complained.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it," you said. You didn't want to watch him suffer eating something he doesn't like while you enjoy your own lunch.

"No, it's fine," he assured you.

"No, Harry. I mean it— you don't have to eat it," you insisted with more vigor in your tone.

He ignored you, and took a bite of the chicken. You scoffed in disbelief, frustration fueled in your chest. You want to stop him as he continues eating, but you decided against it. It's too petty to get angry about, not worth it.

You eat your lunch in peace, every time you turn to Wells, he would wince every now and then when he takes a bite. You don't know what about Kung Pao Chicken he doesn't like, but he doesn't just like it. You tried to let him go through it, but you're starting to get annoyed. And of course, you couldn't stop yourself.

"Okay, stop," you suddenly spoke, putting your food aside. "You don't have to eat, you don't like it." You tried to grab the food out of his grasp, but he swerved swiftly.

"Y/N, I said it's fine!" Wells said, displeased at your attempt to take his food away.

"It's not! You don't look fine— you don't like it!" Your voice rose a little.

He exhaled audibly. "It's just food,"

"I know it's just Kung Pao Chicken that I ordered that you don't like, so just admit it and stop eating!" You spat.

He scoffed in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? I am eating it!"

"But that's the point!" You snapped loudly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do— you never do!"

Realizing what you've said, you shut your eyes. Your hands flew to each side of your head, fingers weaved through your hair, tugging on them. You needed to calm down and take breath, and be rational. The last you want to do is do something reckless and irrational.

"Is there something wrong?" He questioned firmly.

You mentally grimaced at the question. It was a stupid question; it's basically screaming at his face. "Nothing," you muttered.

Of course he didn't buy it. You weren't exactly selling it well. Or at all.

"It's something. You're enraged over food," You don't honestly know how he can keep his tone down, but it was evident he was agitated. You hate it so much right now.

You sighed wearily, refusing to face him. Afraid of what might happen if you do.

"Let it go, Wells," you pleaded through your gritted teeth and clenched jaw.

"No. I'm not gonna stop until this is settled. Tell me, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

He continued on, pushing you to speak. The idea of unloading all of your hidden burdens entered your mind, but you don't have the emotional capacity to face the fact that this is taking a toll on you. You tried to hold your ground, but his voice overwhelmed you.

You pushed your chair back, getting on your feet and facing him.

"Everything is wrong, Harrison!" You shouted, your voice boomed inside. Wells almost flinched. "Everything is wrong with us!"

Wells shook his head, baffled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't take this any longer,"

"Can't take what?"

"This—" you gestured to you and him. "—This arrangement we made!"

Wells sighed, distressed, catching on what you were saying. "I thought you were okay with this,"

You chewed on your bottom lip, as you folded your arms across your chest. When you spoke, your voice dropped into a whisper; you couldn't control it. "I thought so too. Then last night, Iris vented out to me." You paused. You struggled to keep it together, now pressing your tightly folded arms on your chest. You continued. "They were having problems, same as us. I gave her some insights about everything, and then I realized that's how I feel!"

The underlying problem he thought he got handled was more intense than he thought. Time was running, you couldn't pick more of an impeccable timing, and the team could waltz in anytime while you were having this fight. He couldn't afford anyone finding out about it.

He took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, this is not the time for this," he said.

You snorted, your anger erupted in your veins. You were tired of avoiding the elephant in the room.

"When is the perfect time? When it's too late? When we break up?" You didn't want to say it, but it was at the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked ever since you realized it.

His expression hardened. You already see the gears working. "Y/N, don't go there," he murmured, not glancing up to you.

"Why?" Your voice cracked into an almost sob. That was it. The tears found their way and pool at the rim of your eyes. "I tried to make myself believe that I understand, but I couldn't help but think that maybe you're scared that if things don't work out you won't have to deal with other people, thinking that you slept with a 24-year old girl."

Soon, every emotion you were feeling last night came rushing back to you; the confusion, the anger, the love and the pain— towards him and yourself. It seeped, not only to your heart, but through your very bones and weary soul. All too soon it became overwhelming, your chest tightening, your stomach knotting, struggling to keep it at bay.

Thinking it was one thing, but saying was a whole new realm of pain you didn't know you existed, let alone capable of feeling.

He glanced up to you, eyes staring into you meaningfully. "I would never think that. I made so many enemies, Y/N. Before and after the accelerator exploded. The last thing those people want is to see me happy and that puts you in danger," he reasoned.

You tried to steady your shaky voice. "I know. But your reasons and your excuses, they won't matter in the long run. The press, Joe, our friends, my brother— everything they say won't matter to me, because they're not the ones who loves you like I do, and they're not the one in a relationship with you." You told him, staring back, before turning away, as they threatened to fall.

You inhaled sharply. "I love you, Harrison Wells. And no matter what they say about us or you or me, I'll love you. Damn, you put my brother in a 9-month coma, but I loved you nonetheless!" You pointed your index finger at him in the air.

He let you speak, taking it all, as waiting for you to finish, let it all out and explain his side. And then, you'll be swept off your feet again, as if all of your feelings and thoughts didn't exist in your mind before. Barry was right. You couldn't believe you were getting to this point, but he was right.

"But I don't wanna hide anymore. I want to do more. Be free. If you don't want anyone to know that this relationship is happening, then maybe we shouldn't happen at all," You stated.

You both were silent, the tension was thick and you could cut a knife through it. Suddenly you couldn't move, like all of your energy was drained from your body.

You turned away before you could see his reaction. The pain was unbearable; it's best if you don't see it.

Mustering all the courage and strength you have left and your body, you took a step to leave the room. He tried to stop you by reaching out, but you recoiled, before his fingertips graze your skin.

"Don't,"

You strided out of the cortex, your shoulder straightened, held up high to hold your tears, but every step you take, the control you have dissipates. Slowly, your tears overflowed. You wiped the tears, though it didn't make any difference, your tears fell and fell, soaking your neck. Soon, all hell broke loose, sobs racked your body, your hands flew to your mouth to muffle your voice.

Wells was left with nothing, but the sound of your footsteps received, your muffled sob through the walls; thousands thoughts and emotions, and the weight of your words.

***

My parents are fighting. This one made me genuinely sad. Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you share this and give it some love. Thanks!

Part V

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neeterloveschenford · 3 years

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Thoughts on RNM 3x09

Ok y’all, here we go. Finally we are an official couple! Malex for the win!! (Other things happened, but ya know. Priorities.) I was very happy overall with the progress our boys have made. And as much as I’ve enjoyed this season, I’m glad we’ve had a bit of a time jump. Even if I think it’s only been a few days. I was pretty sure that Kyle and Max would already be up and about. It would have taken too much of an episode to deal with bringing Max out of the pod and Kyle waking up from his coma. Do I feel a little short changed? Yeah. But I get it. There’s only 13 episodes and there is a lot that we have to get to before the finale. So on that note, I’m gonna dive right in. Care to join me?

You go Nora with your badass self killing all those clones. (I mean harsh, but hopefully they were just vessels and had no consciousness to speak of.) And Jones being his crazy dictator self killing that scientist was super harsh. And can we for the love of God get Lucky away from him!?!?!?! He is the goodest boi! He deserves better.

Go on science Liz. I don’t understand half of what she said, but I believe it. And I love how badass she is when she sciences. And there we get our first glimpse of Malex goodness, “Me and Alex are working on the Lockhart machine.” Because of course they are. Because their brilliance only intensifies when they work together. Loved Isobel’s gross face when Liz talks about Noah’s spores. And here’s where we get the Heath story taking off. Max is not gonna like this one!

Ok, Deep Sky doctor lady. I really dig your hair, but do you know who you’re talking to here? Kyle is the premiere alien doctor on this planet. He probably knows more about weird biology than you’ll ever learn. Listen to my boy! And Kyle honey, you are completely justified in your righteous indignation. And you are correct in that no one is more qualified in top-secret ET shenanigans than you baby. (I really need to figure out how to use that line in real life. It’s like the best thing he’s ever said.) I still don’t know whether or not to trust Eduardo. I want to, but I’m still not sure what he’s all about.

I love how dedicated Isobel is. She’s downright obsessed and I love this side of her. And her cockblocking Delmanes was so funny all episode. I also really love that Greg is fully involved now. The Pod Squad needs all the allies they can get at this point.

That phone call almost made me cry. They look so incredibly happy to just be together. I knew as soon as Alex said he wouldn’t forget their date that it wouldn’t happen, but still. Just the fact that they are both ready for that step is amazing. They have both grown so much. I’m just so happy to see them so happy. It was truly amazing. And I agree with Michael. Alex needs to talk codey more often!

It was totally cute that Max had a get Liz playlist, but does he know what the song The Way is about? It’s not exactly romantic.

Heath, you’re in trouble now!

Delmanes are so cute! Isobel is so adorable when she is flustered by a pretty girl!. I will admit though, that I really wish Anatsa hadn’t slept with Max. I mean these guys tend to be a little too close sometimes. But, you know, that seems to be the way this show is going to roll. Blame it on Carina’s lingering messes from the last two seasons and move on.

Of course Alex would manifest Nora. Despite his growth, he still has a lot of guilt over her death and his father’s role in it. I love that Michael is his focus. Alex’s love for Michael will always be the guiding factor in everything he does. He wants more than anything to make sure that Michael has a good life. And I think he’s finally learned that his presence in Michael’s life is what makes it good. I love these two dumbos! (said lovingly) They make me so happy!!

Come on Max. Tell Liz how you not only kept her tapes, but you would listen to them in the desert while crying and missing her! These two are the real dumbos in this show. (said not so lovingly)

I love how powerful Isobel’s become. And that was way cool the way she pulled that pod out of the lake. I’ve really loved her journey this season. And Maria was right, that camp was really beautiful.

I just don’t know if we can trust Eduardo yet! He says all the right things, but he just seems too good to be true! I hope my misgivings are wrong. I really want Kyle and Alex both to have someone who will be a good father figure. They both deserve it.

You know what would have been an awesome twist? If Jesse had shown up when Alex saw the project shepherd tech in Nora’s machine.

I love how Michael just wants to take care of Alex. Lovingly breaking into his boyfriend’s house. What a romantic.

You know what Maria? Get it girl! I think Delmanes is both sexy and adorable. I am ok with them being together!

I love that Kyle is so determined to do the right thing. He has really grown to care about all the aliens. He just wants to do the right thing and I love him for it. He is proving every day that he is the best member of the Valenti family. I’m so proud of my baby boy!

And now we’re getting down to business with Echo. They both have made mistakes and they both have admitted as such, but it still surprises me that Liz cannot see why Max is so scared of his secrets getting out. (Am I really taking Max’s side in something? What is wrong with this picture?) Also, she is so determined to believe the best of Heath that she doesn’t want to see what’s glaringly obvious. I saw this coming like five episodes ago. Just saying.

If Vlamis doesn’t make that shirt part of his next merch drop, I will scream. I would wear the heck out of that shirt! And Eduardo’s face when Michael is standing in his office was the best! And bragging about how smart his boo is! Michael just adores his brilliant hacker boyfriend!

Admittedly, yoda Maria is getting a little old. But I am glad that Maria and Isobel are friends now. They really compliment each other so well. And I loved how Isobel took drinks out of Greg’s hand all ep.

My sweet Alex! I love him so much. Pushing himself so hard to try to help Michael. It’s all about Michael. His capacity to love is so huge. And then Michaell comes to the rescue. He’s always got him. That’s the kind of grand declaration that we need in our lives. The way that Alex grabbed onto Michael’s shirt was everything. They just bring so much joy to my soul.

Isobel and Anaste are cute, but my Kybel heart still beats strong. Also, I still think she’s an alien or something. I have decided to just not trust anyone new.

Michael listening to Alex, comforting him, and admitting he’s had the same fears was beautiful. I love how strong he is now. He’s really putting himself out there to be there for the people that matter the most. And that Sander’s story was so sweet. Of course that would be the perfect date for these two. And the fact that they worked together perfectly to take out the evil PS part and put the machine back together the way it was meant to be was such a great metaphor for their relationship. I can’t believe we are getting so much goodness right now. We are truly blessed.

Still making me take Max’s side Liz. You really are letting me down. Oh wait, helping Michael be less Michael. Yep, Max made me remember why I hate him. Never mind.

So Dallas is an alien. (At least somebody new is!) Not who I thought it would be though. And since we saw him in one of the s4 bts pics, then we know he’s probably sticking around. I am intrigued. And now we know what Heath’s been up to. I guess he’s supposed to be a not so bad guy since he’s trying to help his best friend. But you hurt my Kyle dude. There’s really no coming back from that.

I am still pleased with 99% of this season. We’re coming down to the wire now. I just hope for more and more goodness with every episode. Even if we have to have another episode without Alex, I am expecting there to be some mentions of him by Michael. This season has made me so so happy. I can’t believe we are living in a time when Malex is together and building a beautiful relationship that will stand the test of time. We are a blessed people. And I cannot wait for more! Till next time guys!!

#roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico s3 #s3ep9 #s3 spoilers #it's only my opinion

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call-me-rei · 3 years

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Chapter 2

Kellin Quinn was a ray of sunshine.

That’s what his mother always said about him. “He’s my little ray of sunshine,” she’d say when someone complimented her son. She was so proud of him and the person he was becoming.

Kellin just saw himself as a regular kid. He didn’t think there was anything overly special about him like his mom did; he just thought he was a kid. He was Kellin.

Kellin’s friends thought he was pretty great, though not to the extent his mom did. They thought Kellin was funny, kind, and occasionally spontaneous. And yes, Kellin was all of those things. He loved telling jokes and being goofy; he loved playing outside and making a mess. He just loved life.

Kellin could put a smile on your face without trying. All he would have to do is smile at you and you were sure to smile back. It was a weird power he had on people. Even the grumpiest person thought Kellin was wonderful.

It was easy for him to make friends. Like mentioned before, all he had to do was smile and everyone was hooked. He had the attention of almost every girl in his class whether it was romantic or platonic, and the boys in his class hung out with him to try to learn his ways. Last year he had gotten full-sized candy bars from the girls on Valentine’s Day. He wasn’t sure why, but what second grader would refuse full-sized candies?

The summer before third grade Kellin spent a lot of time wondering why people thought he was so great. It was starting to get weird to him. His birthday had occurred before school let out and he’d worn a pin on his shirt to signify the day and advertise that he wanted money. It was just a test to see if he’d get anything. Surprisingly he made thirty dollars that day. There were so many bills on that pin that he had to hand it over to his teacher to take care of.

Why would kids give him money? Why were people so drawn to him? He wasn’t necessarily complaining, but he wanted an explanation. What made him so special?

“I don’t know, sweetie. It’s just something about you,” his mom answered.

“But what? What makes me so special? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Just consider it a gift.”

Kellin huffed but accepted his mother’s answer. He figured it was better to be liked than hated.

He didn’t question his appeal anymore. It was a pointless effort anyway, so why bother? All that mattered was that he had people who liked him. He took that mindset with him as he entered his school to start third grade.

He was nervous about the year. Third grade was going to be so different from the grade before. For one, this was the year that he’d have to switch classes, so he’d have two different teachers. He wondered if his second teacher would be as nice as his first teacher, or if his first teacher was nice at all. He didn’t want to be in a class taught by a mean person.

He was also nervous about someone else sitting in his seat for half of the day. Kellin was an only child, so he wasn’t used to sharing his possessions. Of course, he shared toys with his friends, but this was something different. Someone could steal from him if they wanted to!

He put those thoughts out of his head when he remembered that he knew everyone in third grade. He’d lived in San Diego his whole life and had gone to this school since he was able to. He knew everyone in his graduating class, and they knew him. He knew he could trust them since everyone was a friend to him.

Kellin walked into his classroom with a smile on his face, but it faltered when he saw the students in his class. He was disappointed that his best friends weren’t in the same class as him. Jack Fowler and Jesse Lawson were nowhere to be seen. He went out into the hall and peeked into the class across from his. Sure enough, his friends were there.

Okay, he thought, at least we’re in classes that switch with each other. That was better than nothing.

Being in classes that switched with each other meant that Kellin had the exact same schedule as his best friends. They had lunch and recess at the exact same times compared to the other two third grade classes that enjoyed those times of the day ten minutes later than his class.

Kellin found his nameplate and sat at his desk. He recognized all the names that were at his table pod and smiled with content. He knew everyone who was supposed to be sitting with him which meant that he was going to enjoy his spot in class.

The first day of school started how it usually did: the teacher introduced themself then asked the students to introduce themselves. Everyone went around the room and shared a good thing that happened on their summer vacation. Their teacher then asked them to write a journal entry about someone else’s response. Kellin liked that. He loved writing.

Kellin’s first teacher taught English-language arts and reading (ELAR) and social studies. He was very excited to be able to start the day with his favorite subjects. Unfortunately, he had to end the day with his least favorite subjects: math and science. Kellin wasn’t the best with numbers.

He refused to dwell on the thing that would upset him, so he focused on the activities in his first class then went to lunch.

The cafeteria was pretty big and had enough room for three different grade levels to have overlapping lunch times. Third grade had lunch right at noon, then second grade came in halfway through, and fifth grade came when third grade was lining up. Kellin remembered being in second grade and wishing he had lunch earlier. Now he was in the next grade, and he felt excited to have seen his wish come true.

Kellin went through the lunch line and got his food then went to his class’s table. He sat on the side closest to the other third grade class’s table so he could strategically talk to his friends. It had worked out in his favor. Jesse and Jack sat at the other table with their backs facing Kellin’s back. They would be able to turn around and talk when they were done eating.

“So, who’s in your class this year?” Kellin asked. He didn’t have his best friends this year, but he was hoping they had more of their friends with them.

“No one interesting,” Jack replied with a shrug. “Lauren’s at our table though so that’s cool.” Lauren was the girl Jack had developed a crush on last year. Kellin knew he was downplaying how “cool” it was to have her in his class so he wouldn’t come off as obsessed.

“There is this new kid though,” Jesse whispered. That caught Kellin’s attention. He looked behind his friends to see if he noticed anyone he didn’t recognize. Sure enough, there was a boy sitting at the very end of the table.

This boy had tan skin, short brown hair, and big ears. Kellin thought the boy’s ears were kind of precious. They fit his face, even if they were bigger than he was used to seeing.

“What’s his deal?” Kellin asked. He was confused as to why the boy was just staring at his tray. He wasn’t making an effort to talk to anyone who sat around him; he just ate his food with his head down. Kellin couldn’t help but feel a little sad. Was he shy or had he not made friends yet?

“He’s mean,” Jesse replied. “He doesn’t talk and he doesn’t answer questions. He just looks at you.” Jesse was very upset with the new kid, obviously. Kellin wasn’t sure what happened, but he didn’t like that someone had upset his best friend.

“So we don’t like him?” Kellin asked. Jack and Jesse nodded vigorously. “Okay then, we don’t like him.”

And Kellin intended on not liking the new boy. Anyone who made his friends upset would never be a friend of his. He was very protective of his friends. Since he didn’t have any siblings, he held onto his friends and treated them like they were family. He felt that if he didn’t then he would never have anyone to play with, and he couldn’t bear to let that happen.

At recess Kellin, Jack, and Jesse played a game in the grassy area behind the playground. Kellin had noticed that Jesse invited the new boy to play. When he asked the redhead why, Jesse responded with, “Lauren made me.”

Kellin shrugged it off. Fine, he thought. Maybe this was what the kid needed; maybe he wasn’t very outgoing and needed to be invited before he interacted with others. Maybe he wasn’t like Kellin.

No, the new student wasn’t like Kellin at all. He was afraid to play with the boys. He wasn’t even sure why he was invited. No one ever invited him to play. Ever. So when he saw that the boys were too engrossed in their activities, the new student slipped away to sit underneath a tree and watch the fun everyone in third grade was having. No one noticed he wasn’t a part of it.

Recess ended in thirty minutes and the third grade classes were called inside to switch to their next teacher and continue learning. Kellin gathered his necessary materials from his desk and walked with his classmates across the hall. He smiled at Jack and Jesse when they passed him.

Kellin’s second teacher, Ms. Barnes, instructed the students to find their names on the nameplates on the desks. Since this was the second class Ms. Barnes had, she put their names underneath the names of her homeroom.

Kellin looked around the desks until he found his name underneath a name he didn’t recognize.

Victor? Who was Victor?

Kellin shrugged it off and sat down. He was a little bummed; he’d hoped he was sharing a desk with Jack or Jesse. Oh well, maybe one of them was sitting at his desk.

He put his notebook, binder, and pencil bag in the desk. He was surprised to see how neatly Victor’s things were organized. Victor had stacked his things on the left side leaving the right side bare and available for whoever was going to be sitting in his spot. Kellin smiled to himself. He appreciated that this person thought about other people.

Ms. Barnes did the introductory things like Kellin’s homeroom teacher had done, just without the journal entries. Then the math and science started.

After a couple lessons that Kellin could barely follow, his class was allowed to go into the hallway and get their things from their lockers and prepare for dismissal. Shortly after the bell rang and the school was dismissed. Kellin stood by a wall in the hallway to wait for his friends. As soon as he saw Jack and Jesse walk out of Mrs. Jones’ room, he waved to them. The three boys fell in step with each other and exited the building.

“I don’t think I’ll like Mrs. Jones,” Jack groaned.

“How come?” Kellin asked, surprised. He already loved his homeroom teacher, and it was just the first day of school.

“Because she’s gonna make us write a lot and I don’t like writing.” Kellin chuckled to himself. He knew that Jack hated his handwriting. His previous teachers had commented on how sloppy it was, and even though Jack had tried his best to fix it over the years, he never got it legible enough.

Kellin put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe this will be the year a teacher can read your stuff.” Jack shook his head and muttered something about his mom wanting to get him help if a teacher said something again. Kellin wasn’t listening though.

Something had caught the boy’s eye. Or rather, someone.

Kellin looked down the sidewalk and saw the new kid once again, but this time he was with a smaller kid. The new student had a younger sibling? That was an interesting discovery. Kellin had some questions going through his head. What grade was his sibling in? Was he as shy as his older brother?

Most importantly, what were their names?

“Jesse?” The redhead hummed in response to Kellin. “What’s the new kid’s name?”

Jesse scrunched his face in thought. “Uh, Nick, I think? I’m not sure; he said it really quietly when we were introducing ourselves. It’s either Nick or Vic.”

Kellin nodded and looked back to the two new boys. They were getting into a dark blue sedan driven by a woman with a bright smile on her face. Her eyes lit up when she saw her boys approach the vehicle and her smile grew when they got in the car.

The sight reminded Kellin of how his own mother was. She was always so happy to see her son when she picked him up from school. It was as if her day was dreary until her “sunshine” was in the car.

Kellin’s mother picked him up shortly after the new boy’s car left. Kellin said goodbye to Jesse and Jack and got into the car. As usual, his mom’s demeanor brightened once her son was in his seat.

“How was your first day?” she asked.

“It was fine. I’m not in class with Jack or Jesse and that kinda sucks, but my first teacher is the writing teacher and I like that. And I get to have lunch and recess with them so that’s cool. And there’s a new kid that Jesse doesn’t like so I guess I don’t like him either, but the new kid has a little brother. I just saw them leave. I don’t get why he doesn’t talk but Jesse says he’s mean.”

Somehow Mrs. Quinn was able to follow her son’s rambling. She was used to it by now. It had always been as if Kellin’s mouth moved faster than his brain could process.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Mrs. Quinn said as she drove. “You don’t even know this new student and you’re saying you don’t like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he do anything to you?” Kellin shook his head. “Then why wouldn’t you like him?”

“Because he made Jesse mad.” Kellin thought he’d made that obvious, but the look his mom was giving him through the rearview mirror told him she didn’t like that response.

“Did he call Jesse a name?” she asked. Kellin shook his head. “Did he push Jesse?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“He…” Kellin thought back. “He didn’t talk to him?”

Mrs. Quinn snickered. “If that’s all that happened then I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to not like him. Maybe he’s shy. You said he’s new to school; maybe he needs someone nice to be his first new friend. Maybe that could be you.”

Kellin thought over his mother’s words for the rest of the day. He had to admit, it didn’t feel too good to be mean to the new kid when he didn’t even know him. That wasn’t the person Kellin wanted to be.

Kellin was an optimistic person. He tried very hard to see the good in everyone, even if his friends said someone was the worst; he needed to make sure of that himself. That’s why he made the decision to talk to the new kid.

The next day Kellin walked into the third grade hallway and peeked into Ms. Barnes’ room. The new boy was there, sitting silently at his desk with his face in book. He wasn’t making any attempt to talk to the kids around him. Kellin went into his classroom and sat at his desk. He noticed the new nameplate signifying that a student from Ms. Barnes’ class was going to be sitting in his spot.

Victor.

The same name that was at the spot Kellin would sit at later today was on his desk. Kellin smiled. Hopefully they’d get to know each other.

The day started and Kellin enjoyed the ELAR lesson from Mrs. Jones. But all too soon it was time for lunch, which meant it was time for Kellin to put his plan into action.

He’d thought about the best way to approach the new student; he didn’t want to scare him off. Kellin watched as he sat at the end of Ms. Barnes’ lunch table and ate his food silently. When he was done, he picked up the book he had brought with him and read until the lunch monitor told his class they could line up to leave.

The new student went outside with his class and ventured off to find a nice shady spot to keep reading. He had somehow snuck away from his classmates and the teachers and found a secluded area where he thought no one would notice him, not that anyone ever noticed him anyway.

But that day Kellin noticed him.

Kellin was a curious kid; he had many questions and wanted answers to all of them. The particular question he had for this new person concerned the book they’d been reading since he laid eyes on them before class started that morning.

“Can I sit with you?” The new student looked up from the page he was reading and into the green eyes of the person who’d just spoken to him. This was the second time in the last twenty-four hours that someone at school had attempted to talk to him. He was apprehensive to answer considering he had upset the first person who’d tried to talk to him. He knew all about the redhead who thought he was mean.

The new student couldn’t trust his voice to give an answer, so he just shrugged.

Kellin took the gesture as a yes and sat next to the new kid in the grass under the tree. “My name’s Kellin,” he said. The new kid just stared. “This is when you tell me your name,” Kellin giggled.

The new student blushed in embarrassment. “My name’s Vic,” he mumbled.

“Cool,” Kellin replied with a smile. Vic nodded then began to feel awkward. What now? He wasn’t comfortable starting a conversation, so he didn’t. He looked down at his book and continued reading. He didn’t want to be rude, but he honestly didn’t know what to do in this situation, so he did something familiar to keep the anxiety away.

“Oh cool, Pokémon! I love Pokémon!” Kellin exclaimed when he noticed the cover of the book in Vic’s hands. Vic looked up from his book and at Kellin who was wearing an excited smile on his face. “Which one’s your favorite? Wait, that’s too many. How about your favorite Pokémon type? I like fire types, but the water types are so cute. The psychic types give me a weird vibe though.”

Vic listened to the boy talk a mile a minute about Pokémon types. He wasn’t sure Kellin had taken a breath while he spoke; his words just seemed to run together.

“Um, I like flying types,” Vic answered once he realized Kellin was down with his rambling.

The green-eyed boy nodded. “How come?”

“Well, because they can go anywhere whenever they want. They can travel far away from anything and anyone, and they can take you to safety if you need to be rescued.” Vic often wished he had a flying-type Pokémon to rescue him. Sometimes being where he was was too much for him. Better yet, he wished he was a flying-type. He could just escape when he was overwhelmed, which was far too often for his liking.

Kellin hummed, bringing Vic back to the current happenings. “That’s pretty cool. I think being a flying Pokémon would be awesome.”

Vic sat there in surprise. Kellin had listened to what he said and he liked his answer! That had never happened to him before. No one ever bothered to ask about Vic’s favorite things, and on the rarest occasion where they did, they didn’t like the answers he gave because they were “too weird and sad.” But not Kellin. Kellin accepted his answer for what it was and wanted to keep talking to him.

“Can we agree that we don’t like rock types though?” Kellin asked.

Vic couldn’t help but giggle at the boy’s question. “Yes.”

The two boys sat under the tree and talked about Pokémon for the rest of recess. Actually, it was more like Kellin rambled and Vic interjected when he felt comfortable enough to respond. Kellin didn’t mind though, he just liked talking about Pokémon.

This went on for the rest of the week. Vic and Kellin sat under the tree and talked about Pokémon, Digimon, and Yu-Gi-Oh for the next three days. And although there was something in the back of Vic’s mind that told him that Kellin was too good to be true and would abandon him, he couldn’t help but want to spend those thirty minutes outside with him.

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I updated again because this story is so cute and I wanna keep it going. Let me know what you think!

#Opposites Attract #Kellin Quinn #Vic Fuentes #Kellic #Kellic fanfiction #Kellic fanfic #Fanfiction #Fanfic

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theforgottendaydreamer · 4 years

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in defense of Allura

Disclaimer: I do not accept any kind of hatred under this post. I expect all readers to act politely toward those who don’t share their opinion, and I expect you to expose your own ideas respectfully. Toxicity is forbidden on my blog. I don't hate any character, and this is just an analysis. Anything that stimulates a mature debate is welcomed, as long as you do it politely. Thank you!

The time has come. Long enough I’ve dwelled upon the choices that the writers of VLD have made, especially in the last seasons: in this post, I’ll focus on the decisions concerning Princess Allura.

We were introduced to Allura in the pilot of the show, and it only took a few minutes- should I say doboshes?- to understand her overall personality. The Princess stumbled out of the pod, disoriented and confused, and only an instant later- the time necessary to snap out of her groggy state- she defended herself against a possible threat, being Lance in this case: she physically overwhelmed him with only a few rapid moves, her grip on him steady. Everything about her body language and verbal language screamed “strength”, in the following scenes as well. As she remembered about her father’s death, and about her homeplanet Altea being destroyed, the initial shock faded rather rapidly, and in a few instant she recovered from it. This doesn’t mean that if she hadn’t done it she would have been weak, not at all; it means that Allura, being a leader, knew how to put her feelings aside for a better situation, in order to better focus on the mission at hand.

It’s immediately clear to us that she wasn’t minimally interested in Lance’s advances: she considered him as a teammate, and later as a dear friend, but nothing more than that was shown in the first seasons. When Lance got badly injured, she didn’t seem too worried- though she immediately jumped into action to secure the perimeter. A couple of episodes later, when Lance exited from the healing pod, she spoke to the teen kindly, relieved that he was alright. Yet, this is not a sign of being in love: all of us would be happy if a friend of ours who was at risk was said to be finally out of the woods.

Allura was very practical, focused on her mission: she wanted to save the universe at all cost. At the beginning, her continuous arguments with the paladins may have given the impression that she was annoying and too strict, but she was simply driven by passion and desire to prove to everyone, herself included, that she could do the right thing for the universe. Though she never made it explicit, it was obvious that Allura cared about the opinion that the others had about her (even when she simply insisted on thanking the Arusians) because she tried to overcome her own insecurities by making herself as useful as possible to the cause. Even when she “just” flew the Castleship, she always offered her support and ideas to improve training, strategies and team bonding.

Throughout the seasons, we learnt that Allura had the tendency to blame herself, like when she thought that the Galra were tracking the team through her, for example. Allura also threw herself into battle if it meant saving the others, like when she pushed Shiro out of the way and ended up prisoner, or when she saved the Balmera and risked her own health, pushing herself too far to do the right thing and help the innocents that she couldn’t protect during the 10’000 years of absence. So, according to the evidence we had collected in the first seasons, Allura was selfless and caring, despite everything.

And then, just when we thought we’d seen it all, Allura became the paladin of the Blue Lion of Voltron (I’ll talk about this event in Lance’s p.o.v. in a different post, don’t worry). She was uncertain at first, but ready to dive head-first into the battle, willing to learn and improve her skills. Being an Altean, she immediately connected with Blue, and everything seemed rather easy; though at the beginning her piloting skills weren’t the best, she learnt in the matter of a single episode, and if you don’t consider it quick learning, then I don’t know what it was. Added to that, Allura was also talented, “progressing a lot faster than any of [the other paladins]”, as Lance said some time later.

When Keith confessed his Galra lineage, her attitude towards him was childish, but it was how someone would have normally reacted in a similar situation. People often have a hard time accepting someone that is unwillingly part of a group whose members caused them any harm; it’s one of the principles of racism, and that’s a synonym of ignorance as well. Human minds work like that, because we all tend to associate trauma with a certain group of people, or day, or any other input: it’s despicable, and sadly most people think like that. Luckily for all the Allura stans (me included, though I stan all the main characters of this show) she overcame this issue quickly. What I like about it was that she didn’t brush it off, but she apologised to Keith in person, evidently mortified for her behaviour, and after that she moved past it, accepting her friend and overcoming their differences happily. Mature people apologise, while childish ones pretend that their mistakes didn’t happen: by making amends for her mistake, Allura showed us just how mature she is for a 18/22 year-old (we do not have an official age, so my guess is as good as yours).

Things seemed to be going well for her: she learnt how to better manipulate quintessence, she gave Keith space when he needed to find Shiro after his mysterious disappearance, she learnt how to better pilot her Lion and so on and so forth. It was all going well, until Lotor’s arrival: then, it all started to go downhill.

Lance became inexplicably obsessed with her again, and at the same time, Lotor slowly manipulated Allura. Now, I don’t personally like Lotor since he willingly commits genocide for his own purposes, but I will not dwell further on the topic for it’s not my main discourse now.

Lotor tricked the Princess into believing him, she played into his hands, blinded by love. Mind that when I wrote “love”, my left eyebrow rose impossibly high. In fact, Allura had never shown to be interested in love; surely enough, she was romantically (and sexually, apparently) interested in people as we have witnessed, so the possibility of a love interest wasn’t odd at all. It was just sudden. Too sudden, for my personal opinion.

The problem I have with Lotura (Lotor x Allura, and I specify because I had to google the ship name) is that it’s based on nothing. The team was wholly against Lotor, except for Shiro who was not himself, quite literally. Allura never gave any impression of trusting people easily: not only when Keith said that he was half Galra, but also when Shiro begged her to trust Ulaz. She was hesitant and not happy about having someone she didn’t trust on board. Thus, her sudden burst of trust toward Lotor was odd, especially when it was quite obvious to most of the audience that the Galra prince was not telling the whole truth. I also wish that we got to see more interactions between Pidge and Allura and Hunk and Allura in s6 and beyond, since they rarely talked anymore despite being on the same team. Even Allura’s interactions with Coran were so diminished in number that they looked like complete strangers in the second half of the series, and it hurt.

I mark this point as the start of Allura’s downfall: from iconic character to mere love interest, which is not wrong at all per se, but it is when any other trait and development is purposefully ignored and forgotten by the writers “for the sake of the story”.

Thankfully, Allura seemed to recover quickly after Lotor’s betrayal (the scene when she flips him like a coin? Priceless), declaring all of her hatred towards the cruelties he’d committed and how he let her down irreparably. One good thing that Lotor did- and I have to admit that it was good- was that he made Allura discover new abilities and become stronger, powers-wise speaking. Yet, all of this was secondary to her being a love interest with no other apparent purpose. Why do I say this? Because as soon as she got rid of Lotor, she got together with Lance, and to be honest it’s not quite clear to me how or why.

I can’t deny that when I watched s1, I was an Allurance shipper; I was sixteen, a hopeless goofball who believed in all the clichés. Now, however, I do realize that Lance’s advances were annoying and obnoxious (and he’s my absolute favourite character, so this shows you just how honest I’m being, hopefully), and that I’m so grateful that Allura didn’t give in. At least, she didn’t do it at the beginning. In the last season, however, she fell in love with Lance in a single episode: when he asked her out, she seemed hesitant and only accepted because Romelle pushed her to give it a try. The dinner sequence was where Allura understood that Lance wasn’t the womanizer she thought he was, but I don’t believe that in reality that would have changed anything. You don’t simply fall in love in one evening only because your date’s family tells you that this person isn’t what they seem; in fact, that would worry me even more, personally, because it would mean that my date is a total stranger.

Lance’s “I love you” was not completely uncalled for, but simply very confusing: he seemed to be over her, but he became jealous when Lotor showed up. I tried so hard to see this as a “protective brother/friend” dynamic, but that sentence leaves no space for speculation (again, I’ll talk about Lance another time). What shocked me was Allura reaction’s to Lance’s confession.

She’d never looked at him with any kind of romantic interest, and even if some scenes may be seen as such (when she resuscitates him. And proceeds to hide it from the team. Yeah, another huge disastrous plotline), it’s undeniable that the Princess had trust-issues, and for a good reason too. That one time that she went against her team’s choice and trusted Lotor a bit too much, she got used and heartbroken. So why was she suddenly so in love with a boy that she’d always treated as nothing more than a good friend? My answer is: bad writing.

If Allura had shown any romantic interest in Lance for at least three consecutive seasons out of eight- to create a deeper connection- I would have taken it without complaining much. If Lotor hadn’t committed genocide and didn’t proceed to use Allura, I would have accepted Lotura too (friendly reminder that I don’t do ship hate unless ships involve rape, pedophilia and incest. So I’m not hating on Allurance and Lotura, though Lotor is a villain and I don’t like him, but that’s just my opinion). If Allura was allowed to be both strong and romantically interested in anyone, I would have taken it. But especially in s8, the writers erased her personality, turning a bright and iconic character into dating material. It wasn't fair to her nor to Lance, honestly.

The last straw was her sacrifice: Allura died to save the universe and since it was her main goal, I’m okay with it, though it hurt as she’s my second favourite character. What I didn’t like about it was that the villains got a happier ending than she did. Lotor, who committed genocide, got to live happily ever after with his parents, a violent conqueror and an abusive hag who ripped the universe apart to be with her son (I get it, mothers love their kids, but this is far too extreme). And furthermore, Lotor didn’t even like his parents, but still for some reason he was happy to be with them again, maybe because at least he got to spend eternity with someone that loves him despite everything.

Allura, however, died without saying goodbye to Coran, the man who stayed by her side for all their- but also ours- adventures, the one who believed in her the most and who did everything to protect her. She died without getting a last look at the universe she left behind, at the people who weren’t there in her final moments but that cared for her and vice versa (Shay, Romelle, even Krolia. Even the mice, Kalternecker and Cosmo, really). Each character had about a half a minute to say their goodbyes, except for Lance, whose goodbye was the longest but also the least impactful, in my opinion. The writers played too much with the dramatic idea of it and the result was sloppy- as much as I love dramatic scenes, this was purposeless.

Allura’s last act of kindness- as if saving the whole universe and every existing reality wasn’t enough- was gifting Lance with the Marks of the Chosen. Though, I’m not sure how to interpret it. In a fic I recently wrote, I theorised that “Allura gave you [Lance] these marks because she knew that you had greatness within, and they can actively remind you of it in your darkest moments [...]”. Of course, I’m far from sure that this is the real reason. My question is, was there even a real reason, or did Allura give him the Marks for dramatic purposes? If so, I’m glad that it wasn’t confirmed officially, because at least we get to make our own theories that surely are more satisfying than “we wanted fans to cry more”. Still, I see those marks as scars, and I will talk about it thoroughly in Lance’s analysis.

In conclusion, I don’t think that Allura was bad at all. I think that, in the end, she was simply badly written, which is entirely different.

s1-s5 Allura was a strong, compassionate, empowering, trustworthy, bright, lovable and fun character and for that, she deserved a better- much better- ending. She’ll always be in my heart, and I hope that future reboots will treat her right.

I will always remember Allura dearly. As Coran said in the final episode, “Just around this table I see so many lives touched by her actions. For some of us, she was a diplomat, a teacher, a leader, and a friend. But to those of us around this table, she will always be family”. Raising an imaginary glass, I just want to say... “To Allura”.

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mercuryeff · 3 years

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A Night with no Stars: Prologue

A Night with no Stars by Mercury Eff - check on the blog!

Prologue

Like a Bat out of Hell

It’s been less than twenty four hours and the fifty seventh time Maks thought he was making a mistake. The frequency of this pondering depended heavily on the amount of time spent with his parents. The mere existence of these people gave the institution of marriage a bad publicity.

He’s been trying to convince himself that it was only natural to be anxious after making such a huge life decision and besides, why would he even waste time on doubts when he knew from the very beginning how it was going to end? So what if sometimes there was a small, lost question in his mind, asking if it was really all he will ever have in life. Maks hated his inner voice, its advice usually sucked and it was awfully pessimistic.

He apologized, interrupting his mom mid-rant, right when she was accusing his dad of treating everyone like garbage and not caring about their feelings at all. He stood up rapidly from the table. Wiktoria’s eyes have risen from her iPhone and she gave him a long stare. For a second he though she was going to react somehow, but eventually her head dropped back without care in the world. Holding back a heavy sigh, he left the living room quietly. His sister’s momentarily engagement in family matters involuntarily drew attention to her and now their mom was complaining how she could spent the whole time with her nose glued to the screen and does anything even interest her anymore. Her voice full of distress became more distant with every step Maks took.

He sat on the toilet after entering the bathroom and stared for a moment at cream colored tiles with flower adornment. He remembered when years ago, when he was still in high school, his mom has been hassling him to help her choose these tiles and he remembered precisely all fourteen patterns that were shoved in his face. He didn’t know why he kept bullshit like that in memory, why he didn’t have a healthy reflex of removing useless information. He always remembers everything. He remembered when he saw her for the first time on the school hallway. He was getting back from the theatre rehearsal, she was stuffing books in her backpack. They didn’t all fit so she left a pocket copy of William Wharton’s “Last lovers” on the windowsill and walked away. He waited hidden behind the column for the whole two minutes before taking the book and spent the next four days scanning the hallways obsessively. Now he knew that she caught a flu the next day, but back then he wasn’t sure that he didn’t make her up. Eventually he found her and almost followed her to the ladies room, before he realized what he was doing. He returned her book, stuttering as if he was having a stroke, which was really lame for someone who spent the majority of life arduously polishing up his diction. She smiled the smile of someone who knew perfectly well that shyness was sexy and when a few hours later he looked around her room for the first time, he felt like an idiot, because of all his sacrifice for this one book, when she had around hundred thousands of them. That was probably the moment he kind of fallen in love. They were like two peas in the pod ever since, he was all bright and pale, with hair curvy just like wrinkles on his forehead after thinking too much and crumpled like his shirt, while her hair was all smooth and glistening just like the rest of her. Kind of absurd, as if people actually adapt to be more like their hair.

That was eight years ago, when Maks and Ewelina gave each other their first sacramental “maybes”. And now he was going to marry her for real. Now that he came back from England after two years and she was waiting, just as she promised, but a little bit forged. A little bit less smooth and glistening, her eyes less sparkly and her smile less honest, when she dropped by his place after work at nine pm, with eco-friendly bags full of hummus and cherry tomatoes, and eyelashes so long that Maks was kind of scared to approach and get impaled on them. She didn’t do anything to make sure that he was listening to her, when she ranted about her boss who sucked at confrontations, and why such a lousy person should have such a high position, moving her gel nails rapidly on her smartphone’s screen at the same time. Then she would mention casually when he was going to find a job, seeing that he was back in Poland for more than a month, and not everybody had such an easy start in life where they didn’t have to put any effort to get whatever they wanted. Did she sound like a bitch? Probably, but he tried to convince himself that his Ewelina still had to be hidden in there somewhere. So what that all of her books were long covered in dust?

Since he came back, it was like he couldn’t find a place for himself, as if this city disinherited him and in order to belong again he needed to pass some kind of test, but had no idea what it was and what were the rules.

“Maks, baby,” his mom whispered, lurking at him outside of the bathroom. She gave his hair a very mom caress, hugging his arm lightly. “I’m sorry, I still can’t get enough of you,” she explained, so he returned the hug awkwardly. It was kind of cute, but mostly embarrassing. “I know you need time to get on your feet, but I can see you’re struggling. Maybe if you tried…?” she started with voice full of hope. That was about a thousand time she said it.

“Come on, no,” he whispered back, stealing a glance inside the living room.

He couldn’t understand why she was so adamant to keep him unemployed for the rest of his life. She meant well, he knew that, because she always meant well, but no one graduated from Cambridge in economics to become an actor, it simply didn’t make any sense. Sure, it was his dream when he was young and foolish, but in the end he took a different path and it wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t accept it and was convinced that it meant he will never find happiness. He could. When he visualized himself ten years from now, he did see himself as a financier. And he did see himself as Ewelina’s husband. Really. Probably.

He actually liked his mom, unless she was reminding him that he sold his dreams and soul for his father’s approval and his own peace of mind. It did sound kind of sad, so he tried not to think about it like that. She was such a kind-hearted person, even though lately she didn’t even drink her liquid courage from the little glass like before, but straight from the pot-bellied bottle, which Maks though was a little disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the fact that she seemed to do anything she could to turn him against his father and vice versa. He knew it was awful, but he was really glad that they could afford to buy him his own place, cause if he had to stay here with them he would probably shoot himself in the head.

They got back to the living room and Maks thought that it was a perfect moment for him to announce it was time to leave.

“All right, I should go.”

He got the impression that his house became a battlefield, where two enemies fought, armed with ruthless words and only waiting for the right moment to attack.

“Monday, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late, son,” his dad said with eyes focused solely on the news. He didn’t seem at all interested in persuading him to stay. Wiktoria again raised her head.

“Hey, would you give me a lift?” she asked hopefully. Maks frowned, but his mom was the first to speak.

“Are you crazy, you’re not going to Warsaw at this hour, it’s close to midnight!” she snapped disapprovingly. Wiki rolled her eyes.

“So what, I could stay at Julka’s…” she whined without much conviction. She knew she would get nothing out of it.

“You’re not staying at Julka’s,” mom said in menacing tone. “If you want to go to Warsaw you can go in the afternoon and take the last train back, not sponge off your brother,” she added and then addressed Maks, putting a hand on his elbow. “Are you coming on Sunday? You could bring Ewelina with you.”

“Will you just let him be, we didn’t buy him that apartment for you to keep him here all the time. At least pretend that you want him to have some independence,” his father snorted. His mom sent him a death glare. Maks only nodded, trying not to get in the middle of it. It didn’t always work, because he felt kind of responsible of keeping family drama in check. Wiki apparently didn’t have the same problem, she just casually got back to scrolling through her phone, appearing completely unflappable. On the one hand, he kind of envied her, but on the other she was the one that had to live here, so it was understandable that she created some defense mechanism to survive. He knew that she was waiting just as impatiently as he was to hear that one liberating sentence. We’re getting a divorce. But they’ve waited for years and if it didn’t happen so far, it probably never will.

Monday, eleven am, he repeated in mind. It was kind of pathetic that his dad had to get him a job interview, but he felt strangely powerless when it came to that. Maybe it was because he hated it, this whole world of economics, numbers, money, his peers, all of it. But he couldn’t say that out loud, and it wasn’t as if he had any other choice, because his chances of becoming an actor were practically non-existent. If there was anything he actually learned on the freaking Cambridge, it was the balance of probability. Which furthermore meant almost one hundred percent chance of hearing one of his father’s 'I told you so’s' at the end, which should be avoided at all costs.

He got into the black Subaru and drove carefully through the gate. When he rolled slowly on the gravel road, it was like someone turned off the world around him. There was not one star visible, not one street lamp glowing, not one car, not a soul in this shithole except for him, and sure it was late, but it was still Friday. But that was Sulejówek and nothing ever happens here. Especially nothing ever happens on the way from Sulejówek to…

He slammed on the brakes when he saw a hunched silhouette on the side of the road. At first he did it cause he was concerned that the crazy drunk was going to fall under his car, but when he came to a full stop he realized that the crazy might not be drunk and might not even be crazy. He was a little anxious, because what if that someone was dangerous? After all how normal someone wandering around the woods at night in March can be? He was struggling internally for a minute, because he had no problem with admitting that he wasn’t the most brave of men and taking a risk to help someone who probably didn’t even need his help didn’t sound very appealing. He should just drive away and forget about his existence.

Apparently there was a short circuit in the part of his brain responsible for common sense and self-preservation, because instead he opened the door and got out of the car, squinting his eyes to see the figure through the darkness. It was a man, probably not old, but he couldn’t tell much more. He was crouching in the grass and appearing to be looking for something.

“Hey, is everything ok?” he asked hesitantly. He couldn’t see much, but for some reason he knew that the guy was eying him suspiciously from the second he stopped the car. He slowly straighten up.

“Of course it is.” His voice was flat, Maks couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be sarcastic or not. He sounded young, but more like a man than a teenager. He seemed arrogant, maybe too arrogant and for a moment Maks was wondering if he was using sassiness to cover something else.

“Ok,” he said slowly, feeling quite silly with the knowledge that both his question was stupid, and the answer insincere. “Is there any way I can help?” The guy finally looked at him and for a moment he seemed to judge him, as if he was trying to decide if he could be actually useful.

“I've lost a phone,” he gave up eventually. For some reason he was whispering. Maks made a few more steps.

“I can call,” he offered the first thing that came to his mind, taking his own phone out of his pocket. The stranger frowned on him.

“I don’t have the number,” he informed him rudely. “We need to find it the old way,” he added, making a chaotic gesture with his hands and getting back to crouching down in the grass.

That should probably set off alarm bells in Maks’s head - the guy was looking for someone else’s phone? - but for some reason it didn’t, so he just turned the flashlight on. The boy winced from the light and then looked around apprehensively. Maks could finally take a better look. He was right, he was young, no older than twenty. His hair was dark with long bangs. He couldn’t tell how tall he was, cause he was still squatting, but he was definitely pale and his eyes were wide open. He seemed fully focused, as if he was listening carefully all the time and not lowering his guard even for a moment. He was dressed in grey hoodie, it looked pretty thin, he must have been cold. For one absurd second Maks wanted to offer him his coat. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with lack of meaning in life, helping strays to feel better about himself?

“Ok, hurry up,” he hissed, so Maks obediently turned the light to the ground.

“Here,” he said triumphantly after several minutes, forgetting that they were supposed to keep quiet, even if he didn’t know why they were supposed to keep quiet. He leaned down and picked up the old Samsung model from the ground.

“Turn it off,” the kid snapped at his flashlight, grabbing the phone and looking over his shoulder, visibly distressed. He dust his jeans off when Maks finally put his own phone away. “Thanks,” he muttered absentmindedly, looking as if his mind was already somewhere else.

“Where the hell are you going?” Maks frowned when he realized that apparently the boy was just going to walk away. In this weather, dressed like that? It was like asking for pneumonia. The kid looked surprised.

“As far away as possible,” he shrugged. Maks’s eyebrows went up.

“Is Warsaw far enough for you?” He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. The kid looked uncertain for a long moment, when suddenly he turned around rapidly. Did he hear something? The only thing Maks heard was dead silence.

“Ok, whatever, just hurry up,” he whispered, rushing to the car and tapping Maks on the shoulder on his way. He sat on the passenger seat, still behaving kind of paranoid, looking around and listening. Maks suddenly felt as if he was in an action movie, but he’d rather focus on acting, not thinking, so he just got behind the wheel and turned the keys. “Go,” said the guy, looking intently at the woods and sounding a little desperate. He seemed as if he couldn’t wait to leave whatever it was behind them. Maks didn’t look at him until they were safely back on the main road. His lips were clipped tightly, his eyes were still bulging unnaturally and that’s when he realized that he was driving someone who was a complete stranger in the middle of the night, a stranger who was looking for someone else’s phone in the middle of nowhere and was clearly scared of something in the woods. He must have gone completely insane.

It took a moment, but eventually the woods started to clear a little and they saw city lights ahead of them. The guy seemed to relax a bit, but Maks was now starting to panic. He tighten his fists on the steering wheel, wondering if he should start any conversation and how to start it. And when he should kick this weird guy out of his car, considering that theoretically they were already in Warsaw. He was surprised when the kid spoke up first.

“What’s that?” he frowned and Maks looked around wildly, momentarily thinking that something actually came out of the woods, and then he understood what he meant.

“Apostolis Anthimos,” he said. His companion pulled a face. “What, not a fan of jazz?” he added mockingly, cause seriously, here he was driving his ass to Warsaw and the kid though it was ok to whine at his music?

“I love jazz.” Maks glanced at him skeptically. He tried not to judge a book by its cover, but the kid looked as if he could easily blend in with the crowd of football hooligans and didn’t seem like someone who would like jazz. “But it’s a fucked up name. Too long. I hate long names.” He sounded distracted. Maks thought that maybe his previous panic was acting up and now he was starting to drivel. The corner of his mouth raised up.

“Maksymilian,” he introduced himself without being asked. The kid moved these wide eyes of his at him – really, Maks was convinced that he didn’t blink once since he first saw him – and snorted. His laugh was high-pitched and a little hysterical, but it was nice and Maks thought that maybe he will even give him a lift to the city center.

Nothing ever happens on the way from Sulejówek to Warsaw indeed.

#gay fiction #gay books #lgbt fiction #original novel #m/m #slash #writing #story #gay #lgbt #prologue #blog #crime #action #polis #poland #mafia #book #lgbtq #romance #gaymen #boys love

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roswelldetails · 4 years

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Episode 203: Good Mother

Sorry so late this week!! I had a deadline for work that kept me away from this early in the week, and Tumblr has been mean tonight. Kudos to @tasyfa for helping me with some of the transcripts while I was stuck working!!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

Determined to regain control of her life in the aftermath of Noah’s death, Isobel (Lily Cowles) makes a risky choice despite its potential consequences. Meanwhile, Alex (Tyler Blackburn) and Michael (Michael Vlamis) work together to unravel the mystery surrounding the night Nora’s (guest star Kayla Ewell) spaceship crashed in 1947. Elsewhere, Liz (Jeanine Mason) makes a surprising confession when Cameron (guest star Riley Voelkel) shows up looking for answers about Max (Nathan Dean). Heather Hemmens, Amber Midthunder and Trevor St. John also star. Jeffrey Hunt directed the episode written by Deirdre Mangan & Carina Adly MacKenzie (#203.) Original airdate 3/30/2020.

DETAILS:

Aliens in the crash are always portrayed as wearing all white.

There's also a silvery gleam on the faces of Nora and Louise following the crash.

Harlan Manes (first introduced in the alien autopsy scene in 1x07) and Hector Valenti (first mentioned in the pilot by Jesse Manes, but visually introduced here) are shown as having both a partnership and a difference in perspective, with Hector being more sympathetic to the aliens from the start - it mirrors what we know about Jim and Jesse's relationship.

Mysterious alien figure in white hood (probably played by Nathan Parsons, but unlikely to actually be Max (see @latessitrice meta) touches Nora's shoulder and she looks pained, then attacks and burns Hector alive, before disappearing into thin air.

Nora is shot in her shoulder.

Liz sent Alex to find Michael at the cave.

The pods "regenerate cells at the same rate as they degrade" keeping them in stasis. The theory of the electrical current is that it will speed up the regeneration so instead of stasis, Max might improve.

Searching for info about Nora led Alex to a sophisticated firewall, which meant that someone was trying to hide information about her.

Jenna's fake energy drinks are called "Speed Demon"

Mimi DeLuca says she was "nowhere" (and then she looks up at the stars). She was wearing the same nightgown and robe as when she disappeared (white...like the aliens in 1947), but instead of bare feet, she had on a pair of elaborate blue and white cowboy boots

Jenna told Sheriff Valenti that Mimi recited the plot from the film Starship Troopers during the car ride into town "like she lived it", with all the voices, but did not provide any information about where she’d been. Sheriff Valenti implies that this is typical behavior from Mimi.

Michael says he's been parked at the pony for a few weeks. Maria says that Mimi was gone for a month. That means that another 2 weeks have passed. (I.e., Max has been dead for 6 weeks now.)

Maria says that they found her mom on I-40 (by the Roswell sign). Also in 2x01 Rosa indicated that she and Liz were on I-40 when they saw Flint - Rosa put together that it was the most direct route to Area 51...however, I-40 does not go through Roswell. In fact, it is over 100 miles from Roswell to I-40 (north on 285). However, it is the most direct route to Area 51 from Roswell.

Isobel points out that Mimi DeLuca waking up in the desert with no memory is similar to what happened to her when Noah took over her body. Michael doesn't believe that they are the same situation though.

Rosa is about to drink spiked coffee when Liz brings her the art supplies. After Liz leaves, she pours it out without drinking it.

Isobel is packing up all of the photos of her and Noah (most look like vacation photos). She hesitates on the photo of them with Max at the wedding that we previously saw in 2x01 at Noah's funeral.

Isobel's baby is now 7 weeks (consistent with the other time frames) and is now the size of a blueberry.

Isobel drinks the rest of the alien death serum and immediately gets cramps/pain in her womb. And then Max's hallucination appears.

Isobel tells not!Max that she has been microdosing with the serum for weeks (2 weeks, based on the timeline) and it hasn't worked.

Not!Max does tell her to call Kyle (i.e, her subconscious knows she should, but she's not listening).

Michael tells Jenna that Max is in Mexico (at first).

Mimi is "hydrated and healthy" and she never felt unsafe.

She thinks she was only gone for a night, coming to see Maria when Jenna found her.

Maria asked Mimi whether Jenna lent the boots to her and Mimi declared they were hers

Liz is surrounded by monitors with alienesque symbols on them (or maybe just The Science!) See photo:

When the alarm sounds Liz looks at her computer screen and reacts - likely a security camera.

When Alex arrives at the Bunker and sees the binder left for him, the computers are on and there is a map showing. See photo:

I tried to figure out what city it is on his computer screen, but no luck. If anyone figures it out, send me an ask & let me know & I'll blast it out!

The 3-ring binder left for Alex, which looked approx. ¾ full with paper documents, was marked on the front:

CAULFIELD * A4N

352-6553 NMG

The text was white on a dark green background that appeared to be a printed label that had been affixed to the front of the binder. The body of the binder was light grey, with a partially shaded circular diagram in the lower center of the front that appeared to be part of the binder itself rather than a later addition like the label.

The Post-It note left on the binder for Alex said, "What side of history do you want to be on?"

There was also a marking on the spine of the binder: CF-143-3453-C78. This is probably a file or record reference, with CF standing for Caulfield. The reference would be visible when the binder was housed on a shelf, allowing easy identification.

When Alex flipped open the binder, the visible portion of the top page read as follows:

HEADQUARTERS

509th BOMB GP (NH)

ROSWELL ARMY AIR FIELD

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Forwarded.

A07-06 (95) 8 JULY 1947

AFTER ACTION REPORT

Serial

[blacked out text with underscoring] [TOP SECRET stamp]

From: Lt. Colonel Payne Jennings, Roswell Army Air Field

Subject: Engagement with enemy combatants, recovery of unidentified craft, night of 14-15 June, 1947, twelve casualties.

[offscreen] is a fine that concerns the events and

[offscreen] following the discovery of a flying saucer,

To: Chief of Staff, U.S. Air Force

[offscreen] dentified rancher notified

[offscreen] [blacked out text] that he found the instrument on

[offscreen] operations were coordinated with

[offscreen] with the intent of detaining or

[offscreen] while assisting in the inves-

[offscreen] reached the crash site

[offscreen] ing object’s entan-

[offscreen] balloon. Ship

[offscreen] of foreign

[offscreen] place

Liz explains The Science to Jenna:

"3 years ago I hypothesized that if I introduced a rare protein to destroyed stem cells they'd regenerate. And I was right. My team in Denver brought dead cells back to life. Rat cells, but, I mean, still, the applications are immeasurable… until our study got shut down. They said it's for ethics reasons, but I think it's because it threatened big pharma. Then a few weeks ago, Kyle found that the pods contain a sort of alien cousin to my regenerative protein. When Max healed Rosa, his electric charge amplified the process. If we can replicate that, then, we can accelerate his recovery, so, I am testing out pig hearts to see…" discussion about pig hearts/human hearts/different kinds of smart…

Liz says she has a few hours before she has to "record the electromagnetic charge interval"

Jenna says that Liz reminds her of Charlie.

Charlie used to rant about gene therapy

Jesse says he requested no visitors until "his brain starts to follow his orders".

He keeps periodically hitting the morphine drip with Alex in the room, though he was ignoring it before Alex got there.

Jesse describes the opening scene of the episode. And then tells Alex "Tripp was never the same".

Rosa's art:

Among the quotes on her collage are:

Body drie up from ...

What did she say

You're no listening

Control her Take her power

I am the Mesa the mighty

Nothing but a muddy trickle

You can't hold us

Sandia

Between them... Damn... One day she'll…

East

Rosa hears Max call out to her (while awake) "Rosa! Help! You're the only one!"

Jenna says that her dad brought her and Charlie to Roswell when they were kids. That they were obsessed with the crash and aliens and the X-Files and it was the perfect trip. It's why she came to Roswell after leaving the military. "It was like trying to go back in time, somehow."

"Time Travel really messed with you. I am eight years older than my older sister. She used to be my hero. She was kinetic, disruptive, cool. Now that I'm an adult I'm pretty sure she's bipolar, and she needs help. And if I try to save Max I'm letting Rosa twist in the wind, so, hence the wine ready in my drawer."

Maria is going through a box labeled "Mom's Stuff" in the Pony when she sees Rosa.

"I'm turning into my mom. I lost time at the gala...Michael's hand...I'm seeing things!"

What Valenti says about Noah's death:

"The M.E., Dr. Holden, listed Noah's cause of death as cardiac arrest due to lightning strike. (note: cardiac arrest = heart attack. Same way Max died.). No other abnormalities were listed. But that's not consistent with the crime scene photos. You see these ligature marks on his wrists and ankles. …. These marks are consistent with zip ties. And these with struggling against police-issue handcuffs. Like Max's.".

Isobel blames it on their sex toys.

What Max said to the grocery clerk "¿Tienes carne sin preservativos?" (Meat without a condom).

About Max's nightmare:

"You remember when I used to come in and sleep on your floor?"

"You used to have a nightmare. You were alone in a cold, dark room and there was something… You couldn't get up. You were…"

"Chained to the floor. I'd wake up all freaked out and run to your room."

Rosa's nightmare:

"I need your help, Rosa."

"Look, I'm not gonna help you die. I have been drinking so that I don't dream."

"I know that."

"It's like you're getting stronger. I hear you now when I'm awake."

"You're right. Something is making me stronger. I feel things. That's why I'm calling for you. Something is wrong with Isobel. Even in the pod I sense it. She's dying. Please."

Liz thinks that Max was able to reach out to save Isobel because the electricity is making him stronger in the pod.

Maria confessed to her mother that she had thought she might be getting sick too, Mimi said Maria would not get lost because she was protected, and reached for the resin pendant with the anti-alien pollen flower that Maria was wearing as usual. When Mimi seemed to go to sleep, Maria removed the necklace and placed it on her mother.

Flashing back to the night of the crash, Nora seems to be tying down the tarp on the back of the truck when Tripp approaches her. He feigns an offer to assist her and then grabs her and orders his men to move in so that they can take her and the truck back to base. Louise appears and black-canary-screams to push them away (sound waves, I presume). She is shot in the stomach/chest. Nora pulls her into the truck and drives them away.

The newspaper clip Michael found is dated October 12, 1948, two days before Nora was captured.

Newspaper transcript:

Last scene - Nora is clearly driving the truck with her powers, as she has both her arms around Louise. They approach a cabin and we're introduced to Roy Bronson, who offers to help.

Roswell Town Fair Charms Locals and Tourists

Photo caption: Smiles abound demonstrate a good time had by all.

Saturday Festivities Drew Healthy Crowds

Second column under photo:

...well as celebrated hometown war heroes, and, of course, Mrs. Benjamin Booker (Carol) whose strawberry Chile pie has won the Roswell Pie Contest four seasons in a row.

Children delighted in activities such as sack races.......

Top of 3rd column:

...ice creams.

Meanwhile the annual pumpkin chunking contest was the main attraction as expected! Pumpkin chunkers arrived from far and wide with their pumpkins and their pumpkin-lurching apparatuses. The prize for best pumpkin chunked went to the Long Family. Their farm foreman Roy Bronson credited his friend and neighbor, a young woman who declined to be named, for the Long's pumpkin chunking victory.

When asked what he'd do with the prize money, Bronson declared that he would "purchase ingredients (for his lady friend) to cook up a nice pumpkin pie".

MUSIC:

Dame - Holy Moly

Tommee Profitt feat. Fleurie - Hurricane

#roswell new mexico #rnm season 2 #good mother #rnm 203 #long post #episode details

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space-blue · 3 years

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Time’s Arrow

I wrote this in memory of a man I was smitten with for a long long time... It is the only story where I wrote a passage that felt written through me, made perfect by some greater force. A flow as good and deep as during your best tetris jams...

'Damn Ellen, Paris is off the maps forever isn't it?'

'Looks like it. No more visits to the Louvre for our holidays.'

'Well, instead of visiting the museums, we'll get to visit the Glass Sea of Paris.'

'When radiations cool, in half a million years?'

'You know this is the work of Russia's Harbingers. It's gonna be fine for tourism in fifty years tops.'

'How can you tell it's the Russians behind that? The news don't know yet.'

'It's a safe bet. Of all our enemies, no one else has the missiles required to fuse stuff the way that news drone is showing. At least not enough for a crater the size of Paris.'

'Fair point, Bobby.'

My husband is smart even when he's drunk, or rather, he becomes sloppy a while after I'm too drunk to notice. The news on TV have been drinking material for weeks now, but we try to contain both our drinking and TV time. Our little wine shelf is almost empty, and we need to keep the best for our last evening.

'I still can't believe it's all happening.'

'Yeah, feels like we'll realise we were watching the Sci-fi channel all along, doesn't it?'

Except there are no more fancy channels now. I let myself slump against Bobby. The world swirls, like we're on a raft. Adrift and going down the drain. I feel his fingers plunge in my hair, his voice rumble out of his chest as he comments on the never ending horror show of the news. I need to sleep. We have so much work to do, and so little time to finish now.

----

In my dreams I'm twenty and Bobby thirty-five again, just old enough to feel scandalous, but smart enough to obsess me. We meet once more in the hall of my building at NASA. Our programs, about to join and merge like our lives and our love later would, is still about space exploration, and not yet about human survival. But time has gone by, as time is wont to do. The past only lives in my dreams.

----

One day I had offered to exit stasis first, and spend a few years setting up our new abode, developing relationships with our new neighbours–if there were any–just to even out our age gap. He'd laughed at that, refused to be robbed of the privileges of a young wife.

"Besides," he'd said, "if the dinosaurs are back, I'd want to be there to defend you, tame them and learn to ride them..."

"If our stasis tanks last long enough for dinos to re-evolve, we could give ourselves a Nobel Prize of all sciences compounded."

Truth is, we don't know how they'll fare, or if they'll even take us through the war, as brief as it'll probably be. We've tested them before, short sleeps increasing to two full years in 2036-38. Our tanks have few changes from the original deep-pods we built for NASA. But a single glitch could mean death. I plunge my hand in the depth of a panel, feeling my way up the thick cooling lines and slowly tugging coils of them out in the open. Ten years working on these machines and I still can't shake the feeling of disembowelling them when the cables flop in my lap. A huntress in a lab-coat, oil a dark-blue blood under my nails. I run my fingers along the length of the cables, inspecting every joint, looking for wear and pieces to replace. How many years before one of them ruptures, a tremor from our dying world snaps them out of place? The deep-stasis pods Bobby and I worked on at NASA were meant to last almost indefinitely, easily up to a century without physical check-up, but within ships which propel themselves smoothly, and won't risk getting bombed or running out of power.

'Bobby, which wires did you say you wanted me to look at? This is all fine.'

'Bundle B1A, Ellen. And maybe T4A too, if you have time.'

'I always have time for this. If you're worried, then so am I.'

'I'm sure it'll be fine. The installation is ready, the power systems have been running smoothly for years. The sleep should go as planned.' He cleans his hands in a rag. 'All the auxiliary systems are good, I'm done with my check list, and just in time.'

I make a face at my handsome, grubby looking husband.

'I wish we could go back in time, instead of freezing it.'

'We're not freezing time, only removing ourselves from it.'

'Nothing in physics keeps time from flowing back, I wish I had studied more... Invented something to turn the arrow of time.'

I picture the glass sea of Paris contracting, liquefying itself in a mass of living people, monuments and pastry shops, the missile collecting its fragments and taking flight, propelled only by the inexorability of time. I imagine arguments being swallowed back, wine spit in glasses and gurgling up bottles. I imagine my ring sliding off my finger, Bobby's lips hot on mine for the first time again, and then unknown to me. Time doesn't seem to ever be kind.

----

Many cities have joined Paris into oblivion before the TV went quiet, and we drink in their name, and the name of all the people snuffed out by the war. The wine is red, french, our best and last bottle. Bobby looks at me anxiously before opening it. He fears it might have turned to vinegar. But it hasn't, and we make the best of it, drinking and fucking like teenagers all night long.

When morning comes we leave our bedroom for the cellar, bleary eyed, down our bunker, to our new beds.

'Ellen, Ellen, I'm scared.' His hands are around my face, cupping it behind my ears, turning me in some sort of parabolic dish directed towards him, tuned to receive the warm radiations of his love. 'I'm so scared of losing you.'

I cover his hands with mine and tell him how since I love him more, I'm the most scared, and drink in the sight of his face crinkling in a lavish smile.

'I'll see you in a hundred years handsome, but it'll feel like ten minutes, like last time. And we'll be together again.'

I hate to see him like that in his tank. It feels like bending over a metal coffin. I kiss him deeply, listen to his speech slur as the drugs take over, his eyes, until last, never leaving mine.

My own tank is cold and clammy, and the slow chime of the console as the computer helps me launch the last protocols sounds like a soft electronic bedtime tune. I listen to my breath, to my slowing heart, and the world goes dark.

----

Waking is horrible, no matter how long you've slept. I've been puking for a while, panting, coughing, and my head won't stop spinning. I'm halfway out of my tank, shivering in the cold air. There are voices speaking all around me, and a thick cover wraps my shoulders.

'Bobby?'

'Nej, sisa.'

'Huh?'

I look up into the face of a complete stranger. A woman, making cooing sounds at me. Around us are bright lights and more people wearing face masks.

'What the...'

Behind her shoulder, Bobby's tank is open. My mind trips to make sense of how open it is. Panels unscrewed, bowels dark and grey and missing. It's so wrong.

They're taking me away, I'm too weak to fight it. They're not slowing down, no matter how loud I cry.

----

A man settles in front of me, and props a little apparatus on his knees. It's a flat, metallic object, the size of a hand, without screens or special features. He taps it, speaks over it in his alien tongue, and the machine translates his words to English.

'My name is Martek, I am Fransken. How do you feel? Do you need medical attention? What is your name?'

I gape. Questions fight to come out first.

'I'm fine, my name is Ellen Vorden, I–'

The man smiles at me, and repeats my name.

'What year is this?'

'We're in 1750.'

'What?'

For a moment I think of the year 1750, however impossible Time Travel might be. But the man's smart black clothes, long braided hair and advanced technology don't look very industrial revolution.

'Ah, sorry' Martek flushes, 'in old English it is the year 2350.'

It takes me a long time to process that, to imagine how a hundred years sleep more than doubled itself. The best explanation...

'Where is Bobby?'

No. No, why is he frowning?

'The man in the other machine?'

'Yes.'

----

He left me a message, of the sort that could withstand time, carved and gouged into the stone floor. Like an old pyramid treasure room, they unearthed our little bunker and found us, relics of the past. Me in my metal sarcophagi, Bobby a skeleton propped at my side. From what I gathered, critical system failures made the computer launch his awakening eighty-eight years in our sleep. With irreplaceable broken parts in his stasis monitor, there was no going back to sleep for him. Outside data must have been terrible, because he chose to dismantle his tank to tinker and enhance mine. At the bottom of his message are some universal scribbles, present over all the greatest buildings of mankind and whatever school desks might have survived the ages: a B+E in the middle of a heart, and under it 2030– and the looped symbol of eternity. Time folded back on itself.

Ah, Bobby, you tacky bastard, you old romantic. How do I live after you?

----

Ellen love, I hope you make it and we won't go down in history as another stupid, star-crossed couple of scientists. I had no choice. I watch you sleep. It's so hard to keep from waking you up. I think of Time like you did sometimes, wishing for it to roll back. But it doesn't. You'll have to let it flow too, when you wake up. I hope the world will be a better place then. Until the universe cools and time ceases to matter, when past is present and we can be together again, you touring me around your labs, proud like a little peacock, so adorable, so brilliant – I'll be yours, always.

Bobby

~~ November 2016 – Theme : 1750

#original story #original work #competition #scifi #romance #favourite

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interrogatormentors · 4 years

Text

Event Ten: Ghosts

Despite all of Eridan’s hopes to the contrary, life did not return to normalcy after the events aboard the HBC Condescension. The Reichenbach found its flight path altered a perigee later, rescheduled from routine patrols near the Syphoran border to instead orbit around the Empress’ ship in a listless rotation. Tensions rose within the ship as the crew grew restless with inactivity, with no answers from the higher-ups as to why their schedules had changed so drastically without warning.While hiring hadn’t been in his repertoire when he gained the position, Eridan had grown to take pride in his success in finding dedicated crew members as Head Admin. None of the people he hired had come to the Reichenbach seeking a cushy escort ship position. But how could Eridan even begin to explain the Empress’ sudden obsession with him when he barely understood it himself?

Another night saw another orbit around the HBC Condescension, and Eridan’s finger tapped an unsteady beat on his own arm held behind his back as he watched the ship pass underneath them from a viewport. Sometimes coming this close meant nothing, just that their hulls almost kissed with the two helmsmen aboard each ship playing a careful dance around each other. Most of the time, however, it meant an interruption to Eridan’s routine. If he waited by the airlock for a summons, odds were half the time that the Empress would keep him waiting for hours before sending him a flippant message that she had no need of him that day. If he tried to get any work done with the schedules or order forms, that was always when she needed him most.

Eridan reached into the breast pocket of his uniform as he watched the other ship, fumbling out a small flask he’d taken to carrying with him. God, he hated this backup uniform. The pockets were so tight he had to shimmy out his flask with more than a little difficulty, garnering odd looks whenever he did so. He didn’t have a dependency or anything, despite the concerned glances the crew cast towards him. There was no shame in steadying his nerves. What did anyone expect? The Empress had an intimidating aura by virtue of position and maybe some pheromones; anyone would need a little help to withstand her presence. Besides, she seemed to like him better a little tipsy anyway. His jokes seemed to land more, eliciting tinkling laughs that echoed Feferi in the most pusher-pulling way. And when the Empress had trimmed and pierced his bitten fin with her own nails, setting golden rings and fuschia stones in the membrane, he had soldiered through the pain without so much as a whimper.

Bricks’ voice pierced through his musings, and Eridan hastened to stow away the flask before turning around. “Were you listening to me, Ampora?”

“What?” Eridan ran his fingers through his hair, mind struggling to catch up to the conversation. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.”

“So you’ll be there in an hour?”

“Yeah.” Eridan glanced to the side, back to the other ship out the viewport. “I’ll be at…?”

“Shakes’ DnD session? You missed the last three,” Bricks said. “You doing okay?”

Eridan nodded, opening his mouth, but squeaked and jumped instead as his palmhusk buzzed. He fished it out, waving off Bricks’ questions as he opened Trollian.

[textileAperture [TA] has begun trolling caligulasAquarium[CA]!]

TA: 8< is this Head Admin Eridan Ampora?

CA: wwhat howw did you get this handle wwhore you

TA: 8< um

TA: 8< the Empress’ seamstress.

TA: 8< she said you’d be here at four for a new uniform fitting?

Eridan wracked his pan for any mention of a fitting, checking the time. Five. Upon drawing a blank he stuffed his palmhusk back in his pocket. “Sorry, gotta go,” he said, making for the airlock without hesitation and brushing past Bricks. “Tell the others I can’t make it.”

“What?” The odd tone of Bricks’ voice rankled Eridan in a way that had him hunching his shoulders. “Hey Ampora, if you need to talk--”

“Get back to work, Bricks,” Eridan called back down the hall. If he sounded a little too quick, too agitated, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. He had his priorities in order. The Empress came first. Any thoughts to the contrary were tantamount to treason.

He broke into a run once Bricks was out of sight, speeding across the length of the ship until he came to a halt in front of the airlock doors. Eridan inhaled sharply to catch his breath before hammering on the intercom button.

“Oh my god, stop!” Shakes’ voice said from the intercom. “You wanna dock?”

“Yes! Of course! Hurry it up!”

“Do I have to? The Helmsman gives me the fucking willies every time I have to interface. He didn’t think entering the docking code in Wingdings was funny last time either. Everybody fucking looooves the Wingdings.”

“Fuckin’ dock now, Riesse!” Eridan pressed his face an inch away from the intercom, not bothering to swipe away the sweaty hair that fell into his eyes. How could he have forgotten? He was late, so fucking late, and the Empress would have his head if she found out.

Shakes swore under his breath, and the ship changed directions to align its docking bay with the HBC Condescension. Eridan bounced on the balls of his feet, every muscle tensed as he watched the other ship extend the docking corridor. “Come on, come on, come on,” he said, chewing his lips like a woofbeast worrying a bone.

The moment the airlock opened Eridan sprinted off, footsteps clanging on the metal. The Helmsman’s voice crackled over the intercom as he ran. “Welcome back, Eridan. Do you know where you are going?”

“Not now, Helmsman. I’m late!” Eridan grabbed onto the corner of a wall as he slid past, swinging himself in a wide circle into the intersecting hallway without slowing his momentum.

“Late for…?”

“The fuckin’-- the uniform fittin’! Shit-- Okay, where’s the fuckin’ seamstress at?”

“Which one?”

Eridan stopped, boots squeaking once on the floor as he came to a standstill. “Uh. Fuck.” Had he forgotten another detail? What was happening to him? “I dunno. A jade- She had a scissor quirk or somethin’.”

“Ah, you want Marlen. Uploading floorplan to your palmhusk now.”

Eridan flinched as his palmhusk buzzed, but pulling it out showed only a message from torpidAnnihilator, with the map of the ship as promised. Part of Eridan wondered if anyone else was privy to such information. He could see every pathway, every escape pod, every crew member flitting about with their attached hex code. Eridan pulled his eyes away from the #77003C currently stationed somewhere in the upper decks, following the plan as it zoomed in without any input on a hexcode in the X74 zone of the ship.

Eridan started running again, glancing down every time he rushed into a new corridor to assess his progress. He ignored HBC Condescension crewmembers he passed in their gilded uniforms, having no time to waste on the way they tittered as he passed. By the time he made it to the X zone of the ship from B, his lungs burned with a fire like switching from salt to freshwater without time to adjust.

Eridan slammed his hand on the pad outside the door, swearing when the pad flashed red. “No, fuck, this has to be the right block!” He slapped the pad a few times, breathing starting to catch in his throat before the door slid open to reveal a tall jade holding a bag.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, setting the bag down. “I didn’t get a response, so I was just packing up to go.”

“No, well, I’m here now,” Eridan said, pushing past her into the block. He turned his head, coughing into his elbow as his chest continued to ache. “You’re Marlen, right? Look, if you’re busy, you really shoulda told me so I could reschedule instead of bookin’ my ass all the way here for you.” He pulled his flask out again, draining the rest and stifling another cough around the burning soporific.

“Sir, you never--” Marlen stopped herself after catching the look Eridan shot at her, closing her eyes and taking a breath before starting again. “Of course, Admin Ampora. Just let me get set up again. Go ahead and get undressed behind that screen there.”

Eridan went behind the folding screen the jade indicated, starting to relax once he was both out of immediate sight and starting to feel the warming effects of the soporific he’d just imbibed back around Bricks. He smoothed his hair down, letting his fins wave freely to cool himself off before stripping. He donned the overlarge uniform that the seamstress draped atop the screen’s edge, eyes lingering for a moment on the fuschia strip running the length of his sleeve.

Eridan slid the folding screen back, stepping out into the room again once he stopped hearing his pusher beating in his eardrums. Kanaya was waiting for him, comparing two seemingly identical spools of black thread with a pin already pursed between her lips.

Kanaya?

Before Eridan could open his mouth to ask where Marlen had gone, Kanaya had vanished and Marlen was back. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. “... Is everything alright, Admin Ampora?”

Eridan cleared his throat and shook his head, closing his eyes. “Yeah, uh. Sorry. Shit. Where do you want me?”

And there she was again when he opened his eyes. Kanaya waved her hand in front of her and he obeyed, in a daze as he tried to figure out what was going on as he stood before the mirror she indicated. This wasn’t right.

But as Eridan closed his eyes and opened them again, Kanaya remained. She extended an expectant hand, and without thinking he stuck out his own arm. Kanaya plucked the pin from her lips, pinching his sleeve to judge the give before using the pin to close up the excess fabric. “I must say, Eridan, I was not expecting much upon meeting again and yet somehow, I am still disappointed in you. Is this really how you are spending your time now?”

Eridan swallowed, managing a strangled “Nnng,” that Kanaya quickly dismissed with an imperious upward quirk of her eyebrow. Eridan cleared his throat before trying again. “Nice to… To see you, Kan?” His voice was a trembling murmur, almost unintelligible.

Kanaya let out a soft tsk, the click of her tongue echoing in the entire block. “Oh, do speak up if you have anything to say... though, I cannot say I can return the sentiment.” She held up a finger, looking down her nose at Eridan until his words shriveled like so much ash on his tongue. “You are well aware of what you did, and what you are doing now.”

“Do I?” Eridan flinched when Kanaya cast him a disdainful look, another pin coming dangerously close to piercing one of his torso gills. “Er, I mean, sure. I guess? I ain’t doin’ anythin’ wrong anymore, though.” His throat felt dry, a tickle itching at it and an increasing need for the bottles of soporifics starting to pile up in his block.

“Nothing legally wrong, perhaps.” Kanaya picked up her thread again, thumb running over the individual spools before selecting the thread on the right. She touched the end of the thread to her tongue, wetting the end. Her sharp fangs caught in the light, somehow so much sharper than Eridan remembered. She threaded the needle, getting to work tightening his sleeves. “But tell me, Eridan dear. How much dignity do you have left to you at the moment? I cannot imagine much, considering you are going belly-up faster than an inadequately fed pet fish.”

Eridan kept himself staring forward, focusing on the wall ahead despite the echoes of highblood rage gathering in his acidic digestive pouch. He tried exercising the control the Condesce had been doing her best to drill into him. You have to learn to control those feelin’s, guppy. Just turn them off, like a husktop. “You’re wrong.” Despite himself, his wigglerhood stutter almost lead him to stumble over his w’s, and he clenched a fist so tight his nails dug into his palm as he refocused his control.

“Oh, damn, I find myself helpless before the verbose defense you have placed before me,” Kanaya deadpanned, tutting again as she pulled out a pair of shears from her belt. The blades barely whispered as they cut through the excess fabric. “Why do you even bother denying this? You are only lying to yourself at this point.”

“I--”

Kanaya pointed her shears directly at him, and Eridan shut his mouth with an audible snap. “You know it. Your crew knows it. They whisper behind your back and it is only a matter of time before there is a mutiny against your authority that not even your captain will have the capability to suppress. The Empress will tire of you eventually, and you will be left to pick up the pieces should she deign to leave you anything.”

Eridan looked down at the ground, sweat dripping down the length of his nose again as Kanaya went back to hemming his uniform jacket. “No,” he said. “She’s thinkin’ of namin’ me a’ official consort, so I don’ know where you’re gettin’ all this talk of me bein’ some kind of throwaway lapwarmer.” He gritted his teeth, flinching to look away as Kanaya scoffed. “Really. I wanted this. I’m finally gettin’ the respect I deserve.” His nails dug even tighter into his palm, voice beginning to shake as violet blood started dripping down his knuckles to the floor. “I dunno where you’ve fuckin been, Maryam, but I’m makin’ strokes in the fuckin’ world all of you rebel fuckheads couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams.”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” Kanaya said. She almost sounded sad, then, but her tone quickly adjusted to reflect her earlier distaste. “Colors aside,” she paused, tapping the stripe of tyrian running along his sleeve before picking up her needle once again, “she marks you so shamelessly she may as well have you branded to finish the job.”

Eridan stiffened, suppressing a growl. “You don’ know anythin’.”

Kanaya sighed, setting down her needle and putting a hand on her hip as she gestured with the other towards his cut ear. “You know your history, Eridan, and you spend quite a bit of time with the last remnant of Ancient Alternian slavery practices.” She began to circle around him, leaning her cheek into her hand in exasperation. “You know why the Helmsman’s ear was cut, to identify him in the slaving markets. You know why the Condesce bit your ear, and why she failed to heal it back to functional status it despite her more than capable regenerative abilities.” Kanaya advanced on him, eyes narrowed to predatory slits as she reached out. “You’re nothing more than a lowblood slave playing at royalty.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Shut up!” Eridan lashed out before Kanaya’s fingers could touch his torn fin, digging his claws into the flesh of her cheek and flinging her away.

Marlen slammed into the mirror behind her with a crack with the force of Eridan’s strike, falling to her knees as she raised a shaking hand to the fresh wound on her face. Eridan’s chest heaved, mind reeling as he attempted to reconcile what he had just experienced to the terrified troll in front of him. He shook his head so hard his glasses flew off his face, jade and violet speckles of blood spattering to the floor from his now quite injured hand. “Go.” When Marlen hesitated Eridan bared his teeth, screaming as he threw out an arm. “Go!”

Marlen scooted backwards before she found her footing, scrambling up and bolting for the door. She bobbed an awkward curtsy as she left, which Eridan for the most hopeful moment thought intended for him until he caught the scent of the sea. He sank to his knees, defeated and staring down at the floor as he caught the sound of heels against tile.

“Oh, guppy, what have you done to dearest little Marlen?” The Condesce extended her trident, tipping up Eridan’s chin with a prong to enforce eye contact. “She looks a right wreck of a wiggler.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Eridan said. His throat felt dry, so dry, but he knew all too well that he’d drunk his entire flask only a few minutes before. He wanted to disappear. “I didn’ mean it.”

The Empress reached down, hauling him up to his feet as if he weighed no more than a couple of grapes, grabbing his glasses almost as an afterthought. She took his injured hand in hers, swiping away a streak of jade from the puncture wounds in his palm. The skin glowed pink before healing over, pain fading to a memory. She pushed his glasses up his nose, tutting at him. “But I so hoped you’d appreciate my little surprise. Don’t you like your new uniform, little clam?”

“Surprise?” Eridan struggled through his panic, trying to fight through his sopored up fog. “But… But she said you scheduled me for four? I was late. I didn’ mean to disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you, really.”

The Empress tittered as she circled Eridan, smile widening into a wicked grin. “Oh, did she? I must have forgotten to let you know. How shelly of me!” She slid across his shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze.

Eridan choked back a whimper, but the Empress’ amusement immediately snapped into cold indifference at the sound. “What was that?” Her claws bunched in the loose fabric on his shoulders.

Panic ran through him but he couldn’t afford to show it. He couldn’t give her a reason to be upset, he had to be good. “Nothin’.” There was only a fleeting sense of relief that graced him for the fact that those words didn’t shake.

“Eridan, Eridan, you shelly, foolish buoy.” The Empress stroked his cheek before sliding a hand down his forearm, moving back around to hold both of his arms at the wrists. “What did I say about your feelin’s?”

“They don’t matter,” Eridan said. He swallowed. “I gotta… gotta control myself.”

“That’s right,” the Empress cooed. She squeezed his wrists once before releasing him, setting her trident upon the floor. She held a hand out, eyes flicking once to the shears. Eridan obeyed the implicit order, fumbling the shears once before managing to hand them over to her. “Good buoy.” The Empress stroked his hair, rubbing a hornbed until Eridan sagged and closed his eyes. “And what happens when you lose control of yourself?”

“I get… I get punished.” Eridan could hardly more than a whisper, his adrenaline from his earlier experience fading into dull resignation. “It’s what I deserve,” he continued when the Empress paused in her ministrations.

“You’re learnin’, good.” The Empress pulled her hand from his horn, lifting his hand. Eridan opened an eye a crack, muscles tensing as she raised the shears to his finger tips. The Empress began to cut his nails with the shears, agonizingly slow so the nails fell to the floor in perfect crescents. “You know I take no joy in this, guppy. I want you to succeed, I want you to rise above your baser instincts.” The shear’s blades cut into the quick of Eridan’s pinky, but he schooled back his expression into a blank mask. He was lucky he wasn’t losing a finger at the moment. “Until then, we gotta take these preconchions. I don’ like treain’ you like a pitiful little meowbeast, but I can’t have you savagin’ any more of my trusted workstaff. Do you know how much I must invest into a reliable member of my staff? Do you know how easily ranks can be infiltrated by traitors?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Eridan flinched as a cool hand touched his cheek, but relaxed when the Condesce only wiped away an errant tear that he hadn’t even been aware of. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

He yelped as the Empress smacked at his face with the flat of the shears’ blades, his eyes shooting wide open. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, guppy,” she said, no sickly pretense of tenderness left in her voice. “We both know what you’re like. What are you?”

“A… A failure.” Eridan knew the answer she wanted by this point. There was no point fighting it, at this point. He’d learned.

The Empress lowered the shears, rage immediately dissipating. “That’s right.” She set the shears down, considering she’d clipped all his nails anyway, holding out her arms out. Eridan’s feet moved of their own accord, shuffling him forward into her embrace. She tucked his head into his chest, rocking him slowly in a rolling motion like the waves. “There we go. Should we retire to my blocks? We can get you a nice pick me up before you work to make up for what you’ve done. Do you like the sound of that, little one?”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to.” Eridan hung his head as the Empress pulled away, staring at the floor all the way back to the Empress’ bedchambers. After a few drinks, the panic his own mind had conjured faded into the background. His view shifted from floor to ceiling, the intricately gilded designs of the Empress’ ceiling tiles branding themselves into his eyelids. He saw nothing more.

#homestuck #homestuck au #interrogatormentors #fic #eridan ampora #the condesce #illustrated fic #hallucinations #kanaya maryam #gaslighting #emotional manipulation #abuse #visual hallucinations #alcoholism #alcohol use

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angels17324 · 5 years

Text

The Violet Paladin (Keith x Reader) Ch. 7

Word Count: 2286 Update Schedule: Every Monday [Masterlist] [Prev] A/n: Hey guys I opened my Ask Me Anything so feel free to ask me questions about this, myself or anything you’d like to know. Also today I’m taking my real estate exam so probably by the time this posts from the queue I should be done and hopefully passed anyways onto the story!

It was the following morning and everyone was in the infirmary we were all just staring at Lance who was still in the pod.

"I can't tell if he looks healthy or not," Hunk quizzically said.

"I think he's breathing weird," Pidge said with her nose pressed up against the glass.

"Oh come on!" Keith complained wanting to open the pod.

"Not yet, just a few more ticks," Allura slapped his hand away.

"What the heck is a 'tick' anyway?" I questioned I've heard them say it a few times but still hadn't figured out what exactly it meant.

"A time slice," She replied.

"You mean like a second?" Shiro asked.

"What's a 'second'?"

"Like this," Pidge pulled out a timer showing seconds.

"I think ticks are bigger, Coran do you have a ticker?" Allura asked.

"Right here, Princess," He pulled out a 'ticker' everyone gathered closer to watch.

"I think ticks are slower," Hunk commented.

"We have to start them at the same time," Pidge and Coran started the two timers.

"I think we're winning!" Hunk shouted excitedly.

"Winning what? The intergalactic time measuring competition?" Keith questioned.

"Yes," Hunk replied.

"Are you guys having a Clock party?" Lance asked.

"Awe Lance- Wait, Lance you're okay!" Hunk hugged the Cuban boy.

"What happened?" He asked.

"We can tell you all about it while you get something to eat," Allura placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Talking? Eating? Are you asking me out on a date?" He asked her.

"Yep."

"Classic."

"There he is."

"He's okay." Everyone sighed.

After he got dressed and at some food, he seemed a lot better.

"Wow. Thanks, everyone," He smiled then turned to Keith. "Sounds like the mice did more than you did," I sighed here they go again.

"I punched Sendak!" Keith shouted.

"Yeah, after I had emerged from a coma and shot his arm off," Lance said.

"We had a bonding moment. I cradled you in my arms!" Keith shouted.

"Nope! Don't remember didn't happen."

"Even I was there Lance. It happened," I interjected.

"Now, I do remember you being next to me," He said flirtily.

"So he does remember he just refuses to admit that you two were actually nice to each other." I glanced at Keith.

"So, what about Sendak?" Lance asked.

"He's in a cryo-pod we're keeping him here in the castle," Allura informed him.

"Are you sure that's safe?" Lance asked.

"He's too dangerous to be roaming free," Allura told him. "Besides we might be about to get some useful information about Zarkon,"

"So what's our plan now?" He asked.

"We have to get back to the Balmera and save Shay and her people!" Hunk demanded.

"Wow. You are really hung up on this lady," Lance commented.

"No! It's not that," he explained how they'd been under Zarkons rule for a long time, and how he had destroyed their home. "This is what being a paladin is all about, it's time to man up!" He seemed to have ignited a spark in everyone.

"Well let's go, time to defend the universe," everyone began to walk out.

"Wait," Pidge called out to everyone. "I have something to say first," we all turned to look at the young teen. "I need to come clean about this, and I'm afraid it might change your view of me. Just so there are no secrets between us anymore. I can't 'Man up' because I'm a girl... I mean I can 'man up' because its a figure of speech and you don't actually have to be a man," Lance seemed to be the only one in shock.

"Wha... You're a girl?! How?!" Lance shouted.

"I've known for some time but I'm glad you came clean," Allura said.

"Yeah, I figured," Hunk said.

"Yeah me too," Keith smiled a bit.

"Wait, we were supposed to think you were a boy?" Coran asked.

"Pidge, owning who you are is going to make you a better paladin,"

Lance turned to me since I had been quiet thus far. "Aren't you shocked?" He asked.

"Nope, I've known Pidge for her whole life basically. There's no secret she could keep from me even if she wanted and vise versa."

"I'm glad to finally have that off my chest. Now let's launch this Castle-ship!" She ran out of the room.

"Wait, Pidge is a girl. And the castle is a ship? How long have I been out?" Lance asked.

"Amazing how much you can miss in the span of a day," I chuckled to myself before joining the others. After getting into my paladin gear everyone was in the control room and walked to the respective seats. I didn't really listen to the launch as I was too focused on wanting to understand everything on the screen in front of me. I glanced up to see that Keith turned his head away from me as soon as our eyes met. Strange...

Soon after everyone got up and gathered together while Hunk started talking about the plan for the Balmera.

"So, when we get there, what do you think? Do we just start blasting? Or do we land and have some sort of public address system, like, 'Attention Galra this is Voltron turn yourselves in'? No, wait, Blasting right?" He looked at everyone.

"Calm down Hunk," I tried to smile at him.

"Yes, Hunk Blasting," Keith said.

"It's our first big rescue mission he's just excited," Shiro commented.

"Excited to see his new girlfriend~!" Pidge teased.

"She's not my girlfriend," He defended, now he knew how Pidge and I felt. "She's just a rock I happen to admire very much."

I was about to join in on the teasing but an alarm started to go off.

"Are we being attacked?" Shiro asked Coran.

"No, it seems to be a distress signal,"

"It's coming from a nearby moon," Allura informed us. "Apparently a ship has lost power,"

"I wonder who it is?" Pidge inquired.

"Well they're just gonna have to wait, Shay has first priority, they're just gonna have to wait,"

"The Paladin code says we need to help all those in need," Allura told him

"Wow, this is so cool. It's like we're space cops on space patrol. Hey, Coran, do we have a siren we could turn on?" Lance asked.

"No, but I can record you making a siren noise and broadcast that to them,"

"Perfect!" He cupped his hands over his mouth.

"No, Not doing that," Shiro thankfully stopped him. Soon after we landed and everyone except Coran left to help the other ship.

We were met with three people a guy, a girl, and a robot. "You don't know how happy we are to see some friendly faces. People aren't exactly willing to jump in to help someone on the run from the Galra," the guy said. "I'm Rolo, that's Nyma, and that's our cyber unit, Beezer." Looking behind me I saw both Lance's and Pidge's eyes light up as they leaped to greet the two.

"So was your ship damaged in battle?" Shiro asked Rolo.

"Yeah, and parts aren't exactly easy to come by we barely made it here," He explained

"Well, you won't be fighting alone anymore. You'll have the paladins of Voltron by your side," Allura told him, he glanced back at Pidge and Lance who were both still obsessing over the other two.

"I don't think he's heard of us," Shiro said.

"Well, it has been ten thousand years," Keith said.

"No, I think it's more of those two don't exactly instill a whole lot of confidence for us," I pointed at Pidge and Lance.

"Well, let's start working on that ship. I'm sure we all got places to be," Hunk hurried us along.

"Sure," Rolo smiled. He opened the side of the ship, "our whole flaxum assembly is shot. I don't know what extra parts you carry in your rig,"

"I'm sure we can get you back up and running," Allura assured him. Rolo printed a list off of Beezer and handed it to Hunk before wanting to join and help find the parts.

"I don't think so," Hunk put an arm up.

"Hunk, don't be rude," Allura scolded him.

"Yeah Hunk, there are ladies present,"

"I don't know about you guys but the last time we let our guard down the castle was nearly destroyed and Lance you almost died,"

"He's right," I said.

"Sorry about that Rolo," Shiro apologize.

"No, I get it you gotta look out for your own," He said. Hunk returned to the ship and while we waited we listened to Rolo tell us about his life.

"Okay, I got the parts... you know to get your ship running," Hunk said, but Allura asked Rolo another questioned.

"This sector belongs to a nasty general named Sendak," he explained.

"We've met," Keith said with disgust.

"Hey, I think you guys are keeping Rolo from working," Hunk pleaded again.

"Alright," Rolo got up and started looking through the parts, I turned to Keith when Shiro walked over to Hunk.

"Guess you don't know how to help either." He said.

"I was my team's engineer but I'm pretty sure anything I do know is out the window," He just chuckled. I smiled and glanced around, "Hey where-" I watched the blue lion leave the castle. "Nevermind..." You sighed.

"Lance..." Keith groaned.

"I'm gonna go save Beezer before Pidge gets any crazier," I got up to walk to the youngest member it was a slight struggle but I managed to pull her off the poor robot. "Come on Pidge," She pouted.

"I'm just playing with Beezer," I chuckled before Rolo called out to Beezer to co-pilot.

"Well, he sure seemed to want out of here in a hurry," Everyone sat around waiting.

"How many ticks have they been gone for?" Pidge asked, probably wanting to see Beezer again. Lance has been gone a while too, now that I think about it.

"I don't know," Shiro said.

"Guys! Help!" I heard Lance shout.

"Lance?" Everyone put on their helmets "Lance? Where are you?" Shiro asked.

"Chained to a tree... and Nyma and Rolo just stole the blue lion." He said.

"Where are they?" Shiro asked.

"...Space," He said sheepishly.

"I KNEW IT!" Hunk shouted the whole way to our lions all we heard was Hunk complaining about how he knew it.

"Okay, we get it!" Everyone shouted. we flew after Rolo and Nyma as quickly as possible. Finally, we caught up to them but they flew into an asteroid belt.

"We'll never get through that," I said.

"Maybe I can smash through." Hunk tried... it didn't work...

"Keith, you and red should be able to make it through,"

"Right," Keith flew in after them.

"See you on the other side," Pidge said as the rest of us flew around, after a few minutes we were able to stop and corner Rolo taking back the blue lion.

"Hey, Lance, I got your lion back!" Keith said I could feel him smirking through the speakers.

"That's great but can you untie me?!" He shouted.

"Huh? What was that? You're cutting out," Keith laughed, I smiled it's nice to see everyone really is getting closer.

After towing Rolo, Nyma, and Beezer back to the moon the whole group stood in front of them.

"Well now your ship really doesn't work so you'll just have to wait here for rescue," Keith told them.

"Thank you for sparing us." Rolo looked down.

"Now that these guys have been dealt with let's get to the Balmera and save Shay and her family," Hunk said... again for the god knows how many times today, I really wanted to meet Shay now to know what girl got him this crazy.

"You may not believe this but I really do hope you stop Zarkon. It was a lifetime of fighting the Galra that lead me to where I am today." Rolo looked up at everyone. We went back to the castle.

"Hey Allura," I called out to the Altean.

"Yes, (Y/n)?" She asked.

"Can I talk to you alone for a minute?" I asked.

"Of course." The two of you waited for the others to leave. "So what's up?"

"Well, normally, I would have gone to Pidge to talk about this but one, I don't think she'd really know how to help and two, I feel like it'd be weird asking a younger friend for help in this matter."

"Go on what is it?"

"Well, I have these feelings... and I don't know how to really explain them. I just know that after actually getting to know him I've never felt like this for anyone else before,"

"Wait do you perhaps like someone?" She asked with a gleam in her eyes.

"Maybe I shouldn't talk about it..."

"No, please tell me, I want to help." She said.

"Alright... fine, I guess I do like him... more than a friend..."

"Who is it?" She asked.

"Uhm..."

"It's not Hunk is it?"

"Oh, no, he's a big teddy bear, plus I really want to meet this Shay girl." I smiled.

"Lance...?" She asked.

"No." You deadpanned.

"Then that leaves Shiro or Keith." I guess I must have made a face before she guesses. "It's Keith!" I covered her mouth quickly.

"Could you be any louder?" I asked sarcastically. "Please don't say anything," I asked her.

"I promise," she smiled. "You two might be good together too,"

"Well, let's go rescue Hunk's lady," I smiled.

Third person POV

Unknown to the two girls, a certain Cuban boy overheard the last half of the conversation. He smirked ever so lightly determined to tease his two friends... and maybe help them get together.

[Next]

Tag List~ (As a reminder this is still open lol) @somebodytouchedmysaeran @ittie-bittie-tittie

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

Text

Title : N/A

Author : @aquila-and-altair

For : @bidoofgodofdestruction

Rating/Warning : None

Prompt : Post-canon

Author’s note : N/A

Izuru, or Hinata as they he decided to call himself, finished his work on Nekomaru’s pod for today. There was only a couple of students that were still in a coma, which meant that soon, hopefully within the week, all of their class would be awake.

Some students took more time to wake up, but Hinata had expected it. Nekomaru was the hardest to manage, as he essentially died twice in the simulator, and had a different body in the end. Mikan needed a more complex and meticulous work, due to her despair taking over her mind in both reality and the simulation.

Fortunately, Hinata was not the only one working to wake up everyone. From the beginning, he had Souda’s help for the pods, to lessen his work. As many talents as he had, he hadn’t found a way to duplicate himself (yet). And now, he had extra help. From someone he cared about in the game, and whose death had saddened him greatly.

It took him a lot of work, but he finally found a way to recreate her code.

Chiaki.

Chiaki, who helped him creating a new future. Who believed in everyone. Who sacrificed herself, by revealing herself as the ‘traitor’ sent by the Future Foundation.

Hinata, after waking up as Izuru, realised that Monokuma couldn’t have completely destroyed an AI, so after checking the other students’ wellbeing, and arranging things with Naegi and the others, he got access to the code for the simulation and managed to find the remains of her code, and got her back.

Now, more and more students were waking up, only a couple left, and their class would be whole again. As many of his classmates reassured him, they all appreciated their time at Hope’s Peak Academy, but it wasn’t the same as the time in the simulation. After all, in Hope’s Peak, they didn’t communicate much with each other, and this how she…

No time to remember that wretched girl, Hinata stopped his train of thoughts.

After all, he had decided to create his future, independent from his past as despair. This was why he decided to live on as Hinata Hajime.

To him, the situation was the best achievable for all of them. When he figured out the way to wake up everyone, he almost couldn’t believe it. When they tested it out on the first patient and saw the face of their classmate they thought to be dead, Sonia cried, Kuzuryuu looked hopeful, Owari jumped everywhere, Souda was somewhat wary, but in the end was too happy to care. Of course, the patient themself was confused. After being given a recap of what happened, it took a while, but they eventually reached a mutual understanding. The others were worried (even if some did not admit so), but Komaeda understood and accepted the situation easier than anticipated.

Komaeda spent some time alone, however he eventually reached out to Hinata. After a few weeks, they shared memories of their time in Hope’s Peak Academy, back when life was simpler, and yet their relationship had been complicated. Komaeda, who thought talentless reserve course students would bring less hope, and Hinata who admired the Ultimates. They had somehow formed a weird friendship, but in was meaningful to both of them.

They eventually had to bring up a touchier subject, which was their time as Ultimate Despair. Komaeda talked about the Warriors of Hope (Hinata had to stop himself from raising an eyebrow at a group influenced by Enoshima called the Warriors of Hope), and how despair allowed him to understand that who he considered to be talentless people could bring hope. At that time, he was making bad decisions, Junko had twisted his already obsessive take on hope to serve her own objectives, which was to bring more despair.

However, with a new perspective influenced by the three main parts of his life – his time as a student of Hope’s Peak Academy, his time as Ultimate Despair, and his time in the Neo World Program – he created for himself a new perspective on his dear hope. Hinata was quite content with his much healthier and sane way of coping.

With a small smile, Hinata went looking for Komaeda, as they had made plans to spend some time together. They still had to label their relationship, as they had kissed multiple times, and admitted to being attracted to each other and liking the other as more than friends, but with the mess that was their lives, they were taking things slowly, to their own pace.

Komaeda was in the library, patiently waiting for Hinata to arrive while reading a book. The islands were not connected in the real world, so they had to take a boat to get to the different islands. While none of them minded much, it could take some time to navigate between the different islands, which was why he had arrived in advance to their meeting? Date?… Once again, Komaeda did not know how to qualify their plans.

Still, he was waiting in the library, reading a book that was missing some pages. It made for a new way to read a book, trying to guess what happened in the missing pages. Each time Komaeda turned the pages, he could see the brand-new hand that had been offered to him by Souda and Hinata, as a token of apology and as the foundation of new relationships between them all.

He was glad to be rid of the rotting hand, that reminded him of the ways Enoshima found all of his weaknesses – his diseases, his only friendship with Hinata that had just disappeared, his loneliness, and his desire to be understood and loved – and used them to manipulate him. And he let her, because he had given up on his life, and his classmates’ hope that had once been shining had disappeared, starting with the double murder of Kuzuryuu and Koizumi’s family and friend.

But now, he had found new hope, and everything looked like it was getting better.

He looked up when he heard footsteps from the entrance of the library. Oh, it seemed he had been reminiscing for too long and had not paid any attention to the ever-flowing time. Hinata stood in the entrance way, smiling fondly at Komaeda. The luckster could not stop himself from blushing at that smile, and those gorgeous red eyes that looked like they were looking at his soul and cradling it up… he had to stop himself there.

“I’m sorry Hinata-kun, I guess I did not pay attention to the time,” Komaeda apologised, as he placed a marker and shut the book.

“Don’t worry, I had expected it anyway. Now, let’s go to that beach house!”

Hinata’s voice was soft, and Komaeda followed him as they went to the beach. The evening sun was beautiful, and formed, if they ever admitted it, a quite romantic place. They sit in the sand and stated looking at the setting sun. When one wasn’t looking, the other tried to look the sun reflected on their figures. After a while they both looked at the same time. They were startled when their eyes connected, but after a few seconds of total silence, they both started laughing at their awkwardness.

“Hey…” “Tell me…”

They both said at the same time. They chuckled again, Komaeda made a ‘go one’ gesture with his hand.

“Komaeda, do you… want to go back to my cottage?”

“Am I boring you already?” Komaeda asked, cheekily.

“No! I… was thinking… if you wanted to, we could… Stop smiling like that.”

“Am not.”

“Of course not. We could spend the night together, if you are okay with that?” Hinata felt uncertain.

“Mmh… Am I okay with that?” Hinata shot him an unimpressed look, and Komaeda grinned. “Of course. But we are going to cuddle, and I want to be the big spoon. You have been hogging that place for a week now, and I want it now.”

“Fine, fine!” Hinata relented, putting his hands in the air with a small smile.

Komaeda stood up, offered his robotic hand to Hinata to help him get up, and then started to run towards the boat.

“Wh- Komaeda! I know your illnesses are not life threatening anymore, but that does not mean you can start exhausting yourself for no reason!”

Hinata had indeed found a way to stop the spreading of both of Komaeda’s illnesses – he of course immediately sent his results to the Future Foundation to help other sick people – as his break from helping his classmates. Because, as Kuzuryuu put it, of course the bastard’s way of taking a break is working on other just as hard projects. It was a habit that came from both the original hard-working Hinata and no-hobbies Kamukura.

After catching up with Komaeda and giving him a short lecture, they got on one of the boats – the other would simply stay until another person retrieves it – and went back to the first island, where the cottages were.

As they left the boat, they intertwined their hands, and walked towards Hinata’s cottage, taking pleasure in each other’s presence.

Once they were inside, they changed into night clothes, finished their preparations for the night, and went under the covers. Komaeda had been in Hinata’s cottage multiple times, so he had his own belongings in Hinata’s cottage, and Hinata had his in Komaeda’s.

As promised by Hinata, Komaeda got to be the big spoon, at least until Hinata turned over, to look at Komaeda’s face intensely. Komaeda blushed again – he really blushed easily, didn’t he – and put his forehead against Hinata’s. They took in each other’s presence, and no words were necessary.

Hinata gave a peck to Komaeda’s lips, then rested his lips for a few seconds against Komaeda’s blushing cheek. They basked in each other’s presence and went to sleep with light hearts.

After all, it was their choice to make a better future, and they would take any chance they had at happiness.

#komahina #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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rainforestgeek · 5 years

Text

If you lose your strength to stand (I”m gonna reach for your hand) pt. 12 “Enemies, and their Power”

Part 11

AO3 link

Being American, I reserve the right to make digs at the U.S.

Pidge took a deep gulp from her caffeinated fruit-tea (God bless Hunk, honestly). The hangar where Hunk, Lotor, and Allura worked on the quintessence ships was huge and had catwalks all along the walls. Pidge had hit dead end after dead end with tracking Haggar through the clone until she was absolutely ready to scream. Once she realized she was just staring at the wall instead of working, Pidge took her equipment from the Green hangar to perch on one of the catwalks.

Allura had just walked out to go to the bridge. She passed by Pidge’s perch close enough that Pidge overheard her conversation with Lance – those comm earrings were pretty loud.

Keith was such a fucking hypocrite.

Pidge had never quite forgotten the day that, over a year ago, Keith yelled at her for trying to leave Voltron and find her family. He’d hurled accusations at her like a firing squad. He’d called her selfish. That’d hit too close to home. She remembered his voice echoing in her head alongside the voices of school kids who’d said she was cold or weird or didn’t care about anyone but her robots. She didn’t get that expectation that she had to feel for strangers; it’s not like she had the time or energy to prioritize everyone in the world.

Of course Pidge had learned a lot since then. There was such a thing as caring without that visceral wrench in her stomach. She could understand and prioritize the good for people she didn’t know and love. There was such a thing as empathy without instinct.

But it wasn’t fair that Keith thought he could run away from the war he used to dive headfirst into. He’d been all invested when Shiro had been here, when he’d had his family. He shouldn’t talk about selfish.

Pidge hoped Lance would snap him out of whatever weird-ass funk this was. If she had to work despite her grief then so did Keith.

Meanwhile, the Shiro-clone was still in stasis. Presumably, if he was being monitored, manipulated, and controlled by Haggar, it would be through the mechanical arm. It’s probably not as efficient as having it hooked up directly to the brain, but Hunk was certain that access through the shoulder into the central nervous system was sufficient. Even with the change of scenery (which often helped her think) Pidge was about ready to throw her laptop at the wall, though, because no matter what she tried the arm software was a fucking dead end.

Actually, no, never the laptop no matter how angry or frustrated she got. That computer was her baby. She’d built it back on Earth and added a ton of Altean modifications to the hardware – including some incredibly impressive RAM that allowed her to multitask like a crazy person and put the computer’s original 64 GB to shame.

Pidge pulled up the clone’s medical records. The cryo-pod did a full body scan twice a varga and she’d linked the data to continuously upload to her laptop (thank you, alien random access memory), focusing on the CNS. And –

Okay, that was different. The original clone scans showed no distinction between those of the real Shiro, allowing for expected discrepancies on the cellular and molecular levels due to time passing. One of the things the pods monitored closely was an individual’s quintessence. She was no biologist, but Pidge did grasp the basic concepts of thermodynamics and the quintessence seemed to be deteriorating. She didn’t know what it meant, though.

A hefty creaking noise distracted her. Hunk pulled his way onto the catwalk and settled in beside her. “Pidge. Can I chew your ear for a minute?”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“Lotor went to make some, uh, conference calls, I think.”

Pidge glared at the computer screen and decided to fuck it, she’s not getting anywhere with this anyway. “Yeah, why not. Shoot.”

Hunk blew out a puff of air. “We’ve made a lot of progress on the technology. Allura’s been working on adapting the ships to travel between universes and I’m really close to finding the most efficient ways to collect and contain the energy. It’s just, um…what if we aren’t doing the right thing here, Pidge?”

She eyed him. “If we can end the war without more war, I’m all for it. I know I wasn’t on board at first, and I’m no economist, but this seems like a good way to stabilize the universe.”

“I’m just thinking. Humans and galra have one big thing in common: exhausting resources. Sure, the quintessence field seems endless now, but the same can be said for every single resource humans overexploited in history. We don’t know how this could affect the universe.” He was getting worked up.

“Hunk.” Pidge placed a hand on his wrist, knowing he takes comfort from even small touches. “You’re a huge part of this project. You and Allura can find a way to make this harvesting sustainable.”

He hummed. His bushy eyebrows drew together.

Pidge continued, “Is this really the only thing bugging you?”

“I’m not…convinced doing this harvesting will lead to peace. Like, I get why Lotor thinks this will solve things,” Hunk said in a low voice. “Increase supply, satisfy demand, spare bad harvesting practices etc. But what do the galra need all this quintessence for?”

“I don’t know, space ships? Power grids? Fuel?…Weapons?”

“Exactly. These guys have been conquering for thousands of years. How can we be sure they won’t just keep conquering when we hand over the power?”

Pidge massaged her temples. “I hear you Hunk, but I’m way out of my depth here. I’d rather trust that Allura and Lotor know way more about alien politics and economics than I do, you know, being born rulers and everything.”

“Since when did you trust Lotor?”

Pidge finally tore her eyes away from the screen and leaned in close to Hunk. “I trust Allura. Do you, do you think Lotor can pull the wool over her eyes?”

“Yeah, well, the man has only been a military strategist for several millennia, I think it’s probable.”

Pidge pulled up another window. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been keeping up with the news. Lotor is on the manhunt for any and all galra factions who don’t pledge loyalty to him. And most of the ones who have are extracting their control over recently conquered sectors. It’s a start.”

“How do you completely reform a culture that’s built on war and conquest?”

“Rome and America became republics, didn’t they?”

Hunk groaned and rubbed his eyes. “It’s so complicated. I wish I could just fix up these ships and that would automatically make everything okay.”

She patted his shoulder. “I know the feeling. I’m confused here, too. Look.”

“Aren’t those scans of the fake Shiro? Why…man I can’t read these, why’s the blue glowing in the middle getting dimmer in each picture?”

“It’s his quintessence. It’s deteriorating. But look, it didn’t start until after we put him in stasis, see? The readings are exactly the same between the scan of Shiro and the very first scan of the clone.”

Understanding lit up Hunk’s face. Good, good, thermodynamics were safe, comprehensible ground. “And that’s when the energy started wasting away. Nothing’s regenerating the quintessence. Pidge, Haggar’s magic!”

She banged her fist on the catwalk. The echoing clang make Hunk flinch. “Of course! I should’ve figured that out. If it doesn’t make sense, then magic.” She huffed a sigh. “But if there’s no magic connected to the clone then that means I can’t trace it. It’s another dead end.”

Hunk was quiet for a few minutes, while Pidge stewed in her failure.

"Although," Hunk said, "Zarkon was obsessed with quintessence for his own personal use. He's gone now and if we get rid of Haggar too, then the demand should go down significantly. She's our biggest threat right now and with so much of the military devoted to Lotor he should be able to keep the rogues in check, right?"

Pidge shut her laptop. "See, you figured it out. What do you need me for."

---

“So let me get this straight.”

It was first thing in the morning, and they were in the Blade-equivalent of a conference room with Krolia and Kolivan. Lance pressed his fingertips to his temple like he was trying to organize something in his head (except in Keith’s experience, that usually happened out loud).

Lance gestured to Krolia. “You were undercover at Ranveig’s base, where he intercepted mega-powerful quintessence and accidentally used it to create a terrifying robeast but without the robot parts. Which you both then sic-ed onto a different general attacking the base so you could escape and presumably that thing is still on the planet.

“And you’ve tracked the quintessence to its source but it’s guarded by impenetrable space-time anomalies and we don’t know who was shipping it.”

Keith said, “It does fit Haggar’s M.O.”

Lance sighed. “We should call the Castle of Lions and get them in on this meeting.”

Pidge just about leapt out of her skin (and did leap out of her bed) at the loud, insistent banging on her door. She tripped over something on her floor and narrowly avoided face-planting in a pile of dirty socks.

“Pidge! Pidge, wake up!”

Vision still kinda fuzzy from sleep, she scrambled to her feet to slam her hand against the door panel. It hissed open as Hunk prepared to pound on it again. Had he been any shorter he would have punched Pidge in the head, but as it was his fist met thin air and he had to windmill his arms to not fall on her.

“Hunk! What is it? What’s happening?” Pidge demanded.

“Whoa, hey chill out. There’s no emergency.”

She glared at him. “Did you just scare me awake for shits and giggles? Do you have any idea how loud it is when you bang on a metal surface?!”

Because he was the worst, Hunk flat-out ignored her tirade. “Your brother, Lance, and Keith want everyone on a conference call. We’ve been trying to wake you up for half an hour.”

Pidge took a deep breath in through her nose. Then let it out. “If you value our continued friendship, you will get me the largest canteen you can find and fill it to the brim with the not-coffee. And it better fucking be hot.”

It was hot, and she and everyone else were soon in front of multiple huge screens showing her brother, her missing teammates, Kolivan, and another galra she didn’t recognize. The first thing that happened was Keith held up a placating hand before Allura could lay into him.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m sorry for leaving without telling you guys why. I got overwhelmed and needed to do something. But it won’t happen again.”

Allura drummed her fingers irritably. “It better not.”

“And by something,” Lance interjected, “Keith here means he had to have some face time with his LONG LOST MOTHER. Guys, meet Krolia, Keith’s galra mom!”

Pidge choked mid-drink and spewed liquid all over Hunk. Fucking what????

“Pidge, did you just do an actual spit take?” Lance demanded, blatantly ignoring the irritated glare Keith was shooting him.

“Did you deliberately wait until I was taking a sip to say that?”

“Depends.”

“Okay, you two can flirt later,” Matt said. Lance’s entire face and neck flushed. “We have important news.”

They proceeded to explain the quintessence the super-powerful quintessence, the spacetime equivalent of a minefield they’d tracked it to, and their suspicions that Haggar was somehow mining it to fuel her military and her magic.

Pidge downed the rest of her “caffeine” in two gulps.

“We believe the source is behind the quantum abyss, rather than the abyss itself,” Kolivan was explaining. “If we can cut Haggar off from her major quintessence supply then we stand a far greater chance at permanently vanquishing her forces.”

Krolia spoke, “The tricky part is navigating the abyss. It requires precise calculations and the consequences of being trapped inside would be dire.”

“Hunk, Pidge, think you can work through those calculations?” Keith asked.

They responded with a synchronous “probably.” Pidge thanked God she now had a new project to work on. One more day with the stupid clone arm and she was gonna lose her hair.

“I believe I know where that quintessence is coming from.” Lotor’s cool voice silenced the entire room. Pidge noticed with shock that his face had gone paper-white. He looked like the ghost of a general rather than a living emperor.

“It is a place I have not been to in some time."

Part 13

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