#reasons for voting dark are just a) i think whatever wish I make would fit that and b) vibes. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

falconcoast · 3 years

Text

genshin speech and debate headcannons

genshin characters if they took up speech and debate (like nerds <3.)

a/n: this week is the national tournament for both speech and debate! while i myself am not going (i wish LMAO) i do have a couple of friends going, and one who placed in under the top 100 lincoln douglas debaters in the country! i was mainly inspired by a friend of mine saying that yanfei and hu tao would make a good debate duo and kinda went from there. anyways!! enjoy :)

yanfei + hu tao;

POLICY POLICY POLICY duo and i’m basing this off the real life teams i know

policy debate is like an hour and a half long debate, where there’s one yearly topic and. like every debate, there is the positive side, or the negative side.

tbh i find policy debate the most boring kind of debate

BUT these two would make it so much fun

let’s talk roles! i see yanfei as the one to be the first speaker (1AC), simply bc she knows so much.

she’s also canonly good at writing (as you tell with her written contracts), so i feel like the 1AC is hers

hu tao would be 2AC, or the second speech

this is because she’s would be quick on her feet often

the second speaker is someone who can come up with solutions on the fly, and articulate them out excellently

as for building a case to support the topic, i just know these two come up with the most frustrating, yet viable solutions

hu tao would loveeeeee running kritiks (which are basically arguments saying “we shouldn’t even talk about this resolution because ABC”)

i also think that her disadvantages (basically reasons to vote in negation, if they were on the negative side of the argument) would almost always end with extinction impact

a little debate lesson! in a disadvantage against the affirmative’s plan, there are three parts. one, uniqueness, or what’s currently going on. two, the link, or what will awful thing will change from what’s happening currently, if the positive team’s plan passes. and three, the impact, or the terrible, overall outcome that is the consequence of the affirmative team’s plan.

an extinction impact is basically saying “if we institute this plan, we’re literally all going to die!!’

(the bane of every policy debater’s existence, especially if you’re the one that has to argue against it. i’ve only debated policy twice, and it’s BULLSHIT but whatever not time to complain)

i’m split between seeing them as spreaders (the portmanteau for speed and reading), where they read so fast to get so much information out, of if they have morals and communicate efficiently

!! MATCHING SUITS !! they wear matching suits to every tourney !! they also probably have super cute pins on the lapel of their suit coats

they’ve probs gone to nationals every year, they’re that good

they’d dominate-- since policy debate is a 2v2, you really have to have good chemistry with your partner in order to be successful, and they do !!

they’d also probably be the fun debate captains, who have to take the younger ones under their wing

all in all, fun team! revered around the country, and for good reason!

albedo;

POETRY SPEAKER

poetry is a type of speech that is spoken alone, so i think it’s quite fitting for him

in poetry, you memorize your poem, but you can look down at this tiny, three ring binder that contains your poem

aforementioned binder probably has a million stickers that klee put on there

unfortunately, he probably can’t bring that binder to competitions, so he at least has one sticker on the inside of his formal binder

he probably dolls up very nicely, and has a dark blue suit with a button from klee’s collection

sobs klee and albedo’s found family dynamic

probably picks more traditional poems, simply because works with a formal beat are easier to memorize

he’s definitely the kind of person to have amazing audience skills

his tone of voice would match the tone of the poem, and the crowd can instantly recognize that

(wish that was a skill i had </3)

albedo has a natural soft, yet compelling voice that makes him so easy to listen to

sigh,, he’d probably be the nicest kind of mentor to study under

if he’s not in his rounds, he’s probably watching yours and taking notes!

it will always read “excellent job. i look forward for your next performance. :)” followed by a few small doodles and critiques

sigh,,,, to have a hot as fuck debater friend who gave good notes,,,, that’s the dream

(if mark from oratory is reading this HMU YOU’RE SO HOT AND YOU GIVE GREAT NOTES)

jean;

CONGRESS DEBATER

in congress debate, there are usually 10-30-ish debaters in one room for one, really, really, really, long session where various bills are presented before the senators or the debaters

kinda like. yknow. congress

every congress debate has a presiding officer, aka the person who makes sure nothing goes to shit

anyways! that person would be jean

she would probably be a great author of bills, in which they’re though provoking, insightful, and probably pretty solid grounds for whatever side she’s agreeing with

her questioning skills,,, WOOOOO

in congress, you have a three minute speech and a minute of questioning afterwards, in which anyone who is on the opposite side of you ask one question abt your speech

her questions actually strike the soul—she can read people really easily and can point out flaws in their speeches

presiding officers have gavels, and i bet that klee placed a sticker on the handle lol

her notes >>> !! probably so organized, i struggle keeping up in congress, but she writes so fast and her notes are even pretty

she runs a tight ship—she hits her gavel when a speech is up and she’s not too happy when someone goes over

she probably wears the suit-skirt combo and is literally so cute

she’s the type of mentor to be gentle yet strict; but really, she just wants you to do your best <3

me and who when

zhongli;

four time national champion in both high school and college, premier distinction debater, and a double diamond coach.

that’s zhongli for you!

in my state, there’s certain judges and coaches that are highly venerated (my own coach is one of them; he was a policy debate state champ and he still has his tourney trophies on his desk ^_^ so cool!! )

so take that, and up the fame by tenfold!

he’s an extemporaneous speaker for sure!

maybe my bias is leaking thru

anyways, extemp is a speech that relates to current national and international affairs

you have 30 minutes (and whatever information you gather beforehand) to create a seven minute speech. memorized.

scary as shit and i literally compete in jt LMFAO

zhongli, however, is a wise, wise old man (despite being like. a freshman in high school)

he has an uncanny ability to run his mouth in a smooth, understandable way

judges would note his speaking style—comfortable in a way that speaks as if he were delivering the speech to one person

it’s the kind of voice that you can fall asleep to, but so interesting that you can’t help but want to know more

yeah a wild claim. zhongli?? turn foreign policy into something interesting??? more likely than you think!

he started as a prodigy, and almost instantly he was shoved into the spotlight.

he’d go onto to be a four-time national champion, and probably manage to do the same in whatever Ivy League college he goes to

i see zhongli then becoming a big shot businessman after his schooling; a good speaker makes an even better businessman!

buttttt, i think that he comes back to coach at some prestigious academy for fun

he’s the kind of coach that’s gentle and firm, he really really really wants the best for his kids okay!!

his gaze is piercing. he’ll look you in the eyes and make you question your entire speech career

he also flutters between his kids’ events, taking detailed notes about their rounds

“you stuttered on contention one.”

“your back was slouched, your eyes were on your paper. for goodness’ sake, prepare better.”

his best compliment? “you had my attention the entire round.”

FISKRKALRKFK IF SOMEONE WROTE THAT ON MY BALLOT I WOULD SWOON

speaking of ballots! ballots are basically the sheet that you judge someone’s debate or speech on.

his ballots are not biased, whether or not he’s heard good things about either debater

oh to get an actually good ballot,,, havent had a detailed ballot since fall of freshman year </3

he wears a three piece suit to every tournament. doesn’t matter if it’s june eland the tournament is in a desert, he will literally keep his suit on

he probably takes his kids on cross-country tourneys too!! he’s loaded!!

a huge donor to debate and speech organizations, he knows just how much speaking skills changed his own life, and he wants to make sure that everyone else is able to get that same opportunity

wholesome guy when it comes to this stuff :,)

bonus thoughts;

CHILDE IS THE LITTLE SHIT WHO YELLS IN THE AUDIENCE DURING FINALS

ganyu is the club manager who would doordashes lunch for the team

klee often tries speaking speeches in front of her big brother, but they’re usually little 6 year old ramblings

xingqiu is a storyteller speaker end of story and i’m not expanding on it

diluc and kaeya used to be a public forum duo (a 2v2 debate), but after crepus’ death, they became differently involved in speech and debate, if at all

barbara often sneaks into the auditorium to watch her sister compete :,(

venti would be a poetry or storyteller,,, not sure which one

the teams all have 11PM fast food runs after state tourneys, all talking about their day and everything in between :,)

#genshin impact x reader #yanfei x reader #hu tao x reader #zhongli x reader #albedo x reader #genshin x reader

89 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Photo

Never a Gull Moment

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 3523

For @yavannie, who wanted Sam to either gain new powers or carry Bucky through the air. Spoiler, I went with both. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Sam’s had an intense first week as Captain America. The perfect opportunity for a break arises when Joaquín contacts him, offering new programming for his suit. All he needs to test the tech are the beach, birds, and one uncooperative bonehead Sam didn’t manage to leave behind in New York.

If there’s one skill Sam’s hoping to adopt from his predecessor—Steve, not Walker (sweet Jesus, not Walker)—it’s the ability to end a conversation with a humble handwave before it can even begin. Steve always had that in the bag. Leading with the wrist in a flick of the hand that came across as both sheepish and respectful. Like he’d love to stop and talk with that fan or this journalist but he was just too busy. And not rude busy, busy with a quiet nobility. Anyway, it all came across in the wave.

Sam hasn’t nailed the wave.

Four days after the GRC vote-that-wasn’t, he’s still in New York, bouncing between TV appearances; everybody wants a piece of the new Cap. Sam wishes they asked a little more about his opinions on compassion for the displaced, as well as those who survived the Snap to form new, functional communities, and less about the look of his new suit, but isn’t it always a battle between style and substance? At least people are listening. To everything except the look Sam knows he has in his eyes, the one that says this debut has been a lot and he’s longing for home.

He knows he has to nail this aspect of being Captain America too. Unfortunately, chuckling amiably with morning show hosts isn’t doing a hell of a lot to distract him from what it took to get him here. There are seconds where his attention wavers—he’ll be nodding along to whatever someone’s saying, or letting his gaze follow a bike courier down the street instead of staying trained on the camera the roving reporter has set up on the sidewalk—and that’s when Karli hurtles into his mind. He feels her desperate blows vibrating the shield, the weight of her body in his arms, in her death.

He can’t keep sitting behind desks or posing impressively and trying to answer the hard questions (on the rare occasion they’re asked) after he’s told people he’s not the expert. When Torres calls up, it’s the close-enough-to-official reason Sam’s been waiting for to step back and do something that actually feels useful.

Bucky, who’s been skulking behind the scenes, somehow never pulled into interviews (if he knows the deferring wave and he’s been doing it just outside Sam’s sightline all week, Sam’s gonna kill him), sticks with him. They head south to meet Torres, and at least that feels like the right direction. Homeward bound. Of course, they stop a handful of states before Louisiana and hug the east coast, but it’s an improvement. They meet Torres at… the beach.

He’s got his foot propped in the open doorframe of a Humvee, giving Sam and Bucky a big, eager, whole-arm wave as they pull up. Not like they’re gonna miss him; Torres is in the only vehicle parked halfway down an unpaved road. Sand dunes climb steep and high just feet from his front bumper, an informal path cutting between the dunes and leading to the water, though Sam can’t see that from this vantage.

Torres’s hand is somehow already grasping Sam’s in a pumping, congratulatory shake before he’s fully out of the car. Sam hears Bucky’s soft snort of suppressed laughter and shoots him a look across the seats. Bucky raises his palms, but Sam spots his smirk before they’re both slamming their doors and stretching their legs after the drive.

“Traffic?” Torres asks brightly.

“Nah,” Bucky answers, coming around the back of their ride. “Sam just drives slower than my grandmother and she—”

“Died on the Titanic?” Sam guesses dryly.

Bucky’s flat stare could be saying a lot of things, or nothing. Sam feels as if he’s been a student of the language of Bucky’s stare for a while now, but his comprehension is still rudimentary. Pop that asshole in a sanctuary for rehabilitated brain-washees, have somebody study his behaviour like Jane Goodall studies chimpanzees, and they might get some answers. The idea starts as something funny Sam almost shares, but then he imagines handfeeding Bucky a banana and it gets weird. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Or she got the cryo treatment too and she’s kickin’ around someplace, speakin’ Russian and makin’ headshots.”

“Come on, man, Hydra jokes about your own grandmother?” Sam scoffs. “That’s not even a little bit funny.”

Torres’s expression is like a kid watching a wrestling match on TV—awed, alarmed, reluctant to question what’s real because he’s just enjoying the show.

Bucky cracks a slow smile and Sam rolls his eyes, slapping Torres’s shoulder to get him to head towards the Humvee and the reason they’re here.

“Nana woulda thought it was funny,” Bucky assures them.

“Nana?”

“Lemme guess… You called your aunt ‘TT,’ so your grandmother’s probably… ‘GG,’ am I right?”

Sam glares at him (because his guess is correct and he’s a pain in the ass) and turns fully to Torres as he opens the back, revealing a large case.

“You were vague on the phone,” Sam recalls, watching Torres tug the case close before undoing the clasps. Bucky leans against the vehicle as he observes, dark pants picking up a swipe of road dust from the dirty taillight. “Something about an update for the suit?”

“Right,” Torres agrees.

He throws the case open to reveal the wings Sam gifted him. They’ve been repaired and Sam automatically strokes a hand over the gleaming, extended metal. If Torres did this himself, he sure worked fast.

“That duffle bag wasn’t good enough for you?” Sam asks jokingly, remembering his gear broken and jumbled, fit to be dragged out with the trash.

“They’re kind my prized possession,” Torres admits. “I thought they deserved to be kept nice.”

“You might even wanna put ’em on sometime.”

“I’m working up to that.” Torres laughs. “I wanted to make sure they were in working order before I jumped off a building.”

“Or out of the back of a plane without a parachute, right, Buck?” Sam asks, smacking the back of his hand into Bucky’s chest.

“I was fine,” Bucky insists.

“Sure you were. We can watch the footage again. I’m up for that.”

“Just let the man finish.”

Torres grants Bucky a wide smile in thanks.

“Yeah,” he picks up, “so I was fixing them, working on the wiring, and when I got the electronics running smoothly again, I started thinking about Redwing—”

“May he rest in pieces,” Bucky contributes.

“Uncalled for,” Sam complains.

“I replaced it, didn’t I?”

“The Wakandans replaced it.”

“As a favour to me.”

Torres’s gaze dances between them until Sam motions for him to continue.

“About Redwing,” Torres goes on enthusiastically. “The sophistication of the relationship between you, how intuitive the tech was. How Redwing understood not just simply-stated commands, but a more conversational approach, interpreting your intentions.”

“Finally, a little Redwing appreciation,” Sam says. He crosses his arms and gives Bucky a meaningful look.

“But what if it was a real bird?” Torres blurts.

Most of a minute passes as Sam stares at Torres’s excited expression.

“I think I might get where Torres is going with this,” Bucky says.

Sam holds up a hand to pause him. He could make a guess at it too, but there’s no need for that. They have the source of whatever alterations have been made right here.

“In your own words, Joaquín,” Sam encourages.

“Well,” he begins, one palm braced in the bed of the Humvee as he leans over the case with unconscious protectiveness, “you know I’ve kinda been itching to get my hands on the wings for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Sam laughs, remembering having to practically slap Torres’s hands away from the jetpack in Tunisia.

“Since you gave them to me a couple weeks ago, I’ve been tinkering, like I said, and I had this idea. Now,” he warns, raising both hands in caution, “this might be either really obvious or really disrespectful to the whole concept of the Falcon, but I started wondering if it’d be possible for the person wearing the wings to talk to nearby birds. Use them like a resource, like with Redwing.”

“Black Panther dresses like a cat with Vibranium claws.”

“Spider-Man has webs,” Bucky adds.

“Right,” Sam agrees, nodding to him before looking back to Torres. “I don’t think it’s disrespectful to lean into the gimmick if it’s amplifying your abilities.”

“Awesome,” Torres pronounces.

“I assume you went further than just wondering about it?”

Torres gives them a modest shrug.

“I know a guy who knows an ornithologist.”

“Bird scientist,” Bucky translates.

Turning his head, Sam glances at Bucky with a no shit look.

“Thanks,” he says insincerely.

“You’re welcome.”

“Long story short,” Torres pipes up, “she got me access to a catalogue of bird calls and the scientific consensus on what they all mean. I patched that info into the suit and, hopefully, it’s something that could be used, uh, on the fly. Sorry, I was trying to think of another way to say that.”

“So my suit would be able to communicate with birds?” Sam checks. “Automatically?”

“Yeah, it would assess your surroundings the same way Redwing does already, but scanning for birds, identifying what kind they are, and having the interpretation of their calls at the ready if needed.”

“What sort of information would I be gaining with this tech?”

“Stuff like… are they feeling threatened or disturbed? Does something feel off about their environment that has something to do with somebody you’re maybe chasing?”

“Mating rituals,” Bucky says.

“How is being able to recognize mating rituals going to help me?” Sam demands.

“You never know.”

“You brought your suit, right?” Torres wants to know. Apparently, he’s not going to bother engaging with Bucky’s nonsense. “It won’t take long for me to install the new software.”

“It’s in the back,” Sam assures him, jerking a thumb towards the other vehicle.

“Great!”

“But just the bird calls. This suit is brand new. No tinkering.”

“No tinkering,” Torres swears.

He sets up his impromptu workshop in the back seat, next to the suit. Sam has to admit to himself that Torres’s reverential expression as he handles the Captain America suit is pretty flattering. He watches the progress until Torres sits back, stating it’ll just be a few minutes for the new programming to be assimilated.

“Why the beach?” Sam asks while they wait.

“I was inspired by some shaky, far-away footage of you in New York. You did, uh, kind of a nosedive into the river there, so I thought maybe you’d be interested in testing your suit’s maneuverability in water at the same time as we did a trial with the bird calls.”

“Are we running a drill or something?” Bucky wonders.

“That’s a good idea,” Torres says immediately. “A scenario to use both the calls and the water.”

“You got something in mind?”

Sam isn’t the one who asks because he can see from Torres’s face that he does. Fortunately, he is the one who gets to laugh when the Lieutenant squints consideringly at Bucky and asks, “How long can you hold your breath?”

—

The last Sam sees of Bucky, he’s taking off his shirt.

“Oh, entire jacket this time?” Torres asked when Bucky took that off first.

After that, it was his shoes and socks, then his t-shirt, and this whole Bucky stripping thing isn’t so much a last look as something that Sam has to stand there witnessing for a while. He’s already in the Cap suit and, seriously, Bucky could’ve changed at the same time. Then, he would’ve been ready to go without making Sam and Torres wait around. But Sam wouldn’t have gotten to see him undress.

“Hurry it up, man.” His voice is a little off because, at the same time, he’s thinking, Please don’t take your pants off.

“If you’re making me play a drowning victim, I can at least not be getting weighed down,” Bucky argues. “This is to help you, right? Quit complaining.”

Finally, he stalks away, mounting the dune in black jeans and a half-assed scowl and disappearing over the top. The plan is for him to swim out, then duck under the water when Torres tells him to (the guy’s brought along waterproof earpieces for the purpose). Next, Sam will fly up and search for the ‘victim,’ relying solely on input from the seagulls wheeling lazily overhead. It’s a good exercise Torres has cooked up.

Sam hands the shield off to Torres for safekeeping before the Lieutenant heads to the beach. The shield won’t be necessary for this and there’s no way in hell Sam’s leaving it in the car. Besides, it’s kinda funny how wide Torres’s eyes go when Sam offers it up. Even bigger reaction than leaving him the wings, though this he doesn’t get to keep.

“On my signal,” Torres restates.

Sam gives him a sharp nod.

Once he’s alone, he paces between the vehicles, eager to kick off the ground. He hasn’t had an opportunity to just enjoy himself in the new suit yet. Leading up to the confrontation with the Flag-Smashers (and Georges Batroc, that fists-of-steel bastard), he was in training mode, focused and determined. In the media-heavy days that followed, he conceded to a few stunts for the camera. Those hadn’t been purely fun though; they were actually something Sam had to think quick and hard about, ultimately deciding that it wasn’t just performing on command but rather giving the public a lighthearted look at their new Captain America. Testing new tech with Bucky, Torres, and a bunch of seagulls? That seems like it’ll actually be a good time.

The instant Torres’s voice in Sam’s ear says, “Bucky’s under,” he unfurls the wings and sails up over the crest of the dune.

It’s not the warmest day and the greenish-blue water’s choppy near the shore, but there is a surprising smattering of people along a quarter mile of beach. Must be locals, Sam guesses, trekking down to the water from nearby houses. That would explain the lack of other cars where he parked. The people aren’t that close or that bothered by his sudden appearance overhead. Startled, sure, but after they’ve identified him (he sees a few hands lifted to foreheads to block out the sun so they can get a good look), he gets to return a couple big waves. Besides that, nobody’s getting to their feet to pound sand and swarm Torres, who’s conspicuously there with Sam—he is holding the shield, after all. Pretty typical. The bigger the crowd, the greater the chance of people scrambling for his attention and/or whipping out their phones to film him. This group seems satisfied with watching Captain America hanging out at their beach on his downtime and Sam appreciates them for that.

“No scanning the water,” Torres says in his ear. Sam laughs.

“I’m not, just assessing our audience here.”

“Is this a bad spot? I didn’t think anybody’d be around when I sent you my location, but—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Did anybody ask you what was up when Bucky waded out into the water?”

“Nah. If they were wondering, they probably aren’t anymore.”

“Glad I won’t have to compete with a lifeguard to rescue him,” Sam jokes.

He hears Torres’s short laugh of agreement before focusing. Not on the water at all, but the birds. Those down on the sand are squawking for food, comfortable enough with these people to complain loudly in the hopes of being fed.

Sam’s sudden swoops scatter the gulls in the air, so he tries easier circles, mimicking their movements to hover high above the beach. Soon enough—these guys either have bad short-term memories or no patience—they start communicating with each other. The new programming Torres has uploaded to his suit signals to Sam that the birds are aware of a disturbance in the water. He gets a target on his goggles’ imaging and dives.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam crashes into the murky water no more than a hundred yards out. The drop-off is dramatic enough for him to not complete a faceplant into a shallow bottom. Bucky’s treading water a couple body-lengths down, but he wrecks his form to offer Sam a raised middle finger in greeting. Sam’s wings retract as he grabs Bucky’s wrist to haul him to the surface.

They breathe, bobbing in place.

“Thought you’d be faster,” Bucky says.

“You didn’t drown, did you?” Sam points out. “Come on.”

He catches hold of Bucky’s hand and shoots out of the water, wings opening in the air to carry him once the thruster’s done its work. But Bucky squirms below him, their wet grip twisting precariously. Water runs from his sopping jeans.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I don’t want to be carried to shore!”

“Why?”

“Because dangling this high above the ground feels a little weird to me! Not all of us do this every day!”

“I guess we could run the exercise again.”

“Fine. Let’s do that. Just drop me.”

Sam rewards Bucky’s melodrama by abruptly releasing his grip. Hey, that’s what the idiot asked for, and if he can fall out of a plane to the forest floor, he can plunge into water. It’s not like Sam’s up at aircraft cruising altitude, just high enough to make Torres look like a little action figure army man, standing on the sand in his fatigues.

“Running it again?” Torres wants to know.

“Yep,” Sam tells him, accelerating away from the shore. “Just giving that dumbass time to swim to a new spot.”

“Even though he can’t reply while he’s underwater… you know he can hear you in the comms, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

When Torres lets him know that Bucky’s gone under a second time, they start the drill again. Once more, Sam does a gliding approach to the seagulls. Once more, they go quiet before filling the air with their screaming, overlapping calls. Once more, Sam finds Bucky. He knows he’s quicker this time, so he’s expecting an acknowledgement of that when he contracts the wings, straightens his body, and plummets into the water feetfirst next to where Bucky’s floating below the surface.

Instead of an appreciative nod, an outstretched hand, or even a thumbs up, Bucky darts away from him. Is he trying not to get rescued? Now he’s just fucking up the exercise. Only, Sam can’t even berate him, because he’s still under too, holding his breath as he swims after Bucky. He uses the jetpack for assistance, but Bucky’s a fast swimmer, legs kicking just ahead of Sam. Goddamn human shark.

Because he is not an idiot, Sam surfaces to catch his breath, leaving Bucky somewhere below.

“There a problem?” Torres asks.

“Only with Bucky’s idea of teamwork.”

“Get him like a bird would!”

“Is that a real suggestion?” Sam asks, rising and falling as a small wave swells under him, rolling towards the shore.

“Really, Sam! You know, like how birds hunt fish.” Back on the beach, he makes a sharp, downward gesture with his arm that has Sam chuckling. He gets what Torres means though.

“Alright.”

Sam goes from water to air, then, alerted by a trio of seagulls taking annoyed flight from the surface of the water, goes into a steep dive. Nabbing the swimmer from above is the trick, he learns, when the swimmer is being intentionally uncooperative with the rescue attempt. Bucky might be quick when he knows Sam’s behind him, but when he drops down on him, there’s nowhere Bucky can go. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s bare chest from behind and lugs him up for air.

The first thing Bucky says is, “You took even longer that time.”

Frustrated, Sam splashes the back of his head, but when Bucky strokes his arms out, rotating to face him, he’s smiling.

“You messed it up,” Sam accuses. He rubs a hand across his goggles to smear the water droplets off.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun.”

Sam narrows his eyes before a laugh bursts out of him. He can’t help it; it’s the pressure he’s been under, so much internal conflict, suddenly drawn out with the current. Yeah, Bucky was slightly uncooperative, but that’s nothing unusual. Swimming ahead like he was going for a gold medal or forcing Sam to plunge deep after him, the two of them suspended like the goddamn Shape of Water before Sam towed him to the surface—either way, Bucky definitely gave him distinct scenarios to work with. Sam can’t say he doesn’t feel more comfortable now that he’s had some practice. More comfortable with his wings in the water, with working with his feathered allies. With Bucky.

“Still don’t want a lift?” Sam checks.

Bucky’s expression hardens and Sam backs off with a laugh.

“See you on the shore,” Bucky states firmly.

“Alright. Get doggy-paddlin’, White Wolf.”

Sam feels Bucky’s hand shoot out to seize his ankle in retaliation as he launches out of the water, but he’s too slow. Sam’s wings fan wide as he flies up, up, up with the birds.

#my writing #tfatws #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE WINTER SOLDIER #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Joaquin Torres #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

44 notes · View notes

musicfeedsmysoul12 · 3 years

Text

Old Copy of My Workshop

Hey guys- I decided fuck it, I'm bored and decided to show you what the first workshop I did this year with an original piece was!

This piece was titled the Bartender, and I enjoyed writing it. It was taken by my class and sort of torn apart, and I have rewritten it. As of right now, I want to wait to show the other copy until after I hear from my class- mostly for fun.

You want to share thoughts go ahead- this later developed into a story in my head to so... it's fun!

-0-0-0-0-

Alexis does not know how she’d ended up here. Honestly she doesn’t. One second she’s walking to the bus stop, the next she’s standing in a dimly lit bar. Looking around, Alexis notes the bar is well kept. The counters are clean from what she sees, and the floor is at least swept.

The stools at the bar counter are mismatched and strange. One is simply a large cushion on the ground, while two others are tall chairs with what looks like a ladder leading to the top. The tables around the place are similar in a way- one is very large and Alexis’s brain tries to understand how it fits into the bar but something in her mind just whispers accept it. Her brain shies away from figuring it out and then switches to observing the tiny table with tiny chairs around it.

“Lost?” A voice asks and Alexis’s head turns back to the bar counter, where a person is standing. Alexis pauses, taking them in. They’re short- shorter than her own average height, with dark hair cut into a fohawk and they’re wearing a pair of large circular glasses that makes their silver eyes wide.

‘It can’t be natural,’ Alexis thinks looking into their eyes. The person simply smiles with closed lips, lifting an eyebrow. Alexis blinks, her mind dashing from that thought to observe the clothes that she can see- which amounts to a hoodie with a galaxy pattern on it.

“I uhh…” Alexis begins and then stops. “I don’t know how I got here.” She admits. The person chuckles, and nods.

“Ah, you’re one of those cases. Sit down- you like paralyzers right?” The person asks and Alexis blinks.

“I… yes.” Alexis agrees. A basic drink really, but they were tasty. She hesitates, but slowly moves to sit at the counter, looking around again.

The bar is empty. No one but her and the person in front of her…

“I’m Alexis,” Alexis says, realizing that she has not yet introduced herself. “You are?”

“I’m the Bartender.” The person says simply but that single word carries weight. Looking at them, Alexis can’t think of any other name that would work, can’t think of anything strange about the Bartender being anything other than the Bartender.

“The Bartender mind” the Bartender continues. They make Alexis’s drink and slide it to her. She’s about to pick it up when she stops.

What is she doing?

“Where am I?” Alexis asks the Bartender. They raise an eyebrow and smirk.

“Hmm, you’re a smart one.” They remark, moving to lean their elbows on the counter, sliding their fingers together as they bring their connected hands to their chin. “You’re in the Bar.”

“I know I’m in a bar!” Alexis protests.

“Not a bar. The Bar.” The Bartender repeats. “A place between worlds.”

“… what?” Alexis asks. “That’s not possible!”

It isn’t- there’s no such things as other worlds. There’s only one world and maybe an afterlife- Alexis has never been religious enough to think about it.

“Isn’t it?” The Bartender asks. “Do you know everything about the world?”

“I know enough!” Alexis protests, feeling angry. Just because she’s twenty does not mean she knows nothing of the world! She grew up poor with a mother more interested in a bottle then in her! She grew up having to scrimp and save for a pencil. She knows more then enough about the world! She despises when people say that she doesn’t, sneering down their nose at her because she’s not in college. How they act like her young age means she’s a fool.

“But you don’t know everything.” The Bartender says mildly. They tilt their head to the side, observing her with their wide silver eyes. “Do you?”

“Who does?!” Alexis says angrily. “It’s sure not those stupid religious nuts going on and on about how the gays are the end of the world, or how people of colour are destroying the world or whatever they scream about!” Alexis huffs, and then winces, realizing she’d lashed out. “Sorry.”

“It’s all good.” The Bartender shrugs. “I tend to piss people off when I ask them that.”

“You often get people like me?” Alexis asks, hand going to the drink in front of her to take a sip.

“Often enough. I usually get the other cases.” The Bartender shrugs.

“Other cases?” Alexis asks, sipping her drink. The drink tastes amazing- the perfect amount of liquor and just so perfectly sweet.

“Humans ending up in my bar.” The Bartender says, holding Alexis’s eyes as they speak.

Alexis blinks, opening her mouth to protest. The Bartender is human toohuman to- but she stops. The Bartender stares at her while Alexis states back, closing her mouth. The Bartender looks human, at a glance. But the wide silver eyes- they burrow into Alexis, holding her there in her seat. There’s a heaviness to them as Alexis looks into the silver orbs, something pulling Alexis in and causing her to almost spiral.

A weight is upon, crushing her and holding her to her seat. Alexis can’t breathe, there’s no air-

The Bartender blinks, and Alexis is free. She breathes shakily, hands on the bar counter, clutching onto it tightly. Alexis is sweaty, and her chest aches as she breathes.

“Sorry,” The Bartender says, blinking. “Not many humans can look in my eyes that long.” Their voice changes. Before it was very calm, a little bored and amused, but mostly neutral. As if they were reading off a script without attempting to act. Now, their voice is curious. The Bartender studies Alexis’s face and smirks slightly. “Interesting.”

“...are you God?” Alexis whispers.

“Ha!” The Bartender laughs. “I get asked that all the time. I’m not. I’m a Celestial- a being who walks between worlds and watches over them.” The Bartender stands up a bit, unclasping their hands to rest them on the counter, their elbows leaving the counter so the Bartender can rest their weight on their hands.

“Celestial?” Alexis asks in confusion. Didn’t that mean something in space?

“We voted. It won over Inter- Worlder.” The Bartender shrugs. “We’re watchers mostly. Worlds will go on without our interference and sometimes interfering is the stupidest choice we can do. And yet sometimes… we poke our nose into things.” The Bartender moves their hands off the counter to move them behind their back. “Like your case.”

“My case?” Alexis asks. “… you mean the reason I’m here?”

“Of course. The reason you’re here is obvious really- you’re here because a Celestial was fooling around in your world and caused a rift. The rift pulled you in to here.”

“How do you know?” Alexis asks, the idea being uncomfortable. The idea a Celestial could do something like that- just simply accidentally pull someone from one world to the Bar… it’s disturbing. That they could do something so large and off putting, on accident…

“Because you’re talking to me and don’t have a giant wound somewhere. If you had been sent here by being killed by the interference, you’d be wounded. If a Celestial pulled you out of the world for a joke- you’d be unable to move, speak, hear or see. You’d be trapped in an illusion they’d give you while they handle sending you either back or to a new one.” The Bartender is callous in their words, delivering them without pause and without mercy.

The words make Alexis want to vomit. The utter callousness of them, the truth of them, make her want to stand and run. She does not want to be around the Bartender with their cruel words. She does not want to listen to them. She just wants to leave.

“Your face looks like mine when I was first told.” The Bartender says, their voice becoming soft. Alexis blinks and stares at the person who shrugs at her, a sad looking smile on their face.

“It’s disgusting I know- which is why I created the Bar. I never wanted a human to wander the void between worlds, trapped until they stumbled upon a place a Celestial made their own. I never wanted a human at risk for the fun of Celestials.” As the Bartender speaks they lift a hand to trail along the side of their jaw, where Alexis spots a scar- a long thin scar that would be missed if one did not look closely enough.

Alexis suddenly wonders if the reason she first thought the Bartender human was because they were once before. She decides not to ask. Seems too personal. Instead she focuses on herself, feeling a bit selfish but she does need to ask.

“Can you send me home then?” She asks hopefully only to be dashed by the sigh that the Bartender gives.

“Me? No. I can’t. I cannot send you back to a world where another Celestial removed you no matter how accidental. I used to. I’d break the spells on the humans and send them back. But after everyone got too annoyed they cursed all of us to prevent it.” The Bartender grins. “Not that they knew it was all of us. They thought it just me but I’m a little more powerful then some of them so I twisted the curse. We can no longer interfere with humans others have already interfered with.” The Bartender looks pleased, a smug grin on their face and a snicker in their words. Alexis has to admit- it’s a very good trick.

“But what about me?” Alexis asks however, worry in her gut. What about her cat? Her roommate? What about Alexis herself? Would she need to wait for the Celestial to come and take her back? Would they even wish to with how the Bartender spoke of Celestials? Or should Alexis even trust the Bartender? Perhaps they are lying to gain her trust.

Yet she feels like they are trust worthy. Like they wouldn’t lie to her- however at the same time she feels wary. After looking into their eyes and feeling that… pull, that heaviness, she is wary.

“You have two choices- stay and wait here. You’ll get food and drink, but you may end up dying here waiting for the Celestial that brought you here to come to the Bar.” The Bartender says bluntly. “Or you go to a new world.”

“A new world?” Alexis asks.

“I said this was between worlds. I can send you to any world you wish. Make a list of your favourite stories- I can send you to one.” the Bartender shrugs. “But it’s a one way trip- no take backs. You go, you go.”

“I-” Alexis stops and sits. She stares at the Bartender who simply looks back with those wide silver eyes.

Did… what… Alexis didn’t know what to do. Wait for a being who may or may not come? Possibly die in a bar where she may never see anyone other than the Bartender? Or leave. Forsake her life and move on. Go to a world she’s read about or played a game about or seen a movie about.

What does she have to lose if she does? Her job as a waitress? Her other job as a cashier? Or her third job of landscaping during the summer? Her roommate who could easily find another person?

“My cat!” Alexis blurts out. The Bartender blinks. “My roommates hates Stripes. I-” the Bartender blinks and suddenly a very fluffy orange cat is sitting on the counter of the bar. Alexis blinks and then looks at the Bartender with wide eyes. The person shrugs.

“I like cats.” The Bartender says, petting the cat’s head.

Alexis wordlessly decides not to press. After all- that bit of power… it showed that Celestials did apparently have great power.

Now though, she has her cat. And… well, what else did she have? A mother she spoke to last at age 17 when she finally just walked out the door? No friends other than her coworkers and roommate, nothing really going for her…

‘A new life or possible death,” Alexis thinks. ‘Is there really a choice?”

“Can I give you a list and you pick?” Alexis asks. The Bartender hands her a piece of paper with various things already written. Alexis blinks upon reading the list, as she spots all her favorite stories, games and movies on it. “Alright- you pick. I love all of these.”

The Bartender hums and then trails a finger down the list before pausing.

“I haven’t sent anyone here before. It’ll be more accepting of you.” The Bartender sighs. “Finish your drink and then I’ll send you and Stripes off.”

Alexis drinks the rest of her paralyzer before she nods, waiting. The Bartender smiles and then with a blink, the seat is empty and the cat is gone. The Bartender stands alone in the Bar and smirks.

“I’ll see you one day anyway Alexis,” the Bartender murmurs.

The Bartender picks up the glass and goes to clean it, awaiting their next patron. Celestial, human, elf, alien, or other- they would be there waiting for anyone who came.

They were a bartender.

#original work #the bartender

8 notes · View notes

effiethebookworm · 3 years

Text

TSE Appreciation Week Day Two!

*tiny wave* Hi again! Just wanted to say thank you to all of the kind people who commented on/liked my fanfic for day one. Y’all are awesome. Anyhoo, on with the story! This one is called Tiny Hands, and I LOVED writing it. I hope you love reading it!!

Tiny Hands

“King Avidan! Where are you?” Avidan sighed. The reason that he had gone to hide in the head was so that people wouldn't notice that he was gone. They would see the door closed and think, Oh, the king is relieving himself. It sure worked for Eglon and Ehud in the Bible. Avidan stood up and opened the door. His manservant, Jer, stood in front of the door. His dark brown hair with a few traces of gray sat crisply on his head, and his uniform fit perfectly on his wiry frame.

“What is it, Jer?” Jer bowed deeply and said,

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty. I did not realize that you were...” Avidan blushed.

“I was done. What did you want to tell me?”

“We recently received a letter from your adviser. It requires an urgent response.”

“Thank you, Jer.” Avidan didn't know what he'd do without Jer. He probably would have died from exhaustion if it hadn't been for Jer, who always made sure that he ate and slept and occasionally took breaks. Jer was sort of like a father to him now, and easily old enough to be his father, if not grandfather. Since Velvare had forfeited his position of regent five years ago so that he could go home to his family in Levant, Avidan had been ruling Gallitan. He had an adviser, of course, because he was still underage, but after hearing the tragic story of how Velvare had left his family fourteen years ago, the kingdom unanimously voted to let Avidan take the crown at only seventeen. It had been almost constant stress since then, so he had escaped on a vacation to Levant. Jer insisted that he come along too. Avidan told his adviser that he wanted to visit his friend Enel, but he was really going to visit his cousin Noah. He had heard that Noah was married now, and wanted to see if it was true. Also, he just missed Noah. After all, they had been very close when Avidan was a child, and he hadn't seen Noah since before he had taken the crown. Avidan was back to his cabin now, and saw two birds on his desk. One was his, a raven that one of Velvare's friends had given him at his coronation. He could carry letters in his beak, and Avidan had named him Postmaster. Next to Postmaster was a dove with a small slip of paper between her talons. Is that...

“Pigeondove?” Avidan said with amazement. The bird perked up her head at hearing her name, and jumped up onto Avidan's shoulder. She nestled up against his ear, and made a small cooing noise.

“Nice to see you too, girl. What's your message?” Avidan murmured. Pigeondove hopped off of his shoulder and flapped over his open hands. She dropped the paper onto his hands, and flew up to his other shoulder. Avidan opened the paper, trembling with excitement.

Letter from I said you were coming. True? -N

Avidan and Noah had developed their own kind of code for letters by bird. Since Pigeondove could only carry small slips of paper, and Postmaster was still being trained up until quite recently, a message had to be quite short. This one meant something like I got a letter from Idony that said that you were coming to visit. Is that true? Love, Noah. Avidan pulled a piece of note paper out of his bag, ripped off a tiny slip, and scrawled: Yes. OK? -A. He gave the paper to Pigeondove and threw her out of his porthole window. She quickly disappeared over the waves. Suddenly, Avidan had an idea. He wrote on the rest of the paper, This is my bird Postmaster. Let him inspect you, and say “Noah” while he does. He can carry more than Pig, and is new. -A.

He shoved the paper into an envelope, gave it to Postmaster, and told him,

“Follow that bird. Her name is Pigeondove. Give the letter to the man. His name is Noah. Go.” Avidan had managed to train Postmaster to understand around 75 words. He was a very smart bird, and he flew out of the window. Avidan watched him grow smaller and smaller on the horizon, there was a green flash, and he disappeared. By now, Avidan had figured out that both Pigeondove and Postmaster had been magically enchanted. They had to be, how else could they fly thousands of miles in a single day? Avidan suddenly realized that he had forgotten about the letter from his adviser. He broke the seal and opened it.

Your Majesty,

The kingdom has now realized that you are gone. I have made an official announcement that you have gone to visit your childhood friend Enel Lanum in Bellingrath. I hope your journey is going as planned. Please give King Bhatair my greetings.

King Bhatair? Avidan was confused for a moment, but then remembered that Velvare had revealed his real name to be Bhatair Hollingsworth.

I do hope that you remember what we talked about before you left. Remember, you are the KING now. You are no longer just a prince who may gallivant

ant around as he pleases. You still have responsibility, even though you are on “vacation.” You are now the face of Gallitan. Whatever you say or do reflects the character of the country, for better or worse. Oh, that reminds me, you should probably start looking for a candidate for queen. You are twenty-one years old, after all.

Sincerely,

Sir Kishon Fitzpeter

Avidan muttered an obscenity under his breath. Candidate for queen? Yes, Velvare got married when he was sixteen, but Velvare is not a good role model for life! Plus, I have a kingdom to rule, I don't have time for dating! Avidan slumped onto his bunk, internally screaming. He could not function. Life was too challenging. He checked his pocket watch. A quarter to ten. I could sleep now! He stood up and went to the door of his cabin.

“I AM TIRED! I AM GOING TO BED!” He yelled, to no one in particular. He laid on his bed, just bothering to change into his night-tunic, and fell asleep fairly quickly.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

He awoke with a start. He saw a black figure sitting on his chest, and almost screamed before he realized that it was Postmaster. He had a letter in his beak, and he dropped it onto Avidan's face. Avidan opened it.

Avidan,

Glad to hear that you have a bird now. Who did you get it from? I am really glad you're coming to visit!

Avidan was shocked. That sounds nothing like Noah.

I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your coronation, but Idony and Marcus told me all about it. I hope you're doing well and the ruling the kingdom isn't too taxing. Where are you in the Deadwaters? If you don't know, ask a sailor how many outposts you are from Cedulan Port. Hope to see you soon.

-Noah

PS. I have a family now. Can't wait for you to meet Ruya!

So the rumor was true. Avidan rolled out of bed and quietly crept up to the deck. The stars were brilliant, brighter than they ever were in Greenway with all its streetlamps. He walked over to the man at the helm. He was quite rotund, and had blond curls that fell into his eyes.

“Excuse me, sir, how many outposts are we from Cedulan Port?”

“Yi're King Avidan, ain't ye?” The sailor asked. He had a strange accent. “Well, I'd reckin 'bout a half, Yer Majisty. That'il take us 'bout foir dais.

“Thank you. What's your name?”

“Me, sir? Erialc. Haon Erialc.”

“Thank you, Haon.”

Avidan returned to his cabin, and quickly wrote a response to Noah.

Noah-

I got Postmaster from a man at my coronation. He had green eyes and brown hair. He told me that the bird was trained to carry letters. Then he congratulated me, and disappeared into the crowd. The sailor said that we are half an outpost away, and it would be about four days.

-Avidan

He put the letter in the bird's beak, and went back to bed. About an hour and a half later, he was awakened by squawking. Postmaster was already back, and had a hastily folder paper in his beak. Avidan took it, and read.

Look for a windmill by the coast. That is ours. Stop the ship there. If you are about half an outpost away from the city, you are only a few hours away.

-Noah

Avidan jumped out of bed and quickly changed clothes into a simple tunic and linen pants. Jer made him pack mostly royal robes, but he hid more simple clothes under them. He ran out of the cabin and took the ladder two rungs at a time. On deck, a beautiful sunrise was starting.

“Haon?” Avidan yelled.

“Yessear?” Haon answered.

“Do you know if we've passed a large windmill yet?”

“Nosear. That'll come in abeaut twenty minits.”

“Will you stop the ship there?”

“Whatevear for, yer Highniss?”

“My cousin lives there. I wish to visit him.”

“Yer cousin is Noah St. Clar?” Avidan was surprised.

“Yes. How do you know him?”

“Nay, sir, I don't know heem, but 'is wife, Ruya Lewis. We used to be on a ship's crew together. She's a kind, kind woman. Very sweet, very gintle. You'll love'er, ever'one does. The capteen was a 'orrible man, but she made us all heppy.”

“That's good to hear.” Haon and Avidan stood on the deck in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise in a brilliant array of colors. Haon finally cleared his throat.

“Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but shouldn't ye get your bags ready to get off?” Avidan snapped out of his daze.

“Oh, yes. I suppose I should. Thank you, Haon.”

“Any time, sir.

Avidan rushed back down the ladder, and knocked on Jer's door.

“Come in.” Avidan walked in. Jer was writing in a small leather-bound book, but quickly turned around.

“Yes, King Avidan?”

“There's uh... been a small change of plans. We're getting off at a different port in a few minutes.”

“Oh dear.” Jer wrung his hands. “Has there been an assassination? An accident? A rebellion? Oh dear, maybe we should just turn back-”

“No, Jer. I just want to visit my cousin.”

“Oh. I suppose that's alright.” Jer's concern visibly diminished.

“Great. Get ready to land.” Avidan went back to his cabin, and threw everything into his bags. Postmaster flew up onto Avidan's shoulder, and he went up on deck. By the time he got up there, the windmill was in sight. He could see hills of farmland stretching on beyond the windmill. A few workers were in the fields, picking and planting and doing whatever farmers do. Avidan sure didn't know. He had only left Gallitan once, for Enel's wedding to a Gallitanian farmer's daughter. Enel would have become king, since his brother committed suicide when he was captured by Cedulanian forces and his father forfeited, he was next in line. However, he and King Apen Shephard of Cedulan decided to get rid of the law that kept women from ruling Levantine countries, and Enel let his sister Delaney become queen of Bellingrath. Avidan respected Enel for this decision. I don't think that I would have the self-control to step down like that, although self-control is certainly not the word that most describes Enel Alvarado. As an show of how Enel had no plans to retake the thrown from his sister, he took his wife's last name, an unheard-of practice in Levant, though quite common in Preble.

“DROP ANCHOR!” Avidan heard from the helm.

Haon waddled over to him and announced, “We're 'ere, Yer 'ighness. You 'n yer sarvant will go out to share on a rowb't.”

“Thank you, Haon. You have been very helpful.”

Haon ducked his head and smiled bashfully.

“Well, Sir, 't's not evry dee y'get to help the Keeng.” A loud horn sounded, and Avidan and Jer were helped into a large rowboat by a sailor. He tossed their luggage in, and then climbed in himself. They dropped into the water, and the sailor started rowing them to the shore. They were silent, listening to the plop, whish, plop, whish of the oars. Soon, they reached land. The sailor threw all of the luggage onto the shore. He bowed to Avidan, and Avidan nodded in thanks. The sailor started rowing back to the ship, but turned around after a few rows.

“Your Highness, Captain Haon told me to let you know that when you are ready to go, send him a message by bird? He said you would know what that means.” Avidan nodded. “Yes, I do. Thank you.” The sailor rowed away. Avidan and Jer grabbed their bags and turned towards the fields and mill.

“So, King Avidan, this is where Noah lives.”

“It is. And Jer, please drop the 'King.' Just Avidan would suit me better.” Jer winked.

“Alright, Just Avidan.” Avidan almost chuckled.

“I suppose that your cousin is working in the fields.” Jer wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was already warm out, even though it was still fairly early, about two hours after sunrise. Avidan took a deep breath of sea air and freshly turned dirt.

“No, he's a doctor. I doubt that he would become a farmhand.”

They started walking towards the mill. As they got close, they saw a large sign hanging over the doors.

ST. CLAIRE FAMILY FARM

Maybe he is a farmer. Avidan wondered. Suddenly, a little girl with small blonde curls hurtled out of the door of the house behind the mill.

“You will never catch me, Evil Dragon!” A man ran out after her, roaring. He was carrying a little boy on his back.

“Forward, Dragon!” the boy yelled. He was holding a small sword. The little girl noticed Avidan and jogged over to him.

“Hello. What's your name?” she said. The man noticed Avidan a second later.

“Hey! Are you looking for a job-” the man stopped abruptly. “Avidan? Is that you?” “Noah?” Avidan said incredulously. The man standing before him looked nothing like how he remembered his cousin. The angry, scruffy man had transformed into a happy, well-groomed, kind-looking man with children clinging to him. Instead of stubble, he had a small beard. Instead of a bloody bandage covering his right forearm, a few deep scars were visible. Noah put the boy down and enveloped Avidan in a sweaty hug. Avidan was shocked. It had been months since anyone had hugged him, maybe longer. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands. Noah pulled away, and looked over Avidan from head to foot.

“Man, it's been a long time. You're twenty now, right?”

“Twenty-one.” Avidan said.

“Twenty-one. Man, it's been forever. Listen, I'm so sorry that we couldn't come to your coronation, Dan. Ah, we have so much to catch up on!” The little girl asked,

“Daddy, who's he?” Noah swooped her up onto his hip.

“Olive, this is Avidan. He's my cousin, which means he's your cousin once-removed.” He turned to Avidan. “Avidan, this is my daughter Olive.” Olive smiled. She had three missing teeth.

“I'm six and a half!”

“Nice.” Avidan smiled. He didn't really know how to talk to kids. Sure, he had been a kid himself once, but he had been unusually mature. An “old soul,” people called it.

Noah turned to his son.

“Laban, this is your cousin Avidan.” Laban stood up and walked over to Avidan. He firmly shook Avidan's hand.

“Nice to meet you, Avidan.” He said in a small, quiet voice. Avidan could hardly keep himself from laughing. This boy was no more than five, and he already acted like a businessman.

“Nice to meet you too, Laban.”

Noah smiled again. Avidan had never seen Noah smile this much in the twenty-one years he had known him, combined.

“Laban here is the reason why we couldn't come to your coronation. He was a week old, and it would have been too long of a journey. Ru didn't want to leave him, and I didn't want to leave her.” A look of confusion settled on Olive's face.

“Da, what's coronation?” “It's when someone becomes king or queen.” Olive's eyes widened. She dropped into a low curtsy.

“Your Highness.” Noah chuckled and shook his head.

“Olive, you've been reading too many fairy tales.” Olive rose, and asked,

“If you're a king, then where's your crown?”

“All my circlets are in my bags.” Just then, Avidan remembered Jer.

“Jer! This is my cousin Noah. Noah, this is my manservant Jer.”

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“C'mon, let's go inside so you can meet Ru.” Noah put his arm around Avidan's shoulders and led him inside a farmhouse next to the mill. As soon as Avidan stepped inside, he knew that it was a home. The smell of baking bread wafted through the air, along with the sound of laughter. There were messy drawings in wooden frames on the walls, along with beautiful paintings of the children, Noah and his wife in their wedding clothes, and a painting of Pigeondove that looked like it was done by the children. They went through a hall, and into the kitchen, where there was a woman singing softly to a baby while folding laundry. She turned around.

“Noah, where did you put the...” she noticed Avidan and stopped what she was doing.

“Hello. You must be Avidan. I'm Ruya.” She walked over and gave him a light embrace. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some bread?” Avidan realized that he was ravenously hungry.

“That would be very nice,” he replied. She walked over to the counter and started slicing a loaf. Avidan sat down at the kitchen table. Noah left the room and came back carrying a little girl.

“This is Ruth. She's three.” Her chocolate skin was in sharp contrast with the peach skin of her father and warm tan of her mother.

“Is she adopted?” Avidan asked, already knowing the answer. Ruya answered.

“Yes. Her mother was one of our patients, we're both doctors, you know, met in medical school. The mother died in childbirth, and we haven't been able to locate the father.” Ruth gurgled happily. Avidan noticed that her tongue stuck out a bit, and her eyes were a bit uneven. Practically reading his thoughts, Noah said,

“We think she has a brain disability. She can't speak yet, and she learned to walk, with help, only last month.” Almost defensively, Ruya said, “She learned to laugh at one and a half months, though. Babies usually laugh around four months, but Ruth does things on her own schedule.” Avidan walked over to Ruth. “Nice to meet you, Ruth. I'm Avidan.” Ruth smiled at him. He smiled back. That girl lives up to her name, Avidan thought. She can light up a room with joy. Noah sat Ruth down on a cushion, and picked up a baby from a blanket on the floor.

“This, Avidan, is your cousin Peter Avidan St. Claire.”

Avidan?

“You named him after me?”

“Yes.” Ruya said, while placing a plate with a small stack of bread before him. “Olive is Olive Idony, Laban is Laban Edwin, after my father, Ruth is Ruth Lorene, after my mother, and then there's little Peter Avidan.”

“But... why me?” Avidan was still shocked.

Ruya sat down next to him.

“I have no siblings, and Noah” she side-eyed Noah “refused to let his middle name be Thoth. So you were the next choice.”

“But I'm no-” Avidan started to choke on the lump in his throat, but quickly regained himself. “I'm not that important.” Suddenly all of the feelings that he had suppressed over the last five years, and his whole life, came flooding out. Shock, denial, anger, sadness, hurt, even hints of despair. He started crying and talking at the same time.

“Noah, I've always idolized you. You were my hero when I was little, always strong and brave, always helping me. I was so proud when you started telling me Velvare's secrets, and about the east. I felt like you and I were special secret-friends, and th-that we would always be best friends. Then Velvare had his accident, and he hugged Enel and ignored me, and I know that it was a trivial thing and he was sick, but it hurt so, so much. Then he started ignoring me and spending so much more time with Enel. Enel left, and then I learned that Velvare only adopted me for power, and that Enel was his real son. Then the war, and Velvare went back to his family, and I was king all of a sudden. Everyone trusted me so much, and I couldn't ever let them down, and it was too much and I just couldn't anymore but I kept going and going and- and I'm sorry I'm upset. I shouldn't be making such a big deal out of this.” Avidan put his head down on the counter, his body convulsing with silent sobs.

“Avidan, I am so sorry. I am sorry I put you through all that. If I hadn't told you about- If you hadn't known-” Noah stopped speaking, crying as well. Avidan raised his head.

“I'm sorry, Noah. I shouldn't have said anything.” Noah was sitting next to him now, with Ruya on Avidan's other side. They both had an arm on his back. Ruya's face was concerned, Noah's was twisted with guilt.

“No, Dan. It is not your fault. Velvare was a horrible person, and he hurt you. Not physically, but emotional hurt lasts longer. Trust me. I know.” Noah turned away. Ruya patted Avidan's back comfortingly.

“Avidan Leto, you are one of the most important people in my husband's life. He told me about you before he told me about his parents.” Avidan snorted.

“He won't tell you this, but he loves you. Almost as much as he loves Idony.” Avidan looked at Ruya. She was telling the truth. Noah turned back toward him.

“No, Ru's wrong. I will tell you. Avidan, I love you. You are, and always have been, like a brother to me. If you didn't know that yet, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” Olive hopped up onto the table.

“Uncle Danny, you don't have to be sad. Mommy and Daddy and me and Laban and Ruth and Peter all love you and maybe Peter doesn't yet because he's too young but he will someday, I know it.” Olive scooted over to Avidan and wrapped her arms around his neck. (Author's note: I was listening to the Avidan Leto playlist while writing this, and Everybody Needs A Hug came on right as I started writing Olive's dialogue!)

Avidan was shocked. He had just met this child, and she already loved him? How was this possible? Practically answering his question, Ruya said,

“Avidan, you're family. We love you, and you are welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Laban grabbed his leg from under the table, and Noah scooped up both Ruth and Peter and crouched next to Avidan.

“We're here for you, okay? Is there anything we can do for you?” Jer cleared his throat from the corner. Avidan had again forgotten about his presence.

“Avidan, I am also here to help you, whenever and wherever you need it.”

“Thank you, Noah, Jer, Ruya, Olive, Laban.” Avidan managed to choke out. “I think I'm a little better now.” They all stood there for a while, no one talking. Avidan felt like a huge hole had been filled in his soul. I have a family now. They are my family. Not Velvare, not Enel, not the country of Gallitan. The people in this house are my family. Two hands slipped into his, balled up on the table. He looked at them, and saw a tiny peach hand and a tiny chocolate hand in his large ones.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

The fields were beautiful, full of perfectly ripe black and red berries, small stalks of corn, huge onions ripe for the pulling, and almost every other fruit and vegetable imaginable. Avidan was having the time of his life working, actually working, at the farm. He was sweaty and tired and sore all over, but happy. Jer had protested when Avidan had first asked Noah, but in the evening when Avidan came back rosy-checked and hungry, Jer had bought some fabric to make him a set of laboring clothes. It turned out that Jer had been apprenticed to a tailor as a boy, and he was very good at sewing. Avidan had been working for eleven days now, and it was doing him a lot of good. His appetite was better, he slept more soundly, and he was more joyful. He had even made a few friends among the other workers. Sometimes Noah worked with him, although usually he was helping the kids. He home-schooled Olive and Laban while Ruya worked in town. She ran a small hospital with a few other doctors. They had inherited the farm from Ruya's parents when they died a few years ago. They used it as a sort of ministry, hiring beggars from all over the continent, paying them fare wages, and eventually, a small share in the farm. They sold much of the produce at the local market, and investing the extra money back into the farm instead of keeping it. In return, they had loyal workers, many friends, and an almost endless supply of fresh food.

BONG. The lunch gong sounded, and the workers started to the village. Avidan went the opposite direction, to the farmhouse, where the smell of stew beckoned him to the kitchen.

Noah stirred the stew, humming. He wore an apron with the word Da painted on it.

“Did Olive make you that apron?” Avidan said. Noah jumped.

“You startled me, Dan. Don't walk so quietly!” Noah chuckled.

Olive was sitting on the counter next to Noah.

“Hi Uncle Danny! Daddy's teaching me how to make stew. Do you wanna come help?”

“No thanks, Olive. I need to go wash up. Maybe next time, though.” Avidan headed for the stairs, and almost tripped over Laban, who was hurtling through the hallway, a tiny wooden wagon in each hand.

“Whoa, buddy! You're fast.” Laban smiled at him, but kept playing.

Avidan washed his hands and went back downstairs. Noah was serving the stew into bowls, and Olive was pouring iced tea into tin cups. Avidan watched them for a moment, taking in the beauty of the St. Claires' simple life.

The End.

#tse appreciation week #day two #avidan leto #noah st claire #ruya st claire #the silver eye #fanfiction

10 notes · View notes

canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 106

I know I’ve been on a fluff kick lately, and I’m not even remotely sorry. This chapter started out as an excuse to re-visit an offhand comment from a previous chapter, and ended up with Sophia having the kind of night off I wish I could have.

Thanks go out to @baelpenrose (beta and also creator of our favorite teacher-cum-warlord-cum-teacher), @charlylimph-blog (because no one else could have created the ball of chaotic friendliness that is Charly, nor her strong, silent, and charming partner), @werewolf2578 (because I will never not love Maverick), and @creakingcryptid (for donating faerself and Antoine early on to the cause, and putting up with me in real life. This entire story, from chapter 1, would never have happened if not for faer, and I’m not even remotely exaggerating about that).

“Lift the right corner a bit more,” Tyche called out. “Yeah - Dammit, Arthur, that’s too high. Bring it down a bit more.”

“Do you want to swap?” he quipped, dropping his side of the large, white sheet to exactly where it had been before.

Ignoring him, Tyche asked Maverick to lower his corner instead, to much greater success. At least satisfied with the results, she turned to me and made a ‘ta-da’ gesture towards their work.

I shook my head at her. “And we need this why?”

“Movie night,” she reminded me needlessly.

“Eyeah. It was kind of my idea.”

“And none of us have been to a proper movie theater in ages.” She had a point there.

“Do we even have a projector?” Maverick asked, grinning, as he walked up.

Arthur, right behind him, grinned almost malevolently before Tyche cut him off with a glare. “I told Charly we were doing a movie night,” she offered by way of explanation.

“She insisted she had popcorn covered,” Arthur ventured carefully. “Do I even want to know?”

Eyes wide, I turned to him. “She didn’t tell you?”

He shook his head. “I asked what that meant, and all I got out of her was a maniacal laugh. By any chance, does she always carry around a cartoon-villain moustache in case she needs to twirl it?”

“And cat ears, yeah,” I confirmed absently. “She really didn’t tell you?”

“I just asked if she got the consoles to actually make popcorn that wasn’t better used as packing material,” he admitted.

Maverick erupted in laughter. “You are in for a treat.”

“Will it poison me?”

“Doubtful,” Tyche shrugged regretfully.

“Hmm. Pity.”

Trying to get somewhat back on topic, I pressed on about the projector. “So, you told Charly we were doing movie night this week, so she is going to… obtain? Steal? Jury-rig a projector?”

“I try not to ask, unlike some people,” Tyche arched an eyebrow defiantly. “Gift horses, mouths, you get it.”

“I doubt she’s stealing one,” Maverick offered. “She’s an engineer. Pretty sure she already had one she made, or is finishing one up as we speak.”

Fair. “What movie did we end up agreeing on?”

Maverick and Arthur answered in unison. “Star Wars.”

“Nuh uh. Nope,” my sister argued. “Repo! The Genetic Opera.”

“I’m with her,” I jerked my finger toward the person not insisting I watch a movie about a war in space while actually on a spaceship.

We continued arguing good-naturedly while getting non-popcorn snacks and drinks together. Arthur, to no small amount of surprise, was putting a very impressive amount of thought and consideration into the arrangement of blankets and pillows on every conceivable seating surface in my living room - some of which I didn’t even recognize and probably didn’t want to know where he got them. At some point, Derek and Sam arrived, judging by the latter sitting happily next to a moving lump in Arthur’s careful construction and petting my cat.

About the time snacks were ready to be carried into the living room, the door opened to reveal Conor, who abruptly stopped to remove his work boots. Unfortunately, he was knocked down by a clattering intruder behind him and saved only by the - no joke - knee deep ocean of bedding. A hinged brass lid and a metal piece of something went flying past his head, revealing the intruder to be Charly. “Hi, guys!” she waved cheerfully. “Don’t worry. Coffey has the projector.”

White teeth flashed in a dark, handsome face as the man in question held up the device. “Her hands were full,” he shrugged before glancing past Conor. “You take movie nights seriously,” he added with an approving nod.

Charly, who I couldn’t remember having even seen wear shoes, had already scrambled over Conor’s laughing form so that she could grab the lid and basket, which she brought along with the enormous pot into my kitchen area. “Popcorn,” she declared, gently slamming the pot on a heating surface. “As promised. I’m thinking green today.”

“That’s not popcorn,” Arthur pointed out, curiosity etched into every bit of his face.

“Duh, Mr. Farro,” she sputtered. “It’s how we’re going to get popcorn. The consoles never season it, and it’s always stale, or soggy, or just… not good. So. I made a whirlypop.” With a clatter, she patted her copper contraption. “It makes absolutely perfect kettle corn, every time. And I can make it whatever color I want, too.”

“It’s really good popcorn,” I confirmed. “She brought some to your fight with Jokul.”

“Of course she did,” he sighed. “I thought you said no selling tickets and no concession stand for that?”

“Doesn’t mean she can’t bring her own, screaming blue popcorn with her,” I held up both hands in surrender. “I couldn’t argue with the logic, and she was the only person there with popcorn, can confirm.”

When I glanced back at her, I saw what I pretty much expected to see: her handy cartoon-villain moustache was pasted firmly on her face and she was twirling one end in what could only be described as a dastardly fashion. Arthur, on the other hand, was almost sputtering. “I - how? I was facing you, Charly. How?”

“Don’t ask, you probably don’t want to know,” I sighed with a wave of my hand. “Besides, I’m reasonably certain the answer involves a collective hallucination, blood sacrifice, or time travel.”

“Two out of three,” Charly nodded, sounding impressed but not clarifying any further. “So! Everyone ready for- oo! Mini pizzas! - popcorn and Master and Commander?” A collective groan went up at a third movie being added to our ongoing argument over what we had agreed to watch. “What!? It’s my favorite!”

Maverick explained the conversation we had earlier to those who arrived after. Even having nine people voting now didn’t help: we were still split evenly across all three movies. In the end, we agreed to take a run at watching all three, but that led to another discussion - what order? We knew the odds of getting through all three were slim, and nobody wanted theirs to be left out.

Sam finally interrupted us. “If we don’t stay awake through all three, can we watch the last movie on another night?”

My jaw clicked shut mid-argument. Tyche tilted her head, “That makes entirely too much sense.”

With that anticlimactic resolution, we quickly took votes to determine which movies were most popular. In the end, we ended up with Star Wars first, Master and Commander second, and Repo! last, much to my and Tyche’s chagrin. At least we weren’t the only ones who voted for it, so I was mollified. Somewhat.

While we were hashing all that out, Charly somehow called upon the popcorn deities and managed to fill nearly every bowl and bucket she could find in my quarters with a rainbow of fluffy kernels. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure how she managed to make that much in roughly fifteen minutes, and when I asked, the only answer I could manage to get from her was “Two out of three, like I said.”

I wasn’t asking after that, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know if blood magic was involved, honestly.

Antoine arrived right as I was trying to figure out how to fit on the couch, where Maverick and Conor were cuddling and hogging the whole damned thing. Unfortunately, between the immense quantities of popcorn, blankets, pillows, and people strewn everywhere - and somehow my Christmas lights were carefully hanging from the ceiling, which I had a sneaking suspicion was Derek’s doing - our poor resident therapist looked a bit confused.

I couldn’t help but grin as I waved at the chaos. “Welcome to movie night, apparently. You can sit anywhere except there,” I explained, gesturing at a particular pile of blankets.

“Why not - ah….” he trailed off in understanding as a hand darted out of the ‘pile’ to snag a mini pizza.

“Eyeah, only Mac can sit there, I think. And nobody better be feeding him pizza?” I warned. “Whoever does gets to keep stinky cat for the night while he has tummy trouble.” Turning back toward the couch, I stuck my lip out in a pout. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“We’re comfy….” Conor whined, hiding what was probably a grin behind Maverick’s head. Rather than sitting up in any capacity, the two were laying down along the entire length of the couch, both their feet sticking off. There was maybe two inches of couch between them and the edge.

While my attention was focused on my boyfriends, two strong hands grabbed each of my arms and tugged me down. With a yelp, I fell across Charly and my sister, both of them giggling. Deliberately, Charly started to pet my hair as clumsily as humanly possible, and the scowl I directed at her set Tyche off in hysterics. When I opened my mouth to protest, popcorn was thrown in. With another scowl, I surrendered to being draped across both of their laps, with a fluffy blanket spread over me from somewhere.

I still sulked, and ignored that I probably looked like a particularly perturbed cat. With much determination, I managed to keep a scowl on my face until the first movie started rolling. It was hard to stay even faux-upset after that, as what ensued was the most laid back night I had enjoyed in longer than I could remember. Seats were stolen every time someone got up for any reason, snacks were eaten and refilled, popcorn got everywhere….

It. Was. Glorious.

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #science fiction #humans are weird #found family #found family tropes #humans are space orcs #fiction #original fiction #earth is space australia #hfy #humans are space fae #humans baffle aliens #humans are crazy #movies #cuddles #popcorn

65 notes · View notes

blu-archer · 3 years

Text

A pajama day.

Right so here’s the next one.

Flower shop and bakery AU. It’s wholesome.

Snz

No warnings.

Main Pairing: Jimin/Yoongi [because they’re wholesome]

“I vote today be a pajama day.” Jimin mumbled hoarsely as he shuffled into their dainty kitchen looking like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Tae glanced up from his seat on the table, pausing from scrolling through social media long enough to do a once over of his roommate. Quite frankly Tae had thought that Jimin had already left for work, hence why he was on top of the table instead of in the seats. Jimin was a stickler for the ‘glasses not asses’ rule and Tae liked to test the limits as long as he was sure his roommate wasn’t home.

Jimin was usually the one to open the bakery he worked at in the morning since Jungkook -the only other front man besides the owner, Jin - was prone to over-sleeping and Jin liked to go shopping for the store as early as possible. Which left Jimin to be the opener.

Usually.

This morning however seemed to have taken a different route. Jimin’s cotton candy hair was in a rat nest state, and he seemed a shade paler than usual. The dark rings under his eyes more prominent than they usually were. Not to mention that the shorter man was still – as he’d declared – in his sleep rumpled pajama’s, despite it being fifteen minutes away from when the bakery was supposed to open.

“Were you up late or something?” Tae asked with a frown, taking a sip of his tea as he watched Jimin blankly stare into their fridge.

Jimin sniffed and rubbed harshly at his nose, only succeeding in increasing the irritation. He shut the fridge with disappointment and moved to test the heat of the kettle. “Something like that. When did you boil this?”

“It should still be hot.” Tae replied, still watching Jimin with cautious eyes. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Jimin muttered with a pout, getting a clean mug and a tea bag before putting in the hot water – not even bothering to add his usual heaps of sugar or dash of milk. He collapsed into the seat next to Tae, not caring that the other was not seated in the chairs like a normal person, and promptly rested his head in his arms waiting for the tea to rest.

“Jimin, what-“

Hih’ngxsh. Hih’eeXGNshh. ESHishew. Snf.

Ahh. Taehyung winced as he watched Jimin try and fail to stifle his sudden sneezes into his sleeve barely even lifting his head from its previous position. The elders body shook with the effort behind each one only to be left looking slightly flushed and itchy when he pushed himself back upright to try stop his nose from running.

This made a lot more sense, Jimin must have called in sick.

“Oh, poor Minmin.” Taehyung stroked Jimin’s hair. “Do you want me to call Yoongi-hyung to come over?”

“And let him see this?” Jimin asked rhetorically, congestion lingering in his speech. “No thank you.”

Tae nodded in understanding, biting his lip to stop the smile that urged to grow. He was aware that Jimin and Yoongi had only been dating for about a month, but the two had known each other since Jin had decided to set up the bakery next to Yoongi’s flower shop almost five years ago. They had surely seen each other in many different states, probably even sick, but there was obviously something different about it now.

Now it mattered. Because they were “exclusively attracted to one another”, and for some reason that changed things.

“My mistake, do you want me to call someone else? Or get you something before I leave?”

“Can’t you stay…” Jimin pouted harder. “…for pyjama day.”

Tae gave an apologetic sigh. “I have a booking for the day, Min. I can’t cancel on them.”

He knew Jimin understood that. As a freelance photographer he really shouldn’t make a habit of turning anyone away. It was difficult to find any decent work sometimes, so he needed anything he could find. His chest ached in sympathy as he watched Jimin rub at his nose again, only to hitch and catch another double wetly into his wrist. He barely had time to try stifle them like he normally did.

Tae slid off of the table and went to the supply closet they had in their bathroom, haling out whatever cold medicine he could find along with one of the tissue boxes that they stocked in bulk for allergy season.

He returned to see that Jimin hadn’t moved, his wrist was still raised to his face with the expression of pre-sneeze.

If there was one thing Tae could relate to with Jimin, it was the annoying fact that he was also sneezy in nature. Between the two of them they had their fair share of allergies paired with a trait of being prone to illnesses, which made it easier – or perhaps he should say more forgiving – to live together. There was an understanding.

Taehyung set everything down on the table before opening the tissue box for Jimin, smiling at his friend’s thankful eyes before moving to the kitchen cupboards to look for food.

“Do you want soup?” Tae asked. “I think we have some canned stuff, or I can order you something?”

Jimin wiped his nose with a tissue, annoyed at the tickle that still had not left him. “I’ll just heat up a can later.”

Tae hummed but dragged out a can of soup anyway. “This seems to be all that we have, I’ll put it on the stove so that you can eat something before you take some meds.” He pulled out a small pot and opened the can, listening as Jimin gave up on just wiping and ended up trying to clear his sinuses – only to induce his next fit of sneezes. “If I can get back early enough, I’ll try stop at the store and get some more stuff for you.”

With the soup being heated up Tae hesitantly left his roommate to his tea while he went to shower. he felt really bad about having to leave, but he really didn’t have a choice.

Jimin spent a few minutes coaxing out the annoyingly ticklish sneezes that left him a teary mess, trying to catch everything into the once soft but now wet tissues. His head and throat ached with each hitch of his breath and all he wanted to do was be able to breathe normally again.

Jimin could not believe his luck.

Wednesdays had quickly become his favourite days of the week. He would arrive at the bakery just past 6:30 to open at 8. Once he had checked that all of the goods were displayed and fresh, making sure that the shop was clean and the coffee machines were on, then he’d wait. It never took long, 8:15 sharp, Yoongi would peep his head in with a single flower – often changing it with each meet up, but they were all equally beautiful and left Jimin feeling warm inside.

It wasn’t that he didn’t see Yoongi those other days, it was just that Wednesdays held the charm of letting them have some moments alone before other staff or customers bothered either of them. In fact, despite Jimin and Yoongi not working in the same store, it sure seemed like they did at times with how well the two places worked together. More often than not the staff would be running between the back doors to make sure that orders were handed over and information shared from customers that had asked ideally for some collaborated event.

Jimin loved Wednesday’s because he and Yoongi got to relax for at least the first twenty minutes, without having the fatigue of the day wearing on him or the stress of having to multitask their work as well as socialising with everyone else. That last part was probably worse for the elder, who had never been a fan of interacting with others so much anyway.

Jimin got to witness Yoongi being soft and gentle and hear about his days and thoughts without interruption. Even the few dates they had been on had been a bit tainted by exhaustion for the both of them, so the brief moments of peace were always a blessing – especially if Jimin got to share it with a particularly sweet flower boy.

But now he was going to miss that today.

Perhaps he should send a message to Yoongi and let him know what was happening… but then he wasn’t sure what Yoongi would do.

Jimin had barely acknowledged his phone, only using it to message Jin a brief explanation of his absence and a quick but sincere apology. He hadn’t bothered to check the messages he was sure had come from Jungkook and was at a loss of what he should tell Yoongi. It was just a cold, he was sure. If he could try to catch and control it early he could go back to work quicker.

Telling Yoongi would just be pointless, he decided. Jimin would be back to work in a few days but knowing his co-workers they would surely relay any information onto the florist.

It still sucked though.

After Tae had left – having forced the soup into Jimin then made sure some form of medication had been taken before leaving – Jimin had found himself bouncing between his bedroom, the lounge and the balcony overlooking the city- bundling against the cold wind every time he chose the third option.

He couldn’t seem to go back to sleep despite being tired and it was no fun trying to watch movies by himself. He wished Taehyung could have stayed, or that Jungkook could come over just so that he could have someone to cuddle with, but he couldn’t call the younger over and rob the bakery of yet another worker. No, Jimin would just suffer through the day with tea and tissues.

Eventually, after a lot of shifting and another small dose of cold meds when his sinuses had encouraged a headache to settle in again, Jimin retrieved his phone from where he had left it in his room. He perched himself on the couch and scrolled through social media, looking at pictures of old friends going out and travelling to new places. It looked like fun, but it wasn’t something that Jimin had always been too keen on. He preferred the small community that he worked and lived with and took pride in the beauty of the place he had made his home.

He paused on an image of the front of ‘Spring Day’ that had been posted on the bakeries Instagram page. From the quality of the photo Jimin could only assume it was Jungkook that had taken it – work must not be too busy then. The image showed Hoseok grinning widely as he opened up the large shop windows, becoming surrounding by flowerpots and plants hanging down from the ceiling and the vines creeping along the trellis beside him. It was a very natural and welcoming photo that Jungkook had captioned with some cheesy flower quote. Looking closer Jimin could just make out a second figure in the back that fell just out of focus. Yoongi must have been setting up some of the new stock inside while Hobi was goofing off with Jungkook.

Jimin could almost imagine the grumpy mumbling that the elder must have been doing before trying his best to stay out of the range of the camera – never wanting to be the face of the company.

Jimin’s smile fell as he coughed openly, snuggling deeper his seat and pulling a blanket that Tae had left out over himself. His eyes trained onto the blurry figure of his boyfriend, his own vision becoming somewhat blurred and the small ache growing in his chest only seemed to worsen.

#bts sickfic #minyoon #snz #flower shop #bakery #business neighbours #its meant to be cute #Jimin suffers #fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

ilguna · 4 years

Text

Metanoia - Prologue (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 2.5k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

As you take a seat on the pearly white couch, you turn on the hologram television that was provided with the house. Automatically, the tv starts on the station with Caesar Flickerman. This year he’s dyed his hair and eyebrows an orchid purple--basically a lavender with a huge tint of pink mixed in.

You can’t imagine how fried his hair is. You dyed your hair once after you’d won your games, and you almost cried from how bad it was for months afterward. You counted down the days until all the dead hair would finally be off of your head. Then again, in the Capitol they have all these nice smelling products that really do wonders to your skin and hair.

That’s probably why everyone inside of the Capitol can afford to do that with every new fashion trend. You’ve seen rotations of looks happen in District Two, but they’re not nearly as intense as the ones inside of the Capitol. With neon colors, body modifications and literally dying your skin a baby pink color just to be seen as cool.

Of course, it’s not left to just the citizens of the Capitol, the victors of the hunger games are also allowed to get it too. Since you’re all so rich that you could be supporting a whole other family of ten, and still have a lot left over. But that’s on the assumption that the victor doesn’t have a family of their own to support, too.

You have no experience with that. This whole victor house is up to your interpretation. No other person has lived here, and no one will. The chances of you finding another person in the district that wouldn’t mind betraying the words on their wrists is impossible. You still can’t believe you’ve lived twenty-four years on this planet and haven’t come across your true love just yet.

It all seems like an elaborate prank, but lo and behold, people actually have them come true. Your parents certainly had been a pair back when they were alive. You’d never seen them fight once, and they always worked together as a team. They always knew when the other had a tough day. Almost like they could feel it themselves.

You asked them if they had felt that way before they had met each other, and they said that they do think they did. Your mom described it as being a gut-wrenching feeling when your dad had felt awful. Whether that be from sadness, being sick, a tough day or what, she always felt it.

But in that same way, for days that were good, it was like butterflies swarmed her stomach. She always had the urge to laugh, and there was a genuine smile on her face during the day. You’d think it would twitch like it was fake, but it wasn’t. She would dance around the house and bounce you on your hip even when you were too big for it anymore.

You can’t recall any times that you’ve felt any immense emotion without justifying it in some way. If you’re sad, it’s because something hasn't gone the way you had originally anticipated. If you’re happy, then you got your way after all, it isn’t rocket science. To be honest, you can pinpoint the last wave of grief and sadness that you felt, and it was after your victory tour.

The entire thing had felt off in the first place, even your family had told you that you weren’t acting like your usual self. And then they realized just how ridiculous they sounded because you literally just came back from the hunger games. It was their own mistake for thinking that you were a machine.

You’re human. You might have been specially trained since you hit the sprightly age of twelve to learn all the weapons, how to treat wounds, know which foods to eat, and more. And you might have been chosen to go inside of the games at the age of sixteen instead of the preferred seventeen because of how advanced you were.

But that in absolutely no way dismisses the fact that you would feel some sort of sympathy for the parents of all the kids you killed. At the beginning of the victory tour, it was just beginning to dawn on you that you’d be seeing all those tributes faces again.

Impressively, you can say that you wouldn’t get upset over something as small as that anymore. However, the times were different. You were sixteen then, and you’re twenty-five now. It’s quite the time to get over babyish things like that, especially since the victors that you’re surrounded with, didn’t get upset after they had won.

It was almost like you were the weakest one to come out of the games. Enobaria--your mentor--had remarked something along the lines of ‘they’re too emotional and mushy if we send them out before seventeen’ to the instructor. Enobaria told you that you had been a test run to see if others would be capable of handling it.

You had taken that as an insult, since on some proportion it was. She told you that you were weak emotionally. When you’re trained in the academy, you’re taught to think of the other tributes as nothing more than cattle. It didn’t really sit right with you then, and it doesn’t sit right with you now. It’s a tactic you can’t deny, though. It does make it so much easier.

Anyway, her saying that to your face was a whole other reason why that entire tour was a nightmare. You were trying to redefine yourself, and get over it like a hurdle. It took up to District Six or Seven before you had gotten some handle on it.

Honestly, that whole year was a handful and you hope that you don’t have to experience that again.

“Let’s get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!” Caesar shouts, which makes your eyes turn to his artificially tanned figure with glaring eyes. The crowd that he’s speaking to cheers ecstatically in agreeance.

Katniss Everdeen this, Katniss Everdeen that. They only think she’s special because she’s from District Twelve. The only volunteer that dirt ridden district has ever had. She was on a lucky streak with that damned bow and arrow. Cato and Clove should have won, had they been a little more careful, and not as cocky…

Clove could have killed Katniss, but instead she chose to taunt her. You wish that Clove had a little more common sense then, and gotten the entire thing over with. It would have been down to Cato, Clove, Thresh and Peeta--the deadweight that Katniss was holding onto.

You seriously can’t believe that the Capitol is eating up their romance like any of it is actually real. One look at Katniss’ face and you can tell it’s full of disgust. With all the wedding gowns that they’ve been showing on the holo lately, you’ve begun to purposely keep the holo off and find some other hobby to delve into. You know a fake smile when you see it.

Peeta seems to be the only genuine one, anyway. Anyone who isn’t a moron would see that, and therefore would know that Peeta means absolutely nothing to Katniss. As you said, he’s nothing but deadweight to her. He’s holding her back from whatever goal she’s trying to accomplish.

“Don’t go just yet!” Caesar has his signature smile plastered across his face, “This evening we have a very important event happening. That’s right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the hunger games, and that means it’s time for our third Quarter Quell!”

This is what the mandatory viewing was about. You pull your feet off of the couch cushions and instead place both feet on the ground, leaning on your knees with your elbows.

You had completely forgotten that’s happening this year. Technically, you were alive for the last one too. You don’t remember any of it though, you were literally fresh out of the womb. All you do know, is the basics of the games, that twice as many tributes went in that year.

Even worse, it was a tribute from twelve that had one--Haymitch Abernathy. The same Haymitch that you’re supposed to believe mentored Katniss and Peeta last games. What a joke, the man can’t stay sober for more than an hour. Hell, during their reaping, he fell off the damned stage. He’s not just a joke to you, but the entirety of Panem. No one takes him seriously.

However, you have to admit that it is impressive to some degree that he was able to pull himself together long enough to not only get one, but two winners out of those games. Of course, it’s nothing compared to the numbers that one and two have racked up.

You wouldn’t call the academies an advantage, you’d call it strategy. It’s not your guys’ fault that they haven’t caught a clue and begun their own. Even then, though, they might as well be as useless as cattle. Half the tributes that go in from those outsider districts don’t know how to wield a weapon. Much less, survive.

The anthem to the Capitol cuts you out of your thoughts again, you watch as the logo suddenly cuts to President Coriolanus Snow. Not your most favorite person in the world, considering the history between you two. But you don’t mind him too much.

As Snow walks up to his microphone, a small boy dressed in a white suit trails behind him. There’s a wooden box in his hands, which he holds onto like his life depends on it. The anthem comes to it’s stop, and this is when he begins to speak.

It’s a very special occasion, so he takes his time explaining the Dark Days, and the history of the Hunger Games and how it all came to be. With the rebellion that had happened seventy-five years ago. He goes on to say that it was decided that every twenty-five years, there would be a special games to freshen the memory of the citizens--district and Capitol alike--about the people who had been killed in the rebellion.

You watch with boredom as he drones on. The Dark Day’s speech is given at every reaping, and everyone has the speech memorized by the time they hit twelve. You can’t recall the amount of times you’ve cited it back to yourself when there’s been overwhelming silence.

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.” Snow says.

Imagine that, picking the tributes that would have to go inside of the games… it wouldn’t matter to you guys, one and two. The career districts--as you’re called--already pick their tributes. Trained in the academy until they’re good enough, and then they’re told to volunteer.

You have the greatest percentage of winners, and your victors village is as full as it gets. A new house is built every year, with the exception of the chance of a past victor dying. Then, the new victor would inherit the old house. Which is consequently filled with all of the old people anyway.

Doesn’t matter, it’ll be overrun by teenagers soon enough. It starts off as an old part of the neighborhood, but it gets younger as they begin to drop off like flies. You’d say you feel bad for them, except they all lived a fantastic life inside of those houses. Filthy rich, a big place to raise kids… the only problem is that it’s swept away from the family as soon as the victor dies.

However, the money is all handed down to the heirs anyway, so it’s not like they’re leaving empty-handed. They can take their belongings back to the house that their parents or grandparents had originated from, which is undoubtedly covered in dust from top to bottom and might be overrun with bugs. But they have all that money that they can fix the house with, and probably still have a ton left over. Enough to support generations to come.

Back to it, the twenty-fifth games wouldn’t have been that much of a shock to District One and District Two, maybe even four, considering that they’re a career from time to time. Though, the last time they produced a victor, she did end up going a bit crazy. The only good one they’ve had in a long while is Finnick Odair--and you shouldn’t get started on him, otherwise you’d never shut up. You absolutely despise the pretentious man.

Your district had likely ‘voted’ for the best candidates that had come out of the academy that year. And that’s just that.

“On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.” Snow says.

Like you said, it’s the year Haymitch won. Which is so unfair, considering that there had been eight to twelve--again, four is an unreliable career district--careers and you mean to say that some dirt poor kid from twelve won it? There’s no way that those games hadn’t been altered in some way to favor them.

Or rather, Haymitch just got extremely lucky, the bastard.

“And now we honor our third Quarter Quell.” Snow announces, there’s a faint cheering of the crowd. The boy in white steps forward with the box, opening it up for Snow, which is when you’re able to see the rows of yellowed envelope paper. Wasting no time, Snow pulls out the one that has a neat ‘75’ written on the front.

He unfolds the flap, and pulls out an equally yellowed square of paper. Setting the envelope aside, he reads, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that not even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

The roaring of the crowd in the background is deafening because of their excitement.

Your mouth falls open a little bit in awe as you tilt your head back, and a little to the left, thinking about how this will all work out.

Surely, you guys can’t exactly be picked to win the games since you’re not fresh out of the academy. Which means that these games have to be up to grab, for the people who want to go back in. For those who can volunteer the fastest…

The prizes that you must get for it--double the cash? The title of being a legend inside of District Two? People would fall at your feet for being such an honor. Of not winning the games once, but twice.

Oh, you have to get a hand in that.

ASK TO BE ON THE TAG LIST;

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia prologue

130 notes · View notes

5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

Text

This story takes place during the Sanders Asides Are There Healthy Distractions Episodes, suggested by @heavy-metal-papillon . The idea comes from Logan voicing Deciets line when he pops up to grab his hat from Logan, so in this story Deciet and Logan switched places in the episode.

Switching Sides

Summary: Logan wants some time to himself and Janus wants to enjoy a movie with the other sides in peace. They support and respect eachothers wants and needs, agreeing to switch places for movie night. In doing so, they both gained a bit more than they bargained for.

Warnings: none, but if you see any just say something!

Ships: platonic Lociet, past platonic Anciet

WC: 2, 305

Janus adjusted the his tie one final time, giving himself a once over in the mirror. His hair was combed back smartly, hat tucked away safely in his room for the time being. He had gotten the type right this time, and the white embroidered brain logo stood out against the plain black polo. The stiff dark Jean's were a little uncomfortable but the dress shoes fit nicely so he couldn't complain too much. This had to be perfect, even if it was a somewhat casual setting, he couldn't afford to-

"You know you could've just asked."

Yelping, he whirled around to face the real logical side currently sizing him up with a less than impressed expression. "We aren't discussing anything important today, why are you replacing me again?"

Janus sputtered. "I wasn't!"

Logan's eyebrow raised even more. "So my choice of clothing is just that comfortable, right down to the glasses?"

"...yes."

"Janus."

The deceitful side snapped his head up to glare at the other. "Not so loud! You dont know if one of the others would hear!"

Logan cleared his throat. "No one is left in the mind scape currently except us. Even Remus is currently hiding behind the couch. I assure you no one will overhear us, though of course I will call you Deciet if that would make you more comfortable."

Narrowing his eyes, Janus took a careful step back. "Why aren't you angry at me?"

Logan shrugged. "Why are you disguising yourself to simply watch a movie?"

"Because I-well in case...just in case something comes up that....hes using this to distract himself and that's sort of like lying to yourself so it stands to reason i would want to be there." Satisfied with jus excuse he glared at the other, daring him to argue.

But Logan simply nodded. "I've been meaning to get more work done anyway and would rather do that than watch Roman rig the vote multiple times only to complain about the plot of the movie he picked out. Straighten the tie and be careful."

"Just...just like that? You don't even care?"

"I require time to....gather my thoughts, after the more recent dilemmas Thomas seems insistant on making harder than they should be. Peace and quiet would be nice right now and if you're willing to take my place then I wont argue." Nodding more to himself, Logan reached out to hand him a thermos. "Caffiene helps stave off the inevitable headache. I highly recommend it."

Dumbfounded, Janjs could only clutch the thermos go his chest as he watched the logical trait walk back to his room and quietly shut the door behind him. Something he couldn't quite identify tugged in his chest but he brushed it off quickly and sunk down to the apartment below.

Patton was the first to notice him as he settled down stiffly on the couch, waving excitedly and almost spilling what looked like cocoa all over the floor in the process. Nodding he looked up as Roman began to speak.

"Finally! Now that we have our resident nerd here we can vote." Janus watched curiously as little slips of paper were passed around, narrowing his eyes at the clump that Roman hid in his sleeve but decided not to say anything. He looked over as Thomas cleared his throat, taking the paper offered to him with an excited smile which he quickly dropped in favor of Logans usual impassive expression. He didnt expect to win the vote, but maybe since it was movie night they'd watch all the suggested films to make it fair. He didnt really know how this was supposed to work, Remus and....well, nobody ever watched movies together in the part of the mind he resided in.

Quickly jotting down his selection he waited rather impatiently for the rest to finish, gripping the paper tightly as a hat was passed around.

Wait.

He could only stare as the collection hat got to him. How had they gotten his hat? When did they even get it?....How often did they sneak into his room without him knowing? He wanted so badly to yell, take his hat and sink out, but that wasnt who he was right now.

"Hey L, you good?"

His head snapped up so fast he felt his neck creak. Virgil had never....not for a long time....that tone of voice wasn't for him. Virgil stayed with the "light sides" now, he only showed concern for them. Swallowing around the lump in his throat he reluctantly handed the hat back to Thomas to give back to Roman.

"I'm adequate thank you."

His hand shook slightly as he raised the thermos of coffee to his lips, but if Virgil noticed he didn't say anything.

Swinging his attention back to the current conversation he caught Pattons response to whatever had been said. "...voted for Frozen Roman but I'm still rooting for-"

"Oh my gosh! One hundred percent of the votes went to Frozen!"

He scowled as Patton cheered. "No, fu - falsehood, I did not vote for Frozen!"

"You didn't get a vote because you didnt wear a onesie!"

Taking a preemptive swig of coffee, he mumbled out, "I don't wear those anymore, they're too childish."

"No onesie, no vote, like our founding fathers believed!"

Janus snorted quietly, covering it up with an exasperated sigh as he settled more into couch. While the movie was being set up he glared again at the stolen hat on the floor, bringing out his phone discreetly.

Dee: I know I don't have much right to ask you this, but might I request a favor?

Logan: I assure you it's fine. What do you need?

Surprised at the quick response he continued to type, glancing up every now and again to be sure no one noticed his silence.

Dee: Roman stole my hat somehow, I was wondering if it would be possible cor you to get it back? I know you don't like shifting but I'm not sure how discreet it would be for me to try and get it as you.

Logan: It isn't that I don't like it, I'm just not equipped to be good at it. It does not make logical sense to disguise oneself, therefore I am at a disadvantage when it comes to such things. However, I can replicate your scales if I may have permission to 'raid your wardrobe' so to speak. Only with your permission of course.

Dee: Thank you and it's fine. Just dont go snooping around. You may not like what you find.

Logan: I will not. I have no reason to do anything other than procur clothing and so that is all I will do.

Sighing in relief, Janus settled back somewhat comfortably to watch the movie, letting the other sides' idle chatter wash over him.

----

"Fear will be your enemy."

Janus snuck a glance at Virgil at this line, glancing back away quickly at the look of panic that flashed across the anxious sides face. He wondered if Virgil would ever open up about his true nature....though perhaps until things truly calmed down it was for the best he remained determined to be closed off.

----

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Remus popped up suddenly behind him, clapping his hands at the prospect of Anna and Elsa's parents dying at sea, seemingly completely naked and comfortable enough to showcase go the entire living room. Janus shot him a warning look as Remus peered at him curiously, thanking God that for once Remus seemed content to keep his mouth shut.

----

"Wait, Hans is tricking Anna making her believe hes in love with her, but shes not around...why make that face?" He had watched the movie before of course but now that he had people to discuss it with that weren't making sexual innuendos every other sentence he felt much more comfortable speaking out.

"Yeah your right...."

Janus promptly turned out the rest of Roman's sentence, discreetly entering the date into his phone that Roman had admitted he was right in something, even if he didnt know who he was speaking to.

----

"Do you think this place has a lavatory?"

"Ice toilet!" Patton giggled.

"Or a bed?" Roman countered.

"Ice bed!"

"This place sounds awful." His nature made his blood run colder than normal anyway and the thought of sleeping on a freezing cold bed on top of a mountain surrounded by walls of ice made him very much wish he had in fact worn his onesie.

----

Janus chugged another mouthful of coffee in irritation. "You meddled with the vote to ensure we would watch this and yet you're the one constantly making fun of it."

"Look, this is how I show my love!"

Janus rolled his eyes and settled back into the couch wondering if Roman showed his love this way with the others just as much as he did with his beloved disney films.

----

Janus watched as Virgil voiced his thoughts on the matter that had made them all plan this movie night in the first place. A familiar kind of second hand hurt tugged in his chest while the others' thoughts spiraled further and further, unconsciously blanketing the room with an ever more suffocating blanket of anxiety. He watched as Roman grimaced from across the room, Patton fidgeting in place and gripping his mug ever harder and Thomas dragging fingers through messy hair as Virgil only continued talking faster and faster, becoming more and more worked up as the literal word vomit consumed any rational thoughts left in the room.

"Thomas, Virgil?" He waited calmly as Thomas peeked out from his hands and Virgils panicked face snapped towards him. Pushing down the old familiarity he continued on. "Please do me a favor and name me five things that you can see."

"Staircase." Thomas sighed.

"Impending doom." Virgil quickly countered.

"Olaf."

"A future without friends."

"Lamp!"

"Blinds."

"Pants."

"Now four things you can feel."

"Pants."

"A bad feeling."

"The couch."

"Wall."

"Hair."

"Three you can hear." He smiled in relief as Virgil began to participate more, visibly calming as his mind was brought back to the present.

"Olaf."

"The fan."

"The ice machine for some reason."

Thomas really needed to fix his appliances. "Two things can smell."

"Clean shirt."

"The deodorant Thomas put on because....he was gonna go out tonight."

"And one thing you can taste."

"A sour taste in my mouth probably leftover from those reheated tai noodle leftovers."

Both variably more calm, Janus tried gently explaining the technique he had used, though he knew they both already knew it seemed like a good idea to remind them that they were allowed to use the technique whenever they needed it.

"Thank you, Logan." Thomas breathed out as he leaned forward tiredly.

Janus smiled, going to take another swig of his dwindling coffee when he caught site of a figure dressed in black and yellow on the stairs, nobody having noticed his presence yet.

Allowing himself a smirk behind the thermos, he responded. "No problem. Just your cool teacher being his cool self."

He smiled slightly wider as he heard a quiet scoff from the figure, just loud enough that he could hear it. He hoped Logan didn't think he was making fun of him, this was a rare day where he hadn't lied once around the others.

----

Logan settled quietly on the stairs til the end of the movie, seeming content to join them quietly until Roman brought Janus' hat back out.

After they had discussed the movie's ending, with Virgils anxious thoughts still persisting, he realized they needed to do something else that more actively distracted them all from the situation. As Roman brought out his hat to vote on another activity Logan stepped in quickly, Virgil hissing at him much to Janus' amusement while Logan snatched his hat back without a glance in his direction.

"I was looking for this! Don't touch my shit!" Janus bit his lip hard to keep from busting out laughing at the reality of Logan swearing at Roman for him, a warm feeling enveloping him as the others continued with whatever conversgion they had moved on to. His focus came back as the ending of some kind of Frozen fix it fanfiction was being discussed, making it very hard not to feel smug as his suggested was acted upon and Thomas definitely seemed happier than he had previously. Not being needed for whatever ridiculous story was sure go come out he sunk back down into the mind scape, startling slightly when he appeared right next to Logan who was currently fixing a spare tie as he left Janus' room.

"Ah, you're back. I left your hat on the bedside where I assume it was taken in the first place. I'm the future know that with a little concentration we are able to keep certain sides out of our rooms. I would suggest you utilize this to prevent future thievery."

Janus shook off his disguise and held out the stolen tie. "Thank you...for letting me, well you didn't have to allow me to ho in your stead. I....appreciate the trust."

"Keep it." Logan gestured to the tie before turning away. "Just in case."

Janjs watched in confusion as Logan returned to his room to lock himself away again, finally sighing and turning to his own. Smiling a little he laid the tie carefully in a drawer before plunking his hat back on his head, shoulders sagging in relief at the familiarity.

It was nice to pretend to be someone else and talk with fake friends. But maybe, in allowing himself vulnerability, he had found himself another real one.

This work is also available on AO3!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #lociet #logan sanders #deciet sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #ao3

46 notes · View notes

tjlikesprettythings · 4 years

Text

Random Brightwell Scene I wrote while listening to “Sleeping Alone” by Lykke Li under quarantine

For some reason the text didn’t save the first time, so another attempt! Also sorry for not putting read more break, apparently that doesn’t exist on the mobile app, and you can’t edit app post on desktop. 🤦🏽‍♀️

I recommend listening to the song during the dancing bit, it’s linked below. k, thanks! :D

The Brooklyn rooftop bar where the summer get-together was being held was all industrial-chic, large metal lamps hanging from chains and exposed pipes, spruced up by rooftop trees or potted plants, decked out with lights and greenery, wood accents and wicker lounge settes and chairs scattered prettily with cozy neutral cushions. The lower New York skyline surrounded by the East River and the Brooklyn Bridge was the view as the sun sat lower in the horizon, true hipster haven. Not what he pictured when he was invited by Gil. Apparently, an annual thing major crimes did together. He scanned the area and found familiar faces.

Edrisa looked happy chatting away with some techs from her team. His eyes drifted to JT and Tally whispering to each other making each other smile, then there she was rolling her eyes with a smile at their affections.

She wore a delicate cap-sleeved red summer dress peppered with small white daisy detail that ended around her knees, it fit her form perfectly, the arches of her breasts encased subtly. A pair of sandy-colored boots that ended at her ankles. Her curls seemed even fuller tonight, those dainty gold necklaces and rings completed the look as her sunkissed skin seem to glow. She looked different from her usual office attire, she looked relaxed, almost carefree.

She was enchanting. He felt that similar thump to his chest, his mouth felt dry, and suddenly he didn’t know if coming tonight was a good idea. It was the warm hand on his shoulder that jolted him from his thoughts and he tore his eyes away from her to turn to see Gil standing next to him with two beers in his hand and a smile on his face.

He knew how everyone around him led fairly normal lives, but seeing everyone here just being calm and normal enjoying each other’s company, the warm summer air, the music, and harmonious chatter made him feel almost out of place. It all felt unattainable and surreal.

“Here Kid, you look like you need a drink,” Gil said patting his shoulder. Malcolm realized that while he was a gifted profiler, Gil had experience and age on him. He chuckled softly and took the offered beer bottle and took a swig.

“Thanks,” he scanned the crowd again, “this a good turn out, everyone seems to be having a good time.”

Gil nodded looking around proud of the setup. “It’s not often that we get to take a break and have a moment to just enjoy life and be grateful that we have it. These moments, they’re what keeps us from losing it when you see continuous horror.”

“I get that,” he said taking another sip of his beer, he did get it, but it was so different from what he was used to. Was there ever going to be enough moments where the horrors that he lived with daily dissipate?

“You just have to allow yourself to let some light and good in,” Gil said as if reading his thoughts. “For a start, I’m glad you came, whatever the reason maybe.” With that, he walked away and engage a group of officers, Malcolm smiled quietly to himself, of course, Gil would pick on it. He wasn’t exactly hiding the fact that he drifted to her in any given situation.

He walked over to where Dani, JT, and Tally stood, one hand tucked into his casual linen trousers, the other holding the beer, letting the coolness ground him to reality. He decided to leave his Bond villain white stripe ensemble at home this time, opting for the white trousers and a light blue chambray shirt. He could hear Tally sharing something about marrying strangers.

“It’s crazy, these girls are just marrying dudes that they spoke to through walls? Asked JT.

“Well yeah, the whole point is that love is blind. It’s not what you see but feel.” Tally said. “Malcolm, what do you think?” Tally reminded him of Jackie sometimes, wholesome and inclusive.

“Uh…”

Before he could start JT intervened with a “that seems dumb, reality tv is such a scam,”

Tally playfully smacked JT’s arm, “I asked Malcolm!”

Dani snickered softly at the couples exchange, her eyes drifting to Malcolm often. He looked so casual, summery even. She supposed this is what he wore to go to the Hamptons to lounge around his family’s summer house. It was both easy and hard to forget that Malcolm came from money. She didn’t expect him to come, but couldn’t help but be happy he did.

“Ow, woman!” JT laughed. “Alright Bright! Enlighten us!”

“Malcolm!” Edrisa bounced over and smiled her full-on Colgate smile at him.

“Edrisa, Malcolm is about to tell us what’s important physical attraction or personality” Tally filled her in.

“Well, we like to think of romantic feelings as spontaneous and indescribable things that come from the heart. But it's actually your brain running a complex series of calculations within a matter of seconds that's responsible for determining attraction,” he started and right away the group responded. JT groaned, Edrisa bounced in agreement, Tally nodded her head in fascination and Dani rolled her eyes.

He continued “in fact, all five senses play a role, each able to vote for or veto, a budding attraction,”

“That why when someone smells amazing, you feel that jolt?” asked Tally excitedly,

“Exactly, all of these things determine whether a person will be a suitable fertile partner, we’re quite primitive. So I suppose that if you were to take away the biological needs and put them in a situation where it was a matter of intellectual and emotional compatibility a person could grow fonder, but I think the physical attraction is also important.”

“Says every guy ever,” mumbled Dani.

“What do you think Dani? Would you date a guy for looks or personality?” Tally asked grinning.

Dani curved her lips to the side and rolled her eyes, “I think personality is important, I mean he can look like Idris Elba but that won’t save him if we can’t have a decent conversation.”

“But would you be able to be with him if he were disfigured?” Malcolm challenged.

“I like to think I’m not superficial, if I connected with him emotionally, don’t know that it would bother me.” she threw back. “Besides, good looking guys can be damaged too, doesn’t mean they are throwaways or keepers.”

The tension fizzled in the air as Dani defiantly stared Malcolm down. It was the clearing of throats that broke them from their wordless conversation.

“Think I’ll go grab us more drinks,” Edrisa grinned avoiding the tension on the raise, she liked Malcolm but Dani was scary.

Dani’s lopsided grin and Malcolm’s full-on smile told the group they were gearing up to have another productive banter session, something that seemed to be happening a lot lately as JT told Tally in passing while talking about his day, to which she pressed her lips together and nodded knowingly and commented that it was probably sexual tension. JT watched his colleagues with squinted eyes, maybe Tally was right?

“Ok, before this gets out of control, let me take this beautiful woman dancing,” JT took his wife’s hands and dragged her to the dancefloor in the center of the bar. It was getting to be that time of the night when everyone was slowly getting intoxicated, the twilight was setting in the bustling lights from the city was becoming more prominent making for an even more spectacular ambiance. While the summer breeze brought liveliness.

“It’s a good thing, Diaz’s brother is the manager here, couldn’t have gotten a better venue,” Dani stated suddenly, stirring her drink, bobbing her head to the music.

“Yea, it’s nice,” he said in agreement, trying not to let her scent distract him. What was it jasmine and yalang yalang?

“I’m sure you’ve seen better parties” she smiled, “debutante balls, galas, and whatnot.”

He chuckled, “oh yea, that’s the norm, everyone was clamoring to invite the serial killer family to parties.”

She looked at him then, every so often she was reminded of the full implications of what Martin Whitley’s actions did to his family. That even with the prominence, there were social isolations that were stricter for his class of people. She hated the pain behind his self deprecating humor.

“You should give Edrisa a dance, you’ll make her night and it is a party.”

He smiled softly, “Yea, I guess so.” rubbing the back of his neck, she knew how to level off. Knew how to defuse him.

Dani laughed softly and honestly, he wished he could hear it more. “Live a little Bright, if you’re gonna lose sleep, might as well have a bit of fun doing it.”

“How can I get used to How can I forget you Will I get used to Sleeping alone”

Live a little, why not? He should, he should let himself have moments. Moments that will shield him from the loneliness, from the dark. Moments where he can have a fighting chance. As his brain worked through this for a few seconds, his eyes caught Jackson walking towards them with a purpose, a smile on his face for Dani. Officer Adam Jackson who shamelessly flirted with Dani, who smiled at her constantly and lingered around her desk or at the break room. The occasions when she paid Jackson a bit of attention, brought an unpleasant taste to his mouth. Malcolm didn’t know what happened next but it became a blur of movements. He saw Jackson stop and stare in their direction.

“Tomorrow is a long time Forgetting so long I loved you a lifetime I loved you long”

He took her hand slowly pulling her closer, eyes on her, the music wafted through them, around them. His name almost spilled from her lips in protest but caught at the back of her throat, instead, her hands fell around his shoulders. She let him lead her, her mind drifted to that night when he was so high he ran towards her and swept her up in his arms. Lips curving to a smile, that was the night they decided to be friends, the night she decided to try to trust him. She swayed with him, the words of the song pulling at something within her.

“Someday, somehow Somewhere down the line If you save your heart for mine We'll meet again, we'll meet again-”

She wasn’t emotional, she felt things deeply but kept it close to her heart, she felt like she needed to do that to keep herself together. Then one day Malcolm Bright came charging in erratically just bouncing against those walls until they started to fracture until the cracks started to show and she couldn’t hide from him. Even when she wished he wouldn’t see her, or find her, there he was. “You had some more coke explode in your face that I don’t know about?” she asked with a smile.

He breathed in her scent, felt her solid and warm against him. He could feel his own heart racing. She did things to him, honestly, he could be high at this moment but just from her. He smiled, “I think we both know that wouldn’t end well, but I figured friends can dance with each other right?”

Friends, the word floated between them for a moment. Lately, the line seemed to be blurring, gray setting in as to what they each wanted from the other.

“At least you didn’t threaten to kick me in the business, I’d say that’s progress.” He joked almost nervously.

She pursed her lips then smiled, “shut up Bright,” Stepping just a bit closer and wrapping her arms just a bit tighter around him. Feeling his fingers grip her waist more firmly. She closed her eyes for a moment and everything disappeared except for his woodsy scent and the warmth of his body. Maybe, just maybe for a second, they could just be two people dancing.

“Love was my shoreline I stare myself blind Now was not our time No, I let you down”

The world just kind of stopped all he heard was the sound of her breathing against his ears and felt the light brush of her breast against his chest. The warmth of it all driving him a bit mad. Thoughts of kissing her entered his head, as it had been doing more and more lately. The haunting song left him with such want, he wanted her, need her. He didn’t notice that Gil smiled at them from the bar or that Tally mouthed ‘I told you’ to JT to which he shook his head.

“Some last, some die Some love wait till its time If you save your heart for mine We'll meet again, we'll meet again, We'll meet again, we'll meet again“

“Bright?”

“Hmm,” he hummed softly against her ear, his breath warm, making her skin tingle.

“You seem different tonight,” she pulled away from him a bit to look at him. “You good?”

“Well, I definitely have been in worse situations that’s for sure.” He joked, his eyes searching her face as it turned into a signature ‘had it with your shit’ smile.

“Oh yea, I bet dancing with me falls under the top 10 worst experiences of your adult life.” She said rolling her eyes and chuckling.

“I’d say somewhere between getting kidnapped and holding a live bomb,”

She laughed at that and stepped out of his embrace “thanks jerk!”

He missed her instantly, maybe that’s why he grabbed her elbows as he joined her laughter and said “dancing with you Dani Powell makes the top 10 best experiences of my life.”

“Oh, yeah? Before or after all the sex you’ve had?” she couldn’t stop herself, even as her mind yelled ‘what are you doing?! This is flirting, this is not friend stuff.’ but the words tumbled out of her mouth.

He looked at her, watched as her face turn almost the exact shade of red as her dress, he opened his mouth then chuckled out, “it could easily take number one.” He saw her intake of breath, the way her eyes locked on him and her cheeks burned, he saw the flash of what he thought he felt. Could she possibly feel the same?

They were definitely moving away from the friend zone, and thank fuck for that she thought because it was getting exhausting to pretend that she didn’t want to grab his stupid face and kiss him every time he said something that made her heart go thump like now or when he looked like he would break from the pressure within. But then she realized where they were and reality kicked in and she got scared, so she backed off with a small smile saying “It’s a good thing you’re a smooth talker, we’re too high up for anything to break your fall.”

Just like that, the moment changed and they were friends again...

undefined

youtube

#brightwell #random fic #malcolm x dani #prodigal son #brightwell trash #lykke li #obsessed #sleeping alone #song fic #quarantine

35 notes · View notes

seeroftodayandtomorrow · 3 years

Text

Angel from Hell

Chapter 10

Read on AO3

Cooper pays for a room down in Four. He doesn't know where, has never seen it, has never even been to Four. But to know his little brother has someplace to sleep makes him breathe easier.

He pays for other things as well. Not much, not as much as he would like to, but there are limits to how much can be done from up here without rising suspicions. And he is not ready to leave One. He is selfish and vain and too used to his comforts. But he does what he can, helps where he can, or so he tells himself.

He hasn't seen Blaine at all since he left, so suddenly, all those years ago. He hadn't even noticed back then, only after a few days had it occurred to him to inquire after his brother, and he had met icy silence that told him Blaine had done something so outrageous his family considered him dead.

It had taken him over a year of persistent yet covert inquiries, of bribes and secret meetings, to find out that wasn't true. Blaine lived, but Below...he had left everything he knew and gone down and, of all things, joined the rebellion.

Since then a small part of his own income has gone to Hell, to pay for food and shelter and whatever materials the Warblers need for their plans. He also procures information and free passes whenever he can, but he has to be careful.

Blaine has a room in the Dalton. Cooper pays for it, he knows; his big brother whom he hasn't seen since he left One all those years ago, and who together with Rachel's fiancé Jesse makes up one hundred percent of their allies up in One. The room is little more than a bit of space behind a door that is just about as big as the mattress on the floor, but it's his. He rarely uses it. He gives it to Warblers or friends who are sick, or couples who need a bit of privacy, or someone who couldn't find somewhere else to sleep.

He would like to use it now. Not alone; the mattress can fit two people if they are not afraid to cuddle. He wants to go there with Kurt. But Kurt is sitting with the Warblers, who now make ready to leave and go to wherever they sleep; some of them, he knows, will go to Burt's house and sleep on the floor there. Kurt will probably go with them.

As he should. He and his dad will have to talk, Blaine himself suggested it, and he knows it's true. If Kurt wants to belong here, he has to reunite with Burt.

The others leave, still talking, with Kurt in a group surrounded by others, but Wes stays behind. Blaine's heart sinks. There's no way he can escape the dreaded talk now, and of course it's now as he watches Kurt leave that his heart is more full of doubt then ever since they left his cell.

His sits there, clutching a mug with something hot that might be tea, as Wes sits with him at his table. He tries a smile, feels it tremble and gives up. Instead, he just waits for Wes to talk.

"Look," Wes says after a time which he spends turning his own mug in his hands, "you've been an asset to the Warblers ever since you joined. When we voted whether to try and get you out, the vote was unanimous. It was a matter of honor, of friendship and also of necessity, because when you were captured, morale dropped so low I feared we wouldn't get anything done ever again. I don't like to doubt you. But." He tries to take a sip from his mug and finally sets it down on the table when he discovers it's empty. "But you know I have to ask you this. Are you sure about Kurt? How far do you think we can trust him?"

Blaine rubs his forehead. He wants to say he's sure about Kurt. Ten minutes earlier, he'd have probably said he's sure about Kurt. But now—how can he?

"What did you talk about with him?" he asks instead of answering. He tries very hard not to hope they talked about him.

Wes sighs. "He said he wanted to help. With the Warblers. With what we're doing. He did not ask about our plans, nothing so obvious, but....you know they sent people down before, to spy on us."

Blaine knows; they'd taken him for one of those, for a short time, back when he first arrived. The others had been soon found out. They had been too obviously unaccustomed to the stench and the darkness and the hunger, too obvious in their desire to go Up again.

"He'd be the perfect spy," he concedes. Grown up here, come back like the prodigal son, full of regret and a desire to atone—only to give their names and faces to someone Up as soon as the opportunity arose. Only...

"He'd be awful at it." He shakes his head, laughing at the idea. "He doesn't fit in easily. He burned down every bridge he had down here, except for maybe one, and he hasn't built any Up. His only connection has resigned—you've been there, he was as surprised as we were. He is extremely, visibly uncomfortable whenever he has to do something he doesn't like. He could never pretend well enough to be a spy."

He can see Wes isn't convinced—and it is a feeble argument, he is acting like he knows Kurt far better than he does. And Wes doesn't know that he knows him far better than he should.

"And I think there is one thing that we can see about Kurt and know it's true," he continues. "He does love his dad. Kurt has told me a little, and Burt has let slip a little too over the years. We know that Kurt has only started to work for the government to save Burt's life. Kurt would never do anything that could harm Burt, I think we all know that."

Wes nods, conceding the point.

"Let him help," Blaine advises. "Don't trust him if you don't feel you can. Have him watched, don't tell him anything important. But use whatever help he can give you. He must have knowledge, information that might help us. We'd be fools not to use that."

"Maybe," Wes says, but looks like he still isn't convinced. "But I must tell you, I don't like him. I don't like that he's down here now. And for all his information, I think he might be of more use if he stayed Up."

"How could he have stayed Up?" Blaine asks incredulously.

"Like Cooper does. Or Jesse. At great personal cost to themselves, I might add."

Now Blaine starts to get angry. He has no particular wish to defend Kurt, not now, but this is just ridiculous. "Cooper and Jesse can't see their loved ones as much as they'd like, is that what you mean?" If he qualifies as "loved one". He appreciates what Cooper does for him now, but it's not like they were particularly close when Blaine still lived in One. "Well, Rachel or I can't see them either, and on top of that we have to deal with hunger and poverty and threats to our lives every day, while they give a small part of their income to us. I don't want to sound like I don't appreciate that - I know this money is a big help to us. But to make it sound like they would be making some great sacrifice by giving it to us makes - well, it makes you look like someone from Up, to be honest, someone who values their money above all else."

He takes a deep breath, doesn't look at Wes. He's never spoken to him like this, and he fears he'll lose his nerve when there are still things left to say. "For him to remain Up and me to be here—he'd be dead, you have to know this. They'd kill him as soon as they realized he wasn't with them anymore."

He sighs and rubs his forehead to stave off an impending headache. "We all said we'd give our lives if need be. He didn't. And if you wouldn't demand this sacrifice from Burt, or Rachel, or Shannon—or Cooper and Jesse - you shouldn't demand it from him. You have no right."

He stands up, suddenly deciding he'll make use of his room alone after all. "You don't have to like him. You don't have to trust him. But give him a chance, and be fair to him."

He turns to go, stopping when Wes calls his name. "You're right. Up to a point, at least. And I'm sorry."

Blaine nods, and suddenly bone-tired, leaves.

It takes him a while to fall asleep. The room is too dark after the perpetual light in his cell, and the dust and the stench in the air is much more noticeable when he's all alone. There are noises, too, shouts and the sound of steps. Down here, it is always so dark that the night doesn't make much of a difference, and there is always someone awake. He used to have no problem with that, but after the silence in his cell, it's hard to shut everything out enough so he can sleep.

But the biggest reason for his insomnia is, of course, Kurt. The way he left, without even saying goodbye. How Blaine had felt closer to him, thought to know him better, when they were still prisoner and gaoler. How he doesn't know if their - whatever it was they had - could only survive in the protective little bubble of his pristinely white cell. How it seems that everything shattered as soon as they entered the real world again.

Voices in front of his door rouse him from a kind of half-slumber. He rises, presses his ear against the door. His heart is beating fast; he remembers, as he hasn't since they arrived at the Dalton, that he might be followed and re-captured. It is possible; patrols down to Hell are rare, but the Warblers are seen as enough of a threat that the occasional troupe has made its way down. Mainly they bully a few of the inhabitants and destroy a few of the illegal huts and hovels down in Six and then leave, none the wiser. Rarely are they as lucky as they were when they captured Blaine; now, though, that they know how he looks like and where he might have gone...

One of the voices is Shannon's. She speaks with defensive hostility, and his stomach clenches. He gets ready to run, though he doesn't know where. The Dalton does have a back exit, of course, and a second, secret door that leads to the basement of a neighboring house. But his little room does only have the one door that leads in the main room. There is no way for him to escape.

The second voice speaks. It is softer and higher; it is pleading. He recognizes it at once, and it makes his heart beat faster for a wholly different reason. Opening the door, he spends a guilty moment listening to Kurt's pleading.

"Please. I ask only that you tell him I'm here. Don't you think he should decide for himself if he wants to see me?"

Shannon shakes her head. "I look after my boys. You're not good for him, so you're not seeing him."

Blaine opens the door fully and steps out. "Shannon. It's okay. I want to see him."

She scowls, but steps aside so Kurt can pass. He smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry I just left. I fear I was caught up in the Warblers'...exuberance. Can I come in?"

Blaine thinks for a moment. There is only a bed in his room - actually, it's not much more than a mattress on the floor, though it's comfortable enough and more than a lot of people have - and they need to talk, most of all. But he looks at Shannon, with her arms crossed on her chest and the scowl not going anywhere, and decides against talking in the bar. He opens the door wider, gesturing for Kurt to enter.

#fic: angel from hell #klaine fanfiction

1 note · View note

kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Chapter Twenty

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“Keres are you alright?”

I perk up, suddenly aware I’m staring at Aheka’s green eyes. Wide with concern, thick dark lashes curled up, brows furrowed with worry. Her shiny red skin looks hydrated and glowy, the white diamonds around her eyes looking stark but beautiful. The Togruta’s dark blue and white streaked horns lay elegantly across and down her shoulders. She looks incredibly regal and caring as she peers into my eyes as well.

“Keres?”

“I’m good.”

Aheka looks unconvinced and possibly more worried than a second ago. “You look pale,” she says, leaning back.

I don’t know how to respond, so my mouth just hangs slightly agape. My mouth feels weirdly dry, by the way.

Aheka swallows, places her hand on my forehead tentatively, then my arm. “Okay… come on. Let’s go to the medical bay.”

“No,” I force myself to say. My eyes blink slowly, and my nose breathes out. “I’m okay, really.”

Aheka’s hand stays on my arm, soft and comforting. Her thumb rolls in a circle. I know this gesture- I see it when mothers comfort their children, or couples pressed together in the streets. It’s a little gesture of affection and soothing. “Hey, let’s go to my room,” she says softly. “We can talk, okay?” She gives me a moment to respond, and in that moment I consider my options.

A few months ago, I might’ve killed her for even coming close to me. But now… I don’t know. This is Aheka we’re talking about. Aheka, who’s literally been looking after me and my health from the moment we met, even though she didn’t know me. Aheka, who brings me gave me her breakfast this morning. Who draws circles in my skin with affection. Aheka who… who makes me wonder if maybe there are good people. Aheka who asks me if I’m okay with genuine concern.

So, even though I’m not really comfortable with it, I don’t protest and decline her offer. The Togruta snakes her other hand around my arm gently and begins to walk me to the direction of her room. It’s not too far from the control room, and I feel Circe’s eyes on us as we disappear down one of the many hallways. He mentioned installing cameras on the ship- let’s hope none in any of people’s rooms.

Aheka leads us to the second door on the right of one of the hallways. This, according to hers, is one of the halls dedicated to housing. I can’t help but wonder what this ship was used for before these rebels got ahold of it. There’s everything anyone could possibly need on it- but it’s not nearly as big as a Star Destroyer. Adamus probably knew about it since its kind was most likely used in the Clone Wars, and stole it when he could. Either that, or Circe just happened to be piloting a huge ship capable of fitting at least sixty people when he ran into the young Jedi.

The door slides open to reveal a decent sized room with gray walls pattered with white lights. This confirms to me that yes, this ship was built during the Clone Wars. Against the wall, there are two slabs parallel to each other- one above and one below. The one below is draped with a thick, white comforter and multiple dull colored pillows. There’s a dark dresser in the corner, one full sized mirror built into the wall, and a few boxes of medical supplies and books. It’s empty looking, but I can’t blame anybody for that. If something goes wrong with the ship, you’ll want to be gone as soon as possible.

“It’s not much, but…” Aheka trails off, leaving off the final ‘it’s home’. Because it’s not home. A war ship isn’t a home to most people. “Here, Keres, come sit.” She gestures to the slab acting as a bed before walking over to her dresser and rifling through the bottom most drawer. I slowly make my way over, eyes raking over every detail in her room I see. It smells just like her. It smells warm. It smells like something is cooking, even though there’s nothing to use here. It smells homey and good and a little like clean medical supplies.

Aheka turns back to me with a small, muddy gray towel in her hand. “I know you’re not much of a talker. We don’t have to talk.”

I avoid her eyes and stare at my boots. Muddy, dirty, laced with all my adventures and hardships. Then my eyes trail to my hands. There’s the scar on my left palm from when I picked my way out of the Haxion Broods cells. The missing finger on my right hand.

I’m a monster. I’m not better than anyone else.

“Was it something with the meeting?” her questioning expression morphs into a light smile. “I heard you became a Lieutenant by the way. Congratulations.” Aheka sees my facial expression remain the same and she returns to a little frown.

Alright, Keres. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to open up and let this nice person in on what you’re feeling and why. I know you’ve never really done this before, so we’ll take it slow. You can do this. Just open your mouth and tell her. Don’t be an idiot. Just tell her.

“Adamus is angry with me,” I half whisper. My dry throat contributes to a certain kind of hoarseness in my voice that makes me sound sick.

“Why?”

I shift uncomfortably. “He had this plan, and he realized that going through with it would mean somebody sacrificing themselves. He wanted to vote it down.”

Aheka’s soft face changes to one of understanding. “And you were the deciding vote?”

I nod in response.

“Do you really believe it was the right thing?” I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “Not just because other people say so, or whatever your guilt is telling you. Do you believe it was the right thing.”

I swallow. “Yes. I do.”

Aheka nods. “You feel that way for a reason, you know. What you believe is what makes you, you.”

“Oh,” I say, which really wasn’t the best thing, but I couldn’t think of anything more.

There is another minute spent in silence before Aheka breaks it. “Here,” she says, reaching out her hand and offering the towel. “You look pale and sick. How about you go wash off okay?”

I nod weakly, pushing myself off her bed and taking the towel from her. “That door there leads to my bath.”

I feel like a child being told what to do by my mother, but I don’t stop myself. I hate the thought of relying on someone else, but Aheka is doing this for me. I guess for once I should just… give in, maybe?

I find a sink and turn on the cold water. Like magic, it falls from the faucet and onto the little towel waiting for it. I soak it well enough before turning off the water and dabbing it on my face while observing myself in the mirror.

What am I doing here? This isn’t me. I don’t… I don’t let people take care of me, much less touch me. Talik would never do this for me, and I would never need her to. Caring for me… taking time out of her day for me… Whatever. Why am I even still here? I was planning on leaving this damned activist group kind of a while ago, so why have I stayed? For Circe? No. Not for Aheka, not so much for the cause… for Adamus? No. For myself? No, that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? I don’t need to be here. I don’t need these people. But, I am here, and I am with these people. And these people- one of them at least- is actively being kind, patient, and compassionate with me. I can sense no deceit in her aura or thoughts. Aheka is doing all this specifically for me. She’s valuing my feelings and wellbeing. She’s not even taking credit for it or probably realizing it. She just is.

Why did I come back?

Admittedly, the cold rag does make me feel a little more clean. I wish it could help my conscious, but alas, we can’t have it all. Aheka was right though, I do look a little pale. So much for trying to mask my emotions. I just hope no one else noticed.

I finish dabbing my face and leave the rag on the counter, turning off the light as I step out. Aheka, who has chosen to sit on the bed, stands when she sees me. “Do you feel any better?”

I shrug.

Aheka steps towards me. I force my body to not visibly flinch and allow her hands to run from my shoulders to my wrists. “I’m sure you made the right decision.”

I nod and look down at my boots again. “I shouldn’t be here,” I say quietly. Aheka knows I’m not talking about her room. Whether she can tell if I’m talking about the galaxy as a whole though is another question.

“Oh, oh Keres,” she says a little surprised. Both of Aheka’s thumbs do the comforting circle movement, making my eyes flutter closed for a second. “There’s no place you can be that you weren’t meant to be. I think there’s a reason you’re here, okay? And I’m glad you’re here. You’re going to be the smartest of all of us, just you watch. You’re going to blow people away.”

I allow myself to look up at Aheka again, my vision slightly blurred from threatening tears. I don’t need my force powers to see that she is being supportive and honest. I nod again, her smile following.

My shoulders feel lighter when I leave Aheka’s room. Like a great weight has been lifted off of them. This was the first time I had ever considered the thought, but that’s not something you need to worry about yet.

Things aboard The Harbinger were beginning to wind down. I pass several people making their way to their rooms- a few nodding at me in acknowledgment. I guess I did end up staying with her a little longer than I thought I would, but I don’t mind really. I’m just not tired yet. I suppose I should take this opportunity to go and talk to Adamus and discuss what happened earlier today, but I remember Aheka’s advice. The Togruta very strongly believes that people should be able to do things in their own time, and that if I don’t want to go and talk to Adamus straight away I shouldn’t have to, so I won’t.

I could find Circe. We were supposed to fly together today. I just got distracted. Ah, it’s probably for the best anyway. By now he’s likely asleep at the wheel with the autopilot on, Mandalorian helmet dawned so can’t see his closed eyes.

Instead, the thought of the training room pops into my head. Seeing no reason not to, I decide I’ll go there and hone my skills for the night. I make my way out of the hallway and to the control room, where the last person leaves for the night. She squints as me as she goes by. I can see that, yes, Circe is asleep with the auto pilot on, and his helmet stays on his head. I smirk to myself as I enter my room.

I take my lightsaber from a counter near the door, shrug off my jacket and leave in under a minute. My feet carry me to the training room without me really having to think about it. I can’t help but relax my shoulders and release a comfortable smile for some reason. I quickly attempt to suppress it when I remember Circe will likely see this on the security cameras in the morning, but I have no doubt I’m failing.

Aheka really did improve my mood. I feel… safer, emotionally. I feel… I don’t know how I feel, but I’m thankful for it. I owe her a lot, even though to her it must seem so unimportant. This is just her nature, and yet, it’s struck me right in my heart. A pure act of compassion towards me of all people, untainted by greed or a secondary motive. It’s new for me.

I push the training door open, observing the lack of people watching through the windows or occupying the room itself. The air is chilled and quiet, perfect for someone who needs to hear nothing but their own breathing and heartbeat.

This is the first time I’ll actually be trying out the yellow saber. I’ve mostly just had it at my hip or in my hand since Ilum, analyzing every detail in wonder, even though I assembled the weapon myself. This lightsaber is different. It tells a story- my story. It’s my lightsaber. Not one I stole or one I found- mine. On top of that, it’s a rarity. It’s yellow. I’ve never seen a yellow lightsaber before. I’ve only seen green, blue, and red. Adamus’s purple is the first of its kind I’ve seen too. I know that lightsaber colors are supposed to reflect something, but I’m not sure of what. When I get the chance, I’ll ask Adamus about it. He would know.

Once he calms down, that is.

I step into the middle of the room, feeling the squishing of sparring mats under my boots. Seeing the specs of dirt that fall from them, I quickly realize my mistake and remove my shoes, throwing them to the corner of the room. My toes relish in the coolness of the mats- cold at first but adjusting fast. My ankles shiver at the meeting of chilled air.

I pull my lightsaber from my hip and ignite it. The golden line comes to life, creating an amber cast across the room and my face. My palm fits against metal and my right hand comes up to meet my left and twist the saber at the middle. It separates, creating another hilt for a saber that I turn on too, revealing another golden line. I am truly a genius for making my own double, split saber. Imagine all the advantages I could get from this! Keeping my excited thoughts to myself, I twists the sabers back together and shut the bottom one off to leave only one remaining.

But it’s just… the yellow….

I roll the handle in my hand, watching the blade twirl and hum. Then quickly, I slash it against the throat of the dummy in front of me. An orange streak burns against it satisfyingly.

My lightsaber is light in weight, nimble. I have to be careful not to overdue the power as it doesn’t require much to swing. There’s less of a gyro effect then I expected, but that’s kind of a plus.

“A fine blade.”

I jump, thrusting my lightsaber up defensively. I see Adamus’s figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and relax slightly. I’m more just surprised I didn’t realize he was there earlier. He must have just got here. “Sorry, did I startle you?”

I narrow my eyes, picking up his sly and condescending tone. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Good. That was what I was intending.” Adamus unfolds his arms and stands up straight, walking in my direction. His eyes slip down to my feet, which makes my toes wiggle self-consciously. “Take your shoes off, did you?” I feel my cheeks heat up against my will. “You know you really don’t have to do that.”

I have no response. I feel embarrassed for some reason.

“But I thank you for it anyway.”

I meet his eyes, trying to discern the emotion in them. Even from this distance, I can see the irises swirl around like a storm. He doesn’t seem so upset- especially after that last thing he said- but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with what happened earlier. I’d be willing to bet that he’s not. I mean… would I be? Honestly?

“I was hoping to find you here, actually.”

I click my lightsaber off and take a defensive step back with one foot.

Adamus looks me up and down, that smirk of amusement creeping across his features. His right hand goes to trace his lightsaber on his hip, fingers working up and down against the metal. “Maybe I am still upset with you,” he says. “Maybe there’s a way you can make it up to me.”

I arch an eyebrow curiously. My… stomach fills with butterflies again. Something about his tone or his words is incredibly- ah, intriguing to me.

“I want you to spar with me.”

Spar? What would he get from that? A rematch? A sense of pride? No, it’s none of my business. If I have offended him, and this is what he requests, then this is what I shall accept.

“Alright.” Adamus pulls his boots off with a smile, although he appears to be wearing fuzzy fur socks underneath. “Lightsabers, or hand to hand?”

“Lightsabers,” he says. “Hand to hand allowed- anything goes.”

Mm, this will be a challenge. An incredibly enjoyable challenge. “And if I win?” I ask, a smirk to match his own slipping across my lips.

“Do you actually want anything? I mean, I’ll owe you.”

“That works.” I twirl my lightsaber hilt in my hand again, even though the blade isn’t even alive. “And if you win?”

“Oh, I’ve already got that all planned out. You’ll see.”

Ah, so he’s awfully cocky. My new and most important objective is to destroy his ego right here, right now. This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.

“Come on then,” I taunt, bending my knees and holding my lightsaber out horizontally. I switch the other blade on, ready to analyze his combative behavior. Adamus undoes his own saber before igniting it and holding it with both hands. The purple light contrasts the yellow harshly.

Adamus is still for a few seconds before lifting leaping forward in a flash and swiping his blade out. I lean back to duck it- although just barely. He smoothly raises his blade again over his head and prepares to bring it down on mine.

I block, pushing him back and delivering a swift and clean side kick to his stomach. Adamus stumbles back, giving me time to regain myself a bit. I raise my eyebrows at him, silently asking if he’s at all impressed. Adamus shakes his head quickly and instead takes a defensive stance.

Alright, I’ll play along. I can play offensive. Positioning my saber in my palm accordingly, I leap forward quickly, using the force to help with my grace and flexibility. I thrust my lightsaber to the right, making him jump to the left. I seize the opportunity to promptly elbow him in the chest, then again in the nose. His hands surge out to wrap around my neck and my face. I correct this by kicking him in the shin and thrusting my head back against his. Certain I’ve disoriented him, I prepare to slice my lightsaber near his neck.

Adamus blocks it with his own lightsaber and throws his left hand out. Widening my eyes in realization does nothing to help me- I fly back and into the wall behind me. I can’t even be angry at that- he got me good. He did say anything goes. That can surely be used to my advantage.

Forcing myself to my knees and lifting my head to meet his eyes, I leave my lightsaber on the floor in front of me and put all nine fingers in his direction. Quick to find my source of anger and power, the electricity bubbles inside of me and falls out of my fingers in those blue branches of light I’m so familiar with.

The lightning shocks Adamus. He’s more than lucky he holds his violet lightsaber out at the perfect angle to block- and absorb? - the dark sided power. It only lasts a couple of seconds before I can feel the power escalating past the point of my control, so I quickly shut it off and grab my lightsaber while sprinting towards him. Adamus is out of breath- so am I. That attack was a lot for both of us.

I leap into the air in a high arc, undoing my saber to make it into two. I bring them both down upon him in an X. He blocks again. I push myself off and flip back, ready to attack again at a milliseconds notice.

I watch Adamus sprint towards me, sweat and determination dripping from his body. I snap my right hand into a fist, forcing the boy to his knees and sliding across the floor. I drop the saber in my left hand and summon his purple blade towards it instead. I catch it, too in the moment to understand Adamus’s personalized weapon.

Making both my sabers into an X again, I hold them against his Adams apple this time.

It’s finished.

Adamus stares up at me, out of breath. A lock of his hair curls against his forehead, his soft skin sheening with sweat. Eyes wide, lips parted- he’s completely shocked I’ve won. I can feel his concern as well- concern for what would happen if I really decided to move both my arms at this exact moment.

I cock my eyebrow at him again, my own chest heaving with exertion. I am, in fact, somewhat impressed with him. But there’s no way I’d tell Adamus that.

“Here you are,” Adamus’s voice rings out. I turn over my shoulder to look at him, a wide smile spreading across my face as I see him. In his hands are two clear boxes of the fruit Aheka brings every morning- I can’t help my excitement.

“Are you really sure this is what you want to spend your I-owe-you on?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I say, reaching out to take my box while he takes a seat next to me.

Adamus copies my position of bending my knees and folding my calves on top of each other- something he refers to as ‘criss cross Bantha sauce’. He watches me eagerly open my box and delve into the colorful berries and slices before turning ahead to the scene in front of us.

A giant, clear window in a completely empty room reveals the galaxy in front of us. It stretches from floor to ceiling, exposing us to the millions of stars all around us as The Harbinger gently floats through space. I asked for the quietest place on the ship, and Adamus came through.

“Aheka brings me fruits for breakfast every morning,” I say in an admitting tone. “She likes the bigger, purple ones. They’re good, but I don’t like the seeds. I like the orange slices. The thin ones. They’re so sweet.” I pop one into my mouth as if to prove my point, relishing in the juiciness that erupts across my tongue. Adamus continues observing me until diving into his own box of heaven.

“So tell me,” he says after biting into a green berry, “what was it like living on Ilum?”

I swallow my food down, thinking about my answer. “Better than Coruscant.”

“How’s that?” Adamus asks.

“It’s quiet.” I pause for a second, trying to recount my day. “I learned how to use a spear.” What else, what else? “I tamed an Asharl Panther once.”

Adamus raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Really?” I nod. “I heard about a Mandalorian clan who made those panthers their mascot once.”

“They’re not so bad,” I say, shaking my head. A memory floods to me- the image of the panther slowly blinking its golden eyes as it puts itself in the pouncing position. “They’re probably all dead.”

“Probably.”

There is yet another round of silence between Adamus and I, but it’s not awkward. The round is filled with chewing noises and swallowing, both of us satisfied with the wonderful food we currently gorge ourselves on.

“What were you going to make me do if you won?” I ask, licking my finger a little before searching the box for more orange slices.

Adamus puts his box down on his lap and stretches his arm behind him to lean on. We both stare out the window and at the infinite number of glowing stars. We’re in the middle of nowhere- no planets, no other ships, nothing. Just us and the distance.

“I was going to ask you to teach me something.”

I pause, looking over at him with still orbs.

“I think you’re smart,” Adamus shrugs casually. “I think you can see things others can’t. I think you can see things before they happen. I think that… I think that you see the details and the bigger picture.” His eyes pierce mine, “I want you on my side.”

Before I can open my mouth to tell him I’m not on anybody’s side, he continues. “I know- you’re not on anybody’s side. Maybe we need more people like that. I just… You’re skilled, Keres. I think that if you taught me how to sense things like you, then maybe I’d be a better Jedi.”

“As good as me?” I decide to tease.

“As good as you,” Adamus affirms.

No, I don’t accept Adamus’s offer. I tell him there’s nothing to teach, and that it’s natural for me. Adamus respects my decision. And so, for the moment, there is peace between us. Just me and him, no war. Only fruit, stars, and the unknown. And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in my life- I’m content.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars masterlist #star wars fandom #fanon #fanfiction #jedi #sith #lightsaber #gray jedi

11 notes · View notes

lesbiansforboromir · 5 years

Note

Ok I’ve been thinking about “Boromir Lives Succession Crisis” fic all day and I would love your Opinion on how best to achieve the first half of that clause. I feel like there’s basically 3 options 1) Faramir goes on the quest instead 2) Frodo successfully slips off unnoticed and Boromir doesn’t confront him and the party isn’t split when the orcs attack 3) Everything happens as in the book but Boromir isn’t shot (1/2)

(2/2) I’m kind of leaning towards either 1 or 3. 1 because I think it would strengthen Boromir’s claim and pretty much eliminate any bond he developed with Aragorn over the quest, making him more likely to contest the claim, and it has the possibility for good Fari drama. 3 is probably more straightforward but gets real hairy in sorting out the specifics, as well deciding at what point Boromir’s opinion on Aragorn would change etc. Curious how you would handle it!

👀👀👀 I stan you specifically for letting me talk about this- OK SO.

I have played out each one of these possibilities with @emynarnens so many times that this is the only thing I’m qualified to do now. So to start off!

I don’t think I would recommend #1. Boromir’s effect on Aragorn is a pretty vital piece of Character development for him. Viggo Mortensen actually mentions it but we can see it in the Books too, Aragorn goes from considering the men of Rohan corruptible and weak willed to agreeing with Boromir that he does not believe they gave in too Sauron’s bribery. Essentially Boromir challenges Aragorn to rethink his attitude to humanity, both in others and within himself. Faramir is far too enamoured with the idea of Aragorn’s nobility and royalty and I don’t think he would challenge him in the same way, or at all really.

#2 and 3 do create issues in terms of the general plot of merry and pippin needing to be with the ents, but if Boromir doesn’t feel he betrayed the fellowship and committed a grievous crime he would perhaps feel a stronger sense of self worth and therefore is certainly shot but doesn’t quite die. Too wounded to stop the Hobbits from being taken, but not dead. Although I would also say that Boromir’s momentary madness and loss of control and the guilt he feels afterwards is also an important piece of character development for him, even if he dies immediately afterwards. He realises he sacrificed too much of his own integrity and lost too much hope in his single minded drive to defend Gondor. His sacrifice for two hobbits, who are just his friends, brings back some of that care and concern the Ring’s influence had worn away.

But have no fear! I wouldn’t call it necessary to take away any of what happened there. Remember in the books Boromir was not just pierced by three arrows, he was pierced by VERY many, and Pippin tells us Boromir was still up and fighting when he lost consciousness. Indeed, just before Pippin blacked out, he saw Boromir pluck a shaft from his side and continue with the battle, so reasonably the change simply could be ‘he wasn’t shot as much’. Obviously adhrenaline can keep you going and all that but these books are anything if medically sound and Boromir is just Like That. Wounded but not dead is a valid sacrifice and keeps the beats of the narrative intact.

I would also recommend this because there needs to be some reason Denethor believes his eldest son dead. It is a vital contribution to the darkness that eventually drives him to suicide and means you don’t have to work around Denethor also being alive when you’re talking about the whole issue with the coronation. Denethor can have witnessed a glimpse of Boromir’s fate through the Palantir, and then Faramir perhaps does find Boromir’s horn cloven in the river and Denethor takes this as proof of death in his darker state of mind.

With this in mind it’s also kind of necessary to have the hunters actually leave a wounded Boromir where he is and believe he will not survive. (I’d recommend this also just for the jab you can have Boromir give along the lines of, “What are you all waiting for? Will you compose a song for my funeral? The hobbits are getting further from you at every moment, go!” Because good god you three it’s enough to question how much you really care about your hobbit friends)

AND another thing is that this still allows Aragorn his indecision, whether to go with Frodo or rescue the Hobbits, which is also characterful and important. AND it reinforces Boromir’s love of the hobbits, demanding the three hunters leave him there to die in order to save them as he was unable too. There’s still a repentant sacrifice there.

But anyway the point is if Boromir is alive and perhaps found ‘dying but still with a chance’ by a company of Eored, then I would suggest he is forced to recover somewhere secluded throughout the events of Helms Deep. This is to make sure Pippin and Gandalf still think he is dead by the time they leave for Minas Tirith. It’s a shame because that would be cool for him to be involved, but if Pippin knows Boromir is alive then it’s unlikely that he wouldn’t tell Denethor that and, as I’ve said, Denethor’s grief is important.

If you really wanted Boromir at the battle at Helm’s Deep, you could go along the route of Denethor not believing Pippin, but that’s a stretch. I suppose you could also consider that the shock of it has already taken it’s toll on Denethor and even if he hears Boromir is alive, it’s done it’s job by the time Denethor believes Faramir will die and the City will be taken.

(Unless you do wanna contend with Denethor being alive which I also like but that does take away from the narrative simplicity of it just being about Boromir and Aragorn’s conflict and the complex emotions surrounding it. Denethor does not believe Aragorn should be king and it’s unreasonable to think Boromir would go against his father in this case so it detracts from the indecision somewhat. But I would say Denethor being dead is the better option just for this specific idea.)

As far as worrying about whether Boromir would contest Aragorn’s claim goes, I wouldn’t worry about that. Boromir never once accepts the idea of Aragorn as his King. Certainly they are friends, they work well together, he likes him, but his responsibility to his people and the laws of Gondor and his Father’s wisdom and wishes (especially now he’s dead) would supersede any personal connection they have. And really the best case Aragorn has for being worthy of the throne is ‘It was in a Prophecy and also people like me’ so Boromir has plenty of reason to be like… suspicious about Aragorn’s aptitude.

I think having them as friends adds some interesting emotional elements to it actually, the balance of friendship vs responsibility. You mentioned Boromir’s opinion of Aragorn changing, but the truth is it never does. Boromir essentially ignores the fact that Aragorn is asking for the Throne for the entire book and just accepts him as a man who’s willing to give aide to Gondor. Which is all Boromir really cares about at the time, not really expecting any of them to live long enough for this to be a problem. The conflict between him and Aragorn about the kingship is manufactured by the film entirely.

In the end the probability is that Aragorn would become king, Aragorn did a good job at becoming heroic and he does seem to have burst out of nowhere and saved everyone. Even the Lords are for it, it appears. I think the eventual crux of it would be the kinds of requests, clauses and checks Boromir would demand Aragorn agree too. How they should change the nature of a King’s rule to fit in with this more egalitarian society Gondor’s grown into. Boromir would also ensure Aragorn went through the proper channels, that a council of Lords was held and his Kingship debated and voted on, make the whole thing something everyone participates in and understands.

You mentioned Faramir drama too but we’ll get that in SPADES when he’s fighting with his brother over his treatment of Aragorn. Faramir really is thoroughly taken in by Aragorn’s mystique and his reaction to him is to cast off any and all tradition and agree to his coronation on the spot. This could also be because Aragorn saves his and Eowyn’s life, but still he and Boromir will have some serious issues, perhaps for the first time in their relationship so that’d be super fun to explore.

IN CONCLUSION!

I’d suggest absolutely nothing changes except for the severity of Boromir’s wounds. Aragorn still finds him, he still begs Aragorn to save Minas Tirith. The only difference is he verbally tells Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas to leave him and save Merry and Pippin and he is alive when they go though they do not expect him to recover.

He is found by some Eored and taken to a nearby Rohir settlement (In LOTRO it’s a small town called Walstow and the Thane is a little plagued by the Uruks running around so it could also be a kind of mini adventure for Boromir with helping them repel attacks and eventually being able to evacuate to Dunharrow?) But whatever happens, he doesn’t rejoin his friends until after Pippin and Gandalf leave for Minas Tirith.

addendum………………….

ON THE OTHER HAND…

I know everything I just said but like… forget it for a moment because I have a second suggestion that absolutely flounces every one of the points I just made but I like it because I’m a sap.

Gandalf slips up and tells them all on Caradhras that he doesn’t know the password into Moria.

Aragorn: “What?! Then why are we even discussing it? Boromir’s right, we should risk the Gap of Rohan, at least we will not be so enclosed.”

Gandalf: “I can figure the password out when we get there!”

Aragorn: “Tosh! We could be discovered, pursued or killed long before you rattle through every possible way inside. Nope! The Gap of Rohan it is!”

And then they make their way down south and oh wow! Here’s the Prince of Rohan and he has an entire camp of loyal soldiers who could defend this little party.

And Theodred exclaims ‘here is Boromir! My (love, partner, boy) friend! I, of course, trust him and his fellows. Let me just finish this skirmish- whoops! That was a close one thanks Boromir, who I love, for being here to save me from that Orc or I would have been dead! Wouldn’t that be terrible? Anyway we are still losing here so let me and Erkenbrand and Grimbold all escort you to safety.’

‘Oh? Your two young Hobbit friends left in the night did they? How strange, I hope they come to no harm but I suppose we shall all have to focus on defending Helms Deep for now. I’m very glad I’m here with you Boromir, to be a friendly face who knows when you are acting strangely and remind you of your humanity and softer side, you didn’t seem to be doing very well in the midst of these very strange and not particularly empathetic friends of yours!’

… Your choice of course ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#boromir #tolkien #aragorn #rescue-ram #tolkien meta #lotr #lord of the rings #I spent all day on this and it was great fun thank you #erran vs tolkien #text post #chats

111 notes · View notes

luxexhomines · 5 years

Text

A Love That Killed

So. More Kokichi Ouma angst with the reader. My favorite :,))) Anyways, hope y’all enjoy. 1.3k word count. There aren’t any spoilers. Cut under the preview!

Trigger warning for suicide!

You would never forget those eyes of his. Those eyes of his that watched your own with tears precariously threatening to spill from them. And neither could you forget his almost gallant figure as he dashed to your side in a hurry, whatever mask he had crafted and sitting snugly on his face crashing to the floor and shattering like a wine glass, the bits and pieces skidding over the surface and biting into the soles of those who stepped on them. That was the one and only time you had ever seen him in a panic, and despite it or the occasion being neither funny nor joyous in the least, you smiled gently, somehow managing the strength to bring a hand to his face weakly, cupping his cheek in your frail hand.

How soft, you thought.

And then it all went black.

Kokichi Ouma saw your last moments. There was no mistaking it. And even though he had maintained his composure so well the last couple of trials, this was the one death he could not put aside and pretend not to care about. Not that he didn’t care about the others; he had done all the investigative work properly and always knew what was going on just fine, maybe even better than the Ultimate Detective. But there was no plausible way for him to hide his misery, just how distraught he was, this one time.

Holding your hand had been pleasant while it lasted, but he forced himself to let go and called for the others. And like the noisy, emotional group they were, they burst in dramatically on the scene, faces turning blue and tears and snot dripping from eyes and noses like brats.

He’d cooperate with the others, just this one time. It was so incredibly ironic. He’d cooperate with the killer, this one time, just to find the truth he had never had trouble finding before. He almost couldn’t stand the thought of being even in the same room as your killer, nor of tolerating the presence of other people who were somehow dumbly surprised at another death even though they had done nothing to try and stop this vicious game.

As he stepped onto the spacious elevator plummeting down toward the trial grounds, he made a promise to catch the culprit. He wasn’t going to hold back in the least; the circumstances did not excuse immorality. No matter the reason, it was completely inexcusable. No forgiving was going to be done.

How could it be? Kokichi thought to himself. There’s no way. Shuichi’s finally gone off his rocker.

Or maybe it was Kokichi himself. He just wanted to deny this cruel world, this awful reality. He had always detested lies from other people, never tolerated them. But here he was, lying to himself. Giving out lies to others was different; lying to himself was like a sin against himself.

So he did the only thing he could.

He voted for you, choosing to try and understand the truth this world had doled out, even though he could never, never accept your death.

After the trial ended, no one spoke for some time, and Kokichi thought maybe this was it. They were never going to leave this trial room, never going have another killing, but only because nobody could get their damn ass out of the image of your sorry body, which was only made crueler by the tender smile adorning your face. The killer whom he had so despised had ended up being yourself.

No one made a sound as they all cried silently, tears coming down one after another, staining these trial grounds of truth and lies with layers of pain upon pain.

Silence again possessed the room. He couldn’t stand it. He had to talk, or everyone might never stop thinking about you. Not that he wasn’t going to talk about you, anyway.

“Why?”

Shuichi’s head lifted in acknowledgment of Kokichi’s one-word question, and his golden eyes suddenly seemed so dreary, not half as sharp as they were during the trials while leading everyone toward survival.

“Didn’t we already clarify the motive?” he asked.

Kokichi shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean. We know. We know they were trying to save the rest of us. After all, this motive was time-sensitive too; we were all going to be damned if something didn’t happen soon. We know that’s why the case didn’t fit at all until we thought of the perpetrator as them, and went through all the actions without considering a second-party. But why did they choose herself? They could have chosen anyone else, they could have let someone else decide, waited it out.”

Himiko spoke up.

“Isn’t that clear already? You should know best, Kokichi,” she said, each word dripping with the misery coating her aura. “They loved us. They loved us so much, they couldn’t bear to kill someone else in our group, and this was the only solution they saw.”

For once, he was too shaken to even make a comeback and say something like, ‘Wow, Himiko said something intelligent for once!’

And someone else continued Himiko’s train of thought for him, anyway, so he didn’t have the time to pause and reflect.

“You seriously don’t know?” Maki questioned with a dark glare. “Though I can’t understand it for the life of me, they loved you the most out of us all.”

She had stalked over to Kokichi in the space of her speaking these very words, making sure to emphasize the last seven words by prodding his chest with her index finger forcefully.

Shuichi looked at him with a kind of understanding pity, a drawn-out pain fleshed out deep in the features of his face.

“Kokichi, you already know the truth, don’t you? You’re just lying to yourself by pretending you don’t understand why.” Shuichi closed his eyes, putting a hand over his heart as sadness overtook his pale features. “That’s why...I hope you’ll survive this trial, and survive this place. They loved you so much that if you don’t survive, I think they’ll riot from wherever they’ve gone. And so will I,” he opened his eyes, meeting Kokichi’s vulnerable purple eyes. “After we’ve gone through all this, there’s no way you can’t understand that they saw this as unavoidable. I think even with a different motive, they would have done the same thing. That’s the kind of person they were. They took on that burden for us all.”

Maki finished Shuichi’s speech for him, cutting in sharply.

“What Shuichi’s trying to say is that if you let their suffering go to waste, Shuichi will resent you, and I’ll kill you.”

With that, the conversation was abruptly ended, and she walked off to the elevator. “Well? Are you all coming, or are we going to mope here forever? I think standing around this depressing place until we all rot away would be dishonoring their last wishes.”

And so everyone made their way in and were brought back up to the school grounds.

Kokichi was still processing, and he felt like he’d probably stay at _cannot compute_ for the rest of however long his life lasted. But if he did survive to a ripe old age, he wasn’t sure if he ever really wanted to fully understand your death. Because that meant admitting to himself that he had killed you. His existence had, in some twisted way, managed to make you love him, and in doing so, forced your hand to commit tragedy against yourself. If that was the way things were, he wasn’t sure he wanted to exist at all.

But the deed was done, and he loved you just as much as you had loved him. So there was no way he would ‘dishonor’ your wishes, as Maki put it.

Kokichi lived on. He ended the killing game with the rest. Deep resentment was not enough to describe the intensity of his hatred for what had conspired at this Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles. He might stay broken forever, but he was not going to do what you did. There was no reason, even if he was despairing–because you hoped he’d live.

Wasn’t that right?

To live and fulfill your hope, even though he didn’t think he’d ever find any of his own?

He sure hoped it was.

58 notes · View notes

mentallydatingahotcelebrity · 6 years

Text

Rreading posts today from various people I learned that Taika Waititi, director of Ragnarok, has no idea why Loki is a tragic character. Loki’s story alone and from his POV is, actually, a tragedy. But to someone who doesn’t really understand the definition of what makes a character, setting, novel, or film a “tragedy” the idea that Loki is a tragic character sounds utterly ridiculous and overdramatic.

So here’s a definition of the tragic character/a tragedy as written by E. B. Greenwood in 1994/95 for the introduction to Anna Karenina for anyone curious as to WHY I call Loki a “tragic character”. I’ve changed some words so that it fits my topic.

“What do I mean by saying that it is, in substance, a tragedy? [...] It has the substance of tragedy in that in it, as Aristotle required, a person neither of superlative goodness nor repellant wickedness (i.e. a character whom we can sympathise with, even love) makes a mistaken choice or set of choices. Aristotle called this hamartia. When this choice leads to a situation from which there is no way out but suffering, we have tragedy. Both Greek and Shakespearean tragedy involve poetic stylisation and elevation and actions out of the ordinary. Loki’s tragedy comes much closer to the type of tragedy described by Tolstoy’s favorite philosopher Schopenhauer in Section 51 of The World as Will and Representation:

Finally, the misfortune can be brought about also by the mere attitude of the persons to one another through their relations. Thus there is no need either of a colossal error, or of an unheard-of accident, or even of a character reaching the bounds of human possibility in wickedness, but characters as they usually are in a moral regard in circumstances that frequently occur, are so situated with regard to one another that their position forces them, knowingly and with their eyes open, to do one another the greatest injury, without any of them being entirely in the wrong. This last kind of tragedy seems to me to be far preferably to the other two; for it shows us the greatest misfortune not as an exception, not as something brought about by rare circumstances or by monstrous characters, but as something that arises easily and spontaneously out of the actions and characters of men as something almost essential to them, and in this way is brought terribly near to us. . . We see the greatest suffering brought about by entanglements whose essence could be assumed even by our own fate, and by actions that perhaps even we might be capable of committing, and so we cannot complain of injustice. Then, shuddering, we feel ourselves already in the midst of hell. In this last kind of tragedy the working out is of the greatest difficulty; for the greatest effect has to be produced in it with the least use of means and occasions for movement, merely by their position and distribution.

When I read all of the above upon purchasing Anna Karenina, I was quite surprised at how fitting it was of Loki’s role and an explanation of why he is a tragic character. Because, in a most ironic turn of events, the god who declares ‘there are no men like him’ is, in fact, utterly and completely like the men he seeks to dominate. He’s relatable, identifiable, lovable; because he’s flawed, and hurting, and desirous of the same emotions all human beings want:

Recognition, adoration, affection, support, protection, love, companionship.

The reason why I included that excerpt from Schopenhauer is because I think that fits Loki too-- in his universe, the things that happened to him frequently occurred, but they built and built until he snapped beneath the weight of them; something everyone who came to adore Loki recognized and found utterly relatable, to the point of being distressed for Loki.

He’s not a villain, he never was, he’s just a tragic character.

And the problem with this is that tragic characters are not absolutely good nor utterly evil, they’re a bit of both and completely relatable from the audience’s point of view. That’s the reason why Marvel couldn’t figure out how to adapt him or develop him, because a tragic character is, always, fated to die.

Hamlet, Anna Karenina, Romeo, Juliet, Loki-- their roles are to bring to the foreground that the typical nature of humans is to destroy themselves for a motive they think in their own minds will help them while meanwhile the reality of it is that guides them toward their eventual end. We are all heroes in our own minds where we tell ourselves how much good we’re doing; but our actions make us deplorable to the people looking on. The Tragic Character role in all forms of writing is to wake up other characters to the realization that they need to change how they act if they want to prevent the same end.

[Which is what happened in the end of Thor. Thor realized that anger can lead to self-destruction, and Odin learned that not mentioning his love for his sons can lead to their downfall]

The problem is that in order to continue to make Thor and Loki interesting, new and unique storylines would have to be created-- risk would have to be made. Loki would have to keep on being a tragic character and he’d have to die. Which he was going to do in The Dark World. But with Marvel, as with most things in this day and age, Loki’s name goes synonymously with money. He’d been making them money, he generated interest. Look how massive Ragnarok’s box office income [or whatever that’s called?] was on day one alone.

Yeah, sure, there were people there because their interested had been piqued by the [bad] trailers for the film, and they also came because a large majority of people love Thor-- but who hadn’t been seen living, breathing and walking around for 4 years?

Loki.

People wanted to know what happened to Loki more than Thor-- sucks for Waititi and Hemsworth, but it’s the truth. We’ve been seeing Thor in basically every Avengers film except Captain America: Civil War. We know that he’s alive, how he’s doing, how things are going for him. But no one knew about Loki. Because Loki is the tragic character, the human one in a sea of unhuman, “good” characters (Thor, Odin, Frigga, Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral, Heimdall), if you will. He’s the one we look to and go “I wonder what he’s thinking” “I wonder how he’s feeling” because as soon as we see it:

“Trust my rage”

“Because I’m the monster parents tell their children about at night?”

“The humans slaughter each other in droves while you idly fret”

We can RELATE to what he’s saying, we GET what he’s saying. Yes, we all think with a grin at one another, Thor really is going on about nothing, wish he’d stop some of our wars. Yes, TRUST RAGE, because when we’re angry the truth comes out ungilt with fancy falsehoods and pretty pretendings. Yes, we all sometimes feel we’ve become what our parents warned us against when we were younger--no wonder it seems as if their love for us has diminished into nothing, they hate what we’ve become.

This is, 100%, a tragic character. People either love them or hate them because they remind us of who we are and what we’re capable of. Murder? Yes. Hatred? Yes. Rage? Yes. Self-doubt? Yes. Fear? Yes. Self-loathing? Yes. The capability to be good or bad or both in turns? Yes.

And the fact that the person who plays this role is someone who studied roles like this (among others) for his higher education? Well, it (quite literally) can’t get any better than that. Not only is Loki a tragic character, but he’s played by an actor who understands the method of performing tragedies, who understands how those characters have to be played out, and who can relate to them at the same time to make that performance dynamite.

The reason why Ragnarok!Loki is so appalling is because he’s played in the same method as Thor, however not in the role of “Morally Good” character but rather in the role of Touchstone the Jester. He says some clever things amidst his largely joksy lines. But he’s really just there for giggles [also as a foil for the main characters to bounce sage-sounding lines or soliloquies off of], and not much else.

And we, as fans, hate that because that’s not Loki’s role. He isn’t the god of jokes. So I’ve taken to looking at this whole Gagnarok problem as an attempt at erasing the Tragic Character That Is Loki because he’s very difficult to write. It was difficult for Tolstoy to write Anna Karenina in the beginning because of how human the characters were, how easily their actions could very well become his own. There’s a reason it took him some three years to complete that novel: writing Tragic Characters is hard. In the process of creating them, writers have to admit things about themselves that all human beings would rather shove into little dark places in our hearts and ignore.

Or there’s another reason they have to crush his beautiful writing into the garbage chute:

He’s

a) going to turn up alive and well but just for shits and giggles in A4

b) going to turn up alive and well and hatefully backstabbing in A4

I’m voting on the latter instead of the former. I’ll be really pleased, however, if he has a proper Tragic Character ending. As in, he comes back, helps the Avengers out, and then agrees to die anyway to save the “better” characters. Or dies in the process of actually saving one of the “better” characters. Because that crap at the beginning of Infinity War will never please me, I’m sorry. Tom’s acting: lovely. Loki’s role before kicking the bucket: garbage.

Annnnnd I think I’m done for the evening. I hope this made sense-- I’m sick so I’m doped up by the doc to the point of constantly feeling drowsy and half-lucid. If anyone wants to have further conversation on this, reblog the post or message me or ask me.

#Loki #Marvel #the problem with loki #Gagnarok and Infinity War Loki #tragic characters #Anna Karenina and Loki Laufeyson #Tolstoy and Tom Hiddleston #writing tragic characters #god of jokes vs god of mischief #silvertongue vs slapstick

49 notes · View notes