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unicyclehippo · 2 years

Note

You’ve been nailing it with these last drabbles! If you’re looking for prompts, taste?

'this is the tree?'

orym looks grave. appropriate. or not, seeing as laudna never got one.

the tempest rests her hand against gnarled bark. smiling, she says, 'this is the sun tree. the sign of whitestone and a very old friend. and-'

'- where she was hanged,' imogen interrupts.

orym, at her knee, sends her a look of... it's not reproach. it's gentler than that. disapproval, maybe.

the tempest blinks. beneath her antlers—imogen can't tell if they're growing out of her head or whether it's a headress—her calm expression twists. still calm but weightier, lined with grief, memory.

'it was a different whitestone. the same tree, but,' her fingers stroke gently along the ridged bark. 'you wouldn't recognise it if you had seen it then. it was dying, like everything else here.'

imogen, too close and too frayed to close her mind, is surprised—angry—to catch sorrow in her thoughts. for the tree. laudna had been hanged - had actually died back then but her sorrow is for the tree?

the tempest continues. 'i am sorry for not warning you. my ability requires a certain type of tree - size, mostly, but age and power doesn't hurt - and this is... well. in closest proximity. we are in a hurry, aren't we?'

imogen wants to tell her that this has nothing to do with her. she bites her tongue instead, hard, and recasts a spell to calm her mind.

green eyes catch the subtle motion of her hand and they sharpen, wary, before recognition blooms. she looks like she wants to say something. imogen sets her chin stubbornly; the tempest looks away first.

'from what i understand, you need help bringing a friend back.' she looks sidelong. out of the corner of her eye, imogen sees a bundle of yellow. 'i've sent ahead to my friend - a cleric - who can help with this sort of thing.'

'they've done it before?' FCG asks.

'she has.'

'and she'll help? she's - willing?' orym adds. 'we asked - we asked a lot of people and they all said this kind of thing is a miracle and protected. but you've done it before, for me, tempest -'

'she'll help, if she can,' the tempest says, and then smiles. 'hello, orym.'

orym returns the smile like the moon reflecting the sun. he stands taller, as though a weight has been lifted, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. a little colour returns to his face, wan and drawn as it has been.

'tempest.' he bows low—tries to, at least, but she catches him. curls her fingers around his shoulder and holds him tall.

'you're not my guard anymore, orym—you don't need to bow.'

'you didn't let me bow then, either. if i remember right, you said you'd lose me under everyone.'

the tempest's cheeks flame red.

imogen doesn't like it. it's too - it's too normal a thing for someone who is going to help them perform a miracle.

'that wasn't- you - i did when you were a guard,' she says, nearly splutters. 'that was when you were ten. and it was a legitimate concern back then,' she says with a little laugh, holding her hand down around her knee, and it makes orym smile broaden into a grin, a cheeky expression, light-hearted. rare for him, usually so solemn.

a fire burns in imogen's belly. all week she's been feeding it—fear and anger and guilt and guilt and guilt—and it has kept it all at bay, kept her going when she wanted to curl up in the dark and. stop. but not, they're talking—orym, her friend, laudna's friend and this - this miracle woman, his perfect hero leader - and they're talking and laughing like they haven't a care in the world, like the world isn't fucking broken. the fire flares, crackles in her belly, her chest, her hands.

'this reminiscin' is real swell,' imogen says, tone scorched dry. cracking. 'real fun. but i'd like to do something. now, if that's alright with you. or do we have to wait for everyone to hug and introduce themselves first?'

'imogen—'

'don't. don't try and calm me down because i am already calm, orym. laudna is—' imogen swallows. that word - that awful word - tastes like ash and embers, burns all the way down. 'we have to do something.'

'we are. she brought us here, where laudna's going to have the best chance—' he stops when his tempest touches his shoulder again.

'i should have explained,' the tempest says, and imogen can tell from her intent that it is part apology and part anchor point, weighted steadiness. it might even have been calming, as intended, if not for the fact that it was way too fucking little, way too fucking late. 'my friend isn't in whitestone.' she forestalls six exclamations with a raised hand. 'as soon as she sends back to me that she is ready, i will bring her through.' she pats the tree again.

'how long-'

'once i hear from her, she will arrive as quickly as we did. just a few seconds. after that...' the tempest shakes her head. the gesture dislodges a flower nestled in her antlers; it falls from its perch and drifts to the ground, disappears behind one enormous root of the tree. 'i would only be guessing.'

from where he is perched on a massive knot of roots, chetney says, 'guess, then. you're the awesomely insanely powerful one here, aren't you?'

orym tenses at his tone but the tempest doesn't even blink.

'this afternoon or tomorrow, if all goes well.'

'this afternoon?'

'if all goes well,' the tempest emphasizes.

imogen nods jerkily. 'this afternoon,' she says again under her breath, squeezes her eyes tight. 'this afternoon. this afternoon.' nerves chew at the tight leash she keeps lashed around her control; when it frays—again—imogen twists her hands at her side, lets her power grip her emotions in a tight fist and lock them down. 'this afternoon.'

for a moment, everyone stands still and silent. no one wants to speak; no one wants to break the moment, delicate as spun glass. they hold it, hold their breath, and let themselves think - hope - that by the time sets their little family will be complete once more.

imogen feeds her brimming hope into the fire before it can break her spell.

they wait. five minutes. ten minutes. imogen has to step away—her eyes keep returning to the tempest, lingering, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign of disappointment that might come from the other end of her sending—but moving away doesn't help at all because the sun tree looms over them and imogen keeps searching the branches like there will be a - a plaque or something, some sign that this is where it happened. she rubs at her eye, jabs her thumb into the painful spot beneath her brow and presses hard in a vain hope that it'll help ease the mounting pressure.

ashton shoulders up beside imogen; he's light on his feet and she doesn't notice until he says,

'hey.'

'hey, ash.' imogen's eyes dart over to them. 'you alright?'

they snort. 'stole my question.' imogen stares at them, wills herself to say yes, say something. ashton nods. 'yeah. me neither.'

'does your head hurt after last night?' he just looks at her and she qualifies, 'does it hurt any worse than normal?'

'nah.'

'good. good.' imogen rubs at her eye. drops her hand to her side and strokes a finger over pate's beak.

'can i ask you something?'

imogen tilts her head. it's not a nod, because she can't muster one, but close enough.

'what did you mean? about the tree?'

pain flares behind her eyes. imogen squeezes her eyes shut, hisses.

'fuck. shit - are you okay?'

she doesn't answer. 'laudna died. ages ago, decades ago. this is where it happened.'

'fuck.'

'like. this tree.'

'fuck.'

imogen laughs, just a little huff of air out her nose. 'yeah. that about sums it up.' she looks at the tree. looks at the tempest—still waiting. 'she was there.'

'the tempest?'

'mhm.'

ashton pauses to think about it. then says, heartfelt, 'fuck.'

they have been waiting close to an hour when the tempest stands to her feet and tilts her head, eyes going glassy in that way imogen often sees when she is speaking into someone's mind. then, she smiles.

'she's ready. stand back, please. watch your feet mister pock-o-pea.'

'better move, chet, or imogen'll shove you,' fearne teases, and the gnome grumbles but scrambles away from the trunk, down and over the roots until he's standing with the rest of them.

the tempest lifts her staff, touches the gnarled top of it to the trunk; again, they all watch as the bark shifts, wood grain buckling and bowing, and it creaks and groans and splits, green light spilling from the oval gateway.

in a matter of seconds, a small figure—blonde, gnomish, armoured—steps through the gate, which buckles at the edges before it slams shut behind them with a hideous groan of wood, like trees contorting in a fierce wind, moments from breaking. imogen doesn't remember that happening when they came through; she cuts a look over at the tempest and finds her leaning hard on her staff, face grey with exhaustion.

'keyleth. you look awful.'

the tempest laughs. immediately stoops to collect the hug offered to her. 'yeah, well, you treestride three times in a day and tell me how you feel after.'

'three times?'

'it was necessary.'

'we've talked about over-exerting yourself-'

'pike,' the tempest interrupts, gently. 'i'm alright. but our guests are not.'

at that, the newcomer—pike—finally looks around herself. she takes them all in and their keen, knowing look in her eyes that is somehow understanding instead of judgemental, assessing.

'oh dear. that's a lot of unhappy faces,' she says, voice sweet. 'hi there, i'm pike. i'm the head cleric of sarenrae, the everlight, here in whitestone. what's going on?'

with a look to imogen, and a gentle smile when the words stick in her throat, unmoving, orym says, tone reverent, 'blessed of the everlight, we have - a problem.'

'a lot of problems,' ashton adds.

chetney grunts, shoots a stern look across the party. 'but one immediate problem, right?'

'right. kind of a - a big problem, and it's - ashton, do you have her?' fearne asks softly.

pike frowns, looking between them all as they talk but don't say anything. then her eyes are on imogen and imogen can't breathe because the cleric is as reassuring as she is powerful—it hangs around her like a heat haze, her power, and it's terrifying because imogen has spent the last week in exhaustion, casting and recasting on herself to stay calm and the very moment this - this cleric, this healer turns up, her calm is gone and she feels—everything. everything. her power wraps around imogen like a warm hug and it's awful because peace ought to be cold, a cold hug, a cold hand on her cheek, a cold kiss against her forehead, and her calm shatters.

imogen cries out, lurches back with hand raised as if to ward off an attack. a shield, weak, fizzles around her even, instinctual.

'imogen?' ashton sounds startled but his hand is already on his hammer, resigned to the fact that this cleric, their best hope, is attacking them.

'it's fine,' she gasps, 'i'm fine, i'm fine.'

pike is still staring but imogen ignores her, fights against the invasive press of eyes on her to recast her calm. it holds but barely, and it makes her stomach lurch when she realises what it feels like. a sheet of glass dividing her mind. her eyes flicker to ashton, unwillingly, but she doesn't stop the spell. she drags in a breath, fortifies herself. then meets pike's eyes.

'our friend is gone. she - we need her back. i - we need her back. i'll do anything. money, a - a favour, anything.'

the cleric nods but doesn't linger long on her vehemence. 'when you say gone,'

'she's dead,' FCG tells her. imogen closes her eyes. 'we couldn't - i revived fearne,'

'and i revived orym,' fearne says, taking his hand. 'but i couldn't - we could only bring one person back.'

the cleric nods again. 'that sounds terrible.' the words are trite but there's so much warmth and understanding again that a part of imogen softens, relents.

it was terrible. it is terrible. and it still hurts, still feels like the world is breaking, broken, but this powerful cleric sees their hurt and somehow it helps, a little. it's a relief. after so many no's, the fact that she hasn't said no is—it's a relief.

'well. i can't do anything here,' pike says, and claps her hands sharply. 'the chapel is prepared for this sort of thing—'

'pike, wait - hold on.' the tempest kneels, whispers in her ear.

'oh.'

'what? what is it?' imogen demands.

pike gestures to ashton and his bundle. 'may i look at her?'

'why?'

the cleric raises her hands in surrender, peace. she steps forward; imogen wavers, not wanting to be caught in the balm of her presence again but unable to abandon lauda. again. she locks her knees in place and stays, breathes out shakily as she is enveloped in that gentle heat.

ashton lays laudna down, cradles her shoulders in one arm and unwraps the cloth with their other hand.

pike stares down at her. 'i see it,' she murmurs, looks across at keyleth with a nod. 'can you send to—'

'i already did. they'll meet us at the chapel.'

imogen's fingers twist in her handkerchief. 'what are you talkin' about? are you - did you bring us all the way here to tell us you won't help?'

'no. i want to help - i will help,' pike assures her. 'but you need to know, your friend - she's undead.'

'she's not—'

'i'm sorry but she is.'

'she's not,' imogen snarls. 'she's wonderful and vibrant and alive, she's more alive than anyone else in the world.' when the cleric just stares at her sadly, the fire in imogen's belly reaches a point where heat turns to power and she reaches out, her hand and her mind, and connects her mind with pike's. not digging in, not delving, but opening her own instead. opening it, pouring it out—glass shattering, calm shattering—so that pike can see - see laudna as she walks, talks, breathes, eats and sleeps. see laudna laugh, mischievous, as they spook a traveller out of their gold. see laudna cry, from hurt, from fear. see laudna at her side, earnest and sweet and good. the images come fast, two years worth of laudna, of a cool balm against her senses, of kindness unconditional, of trust and everything else that imogen cannot, will not, put into words but which pike can see and sense regardless.

pike lifts her hand. with a pulse of magic, the connection is severed. ended, gently.

'please,' imogen says, voice cracking, and drops to her knees next to laudna. takes her cold hand between both of her own. 'please help us. please.'

#critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #tagging my stories #prompt fill #imodna #imodna my beloveds #i actually was going to write the aftermath of the rez but i didn't get to it lmao #maybe in the next one

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undercityrezident · 1 year

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So I just watched Ash’s final episode, and it was a comfy, low-key ending to the series. The highlight was definitely getting to see Pidgeot again. I’m glad they weren’t forgotten about, even if it was only a very brief appearance.

They bookended this final series nicely with the choice between two paths. But I think one of the best things in this episode was Gary prompting Ash to think about whether he’s getting closer to being a Pokemon master, a nebulous concept that fans have been trying to pin down since the very beginning of the series.

I’ve always figured it meant more than battle mastery or filling out the pokedex, but I could never really define it. Especially as I got older, I came to realize it was never meant to be defined.

I feel like that was more or less confirmed in this episode when Ash was sitting beneath the tree, ruminating about it with Pikachu after having talked to Gary. Being a pokemon master means something different to everyone. And to Ash, that means making friends with pokemon everywhere. And that suits Ash perfectly. The kid absolutely adores everything about pokemon, and his first instinct is always to try and befriend and help them no matter how it might affect him.

This wasn’t some triumphant, resonating end to the series that I and others might’ve envisioned. But I think it kept to the core of what pokemon, and in particular, what Ash Ketchum is about: revelling in the world of pokemon and all the wonders and curiosities it entails. And I think that’s a wonderful note to end the series on.

We had the tournament in the journeys saga to trumpet the battles the series was known for. This final series was a farewell and tribute to all the smaller things and the mountain memories that pokemon has bequeathed on us over 25 years.

We didn’t get to see a potential connection, at least not one clearly evident yet, to the next. series. But maybe that’s something that might become clearer soon. Or maybe it will be a completely fresh start without reference. Who knows.

In any case, farewell, Ash Ketchum. You’ve been a constant companion through a great deal of my life. I might’ve disconnected from pokemon for a few sagas, but I came back to get to know you again, and you’ve been a source of consistency and comfort since.

May you one day achieve your goal and befriend pokemon the world over.

#Rez Rambles #Pokemon #Pokeani #Ash Ketchum #I wasn't overly emotional when I finished the episode #But the more I began writing this... the more it hit me and I began to feel it #The real end of an era here #I'm glad we're changing things up #But there is a bit of a gap where that familiarity and expectation of seeing him week in and week out once stood #Either way I'm still thankful for him

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goforshexgo · 5 months

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guys I have a jay fanfic that's been sitting in my drafts forever and I need to finish it

#fanfiction #x reader #disney descendants #jay descendants #fanfic writing #fanfic #rez dogs #carlos de vil #mal descendants #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #evie descendants

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blorbologist · 1 year

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Uhh, 21 with mirror

“Can anything reach you, from the other side?” Letters asks. They do an excellent job of miming eating - Lord de Rolo had a platter of various metals brought, and when not looking quite constipated he’d watch with great intrigue. The aluminum had been an exceptional treat, apparently.

“Not really,” says Laudna; “Yes,” says Lord de Rolo; “Only bits and pieces - the ones that reach you,” says Lady Vex’ahlia.

Laudna is startled out of her malaise. “Wait, what?”

“Did you hear anything, Laud?” Imogen murmurs.

“Oh, I don’t think - not much, given the -” stops. “She -” stops. Her hands draw through her hair and snag on the poppies, give her something to cling to. “I think - something about these.”

“So not me?” FCG mourns, and Imogen - Imogen - Imogen clings to Laudna’s hand, because Laudna needs to be held, needs to be clung to, needs the support, but maybe she wants to slap him and she can’t slap ‘em and it’s better to just cling.

(It breaks, a little. Hurt, hurt, pity, confusion, sharp smell of death, unease, enough hurt she can pretend it’s not coming from inside the house.)

In the wineglass she finds a mirror. She fishes out herself drowning in it - bloated, with bags under her eyes, cast in the red light of the moon.

(Poppies, so many poppies, enough red to hide black ichor and with all the green it almost looks like a flower arrangement, except it’s a half-elf and this must be Orym because there’s so much grief to it and Imogen feels sick and Imogen is sick and Imogen shouldn’t be here-)

Lady Vex’ahlia looks understanding, lowering her napkin. “Sometimes… some pleas just don’t go through.”

Lord de Rolo does not outwardly react - just as stiff as the stick up his ass would imply.

(Darkness, worse than darkness, raven’s feathers. Leaf-green glass laid to rest in smear of necrotic energy. It breaks, dull. She hears it like a chandelier. Sees his face, younger, stricken, held within it. Shoved away. Too fast - shards cling to his palm. He just stares.)

(Overlaid: Percy? Did you - Yes. Yes. Yes.)

“Imogen?”

“Sorry - ‘m sorry.” She lets go of Laudna’s hand. Without the anchor it rattles. Get it together, damn girl.

[Send me an ask with a number and a word and I'll share/write a snippet from the random AU that corresponds to it!]

#critical role #imodna #perc'ahlia #percahlia #hadnt realized until writing this that both Imogen and Percy made offerings at their beloveds' rez rituals that didnt go through #on top of their deaths being caused by them in some way or another. inch resting :)#imogen temult #laudna cr #percival de rolo

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chocobosdungeon2 · 2 years

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I wanna talk about the approach to the supernatural in Reservation Dogs.

I'd like to add as a disclaimer that I'm not yet familiar with most of Taika Waititi's other work. I know he has written about the supernatural before, but I haven't seen it firsthand so I don't know if what I'm about to say is unique to Rez Dogs or if its common throughout his work.

The show presents the supernatural and poses the question of whether or not it's "real" in the very first episode of the series with Big and his field of catfish (among other conspiracies). Big is often used as the POV character for these phenomena because he's presented as someone who readily accepts conspiracies, supernatural theories, and is known in his community as a Bigfoot-hunting wackjob. By doing this, the show makes the audience question if the things Big sees are real. At the same time, very "real" supernatural events happen to other characters, such as the Spirit who speaks to Bear. Some truth is shown to Big's beliefs in S1E5 Come and Get Your Love, where the Deer Lady is definitely shown to be real. This is all the Season 1 setup for the glorious romp that is S2E8 This is Where the Plot Thickens (which we'll come back to), where the line between reality and supernaturality is completely blurred, but there's a larger theme at play here I think. I would say Reservation Dogs likes to present reality-based solutions to supernatural problems, but without ever discounting those problems as "fake" or "just in your head." I feel like this is in contrast to a lot of media, which tends to do the Scooby Doo "There was a logical explanation the entire time!!!" thing. Not here.

The supernatural IS real

BUT it is always conquered by the mundane.

First, I want to pivot to Elora. There's a small scene in Stay Gold Cheesy Boy (S2E7) that illustrates what I mean really well. At the end of the previous episode (S2E6), Elora is shown sitting alone in her house. A house she is now the sole owner of. She begins to hear chanting coming from Mabel's bedroom, reminiscent of the elders who chanted as she was dying. Elora nervously investigates. The chanting gets louder as she approaches the bedroom, but it ends suddenly when she turns the light on. Elora turns the light off and walks back into the hallway, looking around her darkened house as if in a panic. There's muffled chanting and a growing soundwall that makes you feel claustrophobic, like something is coming towards you/her. The camera zooms in on her distraught face in the dark and then cuts to credits.

I don't know about the rest of ya'll, but that scared the shit out of me!!! I was like "oh fuck, what might happen to Elora???" This is Reservation Dogs! Shit can get DARK. She hasn't been in a great place mentally.

We don't see Elora at all for the beginning of Stay Gold Cheesy Boy. When Jackie goes to tell Bear and Willie Jack that Cheese was arrested, she says that Elora isn't answering her phone, spiking anxiety in the audience. You're made to wonder if she's okay.

But soon after the three of them find Elora at her house, plugged into headphones, painting the walls of her grandmother's bedroom, and there's relief. But that was quite the buildup to what turned out to be a paint job, right?

Elora is haunted by her grief, and as we saw in Mabel (S2E4), by the memories the house holds that she doesn't, by its history. Elora wanted to leave the Village, but now she's chained to it by this house she suddenly owns. I don't think the chanting and strange noises were just in Elora's head. She was being haunted. But she also didn't get attacked in the night by ghosts and the solution wasn't to hire an exorcist. When we're haunted by the past, the best thing we can do is look to the future. Elora was being haunted by the house's past so she took a step towards the house's (and her own) future. It's a very... reasonable reaction for a person to have. You can sense the urgency Elora felt to get this done after that harrowing night. What would you do if you felt like you couldn't handle living in a house with its history and memories? If you can't move, giving it a new coat of paint might be the next best thing.

Back to S2E8, this episode is a great example because it plays so much with the audience's sense of reality. A character with one of the strongest connections to the supernatural we've seen, Big, accidentally starts tripping on a huge dose of acid. He's soon followed by Kenny Boy. Complete side note, the juxtaposition of nervous and terrified Big's first time on acid, and chill Kenny Boy (hecking love Kirk Fox btw), who has probably done this a billion times, just vibing is hilarious. A lot of what Big sees can be assumed to be hallucinations, although in this show you can never be too sure. Deer Lady appears but is it really her or is it just his memory of her? Until they come upon the cultists. The Field of Catfish was a mystery presented at the start and built up a little every time Big would see or talk about it with no possible explanation. It turns out, the answer was weird cultists who fuck dead catfish. As wild as that is, it's still an answer grounded in reality so it brings your expectations back down a little bit. Then a bona-fide Supernatural Phenomenon shows up to save them. Not only is the Deer Lady confirmed to be SEEN by someone other than Big, but Kenny Boy KNOWS her, they've met before! So, there can no longer be any doubt in the audience's mind.

As a refresher, the Deer Lady is a supernatural woman with deer legs (as the name implies) who kills "bad" men (and men specifically). Figuring out what "bad" and "good" means is kind of what Big's arc is all about. She asks if Kenny Boy has been good and he replies, smiling, "No... but I've been trying real hard." Kenny Boy isn't someone Big would consider "good" in his very simplistic, child-like idea of it. Her affection toward Kenny Boy shows that being good isnt just saying No to drugs and following the law. Her targets are consistently womanizing rich men who have no regard for others or their environment. She does extend to outright criminals like murderers and robbers if the opportunity presents itself, but usually to protect or save someone. I don't think she likes to work in the open if she can avoid it. The Deer Lady is a supernatural phenomenon that punishes Bad Men. You can avoid getting killed by her by being a Good Man. By not flaunting excessive wealth, by not harming others, and by caring about people around you. The fundamentals of being a decent human being.

There's other examples of this throughout the show of course, but these are a couple that stood out to me. A kind of overlapping theme that I'd love to delve into is the reverence given to Weirdos who Just Say Shit. Junkies, homeless, random dudes in waiting rooms, etc. All spewing their strange ramblings to whoever will hear, but the show frames them as wise and worth listening to. I think I need to end this post before I get too off-topic, but I think it plays into this theme as well.

I've intentionally avoided speaking on the scenes of prayer, where there's a very obvious crossing between these boundaries. I think there's a lot to say about those scenes as well, but I am not Indigenous and I feel like I'd be trying to speak on cultural and spiritual practices I know nothing about. I already feel dangerously close to doing that. I really don't want to make assumptions about anyone's beliefs, so I've tried to stick to examining the screenwriting and how it conveys these themes. If anyone else is willing to add their input, I'd be thrilled to read it.

#reservation dogs #reservation dogs spoilers #rez dogs #analysis #reservation dogs analysis #screenwriting #ramblings #ive spent the last few days trying to figure out how to write this #i hope its coherent #long post #come and get your love #this is where the plot thickens #stay gold cheesy boy #mabel #deer lady

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lightningfiction · 1 year

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Apparition

Some nights, Cosan will sit up in bed, the covers falling to his waist. He will be soaked in sweat. His hands will shake, and he will look at them. The left palm is uninteresting, he thinks. Just a hand, nothing new.

But the right hand tells the story of a boy who worked too hard for a gift he never should have had. Buried in his skin are snaking black tattoos, the ever-shifting, indecipherable Naksha script. Every time he looks at his palm, the tattoos have shifted or moved slightly. Certain phrases or words would have changed. Naksha is like air, he thinks. Always in motion.

The fact that his tattoos move, even ever-so-slightly, is just proof that he has tapped into the Pulse of the universe. On nights like this, he will examine his arm in the sliver of moonlight between the curtains. The markings run up to his elbow. He traces them with a finger, willing his heart to stop racing.

Rez, inevitably, will wake. He is too sensitive to the movements and noises around him. It’s amazing he gets any sleep at all. He’ll turn his head towards Cosan, one hand instinctively reaching to the gun on the nightstand, and it is Cosan’s responsibility to say:

“Everything’s all right.”

Rez hums his response and drifts back to sleep. He would be up in a flash if Cosan asked, but he doesn’t ask anymore. Every deep and soulful conversation that had to be had is done. There is nothing either of them can say that will fix the past. Cosan usually tries to go back to sleep. Sometimes he will leave the bed and make some coffee.

That’s what he does tonight.

It’s comforting, going through the motions of making a familiar beverage. He takes his drink to his study then, finds a book he’s already read, and settles in for the next few hours. Tomorrow when Rez questions his exhaustion, he will tell him the truth. It is a meaningless exercise. What can anyone say to a grown man who still dreams of ghosts?

#fantasy // where the wild things are #ocs #writing #writeblr #drabble #snippet #writing snippet #writer stuff #writers on tumblr #creative writing #my wriitng #corez #cosan roen #rez niloi

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paris-geller-was-straightwashed · 1 year

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February Writing Challenge (2/28)

day two! *ringing cowbell* give it up for day two!!

let’s hope I can keep this up.

Prompt: ‘Kiss’

Pairing: Jackie/Elora (Reservation Dogs)

Words: 1,998

Rating: T (not for content, just for canon-typical language)

Notes: I just love this ship your honour. I wanted to do some sweet, fluffy scenarios of giddy, nervous first kisses with your crush who you like so much - stupid, fun teenager stuff basically - but not at the same time, make it so fluffy that it doesn’t match with the actual vibe of the characters and comes of as OOC. I hope I found a good mix!

Jackie was sure she knew more about skydiving then she did about dating.

Especially first dates. The right places to go, the right things to say – fuck, she spent half an hour the day before just trying to find the right shirt to wear out! It’s stupid. Most of the time, she couldn’t give a shit what she looked like.

Not with Elora, though.

She was going fuckin’ soft, is what it was. The way that shiver ran up her spine when their shoulders brushed. How her palms sweated at the thought of wrapping Elora’s hand in hers. The fact that she actually let Elora beat her at her favourite game of air hockey, just because that pure elated smile jumping over her face meant more to Jackie then anything else.

Her brother would be taking the absolute shit our of her right now, if he could see her like this.

It was their old stomping ground they went to, actually, the games arcade her and Micah used to waste any spare coins on. Jackie ended up suggesting it to Elora, because, frankly, she’d failed to think up any other solution to a ‘first date’ and really, she thinks Elora was just as eager to get off the rez and into town.

It worked out in her favour though. The evening hours flew by, spending it battling out behind the toy wheels of racing games or over the foosball table, betting each other who could score the most in a row over at the basketball hoops (Jackie did manage to win that one). Elora tried to claim that she clearly had had enough practice to learn how to cheat, a smile threatening over her lips. Jackie rolled her eyes in return.

“Yeah yeah, I could still smoke you if you wanna go a second round – but it’s probably ‘cause you’re standing, like, a fuckin’ mile away from the hoop. You gotta, like, centre yourself better..

She barely saw the way Elora eyed her as she gestured at the dark-haired girls’ stance – and the faint glint of mirth that sparked in those deep brown eyes. Another smile flicked over her face.

What, are you gunna like..pull a Patrick Swayze to show me or somethin’?..

The off-handed line caused Jackie to stutter. Did Elora really just pull that coy, I’m-only-partially-joking line out of her fucking back pocket?? Quiet, serious, carrying-the-world-on-her-shoulders Elora Danan?

Heart hammering in her throat, Jackie dared to take a dive and gently placed her hands on both of Elora’s elbows to direct her. Elora easily followed the careful pull as Jackie re-centred her, the blonde all-too aware of how close she hung off her shoulder, so when the beat-up basketball flew through the air, it sailed through the basket.

The night starting to encroach with a heavy blue evening sky hanging over, they were headed home. Sipping on their king-size slurpees and chuckling over Elora’s story of how Bear’s mom once did actually dress him up in a bear costume for Halloween when he was five, no one wanted to admit that the night was ending – but they couldn’t live in the arcade forever, and Jackie had promised her aunt she’d have her car back by nine, and she didn’t have a single doubt that if she was even a minute behind that woman would hunt her down.

The problem with the night closing in, is that Jackie had no fucking idea how to end it.

She did the proper thing of dropping Elora off at her home, even walking her to the door. Now they stood at the cement front steps, the soft yellow of the overhead light enveloped around them, pulling them in to the circle of light so it felt as if the world was just the two of them. They both took their time, drawing each ticking second out, the giddy nervousness becoming thicker in the air. They fidgeted on the steps, a little too nervous to look the other in the eye.

“..So, uh, I..” Jackie tried to form a sentence after the deafening silence became too much “I guess uh..I guess that’s our time..”

She tried to just shrug it off, play it cool, and instead it came out way too fucking awkward. Fuck. Elora glanced back at her from where she stood before the faded front door.

“Yeah..I guess..” She echoed, as if dusted with disappointment “But, hey..um..Jackie..”

Jackie perked up with a sudden ugly twist in her stomach. The words that followed that kind of sentence, could either be golden or totally catastrophic.

Fuck I fucked it up I knew I’d fuck it up –

“I just..wanted to say how much fun I had.” Elora was smiling, that rare light shining off her “Like..the most fun in a long time..”

Shit. Jackie could’ve been struck by lightening then and there and she wouldn’t have even been mad. Elora smiling at her saying this – that was the best damn thing since she arrived in this dump of a town.

“For real?..” She asked softly, her own smile threatening to break out.

“Yeah..” Elora confirmed, a pink bloom rising over her cheeks that was far too adorable, resorting to jokingly shoving Jackie in the shoulder “Just fuckin’ take the win..”

Jackie chuckled, hearing laughter in return. The silence crept back on, but it wasn’t as scary as before. She tried not to teeter back on her heels, fists she’d shoved in her pants pockets clenching.

Just do it do it don’t be a little bitch do it –

“Cool. So, um..I...” in the end, Jackie sort of admitted defeat, head ducking down as she rubbed the back of her neck “I uh...I don’t really know..how to end these..”

“What makes you think I know?” Elora raised a brow in return, shuffling with the same nerves “I think, I mean – from what I’ve heard or whatever – there’s usually...you know..”

The terrifying, exhilarating word lay out in the air, unspoken. Jackie nodded a bit too fast, trying to swallow though her thick throat.

“Right. Yeah. I mean..we uh...just ‘cause everyone else does that or whatever doesn’t mean..– I mean, if you don’t want to..–”

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Elora broke in, her brow rising even higher. Jackie’s eyes nearly popped out.

“No! Fuck, I mean – yes! Shit, I-I just, I do, I didn’t wanna force you –”

Gentle chuckling abruptly cut her off. Elora was smiling again, eyes sparkling.

“I’m just fucking with you.”

Jackie slumped, her eyes squeezing shut in realization. Part of her wants to be mad at the heart attack she nearly had – the other part of her...had to admit that was a pretty good one. A smile started cracking over her lips.

“Fuck you too..” She muttered. Elora giggled again. “Thing is..I..”

“Look, Jackie..” the blonde re-centred herself to Elora’s warm expression, finding an almost nervous vulnerability “You’re tripping yourself up; stop sweating it. I had a good time hanging out, okay?..”

Jackie would say she was more then ‘tripping herself up’ at this rate. But Elora had a point. She nodded again, quicker, to shake off her nerves.

“Right. I’ll uh..I’ll see you tomorrow then?..”

Pussy.

Amazing how her inner voice sounded somewhat exactly like her brother’s...

Jackie tried to ignore it, but couldn’t completely. Because she was wussing out. Simply wishing her date goodnight and trotting off the steps, well, seemed rather lacklustre. She liked Elora a lot. This isn’t how she wanted to leave the whole thing by just kind of shoving it aside.

At the same time, she had no idea what the fuck to do. Messing it up felt like an even worse outcome then taking the cowards way out. If Elora had enjoyed the date, then maybe she should simply leave it at that.

Right?

Stop being a little bitch about it –

“Yeah..”

Elora’s voice brought her back to reality again. The dark-haired girl had now backed up to the door to lean against it, hand pressing down on the handle, hovering on her exit. She was still smiling back at Jackie, but, it was different. It didn’t have the same light, and Jackie quickly read, like a punch to the gut, the disappointment in it.

“I’ll uh..see you later..”

That was all the invitation Jackie needed to leave – instead she hovered. Partially perched on the final front doorstep, partially twisted towards where Elora was standing. Seconds slowed. Jackie felt like she was tearing in two, and didn’t want to leave Elora who was quietly pulling away like this.

She just didn’t want to mess this up and she liked her so much and she hadn’t even done this before and –

Fuck it.

Jackie suddenly jumped back up the step, rushing her way back to Elora. She barely had time to recognize the dark eyes drawing wide, before, almost as if all on it’s own, her hand effortlessly slipped around Elora’s waist to hold her in place and then her lips were over the pink ones.

Just like that.

It wasn’t like Jackie had anything to compare it to but holy shit. It was so soft. So soft she felt like she could’ve dropped to her fucking knees. Elora had initially frozen up, but before Jackie could worry about it, that tentative nature came out as she carefully moved her lips to kiss back.

The whole world slowed. Jackie could hear her heart beating out of control in her ears, and Elora’s soft breaths. Elora tasted like cherry – that bright, bursting red from her slurpee, that Jackie saw had coated her tongue when she caught Elora laughing – and, faintly, the remaining stickiness of vanilla chapstick at the corner of her mouth. It was everything more then she’d been imagining.

Fuck, I like her so much. Fuckfuckfuckfuck –

Jackie pulled away. Mostly, for air. She did her best to do it slowly, steadying them. Her eyes fluttered open – and they immediately found Elora’s big, soft brown ones. She looked about as dazed as Jackie felt. And as wonderfully so. They both could only stand there, breathing heavy, lips still hovering so close all it would take was one of them crossing the couple inches and give in again.

Fuck I gotta say something, crap –

“I..I’m..I just..” nothing was coming out, her words so jumbled it might as well be fucking alphabet soup in her brain, that her anxiety just bit down on the first comprehensible word “.....Bye.”

She spun, rushing with as much speed back down the porch steps and to the car. Elora was left there, trying to come back to reality – and smiling. Half from the kiss, and the other half because she could hear Jackie angrily hissing to herself as she scrambled to the car

“Fuck fuck what the fuck was that you asshole jesus shit –”

Jackie ripped open the car door, sitting back and smacking her palms into her forehead. She couldn’t believe herself.

What a way to both kiss the girl and run away at the same time.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there wallowing, the porch light off and the door closed to Elora’s house. The thing that pulled her out was the sudden buzz of her phone, lighting up with a text.

Sure it was her aunt yell-texting her to hurry up and bring the car home, Jackie felt her heart knot in her throat when she saw Elora’s name.

[Elora] just so u kno, I’m game to try that a 2nd time

[Elora} as long as you don’t run away again.

[Elora] luckily I like the taste of blue raspberry.

Jackie blinked back. Then she flicked her gaze to her own slurpee cup in the holster, the battery-acid blue liquid still sloshing around in the bottom. A grin grew over her. She brought her fingers to her lips, gently, finding the sticky trace of chapstick.

She wasn’t sure how she’d make it till tomorrow without thinking about getting to kiss Elora Danan all over again.

#reservation dogs #rez dogs #elora danan #bear smallhill #willie jack #and cheese! can't forget about him #jackie reservation dogs #she doens't have a last name which means she gets the show title tacked on instead #fanfiction #february writing challenge #I love my angry lesbian teens so much I just want them to have a nice time #elora x jackie #still don't know how to tag

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