#s.2+ rewrite?? I guess?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kimbapisnotsushi · 7 months

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you seem to have a good read on HQ and your takes are great, so i have a question...and if you'd rather not go there, please ignore this! but i see oikawa get called "arrogant" quite often and i'm curious, would you say he is? what is it that makes people think that? imo he has a plenty of flaws, but i truly don't think arrogance is one of them. self-centered, sure, but not arrogant i think. i'm open to being wrong, i'm just legit so confused by that particular criticism, it makes me doubting my reading comprehension. i feel like that one post that's like "free my man, he didn't do that. he did a lot of other stuff tho" LOL. if you do answer this, then thanks for your time!

oh, dear anon. this is a very very big question and i'm honored you think i am capable of providing an answer that does it justice!! i don't consider myself an oikawa expert by far, but i'll do my best because he's still very beloved to me, and i hope whatever i say helps!

(but also - maybe take what i say with a grain of salt LMAO)

anyways, to get the main point out of the way: i completely agree that oikawa isn't arrogant! i actually haven't seen any commentary about that myself (bless!!!), so i can't say for sure why some people might think that, but my guess is that they think his pridefulness = arrogance — they think that the confidence he has in himself and seijoh contributes nothing to their actual power and is utterly meaningless if they don't win, especially in the face of ushijima. which, like, come on. what kind of captain would he be if he wasn't confident in himself and his teammates? is he supposed to tell them that they're going to lose??? is he supposed to discourage their hard work and effort???

or maybe it's because oikawa acts like he's all that, but doesn't have anything to show for it. who does he think he is? what does he think his pride is worth? what right does he have to go around making grand declarations when he has nothing to his name?

(which isn't entirely true, either, but we'll get into that, promise.)

now, do i think that he can, occasionally, be flippant, shallow, and/or petty? yeah, sure. he's got one hell of a personality about it. even iwaizumi says as much. oikawa is great at being a little shit. it's one of my favorite things about him!

but is oikawa genuinely arrogant, or self-centered? well . . . i don't think so.

see, here's the thing about oikawa: he knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's good enough. i think it'd be easiest to really explain what that meant if we broke this down into two separate parts, so let's give it a go, shall we?

(buckle up, friends, because it's about to get LONG. also: TIMESKIP SPOILERS!! and there's a tldr at the start of the tags because. WOW.)

so, first things first: if people are calling oikawa arrogant, then i'm like 99% sure that they don't actually know what the word "arrogant" means.

"arrogant" is used to describe someone full of themselves. it's used to describe someone conceited and pompous. it's used to describe someone so assured of and invested in their self-importance that they don't care for other people, and if it seems like they do, then it's usually wildly off the mark and still serves to inflate their own egos.

oikawa has never once been like that. he's been pretty much the exact opposite, in fact.

and yeah, sure, by his third year of high school, he knows he's good at volleyball, and that's fine! it's perfectly all right to claim you're good at something if you have the skills/experience to back it up. confidence is healthy as long as it isn't in overabundance, and we actually see a lot of this throughout the series!

(not to mention that this was where ushijima fell short. he was overflowing with confidence. he did not believe, for even a single second, that hinata shouyou and his meager, scrappy little flock of crows could beat him.

but oikawa? he knew. he knew what it looked like to make something bloom.)

the key to oikawa's confidence that made him better was that he could pinpoint others' strengths and weaknesses just as well as he could with his own. and (bear with me, please, i might get kind of boring here bc it's nothing that hasn't been said in the manga before) i don't mean it in the way we see the coaches or more analytical players do, as observations to be taken advantage of by everyone else; i mean that in the sense of how vital it is to his position as a setter. that was always the biggest difference between oikawa and kageyama: no matter how much more raw talent kageyama had, no matter how much better oikawa believed him to be, kageyama, especially in the beginning, struggled to do what oikawa could with a team. kageyama struggled to bring out the best in each player. and it wasn't because he didn't know how -- oikawa freely admitted that kageyama had the skill for it, that kageyama, once he got his shit together, could win against him -- it was because kageyama didn't have that same confidence in himself.

(not until much later, anyways. but that's another story, for another time.)

so, oikawa's confident. he knows he's good. he can bring out the best in each player. he's got a killer serve (and a killer smile!), a mind for tactics that borders on machievallianism, and cherishes the trust he is given like it's something precious. his coaches let him lead without leaning on them. his team has the utmost respect and admiration for him. he has a reputation. from karasuno to shiratorizawa to the whole of miyagi -- there is not a single character who knows oikawa tooru and would believe that he is, in any way, bad at volleyball.

but it's not enough. despite all of that, oikawa still doesn't think he's good enough. and that, friends, brings us to the second point.

oikawa tooru is nothing if not passionate.

so were the others, of course. kageyama kept going after his grandfather's death. hinata kept going while being a nobody from nowhere with no one to back him up. atsumu kept going while osamu didn't. it's not even about just those who went pro -- kenma, kuroo, noya, and everyone else found things that they were passionate about and kept going with it. the entire story revolves around loving what you do and trying to keep that love alive, and, sometimes, that can be really, really difficult when it seems like it doesn't love you back.

oikawa was so insecure over kageyama to the point where he nearly decked the poor kid. oikawa got crushed by ushijima-- who kept telling him that his team was not good enough, that his choices were not good enough, that there was nothing good enough to be proud of -- for years in a row. oikawa was taught that there would always be someone better than him no matter how skilled he was, but if he let that stop him then he didn't fucking belong on the court in the first place.

oikawa tooru is intimately acquainted with not being good enough, but he keeps trying to be. he keeps going. he tries to keep the love alive even if he's not loved back. he pushes and practices and takes a plane far from home to become even better. even if he doesn't have the skill, even if he doesn't have the talent, even if he doesn't have the love -- he still has his pride. and what does that mean, in the end? how far does that take him?

in the end, oikawa tooru walks across a world stage and sees people who believed in him on the other side and calls it a family reunion. in the end, he gets to play the volleyball that reminds him of why he loves it and how it gives him so much love back. in the end, his pride is unyielding and unbreakable, a product of the forge. he molded it with his own two hands. he will not let it falter so easily.

arrogance would not have taken oikawa tooru this far. i hope this has proven that he is anything but.

remember: instinct is something you polish. talent is something you make bloom. and never, ever let anyone else tell you what your pride is worth.

#tldr: oikawa 's confident in himself but (believing that there will always be someone more talented) is always striving to become better #ANYWAYS #i know this one's a bit different from the itachiyama post where i analyzed each panel but like #that was REALLY hard to do for this one since there were so many good ones i could use!!!#so i ended up just smashing 2-3 panels together that i thought were best representative of each point i wanted to talk about #and then just diving deep into the whole thing #if i had done it the first way we would have been here FOREVER #literally that's why it took so long i kept deleting and rewriting and going 'holy shit how the fuck do i write this'#'how can ANYTHING i possibly say do justice to oikawa tooru'#i hope i did a good job and i hope this helped anon!!!#i genuinely think this is the most insane thing i have ever written so thanks for that i guess #oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu meta #sou says stuff

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slowips · 10 months

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611 words (terribly unedited. really felt like a word vomit. no elegance, nothing. but it's really just to get the feels for the flow of the scene).

included some deletions from the previous day. honestly not sure how to calculate word count at this point but i wrote 611 words that i'm accepting to be part of the fic as of today.

#with irony.#m/2023/001 #/#the total is close to 2k!!#we're still in reader's pov i cant wait to start writing cyn*'s pov #also it just occured to me what a first draft meant and why we do not edit on the first draft #at least for a panster like me bc i really need that first draft to know what is the FLOW of events #i have a rough plan but like it's always changing as i write #i guess the final decision is the mum stays dead #oh man this is actually deviating from the og once again #BUT NO FEAR i will persist and just write to get the flow of the story. edit after #i love rewriting anyways (pain). not like i dont rewrite my stories like 2 times at least

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loveharlow · 2 months

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SEVEN - 002

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[6.5k] based on 1x02.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of parental neglect, mild violence, mentions of death/grief, disturbance of a graveyard (?)

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I've been wanting to do an OBX rewrite for a very long time so here it is, the first chapter from yours truly.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“DO YOU REALLY THINK BIG JOHN COULD STILL BE ALIVE?” Kiara’s slightly digitally distorted voice came from the other end of the line. Your phone was pressed between your ear and shoulder as you searched the hangers in your closet, bath towel wrapped snug around your frame and your hair thrown up into a bun, which was presenting more like a mess of damp strands.

“It doesn’t matter what we think, Kie,” You made clear, eyeing a cute shirt you thought you’d lost. “We should just be there for him.”

“Yeah… but what if we’re just feeding into a fantasy? Wouldn’t that make us bad friends if we weren’t honest with him?” You could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the phone as well, dresser drawers slamming occasionally.

“Maybe you’re right.” You sighed, throwing your outfit onto your bed and heading back into the closet to find a bikini to wear underneath. Living in the Outer Banks meant you had a plethora to choose from. “But the way I see it? If it were my dad that went missing, I’d be looking for him too. I’d give anything to even have that small hope that my dad was still alive back, but I know he isn’t… so, I understand.”

“I didn’t think about it like that…” It was sad to hear her so conflicted, as if she’d said the wrong thing.

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to. And I would never want you to be able to understand that feeling. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” You reassured, putting the girl on speaker to toss the phone on your bed and slipping the bikini you picked out onto your frame and tying the respective knots. “That’s why if John B thinks his dad is alive and wants to look for him? That’s what we’re gonna do. Because alive or not, John B is like a brother to me and leaving him to do this alone is what would make us bad friends.”

“I guess you’re right…are you still meeting up with the guys today?”

“Just J and John B for right now. Pope said he’d be around later after helping his pops.” You told her, slipping an oversized shirt over top of the bikini, eyeing your closet shelves for a pair of shorts.

“Alright, I might swing by if my parents aren’t up my ass about work.” She complained. “Talk to you later.”

“Later.” Was all you said before the end-call sound rang out in the expanse of your bedroom.

A swift series of knocks met your closed door from the other side, you shouted for them to come in, assuming it was either your mother or your dog Marley’s tail hitting the wood. The 2-year-old golden retriever had a knack for sitting outside your bedroom door on the rare occasion that it was closed and she wasn’t inside.

The knob twisted and in walked your mother, adorned in her signature navy blue pencil skirt and blazer, still a half hour to spare before she had to head off to her office for work. Rebecca Reyes was the Outer Banks’ most notable and renowned lawyer. Even when you still lived on The Cut all those months ago, she was still the island's number one defender. Moving to Figure Eight and getting rich, almost overnight, just gave her the resources she needed. You still questioned where all the money spawned from, chopping it down to your father’s life insurance coming through.

But the bank said that could take a while and you never assumed it was enough to buy a house on Figure Eight. But that’s adult stuff, you thought to yourself.

“You got home late yesterday,” She began bluntly, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist. The smell of her expensive perfume already wafting into your space. “Where were you?”

“Just out with John B and the others.” You said with a shrug, walking out the closet with a pair of sneakers in your hands as you undid the tied laces.

She hummed, eyeing the space around you as if she’d never seen it before. “Did you hear about the boat they’re searching for? Scooter Grubbs’ boat?”

You side eyed her quickly, not quick enough for her to catch however. “Yeah, the whole island is losing their minds over it.”

“You and your friends haven’t come across anything, have you?”

“...I doubt we’d have any luck coming across a Grady-White, mom. Especially after the hurricane. That boat could be oceans away for all we know.”

“Right.” She agreed, but she seemed far away. Off. Why’d she care about Scooter Grubbs’ boat? “And what’s this I hear about some kid with a gun at The Point?” Your heart dropped.

“A gun?” You acted semi-shocked. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”

“Hm.” She droned. “Well, if you find anything don’t hesitate to tell me. Or Shoupe, for that matter. He said two out of towners showed up for the boat search yesterday, looked sketchy. So, be careful.”

You hummed in agreement, watching as the woman strutted out of the room without even a small ‘goodbye’.

You and your mother were nowhere near as close as you used to be. Your father’s passing caused a rift between the two of you that seemed irreparable. You just felt like she had become so cold and closed off, nothing like the woman who used to bake every weekend or plan family nights in the backyard. She was more secretive, dismissive. You couldn’t even remember what her smile looked like. She’d changed so much. She used to hate Sheriff Shoupe, said he was a dirty cop who worked under the rich snobs of Figure Eight. Now, it’s like they’re business partners of some sort and she is a rich snob on Figure Eight.

She even changed her last name back after your father died and wouldn’t tell you why. That was what made you feel the most alone. Rebecca Carter was now Rebecca Reyes but you were still Y/N Carter and your father would always be Owen Carter.

It was like she was trying to erase him and everything they’d built together.

You hated to admit that sometimes you wondered what your father would think of the woman she’s become. If she would be as unrecognizable to him as she is to you.

YOU SAT IN THE BACK OF THE VAN, legs bent as your journal rested atop your thighs while you scribbled down your thoughts and recent events — namely the events of yesterday. You had one earbud in, your playlist on shuffle as you half-listened into JJ and John B’s conversation that was happening in the front seat, the bumpy ride making your handwriting a bit chicken scratch-ish.

“I don’t understand why you don’t at least try with Kiara,” JJ started, his heavy boots kicked up on the dashboard. “She clearly likes you. She’s like ‘Oh, John B!’. She’s sketchy about you diving and then she kissed you, bro.” The blonde continued.

“She kissed me on the cheek. It’s not like we were makin’ out.” John B denied, brushing off the girl’s clear affections.

“Low-hanging fruit, bro.” JJ cut him off, the statement making you cringe in silence as you continued to scribble. “I see it in your eyes. You’re like ‘I kind of like that’.” JJ said in a mockingly low and seductive voice.

“Okay, you want to talk about me?”

“Yeah, bro, I wanna talk about you and your lack of game.”

“My lack- my lack of game? Okay, what game do you have, JJ? ‘Cause I haven’t seen any improvement in your case.” JJ’s head whipped between you and the boy in the driver’s seat within milliseconds before he was swatting John B’s arm.

“C’mon, dude...” He warned in a hushed tone. John B just chuckled.

“That’s what I thought.”

Moments of silence passed before their voices were heard again. “I gotta admit, your dad’s compass in Scooter’s boat? Freaky, man…” JJ claimed, twirling the newfound object between his fingers.

“That’s why we’re going to talk to Ms. Lana and figure this whole thing out. She’s his wife, she has to know something.” John B told him.

“And what makes you think she would want to talk to us?” You added, spooking the blonde boy in the passenger seat.

“How long have you been listen-”

“I’m always listening.” You spoke bluntly, a blank expression on your face as you averted your attention from your journal to him. “Anyway,” you dismissed. “A group of teenagers showing up to ask her about her dead husband, the boat that the whole island is looking for, and the compass we found inside of said dead husband’s lost boat? She’ll either think we’re criminals, FBI, or crazy.”

“Well, this is our first resort.” John B replied, eyes looking at you through the rearview. “We gotta try.”

“KNOW WHAT THIS HOUSE LOOKS LIKE?” JJ said, leading the group of us to the front yard of Lana Grubbs’ residence. “Whoever lives here smokes too much weed.” He observed the small, shack-like house — the walls were overgrown with weeds, the yard looked like it’d never been cut, the place was a mess from the outside.

The three of you stopped, more like flinched, in your tracks when you heard glass-shattering from the inside of the house followed by crash after crash. It sounded like the outside of a rage-room or a gun range.

“Maybe we should come back…” JJ advised, taking small steps back. But John B persisted, even as the two of you stood back in fear.

“No, no, shut up, JJ.” John B reprimanded absentmindedly.

“Tell me where it is or I’ll fuck you up!” A deep, brassy voice boomed from the inside. The voice so authoritative it made you shudder, but it didn’t worry you as when a woman’s scream followed. You could only assume it was Ms. Lana. “I’ll sink you in the fucking-” A crash, louder than the rest, cut off the sentence, almost covering the sound of Ms. Lana’s blood-curling screech.

“You’re hurting me!”

John B beckoned JJ and you on with his hands, urging the both of you to move forward. Reluctantly, and after a weary glance at one another, you and JJ followed the brunette boy who was edging closer and closer to the side of the house.

“Where the fuck is it?!”

“I don’t know!”

The three of you quickly dashed and ducked beneath the window seal on the only open window when you heard something hit the wall from the inside. You had just parted your lips to say that, just maybe, this was a bad idea. A terrible one, even, before a phrase yelled by the angry man inside had you shutting up.

“The compass wasn’t in the boat! Where is it, Lana?!”

“I don’t know!”

Your heart dropped as things continued to get thrown and slammed inside the house and you prayed those ‘things’ didn’t happen to be Lana. The paint and wood started to physically chip and fall off the walls outside, landing on top of the three of you crouched against the side of the house, wood particles falling into your eyes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, man…” Another male voice commanded, followed by two pairs of heavy footsteps against the wooden floors inside. The three of you peeked around the corner to watch the two men disappear from the grounds through the front door, stomping angrily towards their boat.

The same boat that had been shooting at you only 24 hours prior.

“Those were the guys that shot at us.” JJ whisper-yelled.

“Go back.” John B commanded, pushing you all back behind the safety of the wall so they wouldn’t see you all. Once the boat sped off, the three of you slowly tip-toed your way into the house. The sound of Lana’s cries getting louder and more heartbreaking the more you entered the house, shoes crunching on wood and glass. Photo frames and dishes all broken into smaller fractions and littered on the floor, holes in the walls, kitchen cabinets hanging on by a single hinge.

“Ms. Lana?” You called out, voice laced with concern, eyeing the broken windows before they found Ms. Lana’s curled up figure on the bathroom floor right below the sink that was hanging on by a singular pipe. “Oh my God.” You gasped, kneeling right next to the woman and laying a hand on her shoulder that caused her to flinch and shrink in on herself.

She had tears running from her red, swollen eyes, curled up like someone’s child.

“She is tweakin’.”

“Shut up, JJ.” You hissed, shooting a mean glare at the insensitive blonde before turning your attention back to the feeble woman. “Do you need a doctor? We can call a doctor for you.” You assured, examining the multiple cuts adorning the woman’s face and arms.

“We can call the sheriff’s department-” John B was on the verge of suggesting before Lana cut him off frantically.

“No cops, please!”

“Mm, that’s not good. Let’s bounce.” JJ urged, weary of the woman’s persistence to avoid law enforcement.

“You shouldn’t be here...” Lana cried, her eyes focused on John B, speaking as her lip quivered and her voice shook.

The brunette’s face twisted, kneeling next to me to level his gaze with Ms. Lana’s. “Do you know those guys?”

“They were… looking for something.” Her voice wavered.

“...Does it have anything to do with this?” John B asked her, pulling the compass from the back pocket of his board shorts. You and JJ shared a glance, both knowing John B probably shouldn’t have shown it to her. “This was my father’s and Scooter had it. Do you know why?”

Why did John B think showing a woman his father’s compass and saying he copped it from her dead husband was a good idea? You had no clue. Interrogation tactic? Impulsiveness? Stupidity? Lana’s eyes were wide and teary, she looked like she was seeing ghosts.

“Scooter didn’t have it, okay? Don’t tell anyone that you have that. They can’t know that you have that!”

Your lips pulled themselves into a thin line and you were starting to feel less bad for Lana and more suspicious of the distressed woman. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. She didn’t seem to be a threat but she clearly knew things that she shouldn’t. You nudged JB’s arm, whispering in his direction even though the woman could most likely still hear you. “We should go…”

“You’ve gotta get out of here!” Lana cried, fearful gaze eyeing the compass in John’s grasp.

“What do you know about the compass?” John B raised his voice over her frantic one, still questioning Lana as JJ pulled him back and the three of you stood to leave.

“Go! Get out!” Was the last thing you heard as the hysteric woman yelled at your retreating figures.

“SO, YOU SAW THE GUYS THAT SHOT AT US, RIGHT?” Pope asked with his head in his hands, stressed after listening to JJ’s dramatic rendition of events. The three of you had returned to The Chateau and summoned Kiara and Pope not too long after, the events of today on the tip of your tongue. “Did you get a good description of them? Anything we can bring to a police report?”

You shook your head along with JJ and John B as Kiara and Pope sighed at you all's lack of response. There was nothing special about these guys. Sure, they seemed out of place but that’s because nobody on the island knew them. That was one perk about living in Kildare, everyone knows everyone. But these weren’t leather jacket, ski-mask wearing criminals. They didn’t stick out like sore thumbs.

“That’s not very helpful…” Kiara huffed.

“But, but,” JJ started again. “They were burly. Like the men I’d see at my dad’s garage. You guys know he made cargo hides for drug smugglers...” He reminded you all carelessly. “I can tell you with full confidence that these guys? They’re square groupers.”

“Like Narcos square groupers?” Pope questioned with little amusement, his face dropping as he watched JJ smoke against the brick wall.

“Like, Pablo Escobar square grouper?” You added on, just as skeptical from your seat on the patio floor, legs stretched in front of you and crossed over one another while you leaned on your elbows for support. JJ just nodded, blowing out smoke.

“You guys, not everything is a kingpin movie.” Kie reprimanded from her place next to Pope on the patio furniture.

“Okay,” Pope started. “What does a square grouper look like? Hm? Because clearly, you don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Okay, you weren’t there! I wasn’t taking little mental polaroids the entire time, dude! I was under duress!” JJ whined to which you and John B rolled your eyes.

“Why would they want the compass?” Kiara probed, leaning forward in her seated position, resting her forearms on her thighs.

“That thing’s a piece of shit, you could pawn it off for five bucks if you wanted to… No offense, John B.” Pope claimed honestly, watching as John B flicked the object open and stared at it longingly, paying no mind to the boy’s insult.

“Well, clearly it’s worth something.” You popped in. “Considering these guys are willing to kill for it.”

“...The office.” You all turned to the scruffy brunette. A silent question on everyone’s face. “My dad’s office.” John B continued, shooting up and walking inside The Chateau as you all scurried to follow, shooting one another confused glances. “He always kept the office locked ‘cause he was worried about his competitors stealing his Royal Merchant research. Remember?” He directed at you and JJ, looking back but still walking forward. “We used to laugh at him like he was actually going to find it. But now that he’s…gone, I just left it as he kept it.” He said despondently.

“Yeah. For when he gets back.” Kie backed him up with a light-tipped smile. Keys jangled as John B unlocked the room you hadn’t seen in years. Not since before Big John went missing. Before all of this.

“I’ve slept over here like six-hundred times and I’ve never seen this door opened.” Pope said aloud, eyeing the office like a museum.

This was like being hit by a tidal-wave for you. And you’re sure it was the same for John B. You can remember the countless nights you’d slept over before and after Big John went missing. Before he went missing and you, JB, and JJ would peek inside just to watch him just write and type like his life depended on it. It even brought back memories of when your dad would stay a while after dropping you off to spend the night just to share beers in the backyard with Big John.

The nights after his disappearance weren’t as sweet though. Sleeping in a group hug around John B after his dad went missing. Then your friends all slept in a group hug around you after your dad went missing. Then they slept in another group hug around you when your dad’s body was found, washed up on the shore for the entire island to see. With the plethora of events, The Chateau became a haunted house in your mind.

“Look,” John B said, pulling you out of your stupor. He’d taken a bulletin board down off of the walls that was decorated with paper scraps and old pictures. His index finger pointed to the photo at the very top, a sepia-like tint to it. “This was the original owner of the compass.”

The paper pinned against the photo read ‘Robert Q. Routledge. 1880 - 1920’.

“There’s the lucky compass right there.” Kiara showed you all, pointing to the object clutched in the old man’s hand in the picture. You wouldn’t exactly call the compass lucky, though. And if it was before, it surely isn’t now.

“Actually, um. He was shot after he bought it…” John B informed. “Then the compass was shipped back to Henry.” He continued guiding you all through the timeline, pointing to the next picture. “Henry was killed in a crop-dusting accident when he had the compass.” You happened to look up at the exact same time as Pope, the two of you locking eyes with visible worry. “After he died, the compass was given to Stephen. Stephen had it when he died in Vietnam.” The boy ranted. “After that, Stephen passed the compass down to my dad.”

“This is painting a very bad picture, JB…” You warned, hand on the back of your neck as your face twisted.

“Yeah, he has a death compass.” Pope deadpanned.

“I do not.” John B denied, rolling his eyes and sitting down in the nearest chair with the compass still in hand. “My dad used to talk about this compartment here.” He explained, fiddling with the article between his fingers. “Soldiers used to hide secret notes.” He twisted the back of it off, revealing a word scratched into the top. He sat up with surprise as he spoke. “...This is my dad’s handwriting.”

Pope scoffed. “How can you know that?”

“He’s right.” You assured the doubtful male absentmindedly, squinting your eyes and craning your neck down to see the word written into the metal. “Big John had horrific handwriting and his R’s always had a point to them. I always used to think they looked like big-headed baby chicks, in a way. That’s definitely his handwriting.”

“Weird observation…but she’s right.” John B backed you up, his eyes going back to the compass. “Redfield…” He muttered. “What’s Redfield? Is it a clue?”

“A clue? C’mon that’s-” Pope began until you shot him a nasty glare, silently telling him to be helpful and supportive or shut up. His eyes widened as he gulped. “If it is a clue, m-maybe it’s an anagram?”

“Yes!” John B jumped up from his seat, beckoning you all to back up some. “Anagram. Perfect. You need paper.” He directed at Pope, eyeing scanning the cluttered space. Handing the boy an old, crinkled sheet of notebook paper, Pope got to work with the help of JJ and Kiara as John B and you scoured the desks for anything else of use.

Your ears were quick to pick up on the sound of an engine over the chatter of the brainiac bunch behind you. Eyes perking up to see a black truck pulling onto the yard.”...Guys?” You spoke, but not loud enough. “Guys!” You shushed them, all eyes turning to you. “Somebody’s here.”

The five of you crowded around the window, peeking through the blinds and peering through the dusted glass. Two males got out of the car and you recognized them immediately. “Those are the guys from The Marsh and Lana’s house.”

John B was quick to turn towards JJ. “Where’s the gun?”

“I don’t know-”

“Now you don’t have the gun? The one time we need the gun?” Kiara panicked.

“It was in my backpack and then I-...it’s on the porch.” JJ quickly realized, sighing before biting his lip out of frustration.

“Go. Go get it.” John B urged quietly but you were quick to step up, tugging the short sleeve of JJ’s shirt before he could open the door.

“No, no, we are not sending JJ out there to be pummeled by square troopers, square groupers, whatever they are-”

“We need the gun-” The bandana-wearing boy hissed.

“I don’t care. We stay put. We stay together.” You insisted. But JJ gently swiped your hand down and backed out of your reach, one hand up in surrender. “What’re you doing-”

“It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m like a ninja-”

“JJ.” You said simply, disappointed as you curled your fist in annoyance.

“I’ll be on my Batman shit.” He whispered before leaving the room quietly with the door cracked behind him, allowing you all to see him leave.

“John Routledge!” A country man’s voice boomed, causing JJ to turn around and slide his way back into the room quietly before he’d even made it two steps outside of the office. “C’mon out now!” JJ closed and locked the door as you all heard the pairs of footsteps enter The Chateau. The men began smashing and throwing things around just as they did Ms. Lana’s house. Was this their MO or something?

‘Window’ Kie mouthed, pointing to the window that led straight into the yard, towards the chicken coop and the surf shack. JJ and Pope rushed over to it as John B held down the door, which was just him standing against it with his hands above his head. JJ and Pope tried to lift the frame but it wouldn’t budge. Your face twisted in confusion, walking over to where the two boys were struggling and attempting to pull up the window seal yourself with no better luck.

“It’s painted shut.” You couldn’t help but smack your teeth, cursing under your breath as your eyes quickly scanned the room for something sharp as you patted the back of your shorts, feeling an object in your pocket. Digging your hand in to reveal a pen, the one you’d been using to journal that morning. You whispered for the guys to move before ejecting the pen and sliding it quickly along the seal to break it as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, one of the square groupers began kicking the door down, John B running across the room.

“Hurry!” Kiara whispered.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” You hissed. When the seal was completely broken, you wasted no time in opening the window, being the first to jump down into the backyard and making a b-line for the coop. The five of you piled inside one by one, the space surprisingly big enough for five fully grown teenagers as you crouched in tense silence. Just then, you heard a shot ring out from the inside of the house, assuming the man shot the door down.

Everyone could hear everyone breathing, shaky breaths all throughout the small enclosure. And the roosters. One rooster would not stop crowing. You were hoping, praying the damn thing would stop making noise. It wasn’t long before the guys were seen leaving the house, carrying at least two crates of books and research each.

“Pope, shut him up.” JJ demanded, referring to the rooster next to Pope that was making the most noise.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Pet it or something, I don’t know.” Kie cried. Suddenly , JJ got up and grabbed the rooster by its neck, pressing it into the ground until its neck audibly snapped and its clucking ceased. You couldn’t help but cringe and look away, the sight somehow prompting you to gag. JJ’s eyes met yours as if he was making sure you were okay, you giving him a sickly nod in return. One that wasn’t as reassuring as you hoped. Kie was crying silently and you didn’t miss the way John B grabbed her hand in comfort.

“WHAT BETTER PLACE TO HIDE A MESSAGE THAN A FAMILY HEIRLOOM?” John B tried to muse from the driver’s seat of The Twinkie.

“Maybe somewhere more easily accessible.” You said bluntly, laying back on the floor of the van, your foot on Pope and head in JJ’s lap, Kiara in the passenger seat. “Like a hidden jewelry box compartment or a locked drawer. Not inside of a death compass on a dead man’s sunken boat.”

John B simply ignored you. “He had to know it was gonna get back to me, right?” He spoke hopefully, referring to his father.

“It’s possible.” Kie agreed from the passenger seat next to him, not wholeheartedly however.

“It could also be possible that you’re concocting wild theories to help deal with your sad feels- Ow!” Pope was interrupted when you kicked his knee, shooting him a glance that said ‘what the hell'.

“You know how I process my sad feels,” JJ started, your eyes drifting to him as your head craned slightly back from its place atop his thighs. “Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies.”

“Preach.” You agreed, dapping up the blonde boy.

“Look, I’m not concocting, okay?” John B nearly shouted in frustration. “My dad’s trying to give me a message.”

“...If it helps you believe, John B.” Kiara tried softly.

“I don’t need a therapy session. I’m not trippin’ out.” He dismissed the four of you. “My dad is missing, okay? Missing. You guys don’t know what it’s like to have the person closest to you vanish and have no idea what happened.”

Suddenly, the two pairs of eyes in the back of the van turned to you. You couldn’t help but curl in on yourself slightly. “Stop it.” You demanded, averting your eyes to the window, watching the palm trees pass by. You hated when they acted like you had to be shielded from things because of what happened to your dad.

“It’s been almost a year.” Kiara nudged JB, letting it go. “But fine. What do you think the message is?”

“Redfield.” The brunette reiterated hopefully. “Redfield Lighthouse. My dad’s favorite place.”

THE LIGHTHOUSE LOOKED A BIT DIFFERENT THAN YOU REMEMBERED. It looked older, more rickety. You could swear it was leaning now. The five of you stood staring up at it before John B turned around to face JJ.

“You’re gonna post up out here and look for bogey’s. Alright?”

“Wait, why me?” JJ asked pitifully.

“...JJ, there are independent variables and dependent variables. You’re an independent variable-” Pope tried to reason.

“Shut up.” The blonde-haired boy dismissed with a snarl.

“We don’t know what you’re gonna do!”

“Just shut up!”

“Listen to me,” John B broke the boys up, pointing an assertive finger. “Pope, you stand lookout with JJ. Y/N, you make sure they don’t rip each other’s heads off. If we get split up, we meet back at JJ’s house.” You watched as Kiara and John B hopped over the fence and onto the lighthouse property. You slid your back against a nearby tree, one earbud placed in your ear as you drummed your fingers against your thigh, playing with blades of grass between your fingers.

“I’m gonna work on my merit scholarship essay. I’m trying to keep felonies to a minimum.”

“All right, would you just shut up already?” JJ sassed, you rolling your eyes and scoffing at them both. A few beats passed before JJ spoke again. “They’re probably boning in there right now.”

“Jesus, JJ…” You breathed out.

“What? You don’t honestly believe they don’t have a thing for each other, do you?” He defended.

“Maybe you’re just jealous.” Pope offered from his place in the grass.

“Jealous? Of what?”

“Because John B’s trying to move in on Kie and you have a thing for her.”

“Listen, dude,” JJ started with his hands out in front of him. “Kie’s hot and all but she’s a kook. I don’t see her like that.”

“That’s what they all say.” You sang playfully, causing JJ to whip around to face you.

“Oh, really? And what about little miss pretty & popular?”

You visibly cringed. “Ew, don’t ever refer to me like that again.”

“You’re telling me you aren’t crushin’ on someone? No rich, polo-wearing kid swept you off your feet during you and Kie’s kook year?” He egged on.

“Knock it off, JJ.” Pope defended when he saw how your face fell at the mention of it. You hated when they brought it up. Technically Kie’s kook year was longer than yours, considering you’d joined her kook friend group when you moved to Figure Eight. That was an era of your life you’d love nothing more than to forget.

“Fine, fine,” He backed off, his hands thrown up in mock surrender as he backed some steps away. Just then, the three of your heads whipped to the dirt road behind you at the sound of police sirens. You snatched the earbud out of your ear and pocketed it, standing up from your place against the tree. They were clearly headed for the lighthouse.

“What do we do? Do we wait?” Pope asked frantically.

“We can’t, man, c’mon.” JJ urged, sprinting towards the van with you and Pope following close behind. He jumped into the driver’s seat, pulling off before you and Pope had even closed the side door completely. You could only have faith that your other two friends made it out okay.

“NEXT TIME YOU END UP AT THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE, YOU CALL ME FIRST. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, JOHN BOOKER?” Your mother reprimanded the poor boy, her heels clacking against the pavement outside of the department. You didn’t expect a call from John B after you all had run from the lighthouse, coming from the Kildare County Sheriff’s Station from John B saying he and Kiara had been “arrested”.

“Yes, ma’am.” He affirmed. By the time you’d arrived at the station, Kiara had apparently already left with her dad who’d refused to bail John B out as well, leaving the boy with only one other option. The three of you stopped in front of your mother’s car as she now turned to face the two of you.

“Shoupe already has enough to deal with. The sheriff’s office doesn’t need a couple of rowdy teenagers on their radar. I don’t know what you kids were doing up at the lighthouse that led to this, but drop it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You both blurted out simultaneously, your mother having a newfound knack for intimidating people. She didn’t hesitate to jump in her car and start the engine, giving one last look as a goodbye.

YOU WERE AT THE DOCKS WAITING ON JOHN B, SITTING ON THE WOOD AND SWINGING YOUR FEET. You’d gone with him when he realized it was time for him to work, an employee saying Ward was looking for him as soon as the pair of you had arrived. He was up on The Druther’s, Ward’s boat, talking to the man himself. You couldn’t tell what the conversation was from your seat on the docks, so you waited. It was only minutes before the boy himself came stomping down the marina, prompting you to get up and dust yourself off.

“Is everything okay-”

“I just got fired.” He blurted, not even making eye contact with you and he brushed past you. You stuttered at his passive nature, scurrying to follow behind him.

“What do you mean you just got fired?”

“Ward found out about the gear.” He scoffed, and even with his back to you as he breezed through the working people to leave the dock, you could almost feel his frustration. “I can’t believe her.” He muttered.

“Who? Who are you talking about, John B?” You soon got your answer as Sarah Cameron walked by, you and the girl making brief eye contact with a mutual snarl on both of your lips before her attention turned to John B, who she somehow saw after you.

“Hey, John B.” She greeted, her hands full of paper bags that were filled to the brim with groceries, a large, brimmed hat on the top of her head. You weren’t surprised when he continued walking as you followed without a word to the girl, but she persisted. “That’s it?” Sarah scoffed. “Not a ‘hey, how you doin’’? Not a ‘kiss my ass’?”

You didn’t expect John B to turn around and swiftly walk over to the girl, getting all in her face. With the noise of the busy marina in the back, their close conversation became hushed but it was still audible enough.

“Your secret’s safe with me? Really?” Your friend pressed the girl. “I just got fired because of you. And I know you can’t imagine that but some people need jobs, so they can eat.” Nothing shocked you more than when he smacked the bag of goods from her arms, leaving Sarah stunned as fruits rolled in front of her sandals. Her jaw slack and eyes wide.

“What the fuck?” She hollered.

“You are exactly who I thought you were, Sarah Cameron.” He reprimanded, turning and leaving behind a stunned kook girl. Although, you would’ve paid money to see that again, it was such an odd interaction.

You knew he worked on Ward’s boat so he was bound to come across her but you weren’t aware they really talked. If you didn’t know either of them, you’d assume they were a high school couple arguing out in public.

The brunette brushed past you once again, taking his time and seemingly building up the courage to break into a run.

“Wh- John B!” You called from your place in the parking lot. “John B, where are you going?!” But it was no use as he simply left you behind and continued sprinting away. You figured you’d just give him some space to himself.

YOU’D RECONNECTED WITH POPE AND JJ SOON AFTER BEING LEFT IN THE DUST BY JOHN B, meeting them on the docks in The Cut. The three of you had been there for some hours, you helping Pope fix a generator while JJ smoked unhelpfully to the side when John B pulled up in The Twinkie.

He honked, beckoning the three of you into the van with a finger and none of you questioned what was happening or where you were going as you hopped into the rickety vehicle. You were mildly pissed about being left at The Marina but you got in nonetheless.

THE SUN HAD SET AND YOU ALL STILL HADN’T ARRIVED YET. John B briefly explained the destination and plan but you half-listened. You’d been driving for a long time, picking up Kiara along the way, with no clue as to where the five of you were going.

“Do you mind if I sit this one out?” JJ asked tiredly. “It’s been a long, weird day…”

“Look, I know I was wrong about the lighthouse.” John B acknowledged. “And wrong about everything else. But I was right about one thing — my dad is trying to tell me something.”

Just then you pulled up to a graveyard, the five of you piling out of the van with a flashlight each in your hand. “This place is scary.” Kie voiced. “John B, what are we doing?”

“You know how you’re trying to remember a song but you can’t remember who sings it?” He started. “Redfield. This whole time, I thought it was a place.” He explained as you all followed him further into the mess of graves and tombstones. “But it’s not.” He held the lantern in his hand up once you all stopped in front of a tomb, one of the tallest ones in the yard, revealing “REDFIELD” engraved in the stone. “It’s a person. My great-great-grandmother, Olivia Redfield. That was her maiden name.” He spoke longingly, looking up at the stone letters. “Help me with the door. C’mon.”

Pope stepped forward as the remaining three of you flashed your lights in the pair’s direction as they attempted and failed to push the tomb door open.

“Are you pushing?” Pope said to the brunette.

“Yes, I’m pushing.” John B strained out. Then JJ was jumping into help but even with his addition, the boys had no luck opening the door. They all jumped back when a snake hissed, peeking its head out from a crack in the stone structure.

“Woah! That’s a moccasin, alright” JJ started, jumping back almost cartoonistically. “Ye-old cottonmouth. Death in tall grass. Roof! Roof!” JJ started barking at the snake. Sometimes, you questioned his sanity.

“JJ! Shut up!” You warned the erratic blonde.

“You’re gonna wake the dead.” Pope slapped him on the shoulder, grimacing.

“Dude, they’re afraid of dogs. Everybody knows that.” He breathed out, straightening himself back out.

“Look, John,” Pope sighed, turning his attention back to John B. “We’re not gonna get in there, it’s not budging. We should probably just go.”

You were examining the tomb carefully, flashlight trailing the structure up and down before you noticed something. “I think I can get through.”

“...What?” John B spoke.

“You think you’re gonna fit through that hole?” Pope asked, worried.

“I’ll do it.” You reassured them, ignoring their concerns. “Just help me up.” They all shuffled to help you up — Kiara and John B holding the vines away and to the sides while JJ and Pope intertwined their hands for you to use as a human step-stool.

“What am I looking for?” You inquired, eyes fleeting to John B.

“You’ll know when you see it.” Your hands slapped your thighs. Helpful, you thought, but you didn’t ask anymore questions. You put your flashlight in between your teeth, like a dog carrying a bone before laying a hand on each of the boys shoulders, you put your foot over their connected hands and boosted yourself up.

It was a tight squeeze but you made your way through, landing on your feet and removing the flashlight from your teeth. It took your eyes a minute to adjust, staring at the walls of the spooky space.

“You alive in there?” JJ called.

“Alive and kickin’.” You called back, aiming the flashlight everywhere, scanning over everything. But the space was much bigger than you thought and your one flashlight didn’t seem to be enough. “I need more light, please.”

“Gotcha’.” John B said, pushing his arm holding the lantern through the crack of the wall, illuminating the space by tenfold. And that light was just what you needed.

“Oh my God…” You breathed out. John B may not have led you all on a goose-chase after all.

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

#Spotify #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #obx jj #SVN #obx fanfiction #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fluff #obx jj x reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #obx jj maybank #obx netflix #obx x reader

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max1461 · 3 months

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Max I have a linguistics question. And I will even free your chess ask from purgatory as payment. So there's this thing that goes around saying that US English pronunciations are more similar to old English than British English. Is there any truth to this, and how would we know one way or the other?

There is some kernel of truth in it that is getting exaggerated or oversimplified.

Let me start off by answering, in a general sense, the question "how would we know one way or the other?"

The Part Where I Accidentally (on Purpose) Wrote a Brief Introduction to Historical Linguistics

Phonological change (change in the pronunciation of a language) doesn't work in the way we might naively expect it to. I think that most people imagine phonological change as basically happening by way of each word in the language taking a random walk through pronunciation-space as time goes along. Like genes in a genome, randomly mutating. This is not what happens. Rather, phonological change occurs via rewrite rules, which find-and-replace particular sequences of sounds in a systematic way across the entire lexicon. For example, such a rule might replace a [t] sound with an [s] sound whenever it precedes an [i] sound. This will occur in all words in the language at once, in a uniform way. These find-and-replace rules are called regular sound changes, and they pile up over time, constituting phonological change.

This fact—the regularity of sound change—is known as the Neogrammarian hypothesis.

The above picture is an oversimplification. There are a variety of exceptions and apparent-exceptions to the regularity of sound change, and dealing with them is one of the major challenges of historical linguistics. But as a model, the Neogrammarian hypothesis is extraordinarily powerful. It is literally what makes historical linguistics possible at all. The upshot of the Neogrammarian hypothesis is that when two languages are related, their vocabulary won't just be "kinda similar" in some nebulous sense, it will demonstrate systematic, predictable correspondences in sound between cognate vocabulary.

Here's an illustration of this, a comparative table of some cognates in Polynesian (from Wikipedia):

If you look at any two columns of this table, you'll start to notice correspondences. Tongan and Niuean /k/ correspond to Samoan /ʔ/ (a glottal stop, written with a apostrophe). This correspondence is one-to-one. Samoan /s/ corresponds to Tongan and Niuean /h/, but the reverse is not true: some instances of Tongan and Niuean /h/ correspond to Samoan ∅ (nothing). Tongan /s/, on the other hand, corresponds to Niuean and Samoan /t/, but only before /i/. Etc. etc.

These are systematic sound correspondences, born of Neogrammarian sound change from a common ancestor.

Ok, on the left hand side you will notice a column that says "Proto-Polynesian". The words in this column are all marked with *, indicating that they are reconstructed forms. They are linguists' best guess as to what the original, ancestral form of these words would have been in the Polynesian languages' common ancestor. There are various ways linguists make these reconstructions. First of all, we can do it by sheer majority rule: if most of the languages in a family reflect a sound as X, and only one or a few reflect it as Y, then (all else being equal and assuming the tree is flat) it is more likely that the original word had X. Almost all these languages have /t/ as the first sound in "person" (row 1), whereas Marquesan has /ʔ/ and Hawaiian has /k/. Thus the ancestral sound is reconstructed as /t/.

But there are other, more sophisticated tools that can be used. For instance, we know a certain amount about what sorts of sound changes are likely to occur and what sorts are not. Thus, for instance, an /s/ is reconstructed as the first sound in "grey haired" (row 2), even though the majority of languages have /h/. This is because we already know that s -> h is a fairly common sound change (and indeed corresponds to a known phonological process found presently in many languages—debuccalization), whereas h -> s is a much rarer change (in fact, I suspect wholly unattested), and corresponds to no known phonological process or phonetic explanation.

Finally, we can rule out reconstructions when the sound change needed to create them would not be a function. Consider, for instance, that the majority of the words in row 3 have no consonant sound at all before the final /e/. But the reconstruction features a consonant /h/ there. If we posit ∅ as initial instead, we have to come up with a sound change that explains how the /h/ got there. ∅ -> h doesn't work, because that would put /h/ everywhere! How about something like "∅ -> h between two vowels" (linguists would notate this change as ∅ -> h / V_V). That would work, but we see other instances of adjacent vowels (e.g. in row 4) with no /h/ between them, so that can't be it. Maybe "∅ -> h between /a/ and /e/" (∅ -> h / a_e). We can't rule this out on the basis of this chart, but we probably could by looking at more vocabulary.

And so on, and so forth. In general, we want to posit the simplest set of sound changes possible, in which the changes themselves are as probable as possible, in order to explain the data. These putative changes can then by checked against all sorts of outside observations, such as

descriptions of pronunciations in historical texts

past loanwords into languages whose phonological histories are already known with confidence

epigraphic data from archeology (not very applicable to Polynesian, unless we decipher rongorongo)

newly collected data from modern languages in the same family

evidence from rhyme schemes or alliteration schemes used in poetry composed in the past

etc.

to see if they hold up.

The Part Where I Answer Your Question

Ok, right. American English and "British English" (I assume this means Received Pronunciation) are two related language varieties. Thus, they share systematic sound correspondences, and we can try to reconstruct their common ancestor. Also the British Isles have produced an extraordinary number of texts in the past thousand years, including poetry and actual linguistic descriptions of various dialects at various points in time, which we can check these reconstructions against.

But actually you don't need most of that to identify a few ways in which (most) American English dialects are more conservative than Received Pronunciation. For one, Received Pronunciation has dropped /r/ at the end of a syllable (in English dialectological jargon it is "non-rhotic"), whereas General American English hasn't. There are some associated vowel changes too. One way or another, the /r/ is plainly original: elision of /r/ is more common and phonetically plausible than insertion of /r/ in a bunch of specific post-vocalic positions would be, /r/ is written in the orthography, historical descriptions of the language talk about an /r/ sound, etc. etc.

In other ways RP is more conservative. For example, GenAm has deleted /j/ (the "y" sound) in a specific phonological environment ([+coronal]_u) in words such as tube, GenAm /tuːb/, RP /tjuːb/.

Is "American English more conservative than RP" overall? I don't really think so. Certainly it has preserved a number of salient features that RP has lost, such as syllable-final /r/ and (in some dialects) /hw/ in words like what, and so on. But there's other senses in which RP is more conservative. And this is not even to mention the other dialects of Britain, which are manifold and much more diverse than the dialects of America. As to the strict question of the relative phonological conservatism of GenAm and RP, I think someone with more detailed knowledge of English historical phonological would have to come in and answer. Perhaps @yeli-renrong can comment.

#linguistics #ok I think I've fixed the typos it's free to reblog

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ethrlst · 1 month

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abu dhabi gp ‘23

⌞ sypnosis⌝ - a sport dominated by men will never rewrite it’s rules for a woman. luck was on your side as well as your team when you first joined f1 as it’s first ever woman racer. how long would it take until your luck runs out?

⌞ tags! ⌝ - angst! teammatelewis! angry!totowolff! ogcharacter! cursewords! f1! mercedesdriver!character! y/n as yves!

⌞ a/n ⌝ - hii! i finally found the courage to make an account where i could comfortably upload my works about f1 or anything that inspires me in general lol. i do hope you enjoy my first fic! the inspiration for this was me watching brazil gp 2019, whilst eating dinner then it reminded me of lana’s song. also, y/n is named as yves.

- norman fucking rockwell - lana del rey

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

‘don’t do this to me please! guys, i’m begging.’ was what yves radio engineer hears when he had given the order to let lewis overpass her and take p1. he understood that pain, his driver yves is currently going through, was not going to be a good addition after the countless fights she went through in every lap to stick with the plan, win p1. she kept her word, no matter what order given to her radio was, how long the gap is between her and the next driver she’s going to overtake, or the risk of losing her place if she pitted in; she managed to come out on top. so why doesn’t it make sense to her? she had trusted each and every instructions from her race engineer and from her team principal, toto, who before race had told her to win.

────────────────────────

‘i need you to win, yves. do you understand? i need you to be on that podium.’, toto firmly repeats to her before she nods, ‘yes, understood.’

‘you’ve raced this track countless of times, lewis. i trust you know what to do?’, toto looks at lewis with a small knowing smirk, then hearing a short response from the man, ‘of course.’

‘so it’s clear? both of my racers podium, or i won’t have it.’, he jokes to the two drivers who can be heard laughing. yves smiles to herself, thinking about winning always puts a cheeky grin on her face. it was clear and apprehended, plan a was for both her and lewis to place no lower than p3, regardless who places p1 like toto wolff himself stated. yet, if things doesn’t play out the way they planned and designed it to be, one of them has to win at least. feeling a pair of eyes to her left, her thoughts were interrupted with lewis across the table, gazing at her with gentle but knowing eyes; which yves is now familiar with, we got this.

───────────────────────

with 2 laps left, she keeps her spot as leader before pressing the button to her radio. ‘i don’t understand, marcus. please please plea-s—…. what do you mean i have to give up my place?’. on the other side, back in the garage, marcus with one side of his headphone out from the ear, listens to toto give him the order to make yves switch positions with lewis. he furrows his eyebrows, but nevertheless lets his driver know of the news. he could hear her cries of confusion exactly the moment he closed his radio. ’why! i don’t understa—an—d. why would he say that? i-i mean it’s not part of the plan.. no?’. slowing her pace, finally letting lewis pass her, she hears her radio go off with the quick ‘it’s part of the plan. it was toto’s orders. confirm if you understand.’ not responding, she hears him follow up with, ‘good job, yves. you just have to guard this position from verstappen who is -6.18 behind you, one more lap to go and you are finished!’.

oh! and how suprising is that! leader of the laps for almost half of the race, the mercedes driver yves is slowing down for her teammate lewis hamilton and seems to be switching positions. isn’t that just one hell of a plot twist, everybody! i guess their original plan is now disregarded as lewis makes a beautiful overtake to his teammate, yves for the final lap!

now leading the final lap of the race with his teammate -1.18 behind him, lewis presses his radio button before asking his engineer, ‘mate, i need an explanation. this is not part of the plan, right?’. he receives a response shortly from bono after, ‘it is, lewis. toto declared you p1 loud and clear before the race.’ he lets out a breath, checking his mirrors to see yves’ car behind him exactly like they were instructed it to be. he knew what this meant to her, how this could affect the supporters, he understood that maybe, no, precisely after this race, changes are bound to happen to the dynamics of not only the team, but between them as well. years of experience in the sport has given lewis the opportunity of gaining skills and to unleash his true potential as a driver, that’s the reason why he is now a 7th time world champion. but he also recognized the importance of sportsmanship, learned how to be a better teammate; from the list of drivers in the grid, he knew that the most. roars of their engines, exhaustion from the race and continuous radio updates from bono had completely overwhelmed lewis, but despite so, his thoughts were certain.

‘what is he doing?! what the hell!’, confused, yves swerves to lewis’ right side of the car before looking at him. now side to side, both cars hear toto’s voice on their radios reminding them to keep their original positions, ‘no! no! that was dangerous, the both of you! lewis overtake now!’.

what a sight! the two mercedes are now driving side by side as they take their final turns towards the checkered flag! is this lewis finally grasping his 8th world championship title? or is it going to be yves’ first from her home race?

she finally understood what lewis was trying to do, for a split second she imagined it: her dream, the celebration, the overwhelming feeling of joy, the trophy and the title. the title. brimming tears that she has been battling from falling last 2 laps ago, finally touched her cheeks as she slowly but firmly stepped the brakes to her car, allowing lewis to cross the line first.

phenomenal that was for the mercedes team! an incredible, yet brave move from yves as she hit her breaks final second from the line. ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a beautiful 1-2 from mercedes! max verstappen coming in third and hamilton, finally, finally claiming his 8th world championship title in abu dhabi! what a race!

maneuvering the car back to her station like she was told by her engineer, she stops and finally take her helmet, balaclava and gloves off. resting her head on her steering wheel, she weeps to herself. hopelessness enveloping her whole body, she softly wails and grips her hair, eventually expressing the pain she endured the entire race. fireworks, engine sounds, news/journalists people asking questions and the cheers and chants of congratulations for lewis was all she could hear. she fears of looking pathetic, but it never came across her that feeling it was worse. hurriedly getting out of his car and rushing to take his gear off before avoiding as much people as he could, lewis runs off to her garage. he finds her in the exact position as he thought before he crouches, cradle her head on his hand and brushing her hair away from her face. softly, he calls out her name. feeling wet tears on his thumb, he expected to see teary sad eyes from the girl; taking a deep breath, what he sees suprises him the moment she turns her head towards lewis. a pair of crying angry eyes meets his. just like his races, he had predicted the consequences alongside of this win was, he just wasn’t prepared for it to be this soon.

fin.

#lewis hamilton #mercedes amg f1 #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton au #angst

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eyesthatroll · 1 year

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how many drinks? | luke hughes

pairing; lh43 x fem!reader

warnings(s); none really, fluff? lowercase intended, not edited. also written in like 15 minutes so kinda bad (might rewrite/re-edit it at a later date idk)

word count; 0.6k (blurb!)

summary; luke approaches reader at wedding reception

"do you want to dance?" you lift your gaze from the game of candy crush that you were currently enthralled in.

a tall brunette is staring back at you. he looks down at you expectantly, rolling on the heels of his feet. "do i know you?"

the boys cheeks tinge pink, and he runs a hand through his slightly curly hair before speaking again. "n-no, i just, i don't know. you look bored."

his awkwardness brings a smile to your face. you ponder his offer for a moment, the song 'skin' by dijon playing through the speakers.

the dance floor had a few couples on it, the other guests scattered around the room, eating cake or loitering near the bar.

you flip your phone screen side down, and chug the rest of your drink. "sure pretty boy, let's dance."

you lift your hand up, and he take it in his, easily pulling you out of your chair. he leads you to a small corner of the dance floor.

your arms rest on his shoulders, hands crossed behind his neck. his hands finding home on the small of your back.

"i never got your name." you state, the two of you swaying softly.

"luke." he answers sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed that he hadn't already told you his name.

"so, which side are you here for, luke?" you asked, your fingers beginning to absentmindedly play with the hair that coiled at the nape of his neck.

"oh, um, the groom. he's on my team."

you brows raised in confusion. "i didn't know you were a player for the devils, not sure i've seen you on the ice. though, i've only watched maybe a few games so i could be completely wrong"

"i haven't-well not yet, at least. i just signed my contract a few weeks ago." he says.

"that's exciting," you begin. "leaving college, i presume?" you're not sure if your questions are too personal, but luke makes no moves to ward them off.

luke gives you a bittersweet, close lipped smile. "yeah."

"that's got to be hard, leaving your friends?"

he tilts his head, thinking a moment. "i mean, yeah, but i'll still see them. plus, i have jacky, and the rest of team-they've been pretty nice and welcoming."

you nod in understanding. "so jacky, she your girlfriend?"

" oh god no!" luke sputters, his cheeks painted crimson again. "that's my brother-jack. he plays for the devils, too."

your eyes widen, and you kick yourself internally for your assumption. why would he of asked you to dance if he was in a relationship?

" 'm sorry, i shouldn't have assumed." you apologize, shaking your head slightly to yourself.

"no, it's all good! i'm single, by the way."

"professional hockey player gets no bitches?" you tease, feeling more comfortable with him by the moment.

he lets out a breathy laugh, his hands tightening around your waist. "i think i do okay with..the ladies." he trails off.

you mouth an 'okay', and dramatically nod your head.

"just looking for the right girl, i guess." he finishes.

"that's understandable." you agree.

"and you?"

"looking for the right girl?"

you laugh at your own joke.

"no-no, i mean, beautiful girl like yourself must have..suitors."

luke's face contorts into one reminiscent of pain.

you followed suit, cringing at his choice of words. "suitors?"

you laugh at him shamelessly, a big bellied laugh that draws attention to the two of you on the floor, not that either of you noticed, too engrossed in your own world.

luke pulls you closer to him, burying his head in your shoulder. "stop laughing."

—

mari speaks! again, like mentioned in the preface, wrote this super quickly so not edited/kinda bad but i might re-do it or make a part 2 idk. also, luke’s playing in his first playoff game tmro so make sure to wish babyboy some luck <3

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #nj devils #new jersey devils #umich boys #umich hockey #hockey #nhl

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ms-cartoon · 8 days

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Hazbin Rewrite idea . . .

Thinking up some hazbin hotel rewrite ideas cuz the show needs it goddammit! And I wanna see what y'all think.

First of all, Hazbin needs more episodes besides just 8. Like-- I'd say probably 12-20 would be good just to flesh everything out instead of fast-pacing it, crumbling every single character into this one season, y'know, the usual Vivziepop error.

Instead of Adam and Lute being season 1's antagonists, the three Vees should've been the main villains. They can be one of those recurring groups of villains that show up in most episodes instead of every single one.

I don't think they should've been introduced in episode 2, we probably could've waited on that. I guess ep 3 or 4 could've been their first appearance.

I don't know what the Vees' goals are as the Hazbin crew's enemy. Vox and the other two try to come up with a way to keep Charlie from ever striking a deal with Alasor (a little late for that as far as the last two eps), but I don't know why it would be much of a problem for them if she does. I suppose since they're trying to take over hell, he would imagine Charlie (being the princess of hell and higher rank of an overlord) and Alastor (being one of the most powerful overlords of hell that rivals him of some sort) would be his main obstacles to achieving his goal. And somehow the two making a deal together would make it 10x worse for him. If that is the case then I guess I can see that.

But even if so, I don't see why the Vees would want to take over hell. What would possibly motivate them?? I mean-- they are already well-known by tons of folks and are very popular and wealthy. What exactly is taking over hell gonna change?

All in all, the show of course needed more episodes

The Vees should've been season 1's antagonist while the Angels could've been the finale. (I don't know what the Vees' goal could be or what could motivate them to achieve it, but anything better than what Viv had up her sleeve . . . which isn't much of anything as far as I know)

#hazbin #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin rewrite

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flightlessangelwings · 1 year

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Trust and Intuition Chapter 1- The Vigilante

Din Djarin x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 3.2k

Warnings- set between seasons 1 and 2, canon typical violence, action, suspense, protective!Din, badass!reader

Notes- While this chapter doesn’t have smut, my blog is still 18+ only so minors please do not interact! This is a rewrite of the very first Mando fic I ever wrote! And boy did I realize how choppy my writing used to be as I was editing and reworking this lol! But this will be 4 parts to this series and then some sequel fics as well so we've got a big story here! The planet here, Dria, is one I made up. Updates on Mondays. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Feel free to follow s my update blog and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post! @flightlessangelwings-updates

The Mandalorian sat in the cockpit of the Razor Crest and sighed. His new mission was simple in theory, but daunting in reality: find where this child is from and return him home. He stared back at the baby as he found himself wondering where in the galaxy he should start. The child just stared back at him and smiled widely. The pair stared at each other for a few moments in a comfortable silence before the Mandolorian spoke.

“We’ll figure this out, buddy,” he assured the baby, who giggled in response. As he stared at the little creature with affection, Mando remembered a planet that was renowned for its vast library and research. “That’s as good a place as any to start,” he sighed to himself as he set a course, “Dria.”

The trip there was quiet and uneventful; everyone in this part of the galaxy seemed to keep to themselves, which was completely fine with the Mandalorian. The Maker truly looked out for him this time as no one bothered him as he landed his ship in a dock on the outskirts of the capital city. From above, Mando could see several different climates on the planet, but the capital was a bustling spot of green and life in the middle of a desert region. Buildings lit up the landscape and the nearby sea reflected the bright sun that beamed down on the people there. Further into the desert and the outskirts, old ruins covered the landscape.

It felt peaceful.

The child babbled and watched as Mando gathered his weapons and prepared for the trek out, “Ready kid?” he asked as he settled him into his pram. Mando gently stroked the baby’s cheek once and tilted his helmet with affection as his foundling looked up at him in awe, “Come on.”

Dria’s capital city was bustling with life. Traders worked in the large market in the center of town, and there were libraries on every corner. Education was obviously highly important in this society as a school was almost always in sight. The Mandalorian spent most of the morning browsing around the libraries for any information on the child’s species, but with no luck.

“I’m looking for any information on a rare species,” Mando asked one of the scholars at the third library he visited as he laid his hands on the counter. The child stayed at his side in his pram, quietly looking around at the sights that Dria had to offer.

She glanced down at the child and studied him for a few moments, but obviously was unfamiliar with what he spoke of, “I think what you’re looking for is in the archives at the royal palace,” she suggested, “That’s where the most lucrative information is kept.”

“Well, I guess it’s the palace then,” he told the child with a heavy sigh. Having no other options, the Mandalorian went to the large palace on the top of the hill and asked for an audience with the king. The palace guards and advisors scrambled: what does a Mandalorian want with the king?

“Mandalorian, the king will see you now,” a guard called Mando’s attention just as he was about to give up and leave. He nodded without a word and followed the guard into the main audience chamber.

It was a lavish room filled with old weapons as decor on the walls and the best woven rugs on the floors. The only decor that stood out was the large tapestry with the crescent moon and three stars symbol: obviously the symbol of Dria. For how much it was decorated, the room itself was mostly bare. A few tables lined the walls, a few bookshelves littered the walls, and the large throne sat elevated in the center of the room. On that throne, sat the king, dressed in all black topped with a dark silk cape.

“I am King Vero Alcyron of Dria,” he spoke in an authoritative yet smooth voice, “But you already knew that.” The king had an imposing presence that commanded the attention of a room. He could be considered classically handsome and he was tall; one would find him charming upon first meeting. Yet, there was something about him that Mando instantly didn’t trust, he just couldn’t quite figure out why. Perhaps it was because he held a vague resemblance to someone…

Mando gave a small nod, but said nothing yet. He stood tall with his arms crossed in front of him.

“What brings a Mandalorian all the way out here to my humble little planet?” Vero stood and stepped down to level with the Mandalorian, “What could my archives possibly have that would be of interest to you?” his eyes dropped down to the child for a moment before meeting Mando’s visor once more.

“I’m looking for answers,” he stated simply.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that,” the king scoffed.

Mando chose his words carefully, “This creature,” he gestured to the baby reluctantly, hating having to draw attention to him, “I’ve never seen one like him before and I need to know more.”

The king sneered, “I thought your duty was only to capture targets, not ask questions, Mandalorian.”

“I have been tasked with something more with this one,” the words rolled off his tongue easily. When it came to the safety of the child, Mando had no hesitation. There were only a few he trusted, and this king was not one of them. Omitting information came easy when the child was on the line.

“I’m intrigued,” Vero paused for a moment as a huff left his lips, “I’ll grant you access to the palace library, but I need you to do something for me first. Nothing comes for free after all.”

The Mandalorian sighed quietly; of course it wouldn’t be this easy, “What do you need?”

“There’s a vigilante running around causing havoc in my city,” King Vero started.

“And you need this vigilante taken care of,” Mando guessed the end of his sentence.

“Yes and no,” the king paced, “I need him brought to me alive. You see, not only has he stolen from me and started riots in my streets,” he took a few steps towards the bounty hunter as he tapped his fingers together, “But he’s also kidnapped my queen. I need to know what he’s done with her,” his voice lowered to no more than a growl.

“Understood,” Mando said simply before he turned to leave, not having any interest at all in the king’s affairs. The baby’s pram followed close behind, never leaving his caretaker’s side.

“Alive, Mando!” Vero called to his back. His eyes narrowed as he watched the armored figure walk away and a dark smirk lit up his face.

You navigated your way through the busy plaza with your small embroidered duffle bag strapped tightly against your body. A hood covered your head, you wore goggles to cover your eyes and a mask with a voice changer covered the lower half of your face. Your identity was completely concealed. No one paid you any mind as you kept your head down and ducked around anyone you passed by. The only time you let your presence known was to help a woman that was being heckled by an unruly customer, and then went right back to your anonymity.

You came up to a stand and made a purchase quickly before you moved on, your purchase safely tucked in your bag. You took a few steps before you had a strange feeling, like you were being watched. As you looked over your shoulder, you noticed who was watching you: a Mandalorian. A short gasp escaped your lips as you turned to run, knowing instantly that he was here for you.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you weasled your way out of the crowded part of the plaza. In the back of your mind, you knew it was only a matter of time before the king would send someone after you. He didn’t exactly approve of your presence in his city, especially since it made his citizens question his authority. You didn’t look behind you, but you knew he was still on your tail.

When you turned around a corner to a quiet alley, you almost ran directly into the Mandalorian. Without a word, he reached out to grab your arm, but you slipped back before his hand closed on you. In one swift movement, you flung your bag into the shadows and pulled out two small staffs. You were determined not to go down without a fight, even if you knew what the outcome would be. As you readied your stance, you noticed the pram at the Mandalorian’s side and the little green creature with wide eyes and a soft gasp escaped your lips.

The Mandalorian stood his ground and waited for you to make the first move, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him that you paused upon noticing the child. You exhaled before you lashed out at him with your batons. He ducked and countered with a knife. The alley was quiet, save for the clangs of your weapons as you parried with the bounty hunter. You groaned under your mask as you quickly realized you exerted more energy than he did, and you knew your disadvantage quickly.

After studying your movements, Mando got the advantage and knocked you off your feet. He was actually impressed how well you fought and held your ground until this point. You even managed to get a few hits in too: something not everyone could say. With a grunt you hit the ground hard, and the bounty hunter kicked your weapons away from you.

As you collided with the ground, your head hit the hard floor and your goggles shattered. You strained to push yourself up to a sitting position, and with a sigh you pulled your goggles off of your face. Your head throbbed, but you got lucky that your mask hit the ground and not your head directly.

Mando watched as you took a few deep breaths before you raised your hands up in surrender. He took a pair of cuffs out and locked your arms behind your back before he dragged you to your feet. The child watched with a soft coo as the fight ended, although he didn’t seem worried about you as a threat for some reason.

“Wait,” your voice sounded normal, the voice modulator in your mask must have broken when you hit the ground. You cursed to yourself; that would make things harder when he got you back to the palace.

“I’m taking you in,” he said simply.

“Just wait,” you said breathlessly, tired from your spar. This made him stop in his tracks. “Just do me one favor. Please,” you begged, left with no options than to plead with your captor.

The Mandalorian just stared at you, unsure of what to say. It was definitely bold of his target to ask anything of him. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Mando had no interest in what you had to say; you were just like any other bounty he captured before.

“Please,” you started, “This is important. Just take my bag to the temple Lux ruins on the outside of the city,” desperation lined your voice, “I promise it’s not a trap.”

He looked into your eyes and saw the genuine concern in them. He also heard the pain in your voice, which wasn’t the voice he was expecting to hear. Suddenly, you seemed different than the other faceless targets before. Suddenly, Mando was more interested in your story. His grip on your arm loosened slightly as something in his head told him to trust you.

“I can pay you,” you added in a last effort to get the bounty hunter to comply with your request, “You have a kid there right? Then you understand…”

That snapped him out of his thoughts as he glanced over at the child.

“In my pocket here,” you nodded your head to your right. Mando stared at you for a moment, and as if you read his thoughts you added, “I know when I’ve been defeated. I’m not going to try anything. These cuffs are pretty tight anyway,” you added with a dry laugh.

The bounty hunter tightened his grip on your arm as he reached for your pocket. Right at the top, he felt the credits you mentioned. He looked into your eyes again as he pulled them out before he led you back to the palace with the child’s pram following loyally behind.

Neither of you spoke again after that.

The large doors of the grand hall opened to let in the Mandalorian and his catch. Your arms were still bound behind you and a strong hand held you tightly. You held yourself tall and wore a fierce look in your eyes, the only part of your face visible.

King Vero sat on his throne and watched the two of you walk in alone; the pram that held the child was noticeably absent. A dark smile graced his face when he saw what the bounty hunter had brought him, “Excellent work, Mandalorian,” he spoke as he walked towards the center of the room to meet you.

Mando simply bowed his head slightly as he released his grip on you. Uninterested in what the king had to say, he turned to a steward behind him for his payment. Ignoring the Mandalorian behind you, you stared at the king with a fierce look, as if you tried to stab him with your gaze alone.

“Did the vigilante say anything, Mandalorian?” Vero’s voice called his attention.

He turned slightly back towards the voice, “Didn’t say a word.”

Under your mask, a smile flashed across your face, but you were careful not to let it know in your eyes. Though left with no other options, you were grateful that your gamble to trust the Mandalorian paid off… at least for now. In your eyes, all you let show was hate and rage directed at the king that now stood directly in front of you.

“Where have you taken her, scum?” King Vero’s voice was but a growl as he grabbed you by your collar.

With your voice modulator broken, you knew your voice would give your identity away. Instead, you chose to answer with action and headbutted the king, hitting him directly on the nose. His body flew back as he lost his footing and his guards shouted and aimed their blasters at you. Mando didn’t move, however, and under his helmet he smirked to himself. There was definitely something about the king he did not trust, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly why. He took the distraction as an opportunity to slip out of the room with his payment unnoticed.

King Vero raised his arms up, “Lower your weapons,” he ordered as he touched his hand to his face, now coated in blood that dripped from his nose. The guards obediently did as they were told. He sauntered up to you and took your masked chin in his hands. He studied your eyes for a moment before he spoke, “No one looks at me with that much open rage,” his voice was low so that only you could hear him, “Maybe some time in the dungeon will make you more amenable to conversation.”

You understood the threat in his voice, and knew exactly what his words meant. You sighed as the guards hauled you out of the grand room. The only hope you had was that the Mandalorian was a man of his word and would go where you asked him to. What lay there was more important to you than your life anyway. As long as that was safe, then you were at peace with your situation.

When the Mandalorian got back to his ship, the child was there waiting for him. He greeted his caregiver at the door with a wide smile. Mando put his bags down and scooped the child up into his arms.

“Sorry I was longer than I thought,” he told the child in a soft tone, “But I brought you something to eat.” Mando had a bad feeling about King Vero, and opted to leave the child on the Razor Crest before he took you back. There was something about the way he leered at the child that set him on edge, and he decided the kid would be safer here until he got back.

The child cooed as he grabbed a hold of the Mandalorian’s arm, happy to see him again. Mando carried the baby across the ship and set him down at a little table. He sat a small bowl in front of his foundling before he sat down opposite him.

As he watched the baby gleefully eat, his eyes drifted to the pile behind him. On top of that pile lay the embroidered bag he took from you after your fight. Mando was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the child stopped eating and just looked up at him. He felt the gaze of those big, wide eyes and it shook him out of his trance. The two stared at each other for a few minutes, and seemed to have a conversation without any words.

After several moments, the Mandalorian sighed, “Come on,” he said as he reached for the child and headed for the door. He also picked up the duffel bag on the way out.

Under the cover of night, the bounty hunter went on foot to the edge of the vast city with your bag slung over his shoulder, and the child nestled secretly in his pram. The further away he got from the center of the city, the quieter the area became. The warm air of the desert faded into a crisp evening in the sand. He kept his stance tense, ready for anything that may jump out of the shadows.

As he stood on a small cliff on the city’s border, Mando focused a scanner to look for life in the ruins that you spoke of. It appeared to be an old temple, maybe jedi. Lux, he remembered, was what you called it. He still wasn’t sure why he was out here in the first place; maybe it was the look in your eyes, a look that whatever was here was more important than your life.

And he knew that feeling all too well.

He gave a quick glance down at the child before he went back to scanning the terrain. To the naked eye, there was nothing there. However, Mando could see about a dozen heat signatures hidden within the ruins. They were all small, and none appeared to carry any weapons.

“Strange,” he thought out loud before he moved to enter the ruins. The child followed close behind, in his pram, and Mando had his blaster ready in case of danger. However he was confident that whatever was here did not pose any threat. Something in the back of his mind made him very sure of that.

Out of the peripherals of his vision, Mando noticed movement; someone was watching him. Careful not to startle, he kept still, and watched as the figure slowly crept out of the shadows. It caught the bounty hunter off guard when he realized it was a child, no older than 11 he guessed.

“A kid…?” he breathed.

What had the Mandalorian stumbled upon this time?

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siriuslydaz3d · 1 year

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Angels Cry || Peter Quill

Summary: When it rains, it means angels are crying.

Warings: Mention of death

AN: A rewrite of something I wrote as soon as I got home from seeing GOTG Vol 2

Thunder rumbled loudly outside as (Y/N) sat curled up in her chair reading some book from Terra she’d been given by Yondu years ago. Rarely had she’d seen it rain this hard, it reminded her of something her former partner in crime, and ex boyfriend had taught her years ago.

“When it rains, it means angels are crying.”

A soft knock echoed off the walls of her silent house. (Y/N) marks her spot, setting her book down and heading towards her door. Pulling it open, she comes face to face with a man she hadn’t seen in years. Peter stood there, frown etched into his face. His hand came to grab the door as she went to shut it.

"Please (Y/N), I wouldn’t be bothering you if it wasn’t important."

She sighed, stepping aside and motioning him inside. “I’ll get you a towel. You’re soaked.” She mumbled, walking back towards her bathroom, leaving Peter to stand awkwardly in her living room. She reappeared a moment later, tossing a towel at him and resuming her position in her chair. “You said it was important, so spill. First, how the hell did you find me? We’re no contact for a reason.”

"Kraglin told me where you lived." He spoke, looking around at the interior of her apartment. It’s small but the decor screams (Y/N). He recognized a set of blasters hanging on the wall, a pair Yondu had given her when they were kids. Peter’s frown grew larger when he turned back to her.

"I always assumed Yondu would've told you." She chuckled softly, tucking her legs up in the chair. A soft smile graced her features. “You don’t know how many times he begged me to come see you, or to at least let you come over. Guess I’ll never hear the end of it now.”

"(Y/N), I need to talk to you about Yondu actually." Peter said softly, as (Y/N)’s brows furrowed.

"What did the old man do now?” She spoke, her eyes meeting Peter’s. He looked away and wiped at his eyes. “Peter, what happened?”

"Yondu...He... He died and I couldn't do anything. I tried and I couldn't help him." Peter started, clearing his throat. His hands shook as his gaze fell to the floor. “I came as soon as I could, I’m so sorry (Y/N).”

A loud sob bounced around the room, (Y/N) hand coming to their mouth. Peter darted over to the chair where she sat, arms instantly wrapping around her. The grieving girl slipped from the chair to the floor, curling her hands into Peter’s wet jacket. His hand finds its way to her hair, stroking it gently as they both cried.

"I-I'm sorry." Peter mumbled, lips pressing to her temple. Her fist curled tighter into his jacket, knuckles turning white. “I’m so so sorry honey. I know, I know. Shh.” he cooed, rubbing her back slowly.

“Don’t leave me.” She whispered, forehead resting against his shoulder. She sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Please don’t go. I can’t be alone.”

"You don’t have to be alone, you never have. Let’s get your essentials, yeah? We’ve got room for you. You never have to be alone." Peter spoke, moving to stand and help her up. (Y/N) nods and leads him back to her room. He sits on the edge of her bed as he watches her carefully put her clothes into her bag. Glancing at her nightstand, he noticed a framed photo of him, her, and Yondu. Peter’s arms are around her waist, lips pressed to her cheek and Yondu stands beside them, mid eye roll but smiling wide. She reaches over and grabs the photo, smiling down at it as she stuffs it in her bag.

"Still hung up on me after all this time.” Peter teases, making (Y/N) roll her eyes. Peter stands up and rests his hand on her lower back. “I can’t blame you for keeping it. I look good.” He continued as she sighed.

"I love you." (Y/N) mumbled, turning around to hug him tightly. He kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her. “I kept the photo because it was the only photo I had of him and I together. Just happened to also be the only photo of the guy I’ve had a crush on since I was a child.”

“Ew, you had a crush on Yondu? I really thought you had better taste.” Peter joked, earning a smack to the chest in response. He laughed and squeezed her closer to his body. “I love you too.”

#peter quill x reader #peter quill x reader angst #peter quill angst #angst #mcu x reader #mcu x reader angst #star lord angst #star lord x reader #star lord x reader angst #siriuslydaz3d #fanfic #mcu fanfic #mcu oneshot #peter quill #star lord

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ceph-the-ghost-writer · 27 days

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WIP Questions Tag

Rules : Answer as many (or as few) of the questions about your WIP as you can.

Tagged by @drawnecromancy! Read their answers for Le Prix du Sang here.

1. What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

Apophenia was originally a short story called "Dysthanasia" I wrote for an event on Ao3. Now Dysthanasia is the name of the series overall, and the story's a novel-length rough draft in the process of being rewritten.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

Something short, instrumental, and spooky but with a touch of whimsy. Gotta have that little spark of fun or it'd wind up taking itself too seriously.

3. Who are your favourite character(s) and why?

I'm in love with all of them, but I have to stand by my protagonist, Isaac. He's a squishy human nerd, with no supernatural powers to speak of, but through being resourceful and more than a little lucky manages to survive awful situations. A lot of his characterization has to do with principles and compassion, but not quite in the soft or naive way readers might expect. His enemies repeatedly try to buy or break him, punishing him every time he does what he feels is right, but Isaac remains defiant, refusing to become jaded or take the easy way out. Is he destined to become a martyr? A monster? Stay tuned.

4. What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP?

I'd hope The Vampire Chronicles fans would get into it. Maybe The Witcher fans, as far as characters relying on each other in an unjust world goes? Possibly readers of Octavia Butler, whose work I enjoy. I guess anyone who likes fictional organizations and the paranormal might see the appeal.

5. What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP?

Juggling all the backstory and worldbuilding that influences the characters and plot. So much happens before the actual story even starts. The death of Isaac's family. Renato becoming a bloodborn and his eroding loyalty to his sire. A cataclysm that reshaped the map. I'm doing my best to make these come through the text without hitting the reader with a wall of exposition.

6. Are there any animals in your story?

Living and undead! There's Renato's beloved goldfish, Tesoro. The elk, coyote, and bear Motley transforms into. Likewise the species of sharks that some of the good people of Eureka, Nevada can turn into. Or the livestock they raise, mainly sheep, goats, and chickens.

7. How do your characters get around?

Electric cars, horses, trains, or by turning into a much quicker animal.

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I think I'm almost halfway through the outline for the rewrite? Isaac is getting to know the supernatural locals of America's friendliest town on its loneliest road, and they him.

9. What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

Renato being a hot vampire, and there being different factions to identify with will probably lure some in. Hopefully they decide to stay for the characters, emotional arcs, and end of the world too.

Dysthanasia Taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @sunset-a-story @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba (feel free to consider this a tag for the game itself too)

Additionally @izzyspussy @wintherlywords @authoralexharvey @chauceryfairytales @autumnalwalker @revenantlore @captain-kraken @angsty-prompt-hole

Blank questions beneath the cut

1. What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

3. Who are your favourite character(s) and why?

4. What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP?

5. What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP?

6. Are there any animals in your story?

7. How do your characters get around?

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

9. What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

#dysthanasia #writeblr #writing tag games

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lohengreen · 2 months

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Fic Chain Tag

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

/ Whee. Okay. I don’t even have that many works. 🥲 Welp. Does it even count, then? Anyway, I’ll try this. Thank you so much for tagging me Juni, dear. @theprodigalpragmatist ❤️ (omg)

“Go on”, the Doctor said. -> Like you‘re my universe and I‘m your stars (tensimm, part 4, based on ep: closing time. This was a gift for my dear friend @thecreatorfromgallifrey <3, love you, which wasn’t a work that was planned to exist at all, but happened anyway and wraps it up nicely.)

Her thief stole another Time Lord. -> Words (tensimm, but from a tardis pov. Based on ep: The doctor’s wife. Also part 3, as I couldn‘t stay away from writing them.)

Eleven. -> Ice (tensimm through S5, part 2 of my Three little words series, which got so much more emotional than I could have ever planned it to be. Whoops.)

“You’ve got to be kiddin‘ me.” -> Fire (tensimm travelling through S4 after the Valiant. This is the fic that started as a simple and fun oneshot, then got 3 bus rides, a 14 hour flight and a 2 week road trip away from me and turned into a 90k series by the end of it. Still don‘t know how that happened.)

“You mean like-” Crowley leaned forward in his seat. “a sudden rainstorm. -> Just a bit unlikely (Aziracrow fluff, also written to cope. Which I still can‘t.)

“I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” -> 5 times Crowley almost kissed Aziraphale and the one time he finally did (and it shattered his heart) (Aziracrow through the ages, written to cope with the emotional trainwreck that was the end of S2. By writing even more heartbreak. Well done, me.)

The words are still ringing in Bucky´s ears. -> Afterglow (Winterbaron, my first ever work back in my marvel phase. Oh god. What a time. It was such a struggle trying to actually write stuff down for once.)

HMH.

What can I say. Looking at this, I don‘t think my first lines are very strong? I‘ll try to work on that if I ever manage to be back at it.

Ah, well. I love basing my works on episodes, rewriting and changing and adding to them in some way or another. Guess that shows there, too.

This was fun! Seeing your first lines like that is quite interesting.

I seriously don‘t know who to tag, though? Sorry if it‘s double or triple or something…

@godteethed @tardis-ghost-blog

Also, I figured out how to add links to words on a post thanks to this. Look at me go!!

#tensimm #winterbaron #aziracrow #thank you for tagging me #I love you people have I told you

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 3 months

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Don't blame the staff. This was all about the candidate & his wife.

Insufferable Dishonest DeSantis can't even drop out with humility. In 2021 this man ran all over Florida (AFTER DJT left the White House) parroting Fauci to Floridians: "This continues to be a pandemic of the unvaccinated." "A shot today keeps the covid away." But as he BACKS DOWN, he DOUBLES DOWN on his lies about DJT. There were 7 governors who chose NOT to close their states:

Wyoming

Indiana

Nebraska

South Dakota

Utah

Arkansas

North Dakota

+South Carolina which re-opened after 2 weeks. Where you at Ron? Did Dr Fauci force you to close Florida? Stop blaming Trump for your failures.

Acccording to the guys who funded Ron's first FL campaign, he has a habit of re-writing history to only give credit to his version of "God." He likes to think that everyone else is simply a useful tool and the outcome for his life would have been the same with or without their help. Quote "he has a habit of rewriting history, there's Richard Petty, there's Tom Petty, and then there's Ron DeSantis petty. "In a blistering 2021 piece, Politico reported on the existence of a so-called “support group” of “scarred” former DeSantis aides who meet to exchange stories on what they described as a nightmare boss that treated anyone not in his inner most circle “like a disposable piece of garbage."

While I vehemently disagree with Hayes, these clips from the campaign trail represent more evidence of Ron's unlikable personality.

youtube

https://x.com/RonDeSantis/status/1749159384112845285?s=20

Police officers stationed around FL beaches to inforce social distancing. Did Fauci do that?

DeSantis hired David Kerner

DeSantis refused to allow multiple FL counties to graduate from phase 1 to phase 2

DeSantis empowered FL inspectors to threaten FL business licenses for owners who were cited for ignoring the covee rules. Florida collected thousands of dollars in fines from local businesses who "broke the rules."

DeSantis in 2021 (when Trump was out of office) traveled around FL calling the pandemic "a pandemic of the unvaccinated" So I guess he agreed with Fauci. Also: "Vaccines are saving lives...Floridians SHOULD GET a covid-19 vaccine" "so here's what i think, the most important thing with the DATA: if you are vaccinated---- fully vaccinated--- the chance of you getting seriously ill or dying from covid is effectively zero. If you look at the people who are being admitted to the hospitals over 95% of them are either not fully vaccinated or not vaccinated at all. These vaccines are saving lives. They are reducing mortality. "

DeSantis Tax Collector MANDATED that employees get the jab as a CONDITION of continued employment.

DeSantis even advised schools: "A needle today helps keep the covid away"

Daily Mail revealed DeSantis taking donations from bundler whose portfolio includes Moderna the maker of mRNA jab & AbbVie, maker of puberty blocker Lupron. Lupron is given to trans children in Florida to "pause" puberty.

Ron-you never should have taken Rupert Murdoch's $10 million to defeat Trump. You went along with the J6 plan to put Trump in prison. You also should have put the DOJ in their place when you were informed of their plans to raid Mar a Largo. You should have told the DOJ "NO" when they came to you with plans to set up offices in FL to harass unarmed, innocent Americans who unknowingly "trespassed" on Jan 6th.

Ron & Jill Casey- I sure hope the multiple millions of dollars in your bank accounts were worth the price of your souls.

#Dishonest DeSantis #Fauci #trump 2024 #Jill Casey Black #good riddance #florida #presidential primaries

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brilla-brilla-estrellita · 19 days

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An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)

Whoaaaa thank you for the tags @shrekgogurt, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, @monbons, @drowninginships, and @blackberrysummerblog! I'm pretty sure that's everyone! I love being tagged in shit.

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s): So you just like... have names for them? Before you post them?

I will say that for once, a name did come to me, so one of them is tentatively titled Fettuccine and Foreplay, but I might change it because Foreplay is misleading. I'm sorry to say that it is not smutty, and the events are questionably even foreplay. But the alliteration. And Fettuccine and Flirting just doesn't have the same ring to it.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___” God, why am I so bad at this?

Nevermore Academy + Penny = offensive assumptions, defensive students, and a magical breakthrough waiting to happen

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it? uhhhhhh. I don't usually think about tags until I'm ready to post, so I am not prepared for this question... I can't really think of anything. Which makes me feel like my stories are hella boring.

Update after finishing and rediscovering an old wip: fluff! yay fluff.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)? Alternative titles??? So not only do you have titles, you also have extras laying about????

I guess I already talked about it in #1, but Fettuccine and Flirting. I do not like it.

5. ⚠️Which WIP you're most likely to finish or update next? Probably the Fettuccine one. It's a one-shot and a good portion done (almost ready for a beta, I think?). I like to write the whole story before I start posting, so the Wednesday x CO crossover is going to take a goooooood while. Idk how many chapters it is yet, I just know it's more than 3.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as) I think my most interesting one is called Sundays With Gran. It's more of a drabble that I might work into a story at some point than it is an actual WIP though. But my actual WIPs have uninteresting names.

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

It’s especially hard to believe in this reality when there’s a glow, a sparkle, a buzz around even the most mundane of sights when Simon is involved.

That's not even from a WIP I've already mentioned. I rediscovered this one while looking at document titles for this post!

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP. I have one fic, the one from #7, where I originally wanted musings from each of the main 4, which each describing what's happening through focusing on a different sense or set of senses. Like Simon would be taste or touch, Penny would be sound, Baz would be sight, and Shep would be touch or smell. But that felt too restrictive. Senses are still a big part of it, of course, and there may still be strong affinities for one sense over another for each character, but they'll experience with the most appropriate sense for the moment.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet? I really want to write more CO x Heartstopper (which we're calling Snowstopper because we're so clever) fics, but I'm making good progress on these other two and I'm afraid I'll lose the momentum if I start on the next Snowstopper idea. So I'll leave that for Kat to start in the meantime.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on? At the beginning of this post, 2. As of #7, 3!

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? So many! I think I need to rewrite much of what started the Wednesday x CO fic. The entire first two chapters don't feel quite in character for Penny.

And then most of this rediscovered fic, for now called Tiny Dots. (Hey look! A title!) Like I said before, it's character musings, and I'm not sure how to string them together in a way that feels cohesive.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

I feel like I procrastinated on this procrastination game for so long that everyone else has already done it! I'm sorry if you've already been tagged 100 times, and especially if you've already done it and I missed it, buuuuut: @onepintobean @martsonmars @facewithoutheart umm... if you haven't been tagged, but want to be tagged, consider yourself tagged (or tell me and I'll update this post with your tag and no one has to know).

#ask game #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #my writing #i feel like mine was so boring

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spadecentral · 1 year

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📱 Sibling Texts!! | Deuce Spade SMAU

>> requested: no >> a/n: This was made out of some texts that me and my sister had 💀 (all of them except for the last one, at least lolll). Also I had to rewrite this like FOUR TIMES. Tumblr fix your undo button.

>> masterlist: here!! >> summary: stupid texts between you and your brother >> reader prns: they/them >> warning(s): none

egg head Today @ 12:48 PM muffins

yuu Today @ 12:49 PM imma steal one

egg head Today @ 12:50 PM they were for ma but sure

context: deuce goes to diasomnia against his better judgement to pick up yuu from a visit with [x diasomnia character]

egg head Today @ 2:32 PM omg they have a ptaradactoll

yuu Today @ 2:32 PM a what

egg head Today @ 2:33 PM teradactol

yuu Today @ 2:33 PM they don't have a pterodactyl?

egg head Today @ 2:34 PM no?

but like

pterodactyl :(

yuu Today @ 2:36 PM bro where did vou see that

they're extinct lol

don't know if you knew that

sorry to burst your bubble

egg head Today @ 3:26 PM i got into detention

pls dont tell mom

yuu Today @ 3:27 PM pure of heart, dumb of ass

suffer

egg head Today @ 6:59 AM ik I just ate but I'm already starving

what the heck

yuu Today @ 7:00 AM uh

eat more or somn idk

make an egg

egg head Today @ 7:01 AM a egg?

yuu Today @ 7:01 AM yeah I guess

*queue deuce crying*

egg head Today @ 4:15 PM YUU WAHT ISI THIS!??!

i hate you

yuu Today @ 4:19 PM love you too

send in an ask to be put on/taken off my taglist!

#deuce spade #brother deuce spade #deuce spade platonic #platonic deuce spade #twst deuce #twst deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twst smau #twisted wonderland smau #yuu #twst yuu #@.twst.works

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quakenshake · 1 year

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& Sober Thoughts

I couldn't stop thinking about rewriting my last prompt but from Chishya's perspective...so here is the unofficial Part 2 to "Drunken Words". This one isn't quite as dark as the last one but is still quite angsty. Similarly, there are also mentions of alcohol, violence, past/childhood trauma (vaguely, nothing too detailed), and strong language. Also, I should mention that, unlike the others, this prompt specifically addresses the reader as having she/her pronouns. This is my first time attempting to write from Chishiya's perspective...I hope I did him justice (and please don't judge too harshly.) Once again, I would really love any other prompt ideas/suggestions! -S

Something was wrong. Call it superstitious, but he could feel it in the air. If he were more sentimental, he might even say he could feel it in his heart. But he was not, in fact, sentimental. He was merely observant, a skill that earned him a seemingly continuous stay in these lands. And his observations these past few hours led him to one thought: something was wrong.

He hadn’t seen her nearly all day. This alone wasn’t cause for concern; it was typical of her to disappear on days when her visa ran dry. Anyone could tell that game days caused a great deal of stress for the woman, even those who possessed weaker observational skills than his own. On days like this she was moody, distant….cold, even. It reminded him of himself, which was why he’d been perfectly content to leave her to her solitude. No, it wasn’t her absence this throughout the day that perturbed him. It was her continued absence, even after the others from her game had returned.

She was still alive, that much he had discerned. There had been some doubt when he’d overheard talk of a girl dying in the game, but passing gossip quickly uncovered the victim as another Beach resident named Hana. Caught in a bear trap and finished off with a bullet- presumably one fired off by another player, from the sounds of it. Aside from that, there was no talk of any other deceased. So where was she?

Most game days, she would return to him almost immediately. He couldn’t tell if his presence brought her comfort or not, but either way she would seek him out- usually in a better mood than when she’d left. Whether it was to discuss their plan to steal the cards or simply to shoot dry remarks at one another until they grew tired, he could always count on her eventual company. So as the hours ticked on without her, he found himself growing restless. Restless, not worried. He was not sentimental.

All said and done, it didn’t take long for his curiosity to win him over. If he had to assign any flaw to himself, it would be his own curiosity. “Like a cat!” she would tease, usually earning her his undivided annoyance. She had a habit of annoying him, and he had a habit of craving it (which, in itself, was cause for annoyance.) So really, it should be no surprise that her absence was a bother to him.

With his mind set on finding her, it didn’t take long to pinpoint her location. Not to say that she didn’t make it difficult for him, of course. With her, everything was difficult. Forced to weave between sweaty, half-naked bodies, he found his head swirling with the stench of alcohol by the time he’d set sights on her. Tucked near the outdoor bar, his cause for annoyance was unmistakably wasted. Annoying, indeed.

“Y/n,” he said once he was near enough for her to hear. Slowly, and with what looked to be considerable concentration, she turned to face him. He didn’t miss the way she wavered in her seat. Her eyes, half-lidded and slightly furrowed at the sight of him, stared into his own with what he could only guess to be frustration. There was a sour look on her face, and he didn’t think it was due to the alcohol.

“Chishiya,” she said back, drawn-out and slurred. As soon as she’d said it, her brows had furrowed even more, as if to kick herself for revealing the state she was in. Idiot, he thought in amusement, though he knew his face maintained its cool composure. The whole Beach can tell you’re drunk. He watched her frustration grow to a peak before she spun back around haphazardly to face the bar. Quirking a brow, he listened to her attempt to order another drink. His eyes shot quickly to the pile of empty glasses building up beside her. Next, to the bartender, who seemed conflicted by her request.

He watched the poor man glance between them both, his eyes landing on Chishiya as though to ask “Should I give her more?” Chishiya pondered the question, himself. On one hand, he was immensely intrigued by the girl’s inebriated state. He’d never before seen her so vulnerable, and the darker side of him recognized the opportunity to observe her with her guard down. Plus, he couldn’t deny his own amusement in seeing her this way. But the other, more rational side recognized that he wasn’t the only observer to lurk within the Beach. There would be others who’d recognize her vulnerability, most with intentions far darker than his own. The image of a particularly sadistic militant flashed in his mind, and with that it was decided. Giving the bartender a pointed glare accompanied by a brisk shake of his head, Chishiya severed her flow of alcohol.

Still facing away from him, the girl let out an exaggerated huff as the bartender feebly wandered away from them. He could picture her eyes rolling dramatically.

“It’s rude to cancel another person’s order,” she grumbled. There it was- that dry banter that he’d been craving all night. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to it.

“No more rude than drinking the bar out of stock,” he replied, stepping forward. “Perhaps you never learned to share.” He pulled the seat out from next to her before taking a seat of his own. From this distance, he could smell the alcohol drifting off of her in waves. The stench reminded him again of their location, and he found himself glancing warily at the other residents surrounding them. No stranger to alcohol themselves, he watched as their bodies swayed clumsily around and against one another, lost in the high of…well, he’d never been sure, really. He could only imagine it to be a high, though, as that was the only explanation for acting so recklessly in a place like this. He wondered, then, if she had come here for her own high.

“I’m fine,” she said suddenly, breaking him from her thoughts. He turned to look at her then, and when he met her eyes he saw something that he hadn’t noticed before: pain. With that single observation, the situation no longer held any amusement for him. Blinking at her, he chose his next words carefully.

“I never said you weren’t,” is what he landed on. Instantly, he recognized them to be the wrong choice. Her gaze, which moments ago held some level of softness, grew venomous.

“Fuck off, Chishiya.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d had somebody direct such hatred at him. In fact, the sting behind her words held a familiar burn which hit close to home. But unlike her, he’d never be so foolish as to show weakness in a place like this- or any place, for that matter. So he called forth the mask that had saved him countless times before, allowing her anger to glide off of him rather than pierce his skin.

“It’s time to leave,” he said quietly, urging the words out before he could change his mind and walk away from her forever. He could tell that she wanted to fight him on this, and he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t let her win if she did. So before she could speak, he offered her his hand. He watched the ice in her eyes melt ever so slightly, only to be replaced with something that looked oddly like desperation. In that moment, he was reminded of why he’d come in the first place.

Tentatively, she took the hand he’d offered her, linking her fingers with his own almost on instinct. Tugging her gently to her feet, he began to guide her away from prying eyes. He willed himself to move slowly enough for her to keep up in her condition, though he was desperate to put as much distance between himself and those people as he could. When they finally reached the entrance to the hotel, he began to feel his heart return to its normal rate.

Somewhere along the line, she’d begun to cry. He didn’t know if she was naturally a silent crier, or if she’d been smart enough to muffle her noise, but either way he was grateful for it. He’d never known how to react to people crying, and for some reason the sight of her crying made him even more uncomfortable than usual. So instead, he chose to ignore it, and was pleased that it had ended by the time they reached her room.

Once she’d steadied herself against a wall, he pulled his hand briefly from her own in order to open the door. As soon as it opened, his hand found her own again. Guiding her to her bed, he watched as her body crumbled onto the sheets. She had pulled herself into a ball in a way that resembled a child, eyes still red from the earlier tears. Unable to meet her gaze, he opted instead to sit beside her, facing toward the wall.

“I want you to stay with me.”

He wasn’t surprised by her words, which were now laced with fatigue. He’d thought about it the entire way back to her room. He hadn’t been able to think of anything but the pain he’d seen on her face back at the bar. She’d always been an open book to him, wearing her emotions like clothing. But that level of pain had never shown in her eyes before, and it bothered him more than he’d like to admit. He wasn’t sure what the cause for it was, or why she’d spilled so many tears, but he knew right away that he never wanted to see her like that again.

But then, he also couldn’t forget her words. “Fuck off, Chishiya.” He knew that his presence was not always a welcome one for her. On more than one occasion, she’d let him know how stubborn and heartless she found him, and it had always been amusing. But the hatred behind her words tonight was another foreign side of her that he hadn’t yet uncovered, and he wasn’t sure if it could all be blamed on the alcohol. And as he remembered the look she’d given him- the look he’d grown all too familiar with as a child- he felt his heart harden once more.

Standing up from her bed, he paused only for a moment before making his way to her door. He felt her eyes burning into him as he walked, and he willed himself not to turn around. If he met them again- if he saw that pain again- he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave her. And for his own sake, he needed to leave her. So he only paused once more at her door, not allowing himself to face her fully.

“Sleep on your side,” he muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion. It was all he had left to offer before leaving.

#chishiya headcanons #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya angst #chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x y/n #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya fanfic #chishiya fic #aib #alice in borderland

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