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oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

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You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.”

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one.

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing.

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night.

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there.

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself.

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.”

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him.

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm--

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks

#soft ezra #soft!ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #fluffy smut #pedro pascal #ezra prospect smut

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen tries his best to get along with Nie Huaisang, as instructed by Lan Qiren.

Lan Xichen, after some hesitation, did not report to his uncle how impolite Nie Huaisang was during their little meeting. After all, only two things could have happened: either Nie Huaisang would have been punished and turned even more resentful, or Lan Xichen himself would have been scolded for failing to make the meeting more agreeable to his fiancé. He couldn’t deny the tea was undrinkable for having turned cold, and he forgot that people outside of Gusu Lan are to be given snacks alongside their drink.

So he gets biscuits for their next meeting, and selects a brew of tea that can better handle being left to cool down, just in case Nie Huaisang is late again.

He is not. Nie Huaisang arrives exactly on time. He still refuses to say a single word until the incense is lit, but Lan Xichen has decided that he doesn’t care. If Nie Huaisang wants to be childish and petty, that’s his problem.

"In the interest of getting to know each other, I have prepared some questions," Lan Xichen announces as he pours the tea, " and I'm prepared to answer them too, of course, as well as any additional inquiries you might have."

Nie Huaisang grimaces, but nods.

"Go ahead."

Lan Xichen promptly complies, and startw asking a list of reasonable questions which his uncle had helped him come up with. Education, training, experience in sect business.. At first Nie Huaisang answers as best as he could, but very soon he starts rolling his eyes.

"That's stuff a matchmaker asks," he ends up complaining, "not an ordinary person! I thought you'd have normal questions."

"What counts as normal questions?"

"I don't know," Nie Huaisang mutters. To give himself time to think, he grabs a biscuit and bites into it, only to quickly grimace. He puts the biscuit back down, and never touches it again. "Hm. Things like… What's your favourite colour, your favourite food, your favourite thing to read, or…"

"Marked preferences are discouraged."

Nie Huaisang startles at that and opens his fan so he can glare at Lan Xichen from behind it.

"Oh so when you always played with my brother but ignored me it wasn't showing a preference then?"

"That's different," Lan Xichen calmly protests. "Your brother is my friend. Personal connections are valued as long as they don't fall into excess."

"So you don't even have a favourite food? Not even… Come on, a favourite flavour at least? Something to show you're more human than you look?"

It's ridiculous to insist so much on something so trivial, but Nie Huaisang is starting to look actually distressed that Lan Xichen manages to remain impartial as to his tastes.

"I like sweet things," he reluctantly admits, and that alone feels like a betrayal of Gusu Lan's principles.

Nie Huaisang lowers his fan.

"Really? Lan gongzi, I could almost pity you then. I don't think I've ever tasted anything sweet among all the things I've been served in the Cloud Recesses."

"And that's why it's important to overcome food preferences. They only cause unhappiness. I very rarely have sweets and it is for the best."

That's partly a lie. Lan Xichen does miss eating candies, as he got to do in his youth. Even though she was secluded in the Jingshi and lived under strict rules, his mother always had something sweet to share with her sons on their monthly visit. Lan Qiren and her would get into arguments about that, accusing each other of ruining the brothers' lives.

In the few weeks before her death, Lan Xichen had started refusing the candies, fearful of his uncle's disapproval. He regretted that now, knowing it had hurt his mother in her last moments to see him submit so fully to the rules of a sect she had never more than tolerated.

Maybe he misses her more than the taste of sweetness.

"So what does Nie gongzi prefer to eat?" he asks, pushing away memories and trying to focus on the present conversation.

Nie Huaisang doesn't answer right away. He closes his fan and taps it lightly against his chin, as if this were a matter so important that it requires deep thought.

"I don't know," Nie Huaisang says pensively. "I really don't know. I'm not that picky, I like anything. I guess I miss eating duck the most? The restaurants in Gusu just don't cook it right, so I really miss the dishes from home."

That only confirms what Lan Xichen was taught. Preferences are a hindrance. When Nie Huaisang and him are married, it's very unlikely that he'll have duck more than once or twice a year, if even that.

"What's your favourite colour?" Nie Huaisang asks. "I'll scream if you say white or blue."

"I don't have a favourite colour," Lan Xichen retorts, refusing to think of a certain shade of green from a jade pendant his mother gifted to him.

"I think I'd have preferred if you told me it was white," Nie Huaisang grumbles. "You're so inhuman, I don't know how Mingjue can stand to be friends with you."

In fact, Nie Mingjue has teased him about these things in the past, until Lan Xichen gave in a little. Nie Mingjue knows about candies, about the shade of green that always attracts Lan Xichen's eyes, about the smell of gentians, and many other things that Lan Xichen has never shared with the people in front of whom he must perform perfection.

"Nie gongzi, what is your favourite…"

"Next week," Nie Huaisang cuts him after a glance at the incense, jumping to his feet. "If you still want to pretend you care."

"Nie gongzi, this is rude!" Lan Xichen exclaims, in vain.

Nie Huaisang has already gone, leaving Lan Xichen to deal with untouched biscuits and tea. It is tempting to ear one of those damn biscuits, especially after this conversation, but he restrains himself.

For their third meeting, Lan Xichen tries again a different tea, since Nie Huaisang refused the other two.

He tries, also, to ask more normal questions. That's how he learns that Nie Huaisang too has affinities for the colour green, that he has taken to reading poetry recently, and that he enjoys painting landscapes and animals above people, though he can do portrait too when the mood strikes him.

Lan Xichen thinks, as he often does, of that painting hanging in Lan Wangji's room.

"Nie gongzi, next week, why don't you bring some of your paintings? It might give us something to talk about."

Unsurprisingly, Nie Huaisang hides behind his fan. It's a different one from before, the style of painting free and full of life. Lan Xichen can't help but wonder if Nie Huaisang painted it himself, though he elects not to ask.

"My work is not good enough to be beholden by Lan gongzi," Nie Huaisang retorts in a venomous tone. "Beside, wasn't Lan gongzi the one who told me to give up on it?"

"Judging by the fact you try to get Wei gongzi to cheat for you, I doubt you took my advice to focus on your studies."

"I simply asked for help so I wouldn't shame Lan gongzi as I did last year."

Lan Xichen rolls his eyes, then berates himself for that reaction. He can't be dragged down to that level.

This time, Lan Xichen is the one who spots that the incense, mercifully, finished burning.

"I won't keep you," he remarks. "But I meant it about your paintings. Bring them next week."

Nie Huaisang stands up and throws him a hesitant look, as if trying to judge him. Lan Xichen does his best to keep a neutral expression, but that does little good. Nie Huaisang just shrugs and leaves without another word, as is already a habit at this point.

Nie Huaisang does not bring his paintings, much to Lan Xichen's frustration. He has, in fact, been looking forward to that and even prepared some of his own works for Nie Huaisang to look at, including a copy of his rabbits.

It does not matter.

Lan Xichen isn't disappointed, he's just getting tired of his fiancé's stubbornness. They're supposed to learn to get along, but Nie Huaisang refuses to make any efforts. If this keeps up, Lan Xichen will tell Lan Qiren about this situation and hopefully those ridiculous meetings will simply stop.

Of course, since Lan Xichen had counted on them talking about art, he has not prepared any other topic for them to discuss. Neither has Nie Huaisang, who looks ready to spend their entire time together in sullen silence rather than to even attempt small talk.

“I’m told you play Go?” Lan Xichen asks after an eternity of silence where the stick has barely burned at all.

Nie Huaisang looks at the incense stick as well and shrugs. Today too he has not touched the biscuits, though at least he sipped some tea. Lan Xichen makes a not of that.

“A little. Not good enough for Lan gongzi, I’m sure.”

Lan Xichen has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from snapping that they both know this probably isn’t true. Lan Xichen has heard that Nie Huaisang plays on equal footing with Jiang Wanyin, and for having played against him once when he accompanied his uncle on a visit to Lotus Piers, he knows that’s no small feat.

“Would you like to try anyway?”

Again, Nie Huaisang glances at the incense still barely consumed.

“There’s not enough time.”

It takes effort not to get upset that all of Lan Xichen’s attempts keep being rejected. He really wants to give up on this and go complain to his uncle that this will never work.

He suspects, though, that it will only make Lan Qiren insist even more on the importance of these meetings.

Besides, Lan Xichen really feels curious about his fiancé's skill at the game. He is rather talented himself, so he is always looking for an opponent who can give him a challenge.

“We can start the game now and continue next week. It would be more fun than just drinking tea and waiting for time to pass.”

Perhaps Nie Huaisang isn't as comfortable with silence as he tries to look, because that argument wins him over.

As they begin playing, Lan Xichen feels confident in his abilities. He very often wins even against experienced players, so he has no reason to doubt himself. Very soon though, Nie Huaisang proves himself a worthy opponent, forcing Lan Xichen to reconsider all his decisions and often surprising him with bold, unexpected moves.

Not that Lan Xichen doesn't give as good as he gets. He doesn't let Nie Huaisang rest, carefully laying traps for him and taking stone after stone. It is not often that he is forced to fight so hard against an opponent, and it is just as rare for a game to feel this fun.

In the end Lan Xichen loses, but not by much and he’s not even upset about it. It has been a while since he’s played such a thrilling game.

So thrilling, in fact, that neither of them thought to check the incense stick even once. By the time the game finishes it has long ago stopped burning, which Lan Xichen suspects is as shocking to both of them.

“Let’s play again sometimes,” Lan Xichen suggests as Nie Huaisang rises to leave.

Nie Huaisang seems surprised by his eagerness, or perhaps by the fact that Lan Xichen takes his loss so well. Either way he smiles and nods almost hesitantly. For a brief moment, he looks more like the boy he was last year, shy and uncertain, but he doesn’t linger around long enough for Lan Xichen to question it.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #worst engagement au #jau writes #lxc is still reaping the rewards of his shitty behaviour

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impfiltration-archive2 · 3 years

Note

📃 || Lotor, v: mea altea

Send a ‘📃’ for a short drabble involving our muses (Closed) || @worldly-diversity

set sometime when katie isn’t currently plotting to burn allura to the ground

Lotor spoke up the third time he caught Katie nearly dozing off. “Is someone not respecting their curfew?”

“No, I am.” That was a lie. After hours was the only time Katie could devote to her personal projects, ever since Allura split her free hours between a selection of sword dancing, poetry reading, and herbal gardening.

Apparently, sponsors could not limit themselves to interests as singular as technology, or else they could not properly expound upon the immensity of Altean studies to the rest of their species.

Katie didn’t respect her curfew, because she thought of it as her new free hours. That’s not why she was nodding off, though. She was just bored. Knowing better than to say she’d rather gouge her eyes out than read one more book (Otherwise she’d be admonished for violent language again), Katie explained, “This reading is just really dense. The metaphor I’m trying to get through right now is like.. A page and a half. How many words do Alteans need to say ‘the creator goddess was good’?”

“Hm.” Lotor hummed a note of disagreement, but did not voice any. Lethargically, he swiped the screen of his own tablet. It looked like he was making his way through an equally dense reading. “What a pity. Allura was enthused by how quickly you were picking up Altean.”

Katie felt a visceral shame flare in her gut, and whined at the thought of Allura being disappointed. “I am picking up on Altean quickly! I can talk to my teachers without a translator or anything. The empress just.. Keeps giving me harder and harder books. I don’t know if I can keep up.”

Katie dragged her hands along her face with a groan; she missed the easy children books Allura started her on a few months (Phoebs, a little voice in the back of her head corrected in an ever-growing Altean accent) ago.

Lotor looked at her, breaking away from his neutral countenance for something more akin to concern. He loved Allura for her resolute passion, but he recognized how it might overwhelm others. He even found himself exhausted at times; although, he would never admit that.

Allura had asked him to supervise her study hours—to “correct” her focus issues. He knew he had been tasked as the girl’s timekeeper, yet there was enough subtext in the request that he could give her some leeway.

“Here, give me your tablet.”

Katie peeked from behind her hands. “What, are you going to try to lock me out of all of my fun modules until I finish this dumb book?”

Lotor reached over the table and swiped up her tablet himself. He would have to remind Katie about manners later. “No, we’re going to make a game out of this reading. There is a reason most Altean scholars only read The Arrows of Creation the once.”

Kaite blinked. She sat up straight in her seat, crooking her head to the side. A cautionary suspicion subdued the excitement seeping into her voice. “What kind of game?”

“Children your age like to play pretend, do they not? We can play the characters. The majority of this poem is the first two Alteans singing their praises for the creator goddess.”

Excitement was winning over suspicion; it showed in the hopeful way Katie admitted, “I.. guess that sounds more fun. It’d make reading this book a lot faster, too.”

“Yes,” Lotor nodded, glancing up at the girl, “perhaps you will carve out enough time to work on your personal projects. That may make respecting your curfew easier.”

Katie’s eyes widened and she caught her breath in a sort of half-gasp. Terror flared through her whole being, expecting some type of punishment. Lotor wasn’t even looking at her anymore, though. He was scanning over the tablet screen, probably preparing his dialogue. Lotor wasn’t going to tell Allura (Everyone always made a big deal about how they were reporting to the empress if they were), and that realization melted a metric ton of tension right off of Katie’s shoulders.

She was smiling, now, feeling a bubble of confidence in her chest. There was a certain security in knowing someone wouldn’t rat her out. “That would actually help a lot.”

#worldlydiversity #v; shining example #(drabble)#let me just sprinkle in the fact that allura is a raging tiger mom

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mi6-cafe · 4 years

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DRABBLES FOR WEEK 3 ARE HEEERE!

This week our competitors were asked to write exactly 300 words of pure dialogue inspired by the word: “slip”

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The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

Drabbles below the cut:

Title: Slip of the Tongue Author: IrishWitch58 (captain-magicalkitty) Warnings:None Summary: Q let's something slip out during a private briefing. James actually does listen, especially when it's something he's been waiting to hear.

“This is a simple concept. Access the control center, find the central station, and insert this drive. Once it downloads, you enter this sequence on the keyboard, and remove the drive.”

“And what does the download do exactly?”

“It will send their outgoing communications to us first, allowing us to know their plans and modify them in ways the receivers will not suspect. The result will be that we will eventually close the net around the entire organization. The concept is not that difficult if you would just focus. I sometimes think you play up technological ignorance to get attention. I suspect I would be out of patience if I didn't love you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you were playing at being ignorant and we have work to do. Now pay attention. We still have to get through this briefing if the mission is to have any chance of success.”

“I really think the briefing can wait just a bit. I believe you're trying to divert me. I know what I heard.”

“You didn't hear anything except my frustration with your lack of attention, 007.”

“Then why are you blushing, Q? You do blush very attractively. I recall you turned a lovely rosy shade the first time I kissed you...”

“Just stop right there, Bond.”

“Oh no, I don't think so. I especially remember how pink you turned the first time I put my tongue...”

“I said stop it, this is not the time or the place!”

“I'll stop if you admit it. I know what I heard. There's nothing wrong with my ears. As a matter of fact, you seem to like them as handles when I...”

“Dammit, James. Yes I love you, you arrogant, aggravating, man. Now can we please get to work?”

“With pleasure, darling.”

Title: The Village of Barnsley Author: Venstar Warnings: geekery Summary: roll for initiative.

The Village of Barnsley’s life force is slipping away. Peasants are fleeing and some have disappeared with no explanation.

Excellent. Peasants to do my bidding, ha!

Oaf.

No one seems to know the cause of the decay. What skulks through the twisted shadows of the night? It will take a brave and skillful band of adventures to solve the riddle!

I’m brave and skilled, that’s me.

You are weak and your dice are cursed, Alec you’re going to get us killed.

Do you think my goats are going to be okay?

You can sell them.

Never!

If the village is in trouble and they need food for information, we’re selling your goats, James.

Touch my goats and I’ll roll to shoot you with my longbow.

Children, please let the DM continue. I have a meeting tomorrow morning and I don’t want to show up with dark circles under my eyes.

Tanner has to fix the trouble in the town of the MI5 and MI6 joint task force. Maybe taking my dice will improve things for you.

I doubt it. Okay, so this village is slowly slipping away.

What’s in it for us?

Spoken like a true mercenary.

Hey, You want goats, I want benefits.

OKAY OKAY! Your band of merry men-

And women

Your band of merry men AND women

And for those of us who are undecided.

I swear to all that is unholy….YOUR BAND OF MERRY ARSEHOLES has become aware of the changes in Barnsley through some vague rumors. Do you want to roll to hear the rumors?

Yes.

No.

Shut up, Alec.

That’s Sir Alec the Brave to you!

Yes, we want to hear a rumor. Who gets to roll first? Goat man?

I agree one must gather intelligence.

Let’s roll! I want to hear a rumor!

Title: No, YOU do the mission report Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: none Summary: slip - noun (FOR BOAT) a place where a boat or ship can be parked, between two piers

“007, why are you driving a boat through the harbour?”

“I’m piloting this yacht because it’s too bloody big to leave drifting as a navigational hazard. The harbour patrol would notice and there’s a dozen dead bodies aboard. I assume you don’t want an international incident...”

“Q,tell him it’d only be his third this year...”

“Alec, shut up and make sure the deck is clear. Q, find out where this wallowing scow normally docks, will you? We'll look suspicious if we just wander about like this too much longer.”

“Too late, James, harbour patrol incoming. Q, got any long-distance lasers?”

“Fuck. Alec, can you divert them somehow? We can’t let them board us.”

“007, head to the northern section of the harbour, to a marina called the Golden Seas.”

“Right. Alec?”

“Just steer us straight and leave the distraction to me.”

“006, why are you stripping that corpse?”

“Q, have you got a drone in the air somewhere? If so, you might want to avert your tender gaze...”

“006, why are you stripping?”

“Take a deep breath, quartermaster, I’m about to engage in a distraction guaranteed to send them away.”

“You’re...tell me you’re not actually...”

“Stop snickering, James, and please explain to our poor innocent quartermaster while I shout angrily at the fools who’ve dared to interrupt our erotic escapades.”

“Well, Q, when a boy likes another boy...”

“007!”

“No, quartermaster, Alec is not going to engage in sexual congress with a fresh corpse. But the harbour patrol won’t interfere with a rich man’s pleasure cruise, either. They know where their bribes come from, especially when they’re reminded in such colorful Russian. Entering the marina now, Q.”

“Oh, er, slip 24 is the correct one, 007.”

“Right. Dispatch a cleaning crew and we’ll be happy to report our mission complete.”

Title: Quotable Quotations Author: Anyawen Warnings: Summary: Film buffs Bond and Q trade movie quotes to stave off boredom. Bond slips a serious question into the game.

“I’m bored, Q.”

“You’re impossible, Bond.”

“'I do not think that word means what you think it means.'”

“I know exactly what it means, and if I had any doubt, your picture in the dictionary would surely give it away.”

“'Why so serious?'”

“MI6 frowns on using comms for idle chatter.”

“My flight’s been delayed twice, Q. If I have to watch another woman order some salted, drizzled, whipped, pumpkin-spiced abomination, I will go mad.”

“In the interests of preserving what little remains of your sanity, 'I’ll have what she’s having.'”

“'As you wish.'”

“You already quoted from The Princess Bride. You lose.”

“That was before you agreed to play. Doesn’t count.”

“Fine. 'I’m your Huckleberry.'”

“My what?”

“Oh, you don’t know that one? You lose. Again.”

“What’s it from?”

“Tombstone. 1993.”

“Never been a big fan of westerns.”

“'Nobody’s perfect.'”

“Hmmm. 'I can't see anything I don't like about you.'”

“Ha! 'As if.'”

“'You make me want to be a better man.'”

“'Everything is possible, even the impossible.'”

“'Today is a good day to try.'”

“'The present is well out of hand.'”

“'I love you beyond poetry.'”

“... 'I know.'”

"'I want you. I want all of you, forever. You and me, every day.'"

"Uh. 'You talking to me?'"

"'Shut up. Yes or no.'"

"... 'Surely you can't be serious.'"

"'Carpe Diem.'"

“'Even walls have ears,' Bond.”

“'Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.'”

“James …”

“'Go ahead, make my day.'”

“You’re really doing this over comms?"

"'Our lives are defined by opportunities—'"

"All right, then. 'You had me at 'hello'.'"

“That’s a yes?”

"Yes. 'Come what may.'"

"'I'm king of the world.'"

"Well, your majesty, tickets to Paris and a seat on the Eurostar should have you home in 10 hours. Boarding now. Gate B50. ‘Shake a leg.’”

Title: Freudian Slip Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: swearing Summary: Every now and then, the mask slips and he ends up saying exactly what’s on his mind (or, 5 times Bond has a slip of the tongue and 1 time it was Q)

“Don’t you get tired of following orders?”

“Do you?”

“Sometimes. We aren’t their dogs. Stop acting like you are.”

“Alec…”

“We could leave, you know? Make a run for it. They’d never find us.”

“I have to go. I’ve got a meeting with my leash. Lead. With my lead.”

“Don’t stick around for too long, James. Loyalty doesn’t always go both ways.”

“Goodbye, Alec.”

“-don’t care what happened with Trevelyan, I will not defend you in front of the select committee a second time. Is that understood?”

“Hm.”

“007, I asked you a question. Is. That. Understood?”

“Yes, mum.”

“...”

“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

“Take some time. Get yourself together before you come back, Bond. Dismissed.”

“...Fuck.”

“So? How are you settling back in?”

“Fine.”

“Getting to know the new Quartermaster? He’s quite the-”

“Moneypenny, if M’s busy, you can just shoot me off. Shoo. Fuck. I didn’t mean that.”

“James? I thought we were past that? Is everything ok?”

“I’ll come back later.”

“...James?”

“The Van Gogh print I recognize, but what’s this one?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s one of mine.”

“You paint?”

“Sometimes. When I’m not rebuilding guns for careless agents. They’re just daubs, really.”

“Not at all. I like your arse- art! ...I like your paintings, I mean.”

“...Thanks. I think.”

“You should leave.”

“Madeleine, what-?”

“You don’t want to be here, James. I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me back. This isn’t working.”

“So… what? It’s not me, it’s Q- you. You. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Go home, James.”

“Q.”

“Bond? You’re back?”

“I am.”

“They didn’t believe me, you know. When I told them you’d come back to me. Us. Shit. Back to MI6, I mean.”

“Actually, you were right the first time.”

“What?”

“Forget MI6, Q. I came back to you.”

“You- what?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Title: Note Passing Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: elementary school tactics are the very best "So, now we are passing notes as if we are kids still in school?" "I wouldn't have had to, if you replied to my texts" "Maybe there was a specific reason why I wasn't doing that - did you think of it while you folded this slip of paper and batted your lashes at Moneypenny to persuade her to pass it along?" "You really sound unnecessarily peeved by the note passing" "Let's say I just expect a little more maturity from a grown man" "I didn't think you would have appreciated being stalked around MI6 any better" "To be fair... that's true.Oh, stop it! I can hear your smugness" "You can't hear smugness" "When it comes to you? I can" "You're just being dramatic" "You're one to talk. Don't get me started: I'm very busy and I don't have the time to list all the ways and occasions in which you have proved how much of a drama queen you are. I actually don't even have the time for this call" "You could have just texted me your answer - or you know, you could have passed me a note: some of us still appreciate the beauty of the written word, the effort of picking out the best stationery-" "-you wrote yours on the back of a recei-" "-the intimacy of putting your handwriting on display. I could go on and on about the meaningfulness and superiority of handwritten notes" "You're so full of bullshit" "And you're stalling: for someone claiming to be oh so busy, you sure are enjoying keeping me on the phone" "Maybe I'm just making you gag for it" "If only you'd let me show how next to nonexistent my gag reflex is..." "Stop - stop right there.I'll come to dinner, happy?" "Immensely so, my dear Quartermaster"

Title: All Wrapped Up Author: Iambid (Flantastic) Warnings: Mature Summary: Q gives James a present

“Hello darling.”

“There you are. R told me you’d taken the afternoon off. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh yes. I got a notification that a parcel was due to be delivered… I thought I’d better be here to receive it.”

“Have you been buying gadgets online again?”

“Not quite. Sit down.”

“Darling?”

“Shhh. Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m wearing a dressing gown in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Why are you wearing a…”

“Or perhaps you should be asking what I’m wearing under it?”

“Why, what… oh. Oh.”

“Do you like it? I found this company online that sells lingerie for men and when I saw that they had a full set in black satin with a matching waist slip and… well, you’re always saying how much you like satin and…”

“Q? Shut up.”

“Hehe… what are you-ARGH! Jesus fucking Christ, warn a guy next time!”

“You look delicious. I want you laid out like a platter…”

“Yes, but I’m sure I could have laid down on the sofa on my own.”

“Maybe. Now let’s see… I like the bra-let. Very sexy, but what I’d really like to see is what these stockings are attached to under your minxy little petticoat… oh. Well isn’t that sweet? Do you know, ladies don’t often go for suspender belts these days? It’s all hold ups. I can’t stand them. Oh, but this is lovely. Just look: you’ve got me a little gift too. All wrapped in satin, done up with a bow.”

“It’s not that little, you cheeky sod.”

“Mmmm, no. Especially not if I do this…”

“You’re a man of many talents.”

“Were they expensive?”

“Were what expensive?”

“The knickers. I have I feeling I’ll be tearing them off you before very long…”

“They were quite reasonable... Oh James…”

Title: Slip up Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: In which Q fails at technology

“You should tell him.” “Oh my god, you are the worst, most meddlesome best friend ever.” “He’s been back six months—” “I’m very aware.” “—and he’s different.” “He’s n—” “He’s different. Less…" “Of a prat?” “The prat was charming. Worked on you.” “Shut it.” “Of course, love... You know, I think these little happy hours of ours might work better on Zoom. The telephone just doesn’t capture my commiserating, compassionate—” “Ha!” “—expression.” “I’m off duty. You don’t need to see my pajamas.” “Wouldn't be the first time. But I agree; they’re wasted on me. Best invite him over.” “You’re relentless.” “Because I love you. And you deserve happiness.” “Deserve has nothing to do with anything. I’ll have to refill my scotch if you’re going soft.” “Time for the second round, then.” “It’s the third, I think.” “Fine. Third. You shouldn’t wor—” “Hold on, someone else is ringing in. I’ll be back in a mo.” “Fine, but I’m not done—” “...Hello?” “Q? This is James Bond.” “...” “Bond?” “Yes... is this Q?” “It is. I just… I’m on another call. If you’d hold one moment… “Of course.” “...” “It’s him. On the other line. What do I do? If I talk to him right now, I know I’ll slip up and say something mortifying.” “...This is still James, Q.” “Oh god. Uh, sorry Bond. Just one moment. I’ll be right back.” “Of course.” “...” “I hate you. You’ve orchestrated this, somehow. Got me drunk and worked on me to tell him how I feel... and suddenly he’s got my number and he's calling on a Friday night…” “...” “Eve?” “Still James, actually.” “Bugger me!” “I was hoping we might start with dinner, actually. It sounds like the conversation will be... lively. Tomorrow at seven?” “...” “...” “Somewhere nice.” “Of course, Q.”

Title: Tongue-Tied Author: sorion Warnings: - Summary: Always listen to your Quartermaster.

"For the record, I do not approve of your course of action, 007."

"Duly noted."

"The only time you duly do anything, I would imagine."

"Dearest Q, if your tone of voice had implied that you truly did not approve or, dare I say it, you were even worried for me, I would have done more than note duly."

"Would you have noted aggressively?"

"At the very least, Quartermaster."

"I'm less than impressed. Assailants are closing in, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed. You also have a blind spot, your four o'clock."

"I had noticed, thank you. Keep me updated on my blind spot, please. ... ... ..."

"Bond! Report!"

"Just some unfriendly fire, no need to worry."

"I was not worried. I asked you to report."

"Of course."

"You will take me seriously."

"Always."

"I'd make a note, but there's activity in your blind spot."

"..."

"Move straight ahead. Watch your left."

"..."

"Take the stairs to the roof. I shut down all elevators."

"How very inconvenient."

"It'll be more inconvenient if they shut them down with you inside one. I can take over controls, but even I can't screw in a fuse remotely. And you don't want them to get to the roof before you, do you?"

"..."

"Can I assume from your heavy breathing that you are heeding my advice for a change? ... Don't laugh and run."

"Did you lock the door to the stairway behind me?"

"That goes without saying. They'll break it down soon enough, no doubt... But not before you get to your airlift."

"Smug little bastard, I love you."

"..."

"... Working with you."

"Slip of the tongue, 007?"

"Ah, well. The sneaking around was fun while it lasted."

"... I'll have you know that nobody here looks particularly surprised. Do stop laughing."

"There's my lift. Wait for me."

"Always."

#10

Title: you know my name (or you don't) Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: Bond is bantering with Q over the earpiece. The topic is, as usual, the mystery of Q's name.

“I'm pretty sure it's Quigley.”

“Really, Bond? Do you believe that my parents would do that to me? Also, we should keep it professional while you're in the field.”

“This is a professional curiosity. Anyway, it says Quashawn in your documents, but I don't think that's true.”

”When did you see my files?”

”I'm a spy, remember?”

”I'll need to have a word with Eve.”

“Or maybe it's Quirrel.”

“Ten points for the Harry Potter reference, but sadly, Quirrel is a surname.”

“So you are admitting that your first name starts with Q?”

“No! Just concentrate on the mission, Bond. Seriously, sometimes I ask myself, how I could love such an annoying git.”

“…”

“What?”

“You're in love with me, Q?”

“No, that would be absurd! It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Ha!”

“Don't flatter yourself, Bond, it's just an expression. It wasn't meant in a romantic way at all.”

“So you love me non-romantically? That makes sense.”

“Oh, no. We are NOT doing this. Can we please go back to your obsession with my name?”

“Perhaps later, this is much more interesting.”

“Don't be a child, Bond. And thanks to you, now I'll need to burn this tape.”

“Such a shame. You could have a beautiful reminder of your love confession.”

“Bond! What do you need me to do to let this go?”

“…”

“Shit. I have to tell you my name, right?”

“I think that could work.”

“And if I do that, you promise that we'll never speak about this ever again?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Okay.”

“So?”

“It's John.”

“Really? That's…”

“Boring? Disappointing? Should I change my name to Quasimodo?”

“No. I actually like this one a lot. And… John?”

“What?”

“When I come back, we should discuss my alleged unprofessionalism over dinner. Non-romantically, of course.”

#11

Title: Static Author: Ksania / @starrboned-art Warnings: Implied canon-typical violence Summary: Bond and Q find themselves in a predicament.

"007."

"..."

"Bond."

"Mmh."

"James!"

"Oof!"

"Good, you're awake."

"I was awake this whole time."

"Of course, my bad for thinking otherwise. Your drooling face is obviously a technique to disarm your captors."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Indeed."

"....Where are we, exactly?"

"And here I thought you were completely awake this whole time."

"Q."

"I don't know. A warehouse is my best guess. A few miles from London. Grabbed us on the way to Heathrow - how's your head?"

"Hmm, like I got hit by a two-ton truck."

"Memory still intact, I see."

"How are you awake?"

"Luck. Looking harmless enough not to be kicked in the head."

"Ha... Sitrep?"

"Three hostiles at least. One leader, two henchmen. Put a sack over our heads on the way here. Haven’t demanded anything yet - I guess an hour has passed since the car crash."

"Handcuffs?"

"Lockpick, back of the belt."

"Convenient."

"Bond! That is not my belt."

"Sorry, Q."

"Careful, Bond. Slip your fingers in the wrong pocket and you might find yourself without a hand."

"Why, Q, that's quite the image."

"Just get it done, I hear footsteps-"

"Hush, I almost have it-"

"Ah, I see you're finally awake, Mr. Bond."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?"

"No need for names. You gave us quite the chase in Berlin, Mr. Bond."

"If you wanted a private audience, you should have just said the word. No need for a crowd."

"No? I feel that your boy toy will be quite persuasive."

"Don't you dare-"

"My, villain standards are slipping these days."

"Q!"

"I'm quite alright, Bond. Told you to be careful with what you touch."

"What was it?"

"Oh, just a normal, state-of-the-art taser. Disguised as a credit card."

"And you never gave me one?"

"Only good boys deserve nice toys."

#12

Title: tête-à-tête Author: azure3795arts Warnings: none Summary: short conversations -

“—Focus on my voice. Breathe. In then out—”

“Q?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Sorry, but... Getting a little fuzzy.”

“Hold on. Evac on route. 2 more minutes.”

“I”m afraid I’ll have to see you later, Q.”

“What? 007, What do you—wait—”

“Take care of yourself.”

“No. Bond. Bond!”

“You know what they say about sleeping at your table.”

“That I’m dedicated to my work?”

“No. That you’ll drool and get a stiff neck for your trouble.”

“I don’t drool.”

“Sure. I thought I told you to take care of yourself.”

“Don’t you dare use that card with me, Bond.” – “Not after you did.”

“Resurrection. Hobby—”

“Shut up. You don’t have any equipment to turn in, so do us both a favor and get out.”

“Good morning to you, too, Quartermaster. I’ll leave you to it.”

“... Bond.”

“Yes?”

“Welcome back.”

“Thank you.”

“Does M not have more missions for you, or are you just going into early retirement?”

“Well, you saw the medical file, Q—”

“Bold of you to assume I keep track.”

“Hmm.”

“I don’t suppose I can tell you to bugger off from my flat?”

“You can.” – “At the risk of abusing an injured personnel.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” – “Whatever. Stay or leave, just pick one and stop bothering me. And don’t disturb the cats.”

“I won’t.”

“Why keep a cot here if you’re not going to utilize it. At least drag your arse on it.”

“You have no right to tell me where to drag my arse, Bond. No right.”

“Yes, and I suppose you didn’t just nearly walk into a wall.”

“That was one time.”

“You can’t keep doing this, Q.”

“What do you—Who is it?”

“Q…”

“Oh, Miss Moneypenny. Come in.”

“Just... Who were you talking to just now?”

“Nothing. No one.”

#13

Title: Lingerie Author: sparklycitrus Warnings: None Summary: Q and Moneypenny have a pleasant chat on a Friday evening off-work.

“Eve, hello. What can I do for you?” “Hello dear boffin. Are you alone?” “Er, yes?” “Oh, good. Don’t worry, nothing disastrous has happened, I just need your expert opinion on a minor personal emergency. Hold one sec, I’m going to call you back on video.” “Video? Wait, what-?” -- “Hello again. Sorry, have I caught you at a bad time after all?” “Pardon my state of undress. I was just getting ready to go out.” “Ooh, is it a date? Who is it? No one I know, I hope.” “Eve – your emergency?” “Right, do change the subject. Well, no matter, here – gold or blue?” “…what?” “Gold, or blue?” “Are those… meant to be worn on a moving body? The construction doesn’t look sturdy enough for, well, anything really.” “You can come up with a detailed improvement plan later. Which one looks better?” “On you?” “No, on M. Of course on me. Tonight. Under a cocktail dress. Personally I like the gold one – makes my bosom look fuller, no? But the blue is a nicer color. And it works better with my shoes.” “…It has to match your shoes?” “What, you think I’m going to stand in a stranger’s bedroom barefoot. What kind of girl do you take me for?” “Uh…right. Apologies. The gold one, then. The brown accents compliment your eyes. The overall structure is more pleasing on a feminine curve. And yes, it does make bosoms look fuller.” “Excellent. Thank you darling. Now carry on with your evening. I shall go get ready myself.” “Ahem, where did you find these anyway?” “An absolutely adorable online boutique! Good prices, too. Why, thinking of getting one for yourself?” “…” “Oh, oh god. You are seeing someone. Oh it better not be–” “Goodbye, Eve. Have a pleasant evening.” “Q–Oi!”

#14

Title: Slip Over Pints Author: ladymars Warnings: No Warnings Apply Summary: R and S try to advise Q.

"I don't know why I let you two drag me here. Three Science Branch heads at the same place outside of Headquarters? There must be guidelines against this." "Well, I think that's 004 flirting with one of the secretaries, if that makes you feel better." "And this place does make M's favourite chips." "So, have another pint and tell us about your little crush..." "Oh, shush, R. It's nothing like that." "Q, dear, I heard you over the roar of the chemical hood. If Bond didn't hear you, he must be deaf from standing too close to explosions." "Hell, I heard you from across the room even. 'Why don't you go and-'" "I know what I said! It was just a slip of the tongue! Nothing more!" "I think you want a slip of something else from him..." "God, S, you're almost as vulgar as the agents. Leave poor Q alone." "If I'm as vulgar as the agents, then Q definitely has a chance with 007. I bet Bond'd appreciate the honesty." "...You'd really think so?" "Q, don't-" "Yeah! You have to be direct with guys like him, or else he's never gonna understand." "Well, I suppose S has a point... Even if he did hear you, he might not have noticed the double entendre." "Ugh, I'd say I was as direct as him driving a car into the side of a building." "He's going to try to justify it like you're justifying it now. Doesn't he spend all his inactive time at Q Branch?" "He hangs out around my Branch to get at the better weapons, obviously." "Or to get at the Quartermaster. We're trying to save you some time here. Turn the slip of the tongue into a slip into bed." "S, honestly, as bad as the agents..."

#15

Title: Not A Contract Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None Summary: Department heads are always swamped with paperwork.

“Eve, what is this?” “My darling Q, that is an EMP172 form – Official Notification of Intimate Relationship between Staff Members.” “But why is it on top of my Executive Signature pack? Am I supposed to give it to someone – it’s not Robert and that girl from Accounting is it? I’m the Department Head, I shouldn’t have to deal with personal things like this. That's for HR.” “Sweetheart – it’s for you. I even thought I would save you some time, see on page two - I have already filled out James’ details.” “I beg your pardon?” “You and one ruggedly handsome James Bond of course. That fish mouthed look is very unbecoming Q dear.” “But……” “But nothing. It’s just a slip of paper, not a contract. I am quite frankly tired of watching the two of you dancing around each other. It is time you both did something about it. And if you boys ever decide to make it completely official, I expect some credit during the Wedding speeches.” “Check the back page.” “DON'T SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT!” “You’ve already signed it.” “Of course.” “Eve, please shut the door on your way out.” “I’m not going to sign this, until you have taken me out on a proper date.” “I have a booking for us, for tonight, at the Ritz. I’ll pick you up at your place at seven.” “How do you know where – no, never mind. Seven it is.” “And Q, that grey suit you wore to the Ministerial meeting last week, wear that – please.” “Alright. Now get out of my office. See you at seven, 007.” "If we are going to do this, I think you should start calling me James." "James. But call me Q - don't want you slipping up on mission."

Thank you to our amazing drabble writers for their contributions this week!

And thank you to you for reading and voting. You can see the results here.

#LDWS #james bond fanfiction #drabbles #signal boost #writing competition

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buddywaterfalls · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Leave You CH 1 (Toph x Male Reader)

“I’m telling you, we’re gonna find it this time!” Zei exclaims. You stare out of the window as he goes on about how his life has been leading up to this moment. His words would be encouraging, if this weren’t his upteenth time making the same boring speech on the same boring topic. The train speeds out of Ba Sing Se and you pay half a mind to him, ignoring his speech. You’re his best student, always working to learn the history of the world and understand how people feel. Zei is a close friend, your best, and always makes sure to take you along on his numerous expeditions, you get to frequently travel around the globe and make your own analysis on several topics. You were an intellectual prodigy, and he brought you into the university to better yourself. “Are you excited?”

“For what?” You ask, nonchalantly.

“Us to make history, Y/N. I just know it.”

“If you say so.” You reply as the train slows to a halt and you both step off. “It's the dry season.” you grumble, covering your face with your hat and moving forwards. You hand your passports to the angry lady to get out of Ba Sing Se after a long period of waiting in line. Zei is much more patient than you are, and babbles on about the possibilities of the knowledge that lies within the library to keep your impatience at bay. You waited for three tedious hours to get out and onto a ferry. “It feels like there should be a better way to do this.” You say, watching the water roll by slowly, “So why are we going to Misty Palms?”

“Just a gut feeling.”

“So we’re risking a mugging because of a feeling in your stomach?”

“Yes. You’ll come to learn to trust a gut feeling eventually.”

“I’ll never understand you, old man.”

“One day you might.” He says, smiling. “So Squirt, you finally participated in poetry night, I hear.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately I like actual poetry and they were all over haikus.”

“Well, haikus are poetry.”

“Bah.” You grumble, “How’s the girlfriend?”

“Oh we… broke up. She wanted kids, I wasn’t ready to make that commitment.”

“Oh. Sorry, man.”

“No, you’re fine. Besides, I needed to focus more on my work anyway.” The rest of the ride is in awkward silence as they slowly arrive at a dock and rent ostrich-horses to ride their way to Misty Palms Oasis. At one point, it was a gorgeous paradise now it sits as a reminder of the temporary nature of the world on which you live. “The ice has melted another three meters since our last visit.” Zei notes, writing it down in his little book. “Wait in the bar for me.” Zei says, “I’ll be right with you.” He pulls out a Pai Sho piece and walks in a different direction. You walk awkwardly into the bar, feeling several pairs of eyes prying into you.

You sit, “Uh… mango?” You ask the bartender, who hurries up and makes your drink after you pay him. A sip makes you feel more clear, and soon, you’ve finished.

“Well, you finished that quick, huh?” The professor asks, now walking in, looking better himself. “I’ll have what he’s having.” The tender makes another mango juice and he pays, right before a kid bumps into him, getting Zei’s drink spilled all over his outfit. “Sorry son, I didn’t-”

“No worries, I clean up easily.” The boy says, pushing his fists together and unleashing a gust of wind that dries him off.

“You’re a living relic!” Zei exclaims, holding his hat to his head.

“Thanks, I try.” The boy says. As they continue to converse, you look over the kid’s group, they don’t look like bandits. There are two Water Tribe people, a boy and a girl of around the same age as you and a short blind girl, with a dress that looks distinctively like it’s from Gaoling due to the stitchwork, who is in the back. An odd bunch for sure, but you’ve seen weirder. Soon, they’ve laid out a map and Zei’s rattling his life’s story like it’s small talk. With a groan you stand beside Zei.

“...and knowledge is priceless.”

You thank the heavens that you missed his whole spiel about books, the blind girl has an unimpressed look on her face. “Hm. Sounds like good times.” She sounds utterly unimpressed as well, which is reasonable. While he may be kind, you will always defend professor Zei there, but his speeches are tiresome at best.

“Oh, it is!” He says cheerily, disregarding her lack of enthusiasm, “According to legend, it was built by the great knowledge spirit; Wan-Chi Tong, with the help of his foxy knowledge seekers.”

“Oh! So this spirit has attractive assistants, huh?” the Water Tribe boy dumbly asks.

With a shove, the Water Tribe girl responds, “I think he means that they look like actual foxes, Sokka.”

“You’re both right! They’re handsome little creatures. Wan-Chi Tong and his little knowledge seekers collected books from all over the world and put them on display for mankind to read. So that we might better ourselves.” He smiles as he pulls out a scroll of the library and displays it on the table, and you sigh realizing that he’s reeled a couple more suckers into his crazy plot.

The Water Tribe boy-- Sokka speaks in realization. “If this place has books from all over the world, do you think they’ve got info on the Fire Nation? A map, maybe?”

“Wait a second, we aren’t getting involved with the Fire Nation, are you crazy? Zei, we should go-”

“No. These people need our help.”

You stare him in the eyes, “Do you remember what those savages have done?”

“The Avatar is our best hope to stop them, Y/N.”

After a second’s hesitation you sigh, “Fine. Sorry, I’m just on edge here. You can’t trust anyone anymore.” You say. They all nod and look back at Zei.

“If a map exists at all, that’s the place it’d be.” He says, after a moment.

“Then it’s settled!” Sokka exclaims, turning to the Air Nomad, “Aang, I do believe it’s my turn. I choose to spend my vacation at the library!” he animates the last part as if it’s a declaration of war and you groan. It’s quiet for a second before the blind girl speaks.

“Uh, hey! What about me? When do I get to pick?”

“You gotta work here a little longer before you’re qualified for vacation time.” Sokka retorts, she slams her drink down, crosses her arms and grunts in annoyance. She’s new to the group. You note.

“Of course, there’s the matter of finding it. Me and Y/N have made several trips to the Zi Wong Desert and almost died each time. I’m afraid that desert’s impossible to cross.”

“Professor, would you like to see our sky bison?”

“A sky bison?! You actually have one?!”

With that, he’s convinced so you trail the group with the blind girl until she finally speaks, “I’m Toph.” she says.

“Y/N” you reply, “That kid’s really the Avatar?”

“Yeah. Weird, isn’t it?”

“Weird doesn’t scathe the surface. We were supposed to go on a tracking mission, just as guys, then we end up flying on a bison with a monkey that can also fly and the Avatar to dig up dirt on the Fire Nation. But screw it at this rate, you know?” She smiles at this as Zei shoos away sandbenders from the sky bison. “That thing is ridiculously huge.” you say, looking at it as everyone climbs up. Zei helps you onto the saddle and the air bender says something that makes the thing lift into the air. You screw your eyes shut and hold the saddle for dear life. As time ticks on, you feel more comfortable, but more restless. Sokka’s taken his shirt off and everyone’s cranky after a while. It doesn’t help that Zei reveals that the library might not even exist, which really ticks off Toph. Eventually she decides to blurt out a blatant lie, which everyone hilariously falls for.

“There it is!” she cheers. They look on her side seeing nothing but sand and back at her with scowls. “That’s what it will sound like when one of you spots it.” Then she waves her hand in front of her face to emphasize that she’s blind and you stifle laughter. She turns in your direction and smiles before scooting closer to you and striking up a conversation, “So where do you live?”

“Ba Sing Se. I go to university with Brainiac over there. He’s my teacher.”

“Are you a good student?”

“He’s the best!” Zei pipes up and chuckles as your face heats up.

“Best is an awful strong word, Zei.” You say, trying to redeem yourself from sounding narcissistic, “I’m good at what I find interesting.”

“I never went to school. I took earthbending classes, but my blindness held me back, so I sought out my own help.”

“Now you’re training the Avatar, that’s pretty cool.”

“How did you know one of them didn’t train him?”

“They’re both Water Tribe.” You say, nonchalantly, “And they’re wearing water tribe apparel.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Toph says, laughing nervously.

“That’s fine.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard to spot a giant ornate building from the air.” The girl says.

Suddenly her brother speaks up, “Down there! What’s that?!” We descend to the ground and see a tower extending into the sky.

The water tribe girl sighs. “Forget it. This obviously isn’t the building we’re looking for.” Aang looks over her shoulder at the scroll, “The building in this drawing is enormous.” Then you see a bright reflection of light in the distance and elbow Zei, who quickly turns around to see it. You all watch a fox-like creature come from the desert and scale the tower, entering a window near the top.

“I think that was one of the knowledge seekers,” Zei exclaims, “We must be close to the library!”

“No. This is the library, look!” Sokka says, comparing the tower with one of the towers in the picture. “It’s completely buried.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds before you feel the weight of Zei’s grief pour over him as he collapses to his knees, “The library’s buried?! My life’s ambition is full of sand!” You put a hand on his shoulder and he sighs, sucking the pain down and returning to his optimistic self, “Well, time to excavate!” He says cheerily, pulling out a tiny shovel and getting to work.

“He’s… incorrigible.” You say, sighing.

“Professor, that won’t be necessary.” Toph says, you look up and see her with a hand on the building and her eyes closed, “The inside seems to be completely intact, and it’s huge.”

“That fox thingy climbed in through a window. I say we go up there and give it a look.” Sokka says.

“I say you guys go up there without me.” Toph says.

“You got something against libraries?”

“I’ve held books before and, I gotta tell ya, they don’t exactly do it for me.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“I’ll stay out here with her.” You say.

“But Y/N, this is our life’s work!”

“Reminder, I loathe spiders and if there is any place on Earth sure to have at least a thousand, it’s the library under two tons of sand, yeah?”

“Fine. Be safe, okay? Don’t do anything I’d do.” Zei smiles and ruffles your hair, chuckling at your scowl.

“Let me know if they have something I can listen to.” Toph remarks. With that they make their way into the library, leaving you, Toph and Appa outside. “You know that I can handle myself, right?”

“I’m well aware. Like I said, spiders terrify me.”

“Why?”

“Well they’re eight-legged, hairy, revolting things that want to do nothing but kill.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” She asks, sitting down, you can sense the smile on her face though and sigh, leaning back against the tower. “So, can you bend?”

“No. That’s why the fire nation makes me uneasy, what will I do if they invade again? Punch them to death? I can throw a punch, sure, but what’ll I do against an army?” You sigh, “Anyway, how do you walk without needing a cane or something? Not trying to offend of course! Just… intrigued.”

“When I was you, I… well what I did doesn’t matter, but it led to me being trained by the badgermoles. They taught me to see the way they do, through vibrations in the ground. This sand is awful because it’s all loose and shifty, it makes everything all fuzzy.” Appa roars, “Not that there’s anything wrong with fuzzy!” She adds, quickly. “Anyways, how’d you meet Zei?”

“Well it’s a long story. My family had a big home, it was the oldest standing house in the world. Zei met me and we talked for a while, he was impressed. He wanted to take me back to Ba Sing Se so I could learn under guidance and my parents refused, insisting that I carry on the family tradition and live my life helping out people.” You sit down next to her, “Fortunately, my dad gave me a choice and I was able to use the cover of night to get away. I’ve since made peace with my family. I want to make a difference.”

She smiles, “I get it. Maybe you should join us.”

“I don’t think so, I don’t wanna be a burden.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden.” Toph cuts in, she blushes slightly and looks down. After a while of awkward chatting, you’ve fallen asleep against Appa, and Toph lays awkwardly next to you, after a while, Appa growls. “I already told you, I don’t want to snuggle.” Then Appa gets up, letting both of your heads fall into the ground, waking you up as you rub the back of your head. “Library's sinking.” she says calmly, then her eyes widen, as do yours. “Library’s sinking!” she yells, bolting into action and struggling to hold it up.

You see sand rising in the distance and your senses start to tingle. “Uh, Toph?”

“What now?!”

“Whatever you do, focus on that building!” You say, taking up a fighting stance. The sandbenders conjure up a dust cloud that makes it hard to see. “Back off!” you shout at one who jumps off of his glider. He moves for a strike which you bat away and jab him three times in the stomach before crane-kicking him for the knockout blow.

“Who’s there?!”

“Sandbenders!” You shout back. Two more start to focus on you, using sand bending for cheap tactics and keeping you from fighting them fairly as their friends attack Appa. They try to hold you under the sand as they tie Appa up. With a huge effort you break free, leaping into the air and landing a swift kick on one. Then you feel something sharp puncture your neck. You pull it out and glare at the dart and then at the sandbenders. “It’ll take a lot more than-” Suddenly a barrage of about fifty darts fly your way, you run towards Toph and take about twenty that were heading for her before collapsing, “That’ll do.” You groan, watching the world fade in and out. Suddenly, she’s picked you up and leaped out of the way as the building crashes into the ground. You feel an overwhelming sense of failure as your mind sneaks itself into unconsciousness.

#atla #toph x reader #male reader #sokka #katara #aang x katara #aang #professor zei #the library #reader insert

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mrsbhandari · 4 years

Text

Shutter - Part 2

a/n: HI it me!! i don’t really have much to say lmao, but i hope you like it!! also the cover of vogue looks like this, by the lovely @lxdy-starfury, and is like the entire inspiration behind this fic so yee!

warnings: some language but that’s really it

words: 2k

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen

“Can you believe I got his number?”

“You what?”

“We talked a little bit after the shoot.” Nia guiltily fidgeted with her tea cup, her ring making small clicks against the porcelain.

“Okay, talking is very much different from getting his number. You have a billionaire’s phone number.” Incredulous, Naexi sat back in the plush seat of the book store lounge area, shaking her head. “So now what? Is he gonna be your sugar daddy?”

“What?! No!” Nia blushed furiously. “I don’t like him...that way.”

“Sure. And I didn’t just get credited with the cover of Vogue.”

“Congratulations, by the way.” Nia tried to change the subject, which Naexi picked up on and allowed. Nia grabbed the latest issue of Vogue off the table in front of them, admiring the glossy cover of Tyril with his hair in a messy ponytail and a somber look behind his glasses. “He was...unexpected, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“I expected him to be like all of those aloof and distant love interests in romance novels.”

“And how did he seem to you?”

“He was really sweet! Super warm, like you could just talk to him all day about everything and he would totally understand.” Naexi hummed, looking down into her coffee. “What? How did he seem to you?”

“I’m...not sure.” She shook her head and looked back up to her friend, giving an easy smile. “He felt nice enough, but I totally bet it’s all some act. He’s definitely a vampire.”

“At least he’s attractive.”

Naexi sent a glance down to the magazine. “Maybe.”

“So what I’m getting from this is...you’re in love?”

“That’s absurd! I am in nothing of the sort.” Tyril sat straight up in his chair, which was a direct contrast to Mal, whose feet were spread as he lounged lazily in the wire seat. Despite the cold, they sat in the outside seating section of a small cafe, right near small space heaters set up by the table. “I never said anything about even liking the woman--”

“Alright, alright, chill out. I was only joking, but it sure seems like I might’ve been right.” Mal sent a smug smile over the table and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dude, you want to impress her? You want her approval? You noticed the smell of her lotion? I diagnose you with love, bud.” He crossed his arms and briefly glanced towards his bike that was parked across the street; a car seemed to be driving kind of close to it. When he returned his gaze to Tyril, his friend was pensively staring at the half-eaten pastry on his plate and chewing on his nail. Reaching across the table, Mal plucked Tyril’s hand out of his mouth and held it on the table top to get him to stop. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“I don’t have time for it, though. That’s the problem.”

“C’mon, Ty. We both know that’s bullshit. You’re into her, but you’re afraid of getting hurt and don’t want to take a risk.” Mal squeezed his friend’s hand. “I agree that what happened with Kaya sucked, but you have to be willing to step back out on the edge to see the view, even if you might fall.”

“Poetry is supposed to be my thing, Volari.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be romantic?” He batted his eyelashes and placed a hand under his chin, prompting a small smile from Tyril.

“Not with that haircut, you’re not.”

“Hey!”

“Um…” Naexi cautiously eyed the large vase of flowers on her desk, tapping her coworker Belana on the shoulder before approaching the tulips. “What is this? Who delivered these?”

“Well, they look a lot like tulips and a delivery guy just came with them about ten minutes ago. Who’s the admirer?” Belana wiggled her eyebrows, laughing when Naexi shoved her shoulder.

“As if I know.” She set her bag down and dug through the jungle of vibrant red to find a small card. The gold inscription read “When I’m around you, I lose my focus,” paired with a tiny drawing of camera in simple black ink. It wasn’t signed.

“Well?”

“I have no clue what to make of it.” She handed the card to Belana, who burst out laughing at the joke.

“That’s a good one! Because you’re a photographer!”

“No, stop, please. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.” Snatching the card back, she read it again before pushing the vase to a miraculously unoccupied corner of her desk and placing the card in one of her frames, the one housing the picture of Nia and her on a work trip in Paris. Nia was a bookkeeper at a small bookstore, but she abused the hell out of Vogue’s plus one policy on trips. She grabbed her phone and found Nia’s text conversation quickly, typing out a short message asking about the flowers.

NIA: that’s so weird! I have no clue who could have sent them.

Nia definitely had a clue who could have sent them. She had so much of a clue, in fact, that she scrolled down to her conversation with Tyril, the exact person who sent them.

NIA ELLARIOUS: She got them! And she doesn’t know who sent them.

TYRIL STARFURY: Did she like them?

NIA ELLARIOUS: Hm, I’m not sure. She didn’t say anything about them, just that she wasn’t sure who they were from. We’re having lunch today, I can ask her then.

TYRIL STARFURY : I can’t thank you enough! I hope this isn’t awkward, being somewhat of a spy for your friend.

NIA ELLARIOUS: Of course not! I think it’s incredibly sweet what you’re doing.

TYRIL STARFURY: Thank you, I’m very nervous about it working.

NIA ELLARIOUS: Don’t be! It will all work out, I can promise you that.

TYRIL STARFURY: Thank you.

Nia slipped her phone into an apron pocket and went back to humming as she dusted the shelves.

“I’ve probably gained twenty pounds since you’ve started working here. These pastries are to die for,” Naexi moaned as she bit into her chocolate croissant, savoring the flakiness of the breading that practically melted in her mouth.

“Me, too,” Nia sighed, nervously fidgeting with her apron.

“What’s got you all nervous?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing!” She offered a shaky smile, which did nothing to squash Naexi’s suspicions.

“So we’re lying to each other now?”

“No, of course not!” Nia struggled to come up with a believable lie that could easily segue into talking about the flowers. “I’m just still trying to think who would’ve sent you flowers today. Very odd.”

“To be honest, I kind of forgot about them.”

“Really?!” Nia set down her teacup before she had the chance to drop it. “I know if someone sent me flowers, I would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.” Naexi hummed. “What?”

“Now that I’m thinking about it again, it is kind of weird. I haven’t been dating in a while, so who could’ve done it? And obviously they were sent by someone who barely knows me, because the joke was….not my style.”

Smirking, Nia spoke before she could stop herself. “Maybe that’s why you’re so cranky. You need to put yourself out there more.”

After a small moment of silence seemed to be occupied by Naexi’s thoughts, she waved her hands. “I think not. No significant other is going to keep me from being my grouchy self. Sorry to disappoint.”

Nia threw her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I’d never want you to change.” For the rest of her lunch break, the two girls sat and talked while watching people pass outside the window of the store. As soon as Naexi left, Nia eagerly fished out her phone and found Tyril’s text conversation.

“I shouldn’t have gone with that inscription.” Tyril was pacing back and forth in his office between where Imtura sat in one chair and Mal sat in another. He was chewing on his nail again, and Mal stood to take his hand away again. He sat back down in his chair with a firm grip on Tyril’s hand, limiting the length of the billionaire’s pacing while still not stopping it.

“Will you stop panicking? I’m sure the girl loved it,” Imtura reassured, barely looking up from her phone. “It was a pretty funny joke.”

“But what if she doesn’t like jokes?!” Tyril exclaimed, running a hand through his hair and pulling some pieces out of its tidy half-up do.

“Ty!” Mal stood and grabbed his friend’s other hand, forcing him to stop and look at him. “I’ve never seen you like this. C’mon, talk to me.”

“I’ve just never done something like this. Flirting and relationships and what have you....It’s all foreign to me. I want to make sure it’s perfect.” He jumped as his phone went off in his pocket.

NIA ELLARIOUS: She still doesn’t have any idea who sent the flowers, but she doesn’t really like puns. Especially about her job.

TYRIL STARFURY: That is...most unfortunate. Thank you so much for your help.

NIA ELLARIOUS: Would you like to come by the shop and have lunch with me on Thursday?

He looked at the date; It was Tuesday.

TYRIL STARFURY: I would love to.

NIA ELLARIOUS: See you then!

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone with your idea, Mal.”

“She didn’t like the joke? Sounds like this girl’s a real snooze, if you ask me.”

“Good thing he’s not,” Imtura joked, dodging a punch from Mal.

“Well, Nia invited me to lunch with her on Thursday--” He was cut off by his phone ringing, his father’s contact flashing on the screen. “Pardon. Hello, Father?”

“Tyril, I hope you are doing well.”

“You as well, Father. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” In his seat, Mal cringed at the formalities.

“I’ve sent the information to your email, but I wanted to remind you directly about a charity gala I’m hosting next week, for the company.”

Mal rolled his eyes, but Tyril snapped his fingers and gave him a stern look, akin to a mother scolding a child. “Yes, of course.”

“Your sister has a date, so I would have to ask you to bring one as well. It would look good for the company.” Tyril opened his mouth to speak, but his father beat him to it. “Mal is already invited as a high ranking member of the company, therefore he cannot count as your plus one.”

“Yes, sir. I will find a date for your gala.”

“Thank you, Tyril. Goodbye.”

“Good bye.” Tyril continued to look at the phone, even after his father hung up.

“Well.” Clapping his hands together, Mal stood up and sighed, placing his hands on his hips and swiveling his body to crack his back. “He’s even more of a snooze than the girl.”

“Are you kidding me? Again?!” Naexi exclaimed, throwing her bag down on her chair since her desk was occupied by yet another large vase of flowers, this time peach dahlias. “Who is doing this?” Belana peeked over to her coworker’s desk, whistling at the sight of the large collection of flowers.

“Damn! Wait, what logo is on the card?” Naexi fished the card out.

“It says it’s from a place called Loola’s.” While Belana typed something into her laptop, Naexi read the card aloud. “‘For a woman with a unique view of the world and the means to capture it.’”

“Holy shit!”

“I don’t think it’s that good, but I--”

“Not that. I looked up a bouquet of peach dahlias from Loola’s and it looks like that one cost about a hundred and ten bucks.”

Naexi blinked. “It still isn’t signed. I don’t…” she trailed off, looking again at the bouquet before whipping out her phone and texting Nia.

NIA: Wow, another one?

NAEXI: Yeah! Belana says it cost 100$

Despite knowing who sent it, Nia’s eyes still widened at her phone.

NIA: Seriously?! Any idea who it’s from yet?

NAEXI: Nope.

NIA: We can brainstorm tomorrow over lunch.

#tyril #tyril starfury #choices tyril #blades au #choices blades #blades of light and shadow

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Text

Poetry & Prose

In which Cathy suffers with Guilt and Jane discovers poetry.

The poems mentioned in this fic are (in order of mention Her Kind by Anne Sexton, an extract from Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur, On A Train by Wendy Cope, The Dormouse and The Doctor by A A Milne and The Past by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.) Wendy Cope is absolutely recommended if you’re not a fan of poetry in general- her poems are very simple, and all the more effective for that simplicity. The dormouse poem I recommend if you wish to have your heart torn into shreds- yes, it’s technically a children’s poem but even thinking about the absolutely tragic plight of the sad dormouse still makes me tear up to this day. Literally no other piece of poetry has ever affected me so deeply so I’ve just projected that onto Cathy.

In regards to the brief mention of Thomas and Elizabeth….I do sometimes think the case gets examined in a slightly….I don’t want to say unfair way but a way that applies modern understandings of things and modern expectations to a time that was wildly different. Specifically, during a time when it was entirely legal to beat your wife and divorce for women was not an option, what else would you do in a similar situation, other than sending the victim away?

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy this fic!

‘I have gone out, a poss- poss-’

‘Possessed.’

‘Possessed witch, h- haunting the black air, braver at night, dreaming evil, I have done my hitch-’

She pauses.

‘What does it mean?’

‘Hm?

‘What does done my hitch mean?’

She thinks of horses- All hitched up; I’ll just hitch up the cart, words she’d only overheard in her first life since the tending of horses with none of her concern back then, and words she’d heard not at all in her second, since no one seemed to ride much nowadays. And getting hitched, hitched up- Anne had told her that it meant ‘marriage’ nowadays.

Neither meaning seems to fit here though.

Cathy takes the book and scans the line herself, her brow creasing, which makes her feel vindicated. Cathy is never, ever patronising on purpose, and she can tell that she takes especial care never to reply to a question as if the answer is obvious (even when it is) but even so, it pleases her when Cathy has to actually consider her answer before she gives it.

‘Mmmm… A spell, I think. Or a period of time.’

She sounds disinterested, lacklustre, even though this is usually the sort of question Cathy enjoys: usually, they’d debate it back and forth until they’d come up with an answer between them.

Now though, Cathy answers like she just wants to get on.

‘I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light-’

She’s reading slowly to make sure she doesn’t stumble but it’s alright- it’s one of the reasons that she enjoys reading poetry, because it’s one of the rare, precious times when reading quickly doesn’t matter. In fact speed (as Cathy has told her over and over) is actually a bad thing, especially if you’re reading a poem that’s unfamiliar.

‘It just means that you have to read it again because you’ve missed the meaning. Much better to read slowly so you can absorb it.’

And they do absorb it- it’s become their thing. Cathy’s the only queen with an unending appetite for poetry; she’s the only queen who reads slowly as a matter of course (she likes to focus on that rather than on the fact that she’s the only queen who needs to practise reading aloud) and so in this, they’re well matched.

Reading the poetry slowly doesn’t make her feel humiliated in the way that reading prose slowly does, and being able to argue over the meaning of whatever they’re reading- over the word choice and the subject and the feel of it- after she’s finished is her reward. It stops her feeling like a child because although Cathy is undoubtedly the better reader, they’re equals when it comes to interpretation, and that’s another reason she enjoys it.

Not that she’d taken Cathy seriously when she’d first suggested it.

(‘Practise makes all the difference, you know.’

She was sitting in the windowseat of the bedroom she shared with Catalina, back in the first house, hot-eyed and burning with embarrassment and steadfastly trying to ignore Cathy’s presence next to her.

‘It needn’t even be for long.’

She’d had to fight to keep her voice even.

‘There’s no point. I’m no good at it, I’m no good at any of it.’

‘True.’ Cathy’s bluntness sometimes makes her laugh- then it had made her want to cry. ‘But you don’t have to be. You can get better at it, but only if you actually work at it.’

‘I am working at it.’

‘I know- and it’s good you’re going to classes, I’m glad Anna suggested them but….you need to practise at home too.’

‘I do.’

‘With someone else it’ll be more effective. I can help with the hard bits.’

‘Cathy. I know you mean well. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to- to teach me like I’m a child.’

Cathy had shrugged. ‘That’s ok, I understand. Would it help if we didn’t think of it as teaching though? Because honestly I don’t want to think of it as teaching either. Too much pressure and I’d worry I wasn’t doing it right and-’

‘What would you call it then?’

‘How about….two friends who just happen to get together sometimes to read together?’

Jane had shaken her head. ‘You wouldn’t enjoy the sort of books I’m reading.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of books.’ Cathy held up the slim volume in her hand. ‘I was thinking of this. Poetry is MEANT to be read aloud but it’s too weird just doing it on my own.’

‘I’m not really into poetry.’

‘Why not?’

The idea had stumped her a bit, she’d never had to defend herself like this before. ‘I’m just not. I can’t understand it.’

‘No one’s meant to understand it, not the first time anyway. That’s part of the fun of it.’

‘And I read too slowly anyway, you’d be just as bored.’

‘Poetry is meant to be read slowly.’

‘Mmm. Yes. Sure.’

‘No, really! Listen-’

Cathy flipped the book open. ‘I’m looking for something short….ok, this’ll do-’ She’d sat up a little straighter and began to read quickly, flatly, as if she was reading from the newspaper, an account of something: ‘You tell me to lie down, cause my opinions make me less beautiful-’

The first line interested her but she had been distracted too because even she could tell that there’s something wrong about how Cathy was doing it- she’d felt rushed.

‘Do it again.’

‘Why?’

‘You were too quick-’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ She’d felt deflated- had Cathy just been trying to prove her point because now she’d felt tricked and cheated- but then Cathy had put the book into her own hands, open on the page.

‘You read it.’

She’d tried to push it away.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Don’t you want to hear it again?’

‘Yes-’ And she did. Something about it had struck her in a deep inside place: My opinions make me less beautiful. A memory teased her until she grabbed at it: Henry’s cold, closed up face when she’d screwed up her courage and begged for mercy for Robert Aske and the Pilgrimage of Grace. She’d been less beautiful to him that day, she was sure.

‘So read it. I’ll help if you get stuck on a word. And there’s only us here, no one else is listening.’

Still, she hesitated.

‘It’ll sound better when you read it, I promise you. Just give it a try. Please.’

It’s the please that did it, because she’s never able to say no to people when they use it. Even when she should. (Henry had said please when he’d asked for her hand- the first and last time he’d ever used it with her. She should have said no.)

‘Ok.’

‘You tell me to quiet down-’

It turned out actually to not be too hard to read, she’d only hesitated briefly over ‘tongue’. And oddly enough, she’d found that Cathy was right. It did sound better, somehow- perhaps because she was reading so slowly that she had time to take in each word, like bricks being added to a wall, one by one, each making the whole a little more complete.

‘-difficult to forget but not easy for the mind to follow.’

She’d closed the book on the last word and seen Cathy beaming at her. ‘You see? You see?’

Reluctantly, she’d nodded- but she hadn’t been able help a smile twitching the corners of her own lips too. ‘I see.’)

She hadn’t taken Cathy seriously when Cathy had told her that maybe she could like poetry, because she’d believed she couldn’t- she associated with confusion, with trouble. (They had said that Anne had had poems dedicated to her at Court, so many that it had caused a stir and then more than a stir. She hadn’t been able to trust poetry after she’d heard that.)

The poems Cathy has her read aren’t like that though- they have easy, simple words and some of them aren’t about anything much but they manage to make her feel things in a way that she’d never imagined printed words would be able to do.

There’s one that Cathy shows her, about riding in a train, that makes her want to cry for the soft simplicity of it, of how it reminds her of the peaceful feeling of watching the scenery as Kitty sleeping against her shoulder when they have to travel for an interview. It surprises her- she didn’t think that poetry could be that easy.

But now Cathy doesn’t look as if she finds it easy. She just looks tired.

‘-my ribs crack where your wheels wind-’ She reads on. It occurs to her that on a normal day, she’d be more focused on the words, about how they remind her of how she’d writhed and strained so hard giving birth that it had felt as if her own ribs were splintering in her chest- but now she’s more preoccupied with Cathy’s wan, drawn face.

‘A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind.’

It’s only as she finishes that she realises Cathy’s eyes are glistening with tears- and although it’s not as if she’s never seen Cathy cry over a poem before, this doesn’t feel like last time.

(She’d thought Cathy had been joking.

‘How can this be the saddest poem in the world?’

Cathy had blinked at her, brushing at her eyes. ‘Because it IS. Doesn’t it make YOU feeling like crying?’

‘Not...really.’ She had wondered if there was some hidden meaning to it that had affected Cathy so, but she wasn’t sure how there COULD be. ‘It’s a children’s poem.’

‘That doesn’t mean it isn’t TRAGIC!’ Cathy looked genuinely sad. ‘Jane, the dormouse has to live FOREVER in the wrong sort of flowerbed, just because the doctor wouldn’t listen to what he actually wanted!’

Jane had shrugged. ‘Yes but- Cathy, love, it’s a children’s poem. It’s not meant to make you get this upset.’

‘Ugh, you sound just like Catalina.’ Cathy had picked up her copy of When We Were Very Young and left the room in a huff.)

This isn’t the same though- because rather than trying to explain herself, Cathy just looks wearily resigned.

‘Are you alright love?’

‘Fine.’ Cathy blinks a couple of times but the tears spill over, rather than disappearing like she’d obviously hoped they would.

‘No you’re not.’

Cathy sniffs and doesn’t respond; Jane edges closer and wraps an arm around her shoulders, hoping that she won’t pull away.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s nothing, it’s silly.’

‘More silly than crying because a dormouse had to sleep in a bed of daffodils?’

Despite the tears still sliding down her cheeks, Cathy gives a short laugh. ‘They were chrysanthemums, actually. And yes.’

‘Well then’ She tightens her hold and Cathy rests her head against her shoulder. ‘Now you really do need to tell me love, because I’m fascinated.’

‘That's the thing. It really is nothing. I just feel really-’ Cathy searches for the word.’ You know like the opposite of rose tinted glasses?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like that. Just- tired and flat and pointless. And I don’t know why. The poem was just the last straw- it reminded me of, of how much I ruined by dying when I did….how many things could have been fixed if I hadn’t-’ Cathy’s face crumples and Jane feels it like an ache. ‘I’m sorry, I said it was stupid.’

‘Cathy love, no, no, no. Oh you poor thing-’ Cathy leans into her, sniffing and Jane rocks her gently back and forth. ‘It isn’t stupid in the slightest but that doesn’t mean it’s true-’ She isn’t quite sure where she should start. ‘You can’t blame yourself for dying, that isn’t fair.’

‘But if I hadn’t-’

‘But you couldn’t help it- and goodness, even if you had-’ Jane pulls back enough to cup Cathy’s damp cheek. ‘If you had been able to control it...I hate to say it, but there’s so, so many other things that could have gone wrong, even if you had been alive to see them.’

Cathy shakes her head. ‘I left Mary all alone- you know, some historians think she could even have died of neglect because they can’t be sure she ended up somewhere safe? And Jane- she had to go back to that awful house, those terrible people, because she couldn’t be part of my household without a proper chaperone, she might not have died if I’d been there to oversee things….I never had a chance to explain to Elizabeth, I always meant for her to know that I only sent her away to keep her safe and I meant to be explain one day when we were together but I never saw her again, there wasn’t TIME….and Edward and Mary might have reconciled, perhaps they wouldn’t have been so opposed, I made them all a family when I was alive and then when I was gone, it just fell apart….’ Cathy breaks off, sobbing too hard to speak and Jane shakes her head.

‘Oh Cathy. Oh love. It’s alright, let it out.’ She waits until the tears have slowed a bit before passing over a handful of tissues.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. Now. Can I say what I think?’

Cathy nods, dabbing her swollen eyes.

‘Cathy. You are a wonderful, intelligent, kind, caring young woman and we are all love you and count ourselves very, very lucky to know you and have you with us, ok?’

Another tentative nod.

‘But love, you are not God. You’re not magic. You cannot possibly think that you would be able to have solved all of those problems, all of those issues, if you’d been alive. Honestly, even if you had a hundred years to try, I don’t think you’d have managed.’

Cathy looks wrong-footed. ‘But all of it- when I was alive, things were alright, they weren’t-’

‘Were they? Were they really alright? Or was it just that the problems didn’t exist yet?’

‘Well-’

‘Love, you did a wonderful job bringing the family together. But that’s so much easier when the children are- well, children. Do you see how much harder it would have been when they were adults? Edward was….seven, when you met him?’

‘Six.’ Cathy blows her nose.

‘See? He was a child. And Mary was a young woman but- well, with her father alive, even with a definite King in place….well, it would have been madness for her to double down with her beliefs the way she did. It was different when you were gone.’

‘Yes. When I was gone-’

‘No.’ She shakes her head decisively. ‘When you were gone, I said. Not because you were gone.’

Cathy contemplates for a moment and Jane pulls her closer, so that Cathy can lean against her comfortably. ‘Think love, for a minute. Did everything go to plan when you were alive? Did everything go just how you tried to make it turn out?’

Reluctantly Cathy shakes her head. ‘No. Hardly ever.’

‘So.’ Jane presses a kiss to the top of her head. ‘What makes you think it would have been any different if you’d lived longer?’ She pauses. ‘You need to let go of the blame. You need to stop torturing yourself with thinking how things could have been different- trust me, it’ll be easier when you do.’

She can see by Cathy’s expression that she understands what she means.

‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘Oh it won’t be. It isn’t. It’s always hard.’ She can say it lightly but honestly, it’s something that she doesn’t even think she’ll stop struggling with. ‘But you’ve taken the first couple of steps today….so that’s a start at least.’

‘I suppose.’ She’d be more bothered by the non-committal response if it wasn’t for the fact that she can tell by Cathy’s expression that she is actually thinking about it- only passingly now, perhaps, but later, when her tears have dried, tomorrow or the day after, she will think on it again, think about it seriously and examine the idea, and turn it over and over in her mind until she’s made peace with it.

She knows how Cathy does things after all, which is why she doesn’t push it too hard. She might not be able to read well but she knows about people.

Nestled up against her, Cathy looks even wearier and more wrung out than before but it doesn’t worry her so much as it did when she first noticed it. She smooths Cathy’s hair away from her damp face and smiles when she hums in response.

They sit in silence for a minute or two, and Jane imagines dust settling around them after a storm, normalcy returning slowly. She isn’t planning on going back to the poetry- she imaginges Cathy has probably had enough of it for one day, and then she remembers something and jerks up, dislodging Cathy from her arms and making her squeak in surprise.

‘Jane?’

‘Sorry, sorry- I just- I remembered something, something I meant to show you and I thought...it might help. You, I mean.’

Cathy looks slightly skeptical, and then she shrugs. ‘Ok. What is it?’

‘I’ll fetch it. Get comfortable while I look though because it might take a minute.’

She waits until Cathy has re-arranged the pillows and lain down properly on the the bedspread, half smiling despite herself.

‘I’m curious now-’

‘I knew you would be. Just- Oh!’ She unearths the book from under her bed, where she remembers putting it for ‘safe-keeping’ and climbs back onto the bed with it.

And begins to read.

‘I fling the past behind me, like a robe, worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date…’

Cathy curls back up into her side again and she smiles. ‘I have outgrown it. Where- where-’

‘Wherefore.’ Cathy’s voice is quiet; she goes on.

‘Wherefore should I weep and dwell upon its beauty-’

As she reads, she feels the tension leaving the girl next to her as she sinks into the cadence of the words.

‘-starred with gems made out of ch-ch-’

‘Chrystalled-’ Cathy’s voice is nearly a whisper now, but she can still hear it.

‘Chrystalled tears. My new robe shall be richer than the old.’ She finishes, flushed with the glow of hearing how much more confident her voice is than when they’d begun these sessions, all those months ago.

‘That’s you, Cathy. And all of us.’ She leans closer to the curly hair- Cathy’s face is buried in Jane’s cardigan but she knows she is still listening. ‘All of us, stronger than we were. You can put the past down, you don’t have to carry it with you, if it’s hurting.’

Cathy gives a tremulous nod, her face still buried and Jane kisses the top of her head..

She isn’t concerned, they can talk about it more later.

For now, she’s happy to wait until then.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

Text

Romantic: Junmyeon x Reader

Genre: fluff and happy endings; two literature teachers with feelings

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: y’all Suho has me feeling some kind of way & i just had this idea for this drabble (is it really a drabble? i went overboard lol) because i have been reading SO MUCH bc such is the life of an English major. so like... brace yourself for some total nerd talk? writing this was so much fun

"Why aren't we together?" Junmyeon's gentle whisper draws your attention away from the novel you have been annotating in preparation for your Gothic Literature lecture.

How long has he been standing there? You wonder, looking up to find him sitting in the chair on the other side of your desk. A cup of coffee stands tall to the right of your mug that has long gone cold. He brought you coffee from that cafe down the street again. Raising his eyebrows, he takes a long sip of his drink-- probably green tea-- and you notice that his glass is half empty.

Oh. He's been here for a while.

"I'm sorry." You smile, embarrassed, while closing the book. As if they threaten to distract you from Junmyeon, you turn over your notebook to free yourself from the gaze of your scribbled handwriting. "I didn't know you came in. You should have said something sooner."

"Ah, I know better than to distract you from reading," he begins as though he hadn't done just that moments ago. Setting his cup down at his feet, he leans across your desk, takes your book into his careful hands, and grins. "Frankenstein. Again."

Reddening at his quiet teasing, you explain, "It's for the class I'm teaching this afternoon."

He returns the book and, tapping on the title, he points out, "You didn't need to reread this. It is definitely one of your most frequent reads, so you know it like the back of your hand."

Just a few years your senior, Junmyeon is the youngest Associate Professor in the university's Literature Department. While your other superiors have taken a polite interest in your potential as the newest Assistant Professor, none are quite as interesting to talk to as Junmyeon. He is intelligent, well-spoken, and-- quite frankly-- charming.

His charms have little to do with his handsome face, perfectly styled black hair, or impeccable wardrobe (he looked like a literature professor in an almost fictional sense); they are more like personality traits that are expressed when he brings you coffee, when his knuckles knock on your door to ask if you will proofread the draft of his dissertation as if you are an intellectual equal, when hie tilts his head and thoughtfully furrows his brow after asking your opinion on the Drama Department Productions he insists on watching at your side.

And now-- now he expresses his charm by winking, thus wordlessly reigniting a feud that was born soon into your first meeting. While your studies focus on Gothic Literature, his are dedicated to Romantic Poetry-- the poetry that boasts about individualism, idealizes nature, and details spiritual, emotional, and physical passions. Although your thesis explored Gothic themes as an extension of those Romantic ideals, you and Junmyeon have fallen into a habit of playfully arguing as if your fields are at odds.

"I won't apologize for having good taste. I'll stick to my Gothic horror stories." You reach to pull the book out of his reach. Holding the book safely in your lap, you bite back a mocking grin. "And you can stick to your Romantic--"

"Ah, there it is," he jabs an accusatory finger at you. "There's your air of superiority. I hate to remind you--" his smirk assures that he is all too happy to say-- "that your idol Mary Shelly and mine, Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley, experienced the most passionate of loves. That means our areas of expertise must be somehow compatible."

Calling Mary Shelley your idol is perhaps an exaggeration, although you do admire her for writing Frankenstein, but you don't argue with Junmyeon about that. Instead, sounding very much like the youngest person in the room, you say, "I wouldn't really say that I ship Mary and Percy--" Junmyeon gasps, flattening his hand over his chest, over his beige vest. "I mean, their union was kind of scandalous. Mary was only, like, 16, and Percy's wife was pregnant--"

"It was true love!" Junmyeon claims.

You disagree, but you don't want to dissuade him from such a harmless conviction. You opt to joke, "Well, that's very Romantic of you."

Junmyeon often gripes about his students' tendency to confuse romantic (themes related to love) and Romantic (a particular movement in Literature), so you expect him to glare at you. He tries to, but he quickly succumbs to the desire to laugh at your pun.

"Okay. That was a good one."

No, you think, it wasn't. But Junmyeon has a particular interest in what you would call 'dad jokes,' so it is only fitting that he should wipe amused tears from his eyes as he recovers from his laughter.

As you set to drinking the coffee he had been kind enough to bring for you, he asks, "Did you actually hear what I asked you earlier? Were you just stirred from your studies by the sound of my voice? Or are you just politely withholding your answer?"

"Hm?"

He asked something?

A faint blush dusts over the bride of his nose as his gaze flickers to your bookshelf that is overflowing with textbooks, novels, and film adaptations of select works. He studies the shelves-- wheeling his chair closer to them so he can trace his fingers along the titles-- although he already knows their contents. From the shelf, he plucks a small artificial skull, a reference to a scene from Hamlet, and he turns it over in his hands.

He is uncomfortable. Not enough to leave your office, but enough to fix his eyes on the skull to avoid your curious stare.

It is clear that you shouldn't ask him to repeat the question, so you close your eyes and will the memory to the surface of your mind. What did he say to catch your attention?

'Why aren't we together?'

You must have dismissed it because you didn't understand its meaning. Together? In this moment, you are. You sit together in the same space talking about things that (although matter little to the rest of the world) are important to each of you. What other togetherness could Junmyeon want?

"I'm not trying to avoid answering," you say when the silence has endured far too long. "I just don't quite understand what you asked."

Gingerly placing the skull back on the shelf, he turns to face you. "I asked you why we aren't together." When you blink at him, confused, his discomfort dissolves into amusement. Laughter crinkles his eyes, and he exclaims, "You really know nothing about Romance!"

You are too grateful that his moody spell has passed to take genuine offense at his remark. "I know plenty! You're just not very good at explaining what you mean."

"I wasn't aware that I need to spell it out." His eyes glitter as they always do when he is ahead; he usually is ahead. "We understand each other. We share the same passions, the same interests, the same hobbies. Yet we aren't so similar that it's boring to spend time together; otherwise, we wouldn't have these long chats, and we wouldn't attend plays together, and we wouldn't be going to that art exhibit after classes today."

Anybody else might be unnerved by Junmyeon's habit of speaking in essays, but you embrace the challenge of following his point. Nodding him along, you quietly wait for his monologue's conclusion. You do not try to predict where his thoughts will lead.

"We spend a lot of time together, and we enjoy that, or at least I enjoy it."

If he would break to breathe, you would assure him that you do enjoy his company. He keeps speaking, though.

"Often-- more often than not-- we are together. And when I went home alone last night after we left the bookstore, I wondered why we aren't together. Afraid that I might make you uncomfortable, that I might ruin our relationship as it is, I decided that I should keep that question to myself. When I saw you sitting there, so deep in thought, and beautiful, I couldn't do it, though. I couldn't bury the question. I wondered aloud why you are not my girlfriend."

As if he hasn't ended his speech by dropping a bomb, Junmyeon's eyebrows shoot up, anticipating a response. Your replies are usually swift. Most of your time is spent quietly reflecting on a variety of questions. Usually, Junmyeon's questions are mere verbalizations of matters you have already considered. Usually, your answers are mere verbalizations of previously reached conclusions. Usually, his questions do not stun you into silence.

"Well," you stutter, and Junmyeon gawks at witnessing you jumble words for the first time. "I-- you know-- first of all-- I never imagined that someone like you would want someone like me."

Expecting that there must be more to your perspective, Junmyeon limits his reaction to a downward jerk in the corner of his mouth. However, as he realizes that you aren't prepared to say anything else, he leans forward in his seat, lowers his eyebrows, and his typically calm voice jaggedly confesses, "I don't know what you mean. What is the difference between 'someone like you' and 'someone like me?'"

"Just look at you!" You cover your face as soon as the words have blurted out of your mouth. Keeping your hand over your eyes so you don't have to see his reaction to your outburst, you continue, "Aside from the fact that you're much more beautiful than I--"

Uncharacteristically, Junmyeon interrupts. "I disagree."

"Wait your turn." You drop your hand to shoot him a warning glare. "You'll derail my train of thought."

"Some trains should be derailed." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I am not more beautiful than you. Even if I were-- and I am not-- that is no reason why we shouldn't be together. Appearances shouldn't matter."

It's impossible to decide if you're blushing more because of Junmyeon's insistence that you are beautiful or because you have said something so shallow. Reaching again for his drink, he gestures for you to continue your response.

"Um, appearances aside, you are older than me. You're smarter--"

"I disagree," he repeats shortly. A line deepens between his eyebrows. "I'll concede that I am more educated, but that does not mean that I am more intelligent."

You allow, "be that as it may, you are technically my superior. I am an Assistant Professor, and you are an Associate Professor."

Junmyeon replies, obviously disheartened by your response so far judging by the slumping of his shoulders, "There is no dating ban among faculty."

"That's not the issue." Your face burns. "I'm just-- I'm trying to explain that we aren't together because I have never considered that you were interested in anything other than a professional acquaintanceship."

Laughing, he repeats, "Acquaintanceship." He smiles fondly while joking, "I've heard of friend-zoned, but never acquaintance-zoned." Once he is no longer amused, he admits, "I do want more than a professional acquaintanceship, and I want more than a friendship."

As your blush deepens, he leans back into his seat, flustered. "I understand if you don't feel the same way. Take all the time you need to explore your feelings, but if you decide that you don't want me, don't let it be because of something silly like thinking you're not pretty enough or smart enough or--"

"I didn't say that I don't want you." Your argument is brief but stable. Now it is Junmyeon's turn to sit back and blink at you. "I said I don't understand why you want me. That is not the same as saying that I don't want you." You bite your tongue just short of professing, 'I have every reason to want you.'

Understanding at last, Junmyeon closes his agape mouth. Moments pass in silence as you try to decide whose turn it is to speak.

Junmyeon claims it is his. "I don't think I can explain it well with words, but I think-- I think I can show you over time. I think it will make more sense once I am your boyfriend."

You are not sure what he means, and you are too struck by his stutter to press him for an elaboration.

If you are honest, you will admit that it doesn't matter why Junmyeon wants to be together. It doesn't matter if he changes his mind first thing in the morning with the rising of the sun. This moment of being on the same page at the same time, of sharing the same gaze, is infinite.

"I'm not expected to dress up for our date tonight, am I?" You rise to your feet, clutching your notebook in one hand and Frankenstein in the other. "I don't think I'll have time to change between class and the art exhibit."

Junmyeon beams as he stands. While sipping his green tea, he carries your coffee and walks with you to your classroom. "I think you look lovely as you are."

He sets your drink down on your desk. Content that there are no students or other professors nearby-- cautious not because he cares who sees but because he respects your modesty-- he brushes a gentle kiss against your cheek while you are busy troubleshooting the testy projector.

Gasping, you reach to trace your fingers against your cheek, and he laughs at your reaction to his first act of affection. "There's one reason why I am falling in love with you." He points at your growing smile, careful not to discuss intimate matters too loudly now that you aren't tucked away in your office. "I have never known anybody so expressive."

As much as you enjoy the fluttering of your heart, you are eager for Junmyeon to leave so you can finish preparing for class. Stealing a glance at your watch, you ask, "Don't you teach that Wordsworth class right about now?"

He dreamily props his head up on your desk, gushing, "How romantic-- you already know my schedule!" His playfulness quickly fades, and he strains to catch the time displayed on your wrist. "What time is it?"

"3:30."

He gasps, "I'm late!" And darts out of the room.

Just as you are catching your breath, just as you are realizing that you are Junmyeon's girlfriend, that this otherwise boring Tuesday now marks the start of something new and exciting, his head pokes back through the doorway. "Hey, let's drive to that exhibit together, okay?"

You are about to scold him for keeping his students waiting and for distracting you from your work, but you falter at the sight of his sparkling smile. Besides, if you argue, he will stay longer; although that is exactly what you want, that is not the responsible option. You nod, "Okay. I'll see you after class."

"See ya!" He waves and sets off to his classroom two doors down, where you hear him announce to his students, "Sorry I'm late! I had romantic matters to tend to."

You can vividly imagine his clever grin as his students are split between guttural groans and pity-laughter. As you smile, you wonder when you started to fall in love with Junmyeon.

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beingawizardisfunandeasy · 5 years

Text

BAWIFAE Two Year Anniversary

Well, we’ve done it again! By which I mean, I’ve done it again! Me! I made 365 wizards over the same number of days! Honestly, year two doesn’t feel that much different from year one in terms of work flow, other than “wait, I already did this idea” happens a lot more and also it kind of feels like I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember? Weird.

Anyway, most importantly, I wanna give a massive thank you to everyone who reads this blog. Those of you who just like my posts, I see you and I treasure seeing which classes speak to you. Those of you who reblog me, and especially when you put little comments in the tags. That one person who called out that I made a wizard that was a reference to Knuckles the Echidna. I know everyone says this about everything, but you guys genuinely make this feel worth doing, so thank you.

Without further ado, here’s my favourite wizard from each month of this year, with some Honourable Mentions, because it was super hard to pick, I kind of slam dunked it this year.

Aug 2018 - Dreamer of Worlds

So this one is one of my favourites conceptually, although it's pretty flagrantly inspired by an existing character I happen to like. I'm really pleased with the execution on what is essentially one complex effect – my only uncertainty is how ambiguous I left the effects of partial manifestation, but leaving stuff up to the reader/imagined GM is half of the fun of this blog for me.

HM: Daisy Witch, Categorical Romantic

Sep 2018 - Icarian Scion

This is another one that I like from the concept up. Initially I was like “Wait, doing a wizard based on Icarus doesn't make the most sense, Icarus died.” Thankfully, I realized that actually makes it way better, I think. I think it turned out being one of the better classes I've done with a theme of self destruction or risk/reward.

HM: Spirit Maze Wanderer

Oct 2018 - Ghastly Relict

I gotta apologize to the month of October, because I saved the best for last there. I try to do a week of spooky wizards leading up to Halloween, and I knew from the start that I'd have to give the day itself to this one. The narrative the mechanics build is something I'm real proud of, and the aesthetic is one of the strongest I think I've done. And I will never get tired of emotional damage typing.

HM: Swordworthy, Inheritor Scion

Nov 2018 - Magical Princess

This one was kind of pushing out the bounds of how I normally make these. Ordinarily, I go to some lengths to not gender the classes, especially not the names, but it felt right for this one. The magical girl genre is unique and the femininity is inextricable. I think the strong theming on emotional effects and the way the various abilities interact makes for an interesting class, and honestly I just love princesses and I'm glad there's one in the catalogue.

Also I realised I was a transwoman this year, lol.

HM - Ritual Boxer, Dark Apothecary, Bokken Warrior

Dec 2018 - Board Mage

I'm not gonna lie, I was watching a lot of Mario Party related videos when I made this. Like I said last anniversary, I like throwing games together, and I liked the idea of a generic board game wizard, that kind of felt like it brought to life the archetypal board game that you imagine exists when you're a kid and that you try to make whenever you get assigned to make a themed board game in class. Did you have that in school? I feel like I was told to design way more board games than I should have been during my early education.

HM: Rose Duelist

Jan 2019 - Dark Counterpart

I love making wizards that steal other wizards' magic! I feel like this specifically is something that there's not much of a chance to do in tabletop RPGs (and maybe for good reason, everyone wants to have unique skills, usually), and hopefully this class raises some interesting questions about the kind of shape campaigns can have to accommodate it.

HM: Boomerang Ranger, Firefly Witch, Skittering Swarmlord

Feb 2019 - Drowned Sorcerer

I will take any excuse to use a little snatch of poetry for a wizard's flavour text. I'm really fond of the idea of a mage's power coming from them returning from death, and tbh I kind of think I knocked it out of the park on the first try with this one. I'll probably try to do more with the concept in future, but I don't think I'll top the evocativeness of the Drowned.

HM: Dragonhead Caterpillar Witch, Mystic Coward

Mar 2019- Dray Horse Druid

I was agog back in March when it was pointed out to me that I hadn't done a horse wizard yet. This one had some hot competition, but I'm ultimately just very fond of this idea, and how many old-timey words I got to use. And I've always liked Boxer from Animal Farm.

HM: Cacophony Bard, Singleseer

Apr 2019 -Tangle Mage

This was another tough choice and the only real reasoning I have for picking this one over the others is that I think it's a good, pure example of the “[thing] Wizard” concept that I have, oh, three to four hundred of, at least. I think it builds nicely around the central theme well enough to justify why it got to be put in front of the word “Mage”.

HM: Sorcerous Containment Practitioner, Pandaemoknight, Impossible Traveller

May 2019 - Nocturnal Archivist

This was the toughest choice to the point that I only just decided it today, as I'm getting this ready to be posted. I have a weird stubborn fondness for the Sibling of the Sledge, but at the end of the day I have to say the Nocturnal Archivist is the more unique and interesting class, no offence to the hammer mage. As a lover of stories, I adore the kind of people who make scary stories more accessible to fraidy-cats by analysing them, and that's who this wizard is honouring.

HM: Noirlock, Godspeaker, Sibling of the Sledge

Jun 2019 - Ironically Dumb Wizard

I don't feel like I need to explain this one? Like, we can just agree that this is definitely among my best work, yeah?

HM: 8-Ball Oracle, Magic Plush Collector, Air Guitarist, Brawling Artificer

Jul 2019 - Laughing Hyena Shaman

I haven't done enough clowns, in my opinion, partially because it's hard to make “be funny” mechanical, since humour is so subjective. The hyena theming let me cut loose a bit and focus more on a sort of manic, giggly energy rather than more performative clowning, and I think it led to a cool class that you could play in a number of different ways and tones. And I got to add “satirical” to my list of esoteric damage types.

HM: Damage Essence Alchemist, Mage In Yellow

#not a wizard #anniversary

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cynamonowo · 6 years

Note

multiples of 3 >:3c

kyo do you wanna kill me (i’ll. put the answers under the cut)

new ask game for writers

3. least favorite part of writing.

getting stuck in between a scene i already wrote and a scene i want to write, and having to come up with a way to connect them. Ugh.

6. favorite character you ever created.

mmm i really like cal? i need to write smth with her….

9. least favorite trope to write.

uh. i dislike medieval/fantasy stuff, so i never write it.

12. how do you deal with self-doubts?

i ask my friends for validation or just. wait for them pass.

15. where does your inspiration come from?

various places! music, movies, books, maladaptive dreaming… sometimes i think up a plot point and then focus on how it would be executed, what would happen before and after it….

18. what’s your revision or rewriting process like?

changing the font (thanks for the tip, kiki!), reading the thing out loud (or at least soundlessly) to examine the flow, then putting the entire thing through a word/phrase counter. then doing all of that again some time later. some steps may be omitted if i’m feeling a bit lazy tho.

21. post the last sentence you wrote in one of your wip’s.

Two more weeks.

;)

24. poetry or prose, and why?

prose! bc i can’t do poetry lmao

27. do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

uhhh i usually share semi-polished drafts with ppl who are willing to beta them

30. favorite line you’ve ever written.

already answered!

33. do you listen to music when you’re writing?

depends. when working on my last fic, i kept playing keaton henson’s aftermath o3o

36. a spoiler for story _________.

haha yeah i have no longer stories that could be spoiled

39. do you base your characters of real people or not? if so, tell us about one.

hm. as far as i can think, i only did that once, when first designing basia/anna - she was based on me. other than that, some characters i write (ahem, yusuke, ahem, togami) have some of my traits bc of filthy kinnie/synpath stuff lmao

42. how do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

i just go for what i find hot/interesting lmao

45. worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

???

48. favorite genre to write in.

friendship. romance. angst. hurt&comfort. introspective stuff.

51. describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words.

i’ll go for this one!

stars, tenacious explorations, truths coming out in the open, the smell of wood and coffee, intense rain

54. any writing advice you want to share?

learn about the proper dialogue formatting. please. it makes for a much more pleasant read.

#long post cw #kyo u killed me #samekeychain #asks #sylwek.txt

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seigyokus · 7 years

Text

1.5 - Trouble

Idolish Seven - Part 3, Chapter 1.5 For more Part 3 translations, click here!

Translation below the cut!

Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: You're pretty used to these sorts of parties, Sougo-kun. Nothing less from FSC's hei-- Osaka Sougo: Ah....... Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: He-- hey, I kinda wanna eat meat! ......Sorry, that was supposed to be a secret, wasn't it. Osaka Sougo: Oh no, I'm the one who should be apologizing, if anything. Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: You know, I've given it some thought since then. Why don't you try talking it out with your family again? Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Nobody's happy when they're at odds with their family. Right now, I've got connections to FSC through TRIGGER's TV show. (1) Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: If you want, I could try to mediate the situation, to the best of my ability. How about it? Osaka Sougo: ....... Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: It'll be okay. There's no way a parent could ever hate their child, Sougo-kun. Osaka Sougo: ......You must've been raised in a warm and loving family, Tsunashi-san. Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: Sougo-kun...? Osaka Sougo: Thank you for offering, but I'm afraid I must refuse. Please don't mind me. Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: But-- Osaka Sougo: There is no need to worry. Thank you for your concern. Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: ....... Tsunashi Ryuunosuke: ......Got it. I'm sorry I butted in like that when I don't know anything about your situation. Osaka Sougo: Not at all....... I apologize.

Yaotome Gaku: Tsumugi. Where are the other guys? Takanashi Tsumugi: Gaku-san. I'm just on standby here, since they've all got good conversations going with other people. Yaotome Gaku: I see. So, how have you been? You've been preparing for their first anniversary tour on top of your usual work, right? It must be a handful. Takanashi Tsumugi: Indeed, it is. But it's their anniversary tour! Everybody at the agency is just bursting with energy! Yaotome Gaku: Ahaha. So that's how it is. I'll make some time and drop by, one of these days. Takanashi Tsumugi: Thank you very much! We'll welcome you with open arms. I'm sure everyone will be delighted! Yaotome Gaku: Yeah. Woman: Good evening, Yaotome-kun. You two sure are getting along swimmingly. Are you perhaps Yaotome-kun's cute little date for tonight? Yaotome Gaku: Oh.... No, it's not like that. Takanashi Tsumugi: Nice to meet you, I'm Takanashi Tsumugi from Takanashi Productions. I work as IDOLiSH7's manager. Woman: Oh my, IDOLiSH7's manager. It's nice to meet you too. You know, everybody was just so surprised that Yaotome-kun was grinning so much-- he's usually quite surly. Yaotome Gaku: Haha, I get that a lot. I don't look that displeased, do I? Woman: You do, you definitely do. You're just like an open book, Yaotome-kun. It shows on your face. Yaotome Gaku: Man, that's harsh.... Well, I'll see you later, Takanashi-san. Takanashi Tsumugi: Yes! Thank you very much. Keep up the good work! Yaotome Gaku: Yeah. Yaotome Gaku: .......

Izumi Iori: What's the matter, Nanase-san. You're blankly staring at the venue. Nanase Riku: I just thought it was amazing.... There's so many people who work in our world. Nanase Riku: These people are just like us and have dreamed about living in the world of music. They've been here for decades, if not more, and there'll only be more and more people as time goes on. Nanase Riku: Each and every one of them is like a star, brilliantly shining. They come and go, flowing like the Milky Way, and eventually become part of history. Nanase Riku: Zero, and us too. We're all in the midst of that great passage. ......As are Kujou and Sakura Haruki....... Izumi Iori: Indeed....... Izumi Iori: Speaking of which, we are only one year in. We need to focus and get ourselves together, lest we vanish like sea foam. (2) Nanase Riku: You're right! We still haven't settled the score with TRIGGER. We'll also be facing challengers at Black or White this year. Nanase Riku: I hope we'll be a group that the challengers won't be ashamed to face-- just like how TRIGGER was to us last year. Izumi Iori: If we are aiming to fight TRIGGER and Re:vale, then the MOP is the perfect time to do so. Nanase Riku: MOP? Ah, it's the thing that decides which idol got the most support this year, right? (3) Izumi Iori: It will be a race to collect awards like the JIMA and Diamond Disk. Izumi Iori: Last year, it was a showdown between Re:vale and TRIGGER, and Re:vale ended up winning. TRIGGER intends on winning this year, without a doubt. Nanase Riku: And we'll be butting into that fight! Sounds interesting! Izumi Iori: Haha, how reliable. Ah....... Nii-san, Rokuya-san, where are you going? Izumi Mitsuki: We were gonna go to the bathroom, but I figured we could also look for Yamato while we're at it. That dude might be holding on to him still. Rokuya Nagi: Please go, Mitsuki. I would love to rendezvous with all of the ladies dressed up tonight-- Izumi Mitsuki: I'm doing it to get you away from the venue too! You're getting way too into this! Right after you've come back from Northmare, too! Rokuya Nagi: OH......! Izumi Mitsuki: Later guys! If they bring out dessert, grab some for me okay? Nanase Riku: Gotcha!

Izumi Mitsuki: Stop flirting around! We're idols, in case you didn't remember. Rokuya Nagi: No, no! Bestowing words of praise to women is but a part of a gentleman’s manners. Izumi Mitsuki: You could say that again. Ah, there he is! Yamato-san-- Man in a Suit: Ahaha.... I've heard a lot about your work. It truly does runs in the family. Nikaidou Yamato: ......Thank you very much. Izumi Mitsuki: 'Runs in the family?' Maybe he knows somebody in Yamato-san's family? Yamato-san doesn't like talking about them, so maybe we should stay outta their way....... Rokuya Nagi: Hm...... I want to know. I'll give that man my business card and get closer to him. Izumi Mitsuki: H-hey! Hold up, Nagi......! Man in a Suit: What was it, IDOLiSH7? It looks like things are going quite well with them. That's very fortunate, especially in times like these. Man in a Suit: Say, Yamato-kun. You're finally making it big. It'd be awful to cause trouble now, especially when things are going smoothly and without any problems. Don't you think so too? Nikaidou Yamato: Haha.... Don't worry. I don't have any intentions of exposing that right now. Nikaidou Yamato: Not Chiba Salon. Izumi Mitsuki: ...'Chiba Salon'......? Rokuya Nagi: ....... Man in a Suit: ......That's a relief. I remember you telling me, when I first invited you to the entertainment industry.... Man in a Suit: That if you did enter showbiz, you'd only be doing it to get famous and grab everyone's attention-- so you could expose the secrets of Chiba Salon. Man in a Suit: You know, I was shocked to hear that you debuted as an idol, but I'm glad you weren't serious about going through with that. This is the best course of action for you, and for your friends. Nikaidou Yamato: ....... Man in a Suit: I'll be going now. Please give your father my regards. Nikaidou Yamato: Hmph. I haven't even seen his face. If you'll excuse me.... Nikaidou Yamato: ......! Izumi Mitsuki・Rokuya Nagi: ....... Nikaidou Yamato: ...You guys.......

Kujou Ten: ....... ???: Kujou Ten. Kujou Ten: ......Who are you? ???: My, my. This is my first time seeing the real deal. Kujou Ten: ......Just who are you? And why are you standing in front of my house? I'm going to call the police. ???: Hehe....... ???: Kujou's made someone like you into his son, and calls you 'perfect?' Kujou Ten: ....... ???: Let me tell you something. Something that's even better than my name. ???: Your life is pointless. Try as you may to dance, to win trophies-- but both the fans and the world are frivolous. ???: One day, you will be forgotten. All of the things you've ever given, all of the things you've ever shown, everything, everyone-- all of it will disappear, far beyond memory’s reach. ???: You will no longer be the person they wish to see, and your song will no longer be the music they want to hear. ???: After all, that's what happened to your younger brother. Right, Nanase Ten? Kujou Ten: .......

To be continued....

TL Notes/comments:

If you don’t already do this, I highly recommend tapping thru the game (or a video playthrough) of the chapter as you read to get the nuances behind each spoken line!!

(1) The more literal would be: "It's really unfortunate that your family doesn't get along. " but I didn't really like how that sounded (kind of sarcastic? a little condescending? though that is kind of what's going on here, given the context of what happens in the later part of this conversation)

(2) "vanish like smoke" (also, "disappear like bubbles" LMAO) were my original tl's, but I wanted to keep that whole star/river/water metaphor going!!! It's fucking Beautiful. Riku waxes absolute poetry here, I Love It.

(3) phrasing was kinda confusing in orig? lmk if i mucked up this one! Slight note on the title, it means wind+waves and also strife. 'Strife' was the working title I used for a while then i actually translated the title drop line, and in context (波風を立てる) it means to cause trouble. yep!

haruka is fun to translate THOUGH there are like one or two sentences i am just not 100% satisfied w/ how i tl’d or any way i try to approach it so :| btwn every draft revision it has changed a little so yeah

BIG THANK U TO KURI AS USUAL 4 CATCHING MY WEIRDASS SENTENCES AND PROOFING!!!

As usual, if you see any mistakes/mistranslations/etc, please message me!

Thank you for reading!!

#idolish7 #アイドリッシュセブン #story3:tl #story3:text #translation

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