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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

~my spirits sleeping somewhere cold~

Summary: The day after the incident you wake with an itch in your throat. And as you stare at the white ceilings of your familiar bedroom, you get a feeling of foreboding.

The dressing process is subdued, the soft feel of clothes on your skin not enough to dull the insistant pain, the large gaping hole in your chest that will never be filled. You choke up lily petals in the bathroom."

Warnings: Hanahaki, angst, major character death, religious symbolism, i'm not religious, flower language.

Notes: this is something, i guess. I've been in really bad shape emotionally lately, and money’s been really tight so all the stress is just welling up i guess. That's part of the reason I topped my other au week thin, I'm just not in the mood to craft plots and write smut. I don't know.

Title from ‘Jar of Hearts’ by Christina Perry

...

The day after the incident you wake with an itch in your throat. And as you stare at the white ceilings of your familiar bedroom, you get a feeling of foreboding.

There's a yawning ache in your chest, a cavity that will never be filled. You don't want to get up. You don't want to suffer. You wish god would take you instead of him. But God is not a merciful creature, that you have come to know all too well.

The dressing process is subdued, the soft feel of clothes on your skin not enough to dull the insistant pain, the large gaping hole in your chest that will never be filled.

You choke up lily petals in the bathroom.

𓇢𓆸

Your cross sits heavily against your breast, under your shirt. You don't typically wear one, the responsibility of God's eyes is too much for you to bear.

But today you wear it in repentance.

There's a tickle in your lungs, underwhelming compared to the aching gap in your chest. He’s stolen your heart, taken it with him in death. You turn your eyes to the sky, so as not to ruin your makeup with tears.

You hate yourself for your pathetic lovesick nature. Yellow petals are choking up your throat, daffodils and chrysanthemums. You spit them into the grass before you enter the detective agency.

You don't need to burden them with your plight. At least not yet.

𓇢𓆸

You look up the meanings of the flowers when you're in the office, your fingers trembling as you read the words.

Lilys, purity. Daffodils, rejection. Chrysanthemums, slighted love. You choke down the tickle in your throat, closing the tabs with shaky fingers.

“The meaning of flowers?” It's Ranpo, pearing curiously over your shoulder. You force a smile, perfect in your broken heart.

“My friend wants a bouquet.” You tell him, shooing him away too his work.

And as he meanders off, you congratulate yourself. At least until the petals choke up your throat and you slope away discreetly to the bathroom.

You throw up petals into the toilet.��

𓇢𓆸

A week after the incident you choke up an entire flower. It hurts, the thorny stems of a small rose, its petals a dark unnatural black. You crumple the delicate petals in your hand, muffling your tears into a towel before quickly reapplying your makeup. Covering your dark circles. You haven't been sleeping.

Death's heavy hand is hovering over your head, weighing you down with the weight of your sin. The sin of eternal love. The sin of pure devotion.

He stands behind you, death. With his hand on your shoulder, taunting you. He laughs at your misery, at your pain. He plays his melodies of death, his requiem, his Lacrimosa, truly a lady of sorrow. You shed enough tears and pain to be allowed the title, although you have yet to birth the son of god. You don't think you will. You know your death is around the corner. It will come when the bells toll, when the stems growing in your lungs eat at your insides. The pain drives you mad. You choke up as many flowers as you can before you leave for work.

𓇢𓆸

“Name?” Atsushi says, his hands clutching the papers in his hands. He's a kind boy, cute and sweet. You spare him a small smile, biting back the petals in your throat. The boy shuffles his feet nervously.

“Are you doing ok?” Atsushi asks, the question almost too much for your delicate sensibilities. You almost cry, try8ing your best to give him a smile.

“Im doing well.” You reply, the weight of the lie hanging heavy on your chest, the cold metal of the cross judging you.

The boy leaves, called away but he still eyes you, worried.

You wish you fell for Atsushi instead, for his kindness, for his selflessness.

𓇢𓆸

They're getting suspicious. This you know. But you smile and keep your mouth shut and muffle your choking as much as you can. You don't need to burden them any more than you already have. You must die without a fuss.

You had long ago learned how to fool Ranpo, how to get around his almost all knowing intellect. For the key was withholding the crucial fact. Because he could not come to a conclusion without it, and you were sick in your misery. You could never burden them. Never bear to see their eyes of disappointment, their eyes of confusion.

‘How could you love him?’ you were sure they would say.

You couldn't explain, you didn't know yourself.

And then you couldn't stop the flowers that ripped out of your throat, spilling onto the office floor. The white petals of the lilies were stained red with blood.

You didn't see much as you fainted.

𓇢𓆸

You wake in the infirmary, a worried circle of your coworkers surrounding you. The worry on their faces almost makes you sob. You bite back the lilies as Yosano waves them away.

They file out single files, varying looks of confusion on their faces. The door slams.

“How long do you have left?” It's Yosano, arms crossed, eyes disapproving.

“About two weeks.” your voice is rough, choked. A petal falls from your lips.

“Is there no solution?” Yosano asks you, her voice choked with emotion. The sigh that escapes your lips is more than a thousand words.

“The dead cannot return the love of the living.”

Yosano wipes her tears before you see them.

“Rest.” She says, closing the door behind her.

𓇢𓆸

The meeting is solem, confused eyes meeting red rimmed eyes. All the eyes turn to Yosano as she enters the room, her own eyes red. Fukuzawa is the first one who dares the speak, from his place at the head of the table.

“What is going on.”

Yosano sinks into a chair, hand scrubbing at her eyes. The words she speaks are damning.

“Hanahaki.”

The room sinks into a tense silence, a broken silence, a confused silence. The emotions are a whirl in the room, the atmosphere choking, cloying, unpleasant. Someone muffles a sob into their clothes, Kenji or Atsushi or Naomi, it doesn't matter. Yosano composes herself, dropping plain information on the people in the room.

“She's choking on Lilies and Daffodils, and she won't last much longer.” She says, the words plain and almost cruel. Kenji curls up into himself, his head resting on his knees. Kunikida, sitting beside him, pats his back.

“Who is it?” It's Atsushi, his voice choked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. The room is suddenly silent, waiting with bated breaths for the escape, the hope that this could end. Yosano hates to break their fragile hope, but she repeated the words you had said to her.

“The dead cannot return the love of the living.”

𓇢𓆸

The green bottle sitting in your hand is your escape. Arsenic is a simple plan, easy to execute, to end your suffering. The lilies are choking your throat. You want to escape.

There are letters on your bed, piled around you, addressed to the ones you love. You don't want to leave them, but you don't want to suffer,

The bottle is your escape.

With a pop of finality, with a last look at the world around you, you drink the poison. It's tasteless, coloreless, odorless.

It lulls you into your final sleep. You can see him, your doomed love. Fyodor, standing on the other side. You slip into death with open arms, broken hearted but peaceful.

𓇢𓆸

Something is wrong. Atsushi feels it, the weight on his chest, the knowledge that you, a trusted coworker and beloved friend are going to die. And theres nothing to be done about it. The meeting is silent, as the words sink in, and then, it is exposed.

People are talking, arguing, yelling over each other, words and questions and angry accusations. Atsushi covers his ear, tears welling in his eyes.

And then, that feeling, that horrible dawning feeling that something is wrong. Almost silent, he stands, slipping out of the infirmary door, Ranpo and Yosano on his heels. He can see the dread painted on their faces, the same dread that wells in his stomach, which eats him out from the inside. The hallway is short, the infirmary door at the very end, but it feels like forever, like the hallway will never end and you’ll die out of reach.

But finally, they reach the door.

It's quiet in the infirmary, the bed that you lay in still, letters scattered neatly around your body. You're too still. Atsushi flies forward, the other on his heels.

Your face is serene in death, the lilies and chrysanthemums scattered around you, a makeshift memorial. There's a bottle beside your hand, empty. The label is a death sentence.

“Arsenic.” its Ranpo, choked up and angry, his fists by his sides. Atsushi chokes on a sob.

The infirmary door opens with a crack, the others joining them. The entire room hangs in a state of disbelief, of despair. And then the accusations fly.

It's loud. Atsushi covers his ears, eyes dripping small tears onto the floor of the infirmary. He feels weak when he cries, but he’s sure the orphanage director will spare him this much.

𓇢𓆸

You left them letters. Personal letters addressed to each of them, and even some for the port mafia members. They read them in the meeting room, solemn and silent.

But there's one letter that sticks out, an unaddressed, blank envelope. They know they shouldn't open it. But they do, and it confirmed their fears and biases.

For there are only a few words on the paper, a few damning words.

“From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.”

𓇢𓆸

They bury you with Lilies, Carnations, and tears. The finality of death painted on your face.

...

Endnotes: I don't know, this exists now. The Raven is a favorite of mine, ever since i read it in middle school. Edgar Allan Poe(the real one) was one fucked up dude

also i know its a little cringy to bend on a poem but i honestly don't care

(also i wholeheartedly believe Fyodor is not dead, but im still crying over it. pathetic i know)

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #bsd x reader #fyodor x reader #hanahaki disease #angst #angst without a happy ending #major character death

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campingwiththecharmings · 1 year

Note

omg please do “You got a cute butt.” with Poe

All About That Bass

AN: Thank you for your request, mon cher 😘 I'm sorry it took so long! I hope this is worth the wait lol

(Un-beta'd)

Rated: T Words: 700 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: mild cursing, a little but o' smooching, butt smacking, fluff (i guess lol??), possibly terrible writing. AO3

——————

Your ship’s been acting up for weeks and, despite your many attempts to fix her, she’d finally died this morning when you’d tried to run through your morning check. So now, instead of flying drills with your squad, you’re here in the hangar, waist deep in your ship’s belly, covered in engine grease, and frustrated beyond belief.

You curse under your breath again as you shock yourself for the umpteenth time, your fingers tangled in the wires. It’s midday and the hangar is sweltering, your sweat pooling in crevices you didn’t even realize it could. Your fingers slip on the tool in your hand and you curse again. You need a break. A break, some food, and maybe even a shower. As you consider these tantalizing options, you feel a sudden, sharp slap on your ass.

You yelp, jolting upward in surprise and knocking your head against a piece of the engine you’ve been working on. The sound of muffled laughter reaches your ears and aggravation burns under your skin. After carefully extricating yourself, you stand to your full height and turn to face your attacker.

“What the hell, Poe?” you growl, pushing him with all the strength you can muster.

“What?” he chuckles, shrugging as he eyes you with appreciation. “You’ve got a cute butt, I couldn’t help myself.”

You glare at him, cheeks heating now for a completely different reason. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

Amusement sparks in his eyes at your words, his smile teasing as he steps closer, invading your personal space. “Promise?”

You scoff, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he gazes at you from beneath his lashes. If he thinks he can distract you just by making eyes at you, he’s got another thing coming.

Without another word, you step into his space, your smile challenging. “Oh, I promise.”

—

All day you’ve been watching, waiting, and finally the perfect opportunity has presented itself.

It’s evening, the hangar is flooded with everyone from all over the base doing various tasks as they work to close out their shifts.

Everyone including one Poe Dameron.

You smile to yourself, watching from behind a rack of scrap as he types something into his datapad. He’s facing away from you, his bright orange flight suit tight over his ample backside. You chew your lip as you allow yourself a moment to admire him (this isn’t an angle you generally get to see him from, after all). He continues typing, halting every now and then to call something out to various personnel meandering about.

Slipping from your hiding spot, you begin your trek over, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. The closer you get, the harder it is to contain your glee—who knew slapping your boyfriend’s ass in public would bring you so much joy?

He’s finishing a conversation with a mechanic when you make it to him and you waste no time. With a gleeful smile, you swing your arms back, gaining as much momentum as you can as you bring both of your hands down across his backside.

He shouts in surprise, jumping away from you as he automatically shields his ass with his datapad. Your laugh is loud and you slap a hand over your mouth at the sound, cackling shamelessly into your palm. Poe turns around, a mild flush on his cheeks, his mouth open in shock—until his eyes meet yours.

He bites back the smile threatening to stretch across his lips as he raises an eyebrow at you. You shrug in response, your laughter subsiding.

“What?” you shrug, smile teasing as you lean against a nearby workbench. “You’ve got a cute butt, too.”

He shakes his head as he makes his way over to you, trying to look stern despite his eyes shining with barely repressed mirth. When he makes it to you, he smirks, arms on either side of your body, caging you against him.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he rasps, breath fanning over your lips as he hovers, nudging your nose with his.

You chew your lip, hands grasping at his flight suit so can you pull him toward you. “Promise?”

He smiles, answering you with a kiss.

Review (pretty please)?

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

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#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron reader insert #my fic

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idolatrybarbie · 5 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x alex dozie (fem!OC)

word count & rating: 4.4k | explicit - 18+ only please and thanks

summary: marcus pike is the new congressman for the great state of Vermont. it's time to celebrate.

content tags: angst, takes place in 2022, alcohol, background american politics, smut - vaginal fingering, mentions of cockwarming in a way but it's more like Mormon soaking hey don't look at me like that, penis in vagina sex, painful sex, racism, slutshaming, misogyny (none of these from marcus.)

tags & notes: @atinylittlepain | still feel weird being here i am nawt back do not alert the authorities - gin really loves these two and that is inspiration enough to write and post for them.

It’s a cloudy November day when he wins. No rain, no smog; simply overcast. The weather could almost fool you into thinking that this is any other day. Another Tuesday nearing the end of the year, who cares?

If she lived a different life, maybe that would be the case. Alas, she does not—she lives this one. After a win in the primaries and an election sixteen months in the making, they’ve crossed the finish line. Well, he has. Marcus Pike, the latest (and greatest, though she’s biased) congressman Vermont is lucky to receive.

And who is she exactly? If you asked her, no one. Ask him, though—

“Everyone, please give it up for Miss Alex Dozie!” Marcus booms. His voice carries across the room easily, naturally. Like he’s made for this. He is.

They all follow his word like gospel, the raucous applause almost as loud as the heartbeat in her ears. Alex watches more then feels Marcus take her hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as he lifts their arms in the air. Together in victory. That’s what this is, isn’t it? A victory and this is their celebration party. Surrounded by staffers, donors, volunteers—you name it. A variety platter of New England’s who’s-who all here to celebrate the congressional win of Marcus Pike, a rising star and thought leader in the Democratic party.

He’s a little too centrist for Alex’s liking, but despite being press secretary for his very political campaign, they never really get around to talking shop. Hard to chat about affordable housing with his tongue down her throat.

Alex sinks back into her body slowly. Marcus lets her go, replacing her warm palm with a glass of champagne. He continues his speech as she flutters through the crowd to the very edge of the room.

“It’s been a long journey. A lot of hard work from everybody in here. I also want to thank…”

Alex tunes it out, gazing blindly across the room. There must be almost 300 people in here. She had never known what that looked like. Does she even know that many people? One hundred living souls, and then triple it. The fact astonishes her. Even more people voted for him and got him here. They believe in Marcus Pike.

Being him right now must be about as close as one gets to playing God.

Marcus starts to wrap up his speech, catching her attention again. He’s searching for her face, bright like a beacon. He breaks into that million-dollar smile of his when sees it.

“I want to thank you,” he says. The words are spoken to a sea of suits, but she knows what he really means. “I truly couldn’t have done this without you. We are going to make a difference here. I can feel it. And for that, I am forever grateful.”

We. That alone makes Alex feel all gooey inside. A small smile fights its way across her lips.

The crowd breaks into amiable chatter, the party portion of this formal celebration spreading like a virus as more drinks are made and softer pop music spouts out from wherever. Alex has half a mind to meander over to coat check and grab her things. Before she can convince herself, Marcus sidles up beside her near a darkened window.

“By yourself?” he asks.

“As is preferred,” she says.

Marcus hums. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to put up with me.”

“Terrible, truly.” But it’s all smiles; he is all smiles, Alex mirroring him.

They have to keep it cool here, professional. She can read his eyes. You look beautiful. The heavy blink and bashful glance down at her shoes will have to suffice as a thank you. Alex watches as Marcus readjusts his tie, thick fingers grazing the soft fabric. She wishes they were in her mouth instead.

“Great party,” she says, clearing her throat.

“Yeah. Got this press secretary, she planned it all for me.”

“You’ll have to get me her card.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. Light laughs fall from both of them. “You did a great job.”

“It’s alright,” Alex shrugs.

“It’s amazing,” he insists. You’re amazing.

“All previous party planning experience was organizing my senior prom.”

“And it’s still fantastic, look at you.”

“The process was much easier with a congressional Platinum card, trust me,” Alex says. Then she holds up her drink—not the standard fare of J. Lasalle but a Bourbon Ginger from the open bar—and lets it fall in a clink against Marcus’ half-empty flute of champagne. “To money.”

“To success,” he says.

“Yeah, that too.” She lets the prickly pleasantness of ginger root and dark liquor slide across her tongue. It burns going down, but she likes it like that. “So… What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“I dunno’,” Marcus says, shrugging his shoulders. His voice lowers to a whisper. “I was thinking about breaking in the new office. You?”

“Does breaking it in have anything to do with fucking me in it?”

“It could.”

“I’m pretty amenable to these plans, then,” Alex says.

Marcus offers her his hand again. “Follow me.”

They wait as the tide of partygoers pushes in, making their escape when it falls back, slipping through tall double doors. Marcus leads Alex up a back stairwell, heels clicking against wood. He lets her lead the rest of the way, watching the slink in her step and the sway in her hips. He hates it when she leaves but loves to watch when she walks away—and tonight, he gets the best of both.

Alex stops at the doorway. She waits for him to cross the threshold first; it only feels right. Marcus pulls her in by the elbow, a goofy grin overtaking his face.

“C’mere, gorgeous,” he says.

They connect at the mouth, soft and gentle like Marcus’ hold on her waist. He runs a soothing finger over the material of her dress—smooth white satin that swathes over her hips and neck, leaving her shoulders bare. Vintage Ralph Lauren on loan; Alex couldn’t dream of owning something this expensive with all her lingering Howard loan debt. The dress, along with the pearly cream heels that were once her mother’s, is a drastic change from her outfit at this afternoon’s swearing-in ceremony: a dress with frumpier sleeves, sitting just below the knee in a purple bright enough to rival a red clover. She’d hated it, feeling trapped inside some illusion of a church girl with her hair pressed into long pin curls.

The way Marcus looked at her then, same as now, made it worth it. He thinks the world of her, along with the Sun and the rest of the solar system too. He slides a hand across her chest, a nipple peaking against the fabric. When he squeezes, her cunt drools. Alex slips a hand into his hair, pulling hard enough that Marcus moans into her mouth. They move as a unit, one step at a time until he has her caged against his new desk.

They break only when she looks down, hiking the smooth fabric up to expose the bottom half of her body. Marcus cups her gently over her underwear, feeling dampness against the heel of his palm.

“Couldn’t have done this without you, sweetheart,” he whispers against her lips.

“You could have,” she says between sweet kisses to each cheek.

“I didn’t want to.”

Alex smirks. “Lucky you, then.”

She likes to tease, but the self-satisfaction on her face falls when he presses his hand against her harder. The pressure against her clit makes her ache, moving her hips up to meet him. She starts to grind against his hand. Marcus watches the wet patch on the gusset between her legs grow as Alex gets herself off. Lucky him indeed.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks.

“Touch me…please.”

A small gasp falls from her lips when he peels her panties down, Alex lifting her hips to aid in the effort. They wrap around her ankles, caught by the backs of her heels. Marcus touches her bare skin, already wet and sticky when he runs two fingers against her.

“More,” she says.

"Hmm, I don’t know,” Marcus says. “I think you like it like this.”

“Marcus Jordan Pike…put your fingers inside me or get the fuck out of this office.” Her tone is breathy but commanding, drawing his attention from her hips to her eyes.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, slipping a finger through her wetness before sinking it into her cunt. Alex moans, and Marcus moans with her. His starting rhythm is slow and purposeful, searching for that spot that gets her eyes to cross as she bites her tongue to keep quiet. She cants her hips in time with him, meeting every thrust of his middle finger as slick squelches onto the webbing of his hand.

A high whine tears from the back of her throat when Marcus finds what he is looking for. He adds his index inside of her, massaging the spongy spot inside of her with deft attention.

“Fuck, Marcus,” Alex sighs, panting into his neck. She holds him close by the shoulder, arm wrapped around to his neck as she pulls lightly at his ear.

“That feel good?” he asks. All she can do is nod. “My baby feels so good, huh? You worked so hard. I’m so proud of you. Let me help you relax.”

Something about being called his baby has her weak in the knees. She likes that, just a little. Alex would never admit it, not in this environment of all-or-nothing stances, not even to him. The feminists of this town and the Internet would eat her alive for admitting even the fantasy of being a kept woman turns her on, just a little. Still, Marcus can tell by the way she clenches tight around him.

“Such a sweet thing…so smart, you know that? Couldn’t do anything without you.”

“Marcus, please. D-don’t stop, just—right there.” She stutters on a breath when he presses his thumb to her clit. Alex’s thighs clench around his hand, trapping the limb so he can only move from the wrist down.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Feel it, baby. I’ve got you,” Marcus whispers against her ear.

He captures her for another kiss, languid as he speeds up his fingers and the circle of his thumb. She cums with a cut-off cry and a tremble of her hips, pulling him closer and pushing him away with her body as she creams over his fingers. They stay joined a few moments longer; she sits up a little more, smoothing out the collar of his dress shirt.

When Marcus moves his hand, Alex fulfills her wish. She takes him by the wrist and leads his fingers to her mouth. She tastes herself as they pass the wet heat of her tongue, swirling between the two digits for good measure. Marcus groans as he watches, mesmerized.

“You’re killing me here,” he says.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Alex asks. She reaches for the zipper of his pressed slacks, hard cock waiting for her underneath. “Public servant and all.”

The zipper needles down easily, two buttons on the inside of the linen plucked undone in a moment. She rolls Marcus’ pants down to settle over his ass, revealing to her the pre-cum stained front of his briefs. Seeing the pair of novelty underwear she got for his birthday, Alex laughs. His cock is covered in bald eagles.

“Why is you laughing at me still sexy?” Marcus asks.

Alex draws him in by his tie. “’Cause you’re a perv,” she says.

Marcus scoffs, but there’s no bite in it. “I don’t have a comeback for that.”

She works him out of his underwear, spitting onto his shaft before giving him a stroke. “That’s how you know it’s true.”

Alex sets them into motion, leaning back to signal Marcus. He immediately swipes everything—nameplate, important government documents, a miniature post holding the American flag—off the desk and onto the floor. He runs his tip, slick and swollen, through the mess of her cunt. Teasing her, he presses against her clit like a button, making Alex jolt.

“Just fuck me, dweeb,” she says.

One thing about Marcus is that he takes direction well. He slides into her with ease, both moaning in sync at the fit and feel. Filling her with one thrust of his hips, she makes him stay there for a moment, savouring the sensation. The fullness is enough to make her feel good—sometimes it’s enough to make her cum, like when they sat together in the campaign office, her on his lap as she squeezed her cunt around his thick cock to orgasm.

Then she taps at his hip, pulling at Marcus’ forearm to get him to meet her horizontally. His thrusts start quick and small, grinding against her insides as he never quite leaves her. Idly, she wonders how many times they’ve fucked in an office. The campaign office? They’d made up a bit of an accidental schedule, twice a week on Tuesday and Friday when everyone usually went home before seven. A handful of times in his car, which were always her least favourite no matter how long Marcus ate her out to make up for it.

Once in her bed. It was late August this year, the air balmy as she and Marcus stepped out of that upscale bar in one of those times between overcast clouds and dripping rain. He’d had a few too many to drive home, and Alex lived just three blocks over. She hadn’t meant to fuck him. It was only the second time, after a quick and easy mistake they’d made on the fold-out table that operated as the volunteer command center; that particular night, there were still Vote4Marcus stickers in her hair when she got in the shower.

But Alex did fuck him, and it was amazing. Probably what spurred her to keep fucking him. Not the money, or the potential power. Just the tender, semi-drunk sex they shared on her double mattress. The only time it ever happened.

She’s trying to calculate how many Tuesdays and Fridays are in eight calendar months when a particularly sharp thrust catches her attention. Alex groans, but not in the sexy way, as Marcus punches his cock into her cervix. It feels good still, in a way, but the pinch of pain is throwing her off.

“H-hold on,” she mutters, so quiet she can barely hear herself. Marcus keeps going, fucking her with a hand at her sternum for leverage.

“You feel good?” he asks.

“No, just—hold on,” Alex repeats. She places a hand over his as Marcus slows to a stop.

“Everything alright?”

Before she can answer, they both feel his phone buzz in his pocket. Marcus pulls away from her, wiping his hands on his pants to check. She sees his mouth screw up in a side pout as he reads whatever message is waiting for him.

“Time to go?” Alex asks.

“I just—this big donor is heading out, the McCaskills? Polly wants me to start greeting people as they leave.”

Another one of many times Alex would love to tell Polly Friedman-Blau where she can put her tight smiles and wandering eyes.

“Of course.” She’s already standing, lifting her leg to pull her underwear back up and over her crotch. They are uncomfortably sticky, but that won’t be a problem for long.

“What do you mean, of course?” Marcus asks behind her.

Alex turns, smoothing out her dress. She’ll have to find a bathroom to properly fix herself up before heading back downstairs.

“I mean, come on. What are you, the lobby boy?” The hurt anger bubbles up from nowhere, shocking her as much as him.

“They donated thousands of dollars, Lex.” She hates that name. He knows she hates it. “We wouldn’t be here without them,” Marcus says.

She makes for the door now, shaking her head. Alex ignores the burn between her thighs. She doesn’t make it to the hall, though. Marcus grabs her arm, pulling her back to him.

“What?”

“Can we just—can we not leave tonight like this?” he asks. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” He peppers her face with soft kisses, gentle with his words. “When it’s all said and done, I’ll find you. We can continue this back at my place.”

His place. The place she’s never seen. Something roils hot inside her, small fireworks snaking and sparking between her ribs.

“Okay?” Marcus asks.

“Okay,” Alex agrees.

He fixes his pants and she straightens his tie. Marcus is off again, heading downstairs. Alex lingers in his office for a minute longer, taking it all in. They made it. They are here.

When an appropriate amount of time has passed, she wanders out to find a bathroom, closing the door behind her. A few party drunkards have made it upstairs. Alex smiles politely and ducks out of any potential conversations by moving onto the stairs and heading down. A bathroom presents itself at the foot of the steps, a golden sign that says ‘Ladies’ waiting for her.

The door swings inwards silently. Alex hates to say she’s impressed, what with the horrible screech of her own bathroom’s hinges. A glance in the mirror tells her she doesn’t look too crazy. Taking advantage of the empty presence, she locks herself in the very last stall to take a piss. As she wrangles the wafer-thin toilet paper, she hears the door open again. Not so silent after all.

Two sets of expensive heels—four clicks against the stone floors—echo throughout the room. Alex is about to get up and flush before someone speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” one woman says, voice low. “That girl he thanked… I’ve heard some things.”

“She’s not a girl. We’re all women here,” another woman says.

“Could’ve fooled me,” the first one snickers.

Alex keeps her breathing even, still listening. “What’s the word on her?”

“Oh, you know. The usual: she’s sleeping with him.” Well, that’s not inaccurate. Still, it stings to hear coming from— “She’s only in it for the money, you know? Supposedly, she had a thing with her TA back in undergrad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But then she set her sights on political office. But she doesn’t want to be the man behind the desk. She just wants to reap all the benefits.”

“Little does she know, all those men have some sweet thing under there to keep ‘em warm.”

“Trust me, I think she does. Bold of her to assume he’d ever make her First Lady.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Marcus Pike is a name you remember. Alex Dozie? Come on. We’ve already had Barack and Michelle.” The other woman doesn’t say anything to that. “There was something about his fa—”

Alex takes that as the time to strike, pressing the metal button jutting from the wall to get the toilet to flush. In a few seconds, she unlocks the stall door and saunters out to the sink. Silently, she rubs soap between her palms and fingers, sticking her hands beneath the automatic tap to rinse away the suds. The women are exactly as she expected: thin, white, and beautiful. Their dresses look much more expensive, much more modern.

She wonders if they’d say all that if she looked more like them.

Alex waits ‘til the door shuts behind her to let the tears well up. Well, shit. This is supposed to be the night of everything right, and it’s all going terribly wrong. She walks blindly, water blurring Alex’s vision as she keeps her head down and eyes forward. Eventually, she reaches an office on the first floor. Fine wood paneling and frosted glass windows. The office chair is practically calling her name. When she slumps into it, the tension bleeds from her spine. Somehow, the leather seems to have that new car smell to it.

It takes a few minutes to realize that this is her office. She recognizes it from pictures Marcus sent her. Their tiny what-ifs were turning into reality, and this was one of them. If I win, you’re taking this office. It’s the nicest one…besides mine. There were so many of those that Alex began thinking it impossible for them to lose. Like this was fate or something.

Fate; destiny. She was meant to do this. Fuck whatever Malibu Bitch numbers one and two think. Who cares what people know, or think they know? Alex is here, and she knows exactly why. It has nothing to do with the…extra-curricular activities between her and Marcus Pike. It was because she’d worked her ass off; because she deserved it. A tenuous thread of hope, sure, but it was enough to keep her from finding Marcus and quitting on the spot like she wanted to.

Instead, she heads to coat check and gets her purse and jacket. Alex tips the lady with President Andrew Jackson, calling a cab in the lobby. A long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep will make everything better; it always does.

Alex wakes at five o’clock. She does not feel better. Somehow, she feels worse. Whatever slathered over the surface of her skin last night has settled, sinking deep into her bones. It’s not quite anger, or sadness. A churning disquiet has taken up in her gut, leaving no room for breakfast or coffee. A box of things sits on the kitchen counter, waiting for her to take it into the office—her new office. Alex almost forgets it three separate times.

The drive is sure to be the only calm part of her day. Alex savours it, taking the easy route through town. The building is cute, not a monster when it’s not plugged full of people. It’s an eclectic mix of brick and metal on the outside, dated but sleek on the inside between hardwood and glass. Inside is quiet, too, which she enjoys. Still, her stomach stirs with unease. It feels like everyone stares when she walks in.

Alex’s thighs ache, a reminder of what she and Marcus did last night. She bristles at the thought, shame creeping up the back of her neck. Maybe they shouldn’t do that here. This isn’t some rental space in Downtown Burlington. This is an important office.

She puts her box down at her desk, the contents landing with a thud. At the top of her trinket pile sits a framed photo: Alex and Marcus, smiling as she waves at the camera from the hip. She forgets now what they were talking about, one of the earlier Vote For Marcus Pike banners hanging behind them, pinned to a wall. This was a month into Alex working for him. A month of wondering if he still remembered, and figuring out quickly that Marcus didn’t. The first real conversation they’d had where she had no excuse to duck out of the office or wander away. The first real conversation with the man that would change her life.

15 months ago and yet it feels so far away; unreachable. Alex wants to crawl into the picture frame, claw back time to when she knew what she was doing here. The objective was simple. Get Marcus elected. Now? One night and she’s been sent into a tailspin.

When she looks up from the photo, it’s because of all the clapping. When does all the goddamn clapping end and the real work start? Alex was starting to wonder. She moves from her desk to the doorway, catching a glimpse of what the fuss is all about. It’s Marcus, of course. He doesn’t see her; how could he with all the people in the way? He glad-hands and smiles his way through the office. Someone takes a photo—fancy camera, flash on—and Alex blinks. She’s been injected into Clinton-era comic strip, waiting for them to bring out the baby to kiss.

Marcus Pike gets applause for showing up to do his job. Sure, it happens, but when did that become her life? Her reality? Alex does not belong here. Clearly, he doesn’t need her here. He didn’t call last night when she didn’t show.

The campaign trail was then, and this is now. She is of then…Marcus doesn’t need her now.

Thank god for the printer in this office. She types up something quick, waiting for the blocky machine to whirr to life. A quick, six-sentence letter of resignation spits out moments later. Alex takes it, folding it in two. She goes to grab her box of things, Marcus’ eyes staring back at her. She leaves it.

Her heels click and clack against the floor as she makes her exit. Letter clutched in her hand, she doesn’t notice the tiny young woman in front of her until they collide.

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaks first.

“It’s my fault,” Alex says, shaking her head.

“You’re Miss Dozie?” the woman asks. She looks a little scared, a little reverent.

“Unfortunately. Why?”

“I’m supposed to bring you some briefings,” the woman says. Alex notes the badge on her lapel. Office aide. “After I bring Mr. Pike his coffee.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Okay?” Alex asks. The aide nods, brow furrowed in confusion. “Could you do me a favour, though?”

“That’s my job, ma’am.”

“Could you put this on Mar—Mr. Pike’s desk for me? Preferably when he’s away from it,” Alex says.

“Of course, ma’am,” the aide nods. Alex wishes she knew her name.

“Thanks,” she nods. “Good luck up there, hey?”

Alex walks away, through the lobby to the front doors. In less than an hour, the weather has changed from overcast clouds to sputtering rain. Albert Hammond serenades her with guitars, alerting her to a phone call. She almost picks it up, finger automatically reaching to press the ‘answer’ button. Alex thinks twice about it, checking who it is. Marcus, of course.

Frozen on the sidewalk, rain pelts her head as she watches the phone ring. After about a minute, it stops, his name disappearing.

Seems it never rains in Southern California

Seems I’ve often heard that kind of talk before

It never rains in California

But girl, don’t they warn ya’?

It pours, man it pours

#marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: a little white lie #except for queue

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delphi-dreamin · 11 months

Text

Photos

Or: Five photos Asmo shared to Devilgram and one he shared via text

Pairing: Delphi x Asmo

Word Count: 891

A/N: Did I, in the year of our lord 2023, write a 5+1 fic? Yes, yes I did. It just feels great to have written anything, honestly. I've been hella depressed since my mom died and everything feels like it's gone to hell in a handbasket, so this feels a bit like normalcy.

Based on this post

A close-up selfie of Asmo and Delphi at The Fall. They're in a booth, with multicolored lights illuminating their flushed cheeks and bright grins. Delphi's arm is slung over Asmodeus's shoulder and she's clearly sitting in his lap.

Mammon huffs, scrolling through Devilgram. Another selfie of Asmo and Delphi meanders across his feed. It's the fifth one in as many minutes and it's annoying him. The caption on this one is what really gets him, though.

“All of these pics have one thing in common. Can you guess what it is? ♡ ”

A wide-angle candid of Asmo and Delphi in the pool at Serenity Manor. They're inside the pool near the edge, talking with Simeon. Asmo’s arms are caging Delphi in at the edge of the pool and they're both smiling.

Simeon looks at the photo, smiling fondly, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks. Solomon had taken it while they were chatting about Delphi’s sorcerer’s license exam. He remembers Solomon joining them in the pool just after this was taken, and inviting Simeon to join them. He’d known, of course. Neither of the two had been subtle. But he had enjoyed their afternoon in the pool.

A photo taken in the dark of Delphi in Asmo’s lap on the couch in the living room of the House of Lamentation. There is a blanket covering Delphi up to her neck and they’re illuminated by the light of the television. She’s lying with her back to his chest and he looks to be whispering something in her ear.

“It says that all of the photos have something in common,” Beel muses aloud. He looks over at his twin with his brows furrowed. “It’s just a bunch of pictures of Asmo and Delphi.”

Belphie shrugs, rolling over in his bed. “Maybe that’s what they all have in common?”

Beel scrolls a bit further and hums, “He says that’s not what it is.”

“It’s just Asmo being stupid,” Belphie yawns. “Don’t worry about it.”

A selfie of Asmo and Delphi at what appears to be the spa. Both are wearing fluffy pink robes with their hair tied back by terrycloth headbands. Delphi grins brightly at the camera while Asmo kisses her cheek from behind. The photo is cropped and rotated to look as though the two are standing, but the background shows they are lying on a massage table.

“Barbatos!” the Diavolo exclaims, greeting his butler with a wide grin as the man enters his office. “Asmodeus is playing a little game on his Devilgram! He’s posted several photos of himself and Delphi and said that there’s something they all have in common.”

“Is that so?” Barbatos hums, the faintest shadow of a smile on his thin lips.

“It is! But I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is,” the prince replies.

He’s staring so intently at the photos, a crease forming on his brow as he examines them all again. Barbatos chuckles, “Would you like a hint, Young Master?”

Diavolo waves him away. “No, no, don’t tell me! I’ll figure it out.”

“As you wish,” the steward replies, preparing the tea he had come to deliver.

A selfie taken by Asmodeus. Delphi is asleep on his chest, with her hand resting under her cheek on his sternum. Warm light filters into the room behind them and there’s a soft smile on his lips as he gazes down at her.

Lucifer sighs and puts down his phone. He knew by the third photo exactly what they all had in common. He could see it in the pink tinge of her cheeks, the way her eyes were too bright. He saw it in the possessive arm Asmo had around her waist and the grins they both wore. But this one? This last one was a bit too intimate for his liking.

He told her before he didn’t mind her spending time with his brothers. And he meant it. He still means it. But seeing the evidence leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Boo 💋

[Attached image]

A photo taken via the floor-length mirror beside Asmo’s bed. Delphi is completely nude, straddling his lap. Her face is turned to the mirror, her eyes heavy-lidded and her cheeks red. Asmo has one hand gripping her ass and the other holding the camera. They both seem to be watching his cock disappearing inside her. There’s a dark spot on the sheets between his legs and a pearly sheen on her inner thighs.

Me: When did you take this??

Asmo: Last week! Didn’t you notice?

Me: No!

A: It’s a good one, though, isn’t it? ♡

Me: They all are, baby.

Me: Has anyone figured it out yet?

A: Simeon and Solomon have. And I think Barbatos has, too!

Me: Makes sense.

Me: Lucifer hasn’t said anything to me about it, but I’m sure he knows.

Me: What are you going to do if one of your fans figures it out?

A: I hadn’t really thought about it, hon.

A: Maybe I’ll send them a special prize~

Me: The only one who should be getting a special prize is me for saying yes to this little game.

A: Oh, you’ll get your prize, darling.

A: But yours will be later tonight ♡

Me: Mmm, promise?

A: Promise

Taglist: @sassykattery @bite-sized-devil @sparkbeast20 @kyungjoon-do @attic-club-sandwich @consolationblog @rensphilia @yourboyhack @flemmingbamse @syren201

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me x oc #mc!delphi #delphi writes

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inkybirdy · 1 year

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I know this may be a strange question but what is Phantom Ganon's partner named since i cannot find any reference to it. Also Love the art style and your works.

firstly, thank you! I'm very happy you like them!

secondly - thanks for sending this, it actually reminded me of a snippet that I meant to post about the local ghosty grandparents!

The traveling group has dwindled in the last few weeks. Along the meandering path to Eldin Canyon, most have splintered off toward their true destinations in Akkala or Lanayru.

Or, perhaps it’s better to say that the Gerudo prince has splintered off from the group himself on his way to Death Mountain, and coincidentally chosen a parallel path with his fellow straggler.

They haven’t spoken to one another, much. In passing introductions he’s given the half-truth of being a studying blacksmith looking for instruction among the Goron masters. They’ve offered the half-truth of being a traveling apothecary, seeking rare ingredients for medicine among the unforgiving reaches of the continent and using their luck with gambling to fund their aimless trek.

He’d be more surprised if they didn’t know who he was, despite his simple traveling clothes and lack of escort. He’s seen their startling-blue eyes watching his quiet exchanges with the koroks and guardian spirits, the way his magic bends metal in his hands when he’s repairing his tools. In turn, he sees their furtive glances over to the disjointed memories that haunt the greater expanses of the land, the way the koroks shift dice and cards in their favor, the way they hiss desperately to bend their haphazard potions to their will and how their nose scrunches at the mention of the queen.

A sage, he thinks. A new one. They’re anxious, they fumble with unfamiliar magic, they copy letters in their little journal like they’re teaching themselves to write. If he had to guess, he’d say they were unlucky enough to be plucked out of whatever little nowhere village they called home and dumped into the Eastern Abbey, like those before them.

They’re running from her. But, really, the assessment comforts him in a silly kind of way - he is too, after all. He hasn’t been able to make many friends on his path.

Still, despite their unspoken agreement to feign ignorance, the two have yet again settled beside their campfire for the night. He’s pretending to read a book he borrowed from a traveling priest like he isn’t lost in thought, as usual, and they’re mending their overcoat - embroidering little yellow flowers to disguise the tears.

(They’ve long since silently agreed to stop challenging one another to games - he’s got no more money to lose, and they’re quite certain he knows they cheat.)

“You never told me your name.” He offers, like he’s just realized instead of having mulled it over for weeks.

They don’t shift their focus from squinting at yellow thread, past streaks of just-as-yellow hair drifting out of their otherwise dark bun, in the dim firelight. They speak like if they pretended they weren’t paying attention, they could get away without fully committing. Plausible deniability, in all things.

“Chideh.”

Like Korgu Chideh, he guesses. A cursed shrine on an unforgiving island, stripping pilgrims of their supplies and torturing them into repentance. He wonders if the name is meant to be a ward for them, or a rebuke.

Another thing he knows. He’s always wondered similarly of his own name.

“It’s not a very kind one, is it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

As gratifying as it is mortifying, those sharp eyes meet his in an instant. They grow still, appraising him as he blinks back.

“Does it have to be?” They say, finally.

“Not really,” He grasps, “I - guess it’s just easier to make friendly conversation if I don’t feel like I’m insulting someone.”

The silence settles heavy between them, to the point that he nearly keels over when they snort out a laugh. At the very least they seem more startled than dismissive, but his face heats all the same.

“That’s - I mean-” He scrambles, rubbing a hand down his face and forgetting his book entirely, letting his shoulders slump. “Let me try again? My friends call me Dede.”

His sisters, but still.

“Alright then, Dede,” They chuckle, shaking their head as they watch him crouch to retrieve his book from the dust, “Call me however you like.”

Prince Ganondorf Demise Dragmire pauses where he kneels, his eyes caught once again on the golden thread. Tentatively, he looks up to meet his companion’s amused gaze.

“... Buttercup.”

It’s another gamble, but their smile softens into a warm sort of thing.

#adventure boyfriends au #myart #crown of calamity #loz #phantom ganon #ganondorf #demise #my writing #ask #loz au

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mortallyclearwonderland · 7 months

Text

''This Is The Thanks I Get?!'' - Wish

''This is the thanks I get?!'' is the movie's villain song. I'm going to be honest. Out of all the songs so far this is my favorite. But from what I saw it's also the one with the most dislikes. My best guess is that people were excited and had high expectations about the new villain song since the last one was ''Shiny'' from Moana, 7 YEARS AGO! What also probably upset people is that despite being a ''Disney villain song'' it lacks a lot of the same punch. It's trying to be like ''Mother Knows Beast'' where the villain is being manipulative and tries to pass of as the good guy. I'm going to judge the song for what it is, not for what I wish (wink wink) it would be. Just a heads up, it does pretty poorly.

youtube

The song is very repetitive with the ''this is the thanks I get'' being sang over and over. It's a rule at this point that the name of the song will be repeated many times in the song or that it will be named after whatever is repeated in the song the most, whichever comes first. But a whole freaking chorus?! At least Chris Pine sings it a bit differently each time.

Speaking of annoying repetition, the whole ''tu tu tu'' is driving me crazy. I mentioned it in one of my previous posts that I hate when writers put some sounds for singer to sing because they couldn't be bothered to come up with real words to put into their song. It's lazy and feels like padding. It's not a song in a club that you can bob your head to. It's a song in a musical. Tell a story! Unlike Chris Pine singing ''this is the thanks I get'' differently every time, ''tu tu tu'' is sang always the same. And lastly, who the hell is singing that part? Just because it's a musical it doesn't mean that singing comes out of nowhere. Usually the bad guy sings solo or with his/her minions.

Awkward modern talk that is showing up in all the songs. Examples include ''rent free'' and ''prob''. This is supposed to be a medieval kingdom. I don't expect them to speak like Shakespeare but come on! It sounds so cringe and will age the movie like milk.

Contradiction! Magnifico granted 14 wishes last year but Asha in ''Welcome to Rosas'' said he grants one wish every month. Does a year in Rosas has 14 months? How did no one noticed that?

Another problem I found with the song is how it's less singing and more talking rhythmically.

There's a moment in the song when Magnifico starts going crazy evil and you might get excited about how the song might progress but it's interrupted with ''Where was I'' because we were getting too serious, so we interrupt it with MCU like joke. After that the song goes back to its previous monotone rhythm.

The song tries to build up some excitement again with evil high strings and Magnifico screaming (which sounds good) and a cheesy echo but it's too late. They had an awesome build up and squandered it. There is no walking it back.

This is the problem with all those songs. There seems to be beginnings and endings to those songs but for the most part they just meander around in the same tone, tempo, instruments and every time something resembling a build up or a change of pace occurs it's right back to how it was sang before.

It's a boring repetitive song just like all the others but is the most hated because people had high hopes for it. But to be fair, I don't think a villain song that sounds actually evil is too demanding. Especially when people were very clear about what they want for years.

Special thanks to toaverse for discussing Wish with me.

#wish 2023 #disney wish #princess asha #king magnifico #toaverse #Youtube

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frostiifae · 3 days

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(Penacony 2.2 thoughts. Like really aggro spoilers below. Be warned.)

idk like I have a habit of liveblogging (read: gushing profusely) about things I'm enjoying, at least privately to my friends, which sometimes I feel bad about. I need to put my thoughts into words to process them, a lot of the time! so, conversely, i also feel a little obligated to put disappointment and frustration into words, too?

let's be clear, Penacony as a whole was great, 2.2 was pretty great. I love the idea of the fakeout. The buildup and presentation of almost everything was excellent. I have only two fundamental complaints, but unfortunately, they kind of touch everything else. It leaves a bit of a sour final note.

Firstly, the fakeout segment is a little too long. I think it's something I'm learning about Chinese localized media that the way that they write is a little meandering, compared to "western" media? I don't know that for sure, that's just a gut feeling I have, but based on it, I want to be forgiving - it's not the game's fault I thought I could stay up long enough to get it all done and wound up going to bed nearly three hours after I intended to.

But it's not just being upset about staying up too late, the real concern is like - I was in the mindset to see what's going on for the next story beat, and I started to get the impression that Ena's Dream was going to be the next chapter. It's fine that it wasn't - I think probably for the best, in hindsight - but it was definitely... strange, to realize I was wrong about that. It felt like a lot of the buildup and tension in what should have been Penacony's finale kind of... smushed up against a brick wall, and then had to get scraped up before we could continue. Surely, there must have been a more effective way of building the sequence?

And, kind of in line with that, my second complaint would be that I think... Penacony tried to do too much at once. There were just a couple too many concurrent storylines happening, and I think some of them had to get let down in the end.

I don't want to go too long on that though because I'm sure a lot of it will get cleaned up in companion quests and whatnot afterward. Overall, it's still a massive improvement from the Xianzhou to me. I enjoyed it a lot, and the people who are most interested in my positive feelings have heard a lot about them already. I just - kind of don't understand why you would, like. Do this. As your third major story chapter. I don't know, man. How long are you expecting this game to run, even? I guess we'll see!

#hsr #feyposting #penacony spoilers #hsr 2.2 spoilers

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elliemarchetti · 7 months

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right in the feels, where you reside

My entry for Momo's Unofficial Snapetober. I wanted to write something short, and at the same time cover all the prompts, so here we are, with the saddest drabble I could came up with.

Plot: something reminds Severus of Lily

Words: 729

With the arrival of autumn, the foliage of the Forbidden Forest was tinged in shades of yellow and orange, with a few brushstrokes of the same shade of red as Lily's hair. The harvest from Hagrid's pumpkin patch had been plentiful, and the smell of stews, breads and creams was carried through the maze of corridors all the way down to the dungeons were Severus held his lessons. Soon the tables of the Great Hall, above which the first bats already fluttered, would be filled with steaming mushroom soups, caramelized apples, and a dozen other seasonal delicacies that the ghosts roaming the castle weren’t able to savour anymore. It happened every year: once the elves started to get creative, the dead bemoaned to the tired students climbing the steep flight of stairs how much they missed a hot meal and the feeling of warm water on their skin. With their glassy gazes, they reminded everyone how lucky they were to have a family waiting for them at home, and with their perpetual whisper, they reiterated how ephemeral all the worries tormenting the minds of young wizards were in face of the eternal rest. Paradoxically, they always had the opposite effect on Severus: he had no loving parents to return to, and his worries could turn into a matter of life and death depending on the whims of that filthy murderer. The Dark Lord had always defined his plans as a quest for unlimited power, but it wasn’t necessary to know how to talk to serpents and read the future in smoky crystal balls to understand it was now just a personal revenge. If someone managed to deliver Potter in his hands, the child would be nothing more than cannon fodder, a soulless, tortured body to parade around to prevent insurrection. The fear of saying his name would no longer be just a superstition, but a way to invoke his masked followers, who like spiders left to breed uncontrolled for too long would cover the wizarding world in a web of hatred and discrimination. When Severus was Harry’s age, when he still explored the paths around Hogwarts with eyes full of wonder, those weren’t the kind of thoughts he harboured. His younger self, though hardly carefree, delighted in the invention of new spells, in perfecting potions texts, and playing guessing games with his only friend. A flash of remembrance made its way to the surface, escaping from the meanders into which he had thrust all those moments which now more than ever had a bittersweet taste.

The Gryffindors had organized a costume party, an event open only to members of their house that would take place after the Halloween dinner. Lily had been invited by her roommate, who would dress up as a scarecrow, but the beautiful redhead had declined the offer, preferring to spend her time with him. The crepuscular atmosphere gave something ethereal to her features, or perhaps it was just the aura of nostalgia for memories now distant, for moments lost forever.

“The answer is corvids,” she had said, with a satisfied smile, after a brief contemplation. “Next time you'll have to try harder, or I'll start to think you underestimate me.”

“I could never,” he replied, trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks at having her so close. “After all, you are the brightest witch of your age.”

He almost vomited hearing Sirius Black call Miss Granger that way. No one could compare to Lily, and if he loved her as much as he loved her son, he should have let that compliment die with her.

“And the answer to my riddle?” she asked, moving a lock of dark hair from his forehead. “Do you know it?”

“Amphibian,” he had replied, present only in the body, for his mind was lost in wondering what she would do if he kissed her. He had heard that many in their year had already had their first kiss, and if there was anyone he wanted to share it with, it was Lily. With hindsight, and a courage he acquired only after her tragic demise, he should’ve done it, tying her to him and averting that arrogant fool to ever come near her. It was one of his many regrets, and now he could do nothing but protect her son, and prevent her memory from being lost forever.

#momo's unofficial snapetober #severus snape #lily evans #snily #i'm no shipper #i just like the drama of the situation #team jily till i die #is there a jilytober?#asking for a friend

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winterdawnzephyr · 2 years

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late night talking // radio silence; aled x daniel

Summary: A stressed-out Daniel calls Aled in the middle of the night (day?) for emotional support. As late night talking goes, their conversation meanders. Set after the events of Radio Silence.

Word count: 1778

Link to AO3 post

It was 3:54 AM and Daniel was not okay.

Tipping back his head, he drained the third can of cold brew he'd had that night -- or was it morning? -- and slammed it down on the last remaining spot amidst his pile of chemistry notes. A stray droplet landed on the past paper he was working on, staining the godforsaken diagram of the Born-Haber cycle brown.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned. Elbows resting on his pages of calculations (most bearing red slashes from his cold-brew induced fits of rage), he dug his eyes into the heels of his palms and resisted the urge to cry.

He had been stuck on Hess' Law questions for the past hour. They weren't even difficult. He just kept making stupid mistakes -- not changing positive signs to negative, forgetting to half the enthalpy of atomization of Cl2, missing the state symbols. Cambridge didn't accept people who made stupid mistakes. What if he didn't get an A* in Chemistry because of this? What if, after working his ass off the last 10 years of his life, after doing all those readings and passing his interview, they rejected him because a stupid mistake bumped him down a grade?

He imagined giving up his plan to get a PhD in Biology and pursue research to work in his father's electronics shop, fixing gadgets and mending computers or whatever his father does. Fuck, that sounded pretentious. He always felt a stab of guilt whenever that thought crossed his mind -- which was not uncommon. There was nothing wrong with working in an electronics shop, except for the fact he felt a small part of himself die inside at the thought of giving up his lifelong passion. No more lab coats and goggles. No more ... how did Frances put it? Right, "skeletons and bacteria and stuff".

There was no way he was letting Hess' Law ruin his chances of getting into Cambridge. He couldn't let it. This dream was all he had.

Well, not exactly.

Daniel did the only thing he could think of in that moment. He picked up his phone and dialled his lifeline.

┈┈┈┈․° * °․┈┈┈┈

"Hey," Daniel said hoarsely. It just registered to him that it was 3:54 AM and he had probably just woken Aled for no reason. "Jesus, Aled. sorry. It's so late --"

"Dan, are you okay?" Aled's voice, soft and concerned, crackled through the speakerphone.

Somehow, just hearing their voice was enough to make tears well up in his eyes. He thought if he kept them in any longer, his eyes might burst. So he let them spill.

"Chemistry. Chemistry is ruining my life." All the numbers and formulae and diagrams laid out before him grew fuzzy. He could feel a drop of tear fall and join the brown stain on his past paper. Wonderful.

Aled stayed quiet, giving him time to collect himself. He could imagine Aled with their eyes wide like a puppy’s, their eyebrows raised just a touch – they always were when Aled was worried.

Daniel took a big gulp of air. His breath smelled disgustingly like one too many cans of cold brew. Well, I guess one good thing about Aled being so far away is he can't tease me about my coffee breath.

"It's just- my exam's in a week and I- I can't mess this up. I need to get an A* in Chem. I can't still be struggling with Hess' fucking Law this close to the exams. And I keep making stupid mistakes like mixing up plus and minus" He wiped an eye and let out a laugh. "This is so stupid. I feel stupid. Sorry, I shouldn't be calling you this late for this."

"It's okay, I was up anyways." They paused. "You're not stupid. But you're also more than your grades."

"I know," he whispered. "But everyone already knows I got an offer from Cambridge and I'm scared I'll fail and- and let everyone down and- “

"You won't let me down."

I love you so much.

"I..." Daniel faltered. Why couldn't he speak?

But he knew Aled, of all people, understood. They knew how it felt for thoughts to be coiled up in the dusty corners of your mind for so long that you’re afraid giving them a voice would break them.

At least, for now.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

"If I didn't know you better," Aled said gently, "I would tell you to sleep."

"I had three cans of cold brew."

"Dan!"

"Shut up, I get it-"

"Coffee Breath," Aled teased.

Daniel shook his head and smiled to himself. Well, guess I was wrong.

“How could you? Don’t you dare insult cold brew in front of me again.” They both chuckled. “Anyways, there is no way I'm sleeping now. The caffeine is blocking my adenosine receptors and my brain is setting off fireworks."

"You’re such a nerd."

"And you’re a hypocrite. Why are you up at this ungodly hour?"

Aled was silent for a moment. “Do you remember the YouTube Live! thing that contacted me?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” he said, sounding half excited, half nervous, “I may or may not be doing a live show for Universe City in August?”

Daniel sat up straight, almost knocking over his three cans of cold brew.

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Aled, that’s great. When did you find out?”

“Just two days ago!” Aled said quickly. “I was going to tell you, but you’re busy enough with exams and have much more important things to worry about and-”

“Hey, stop right there,” Daniel chided them softly. “If I get to call you past 4am and have you deal with my anxious ass, you can tell me about your literally life-changing show no matter how much Chemistry is screwing with my life."

"Maybe," Aled replied sheepishly. “If you say so.” Are they… embarrassed?

Daniel felt a small pang at the thought that Aled might have been nervous about sharing the news with him. Of course, Aled had always been reserved, but there used to be no secrets between them. Then he remembered the arguments they had because he stupidly refused to believe Aled actually liked him, and felt another spike of shame.

Stupid of me to think they would be comfortable sharing everything with me, he thought ruefully, then stopped himself.

Something he’d been learning lately was that none of this was any one person’s fault. They could both feel endlessly guilty for being arses in their own ways – Aled for literally going radio silent on him, himself for being unimaginably obtuse – but what would be the point? They were past that. They’d agreed to be more open with each other, but these things took time. And Daniel would wait, however long it takes.

Shit happens - that’s life. He was just glad Aled was back in his life so they could brave this mess together.

“I’m proud of you. For restarting Universe City. For doing the live show.”

And Daniel meant it. God knows he loved every single facet of Aled Last, but he especially loved the version that was completely themselves, who was passionate and creative and wonderfully weird.

He wished the rest of the world to witness that version of Aled as well.

“Thanks,” Aled said shyly.

They cleared their throat. “Well anyways, since it’s a live show, I want to do something special. So I’ve been expanding our song. I want it to fit the new storyline I have planned before the show. Do you… do you want to hear it?”

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

Aled turned on their video call, and Daniel followed suit.

Aled looked much better than they had four months ago. Their cheeks had gained back some of its baby-like roundness. Whereas their hair was limp and dull before, it was now soft blond blending into pastel pink at the tips, which were just past their shoulders now. Since Frances had told him about the haircut incident with Aled’s mother, he had stopped teasing them about cutting their hair. Draped over their shoulders was their city-skyline blanket, under which they wore a T-shirt with two dinosaurs kissing.

In short, Aled looked really cute, and Daniel kind of wanted to kiss them.

Since he couldn’t, he said instead, “Is it just me, or are those dinosaurs on your shirt being really gay?”

“You mean, like us?”

They both chuckled.

It took Alex a while to fumble with something on their computer. Then they mumbled “Here goes,” and the backing track the two of them recorded so long ago started playing — Aled on the drums, himself on the bass — and then Aled started singing and he was mesmerised:

There’s nothing left for us any more

Why aren’t you listening?

Why aren’t you listening to me?

There’s nothing left.

But old sport, take my hand

And we’ll rise from the ashes

Past the dark blue and the Fire

We’ll make something for us

Just for us

Then the music faded, and Aled’s voice, only moments ago so bright amidst the thundering instrumentals, had turned shy once again, snapping Daniel out of his trance. “So…do you like it?”

We’ll make something just for us.

Daniel felt a lump form in his throat. Does coffee mess with a person’s emotions? Surely, it should. He’d have to check his biology notes later.

“Are you kidding me? The new lyrics are fantastic. It’s amazing. I- I love it.”

Aled tucked a strand of hair behind their ear and blushed. One corner of their lip was turned up in a bashful smile.

Gods, he really wanted to kiss them.

“I-”

A smatter of knocks could be heard from Aled’s side. They stood up immediately, throwing their phone on the bed so Daniel could only see Aled’s ceiling. There was more clattering and-

“Al I love you but I swear to god if you don’t stop causing a racket I will- What are you even doing this late??” It was Carys.

“Whoops…” Daniel said.

Carys’ face took up the screen. “Ohhhh you’re being gay,” she cackled. “Hi Daniel! In that case guys have fun but I have an early shift tomorrow so keep it down, won’t you? Okay bye good night-and-morning.”

And just like that, she was gone, replaced by Aled’s shocked expression, puppy-eyes wide.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, then Daniel burst out laughing, and Aled started laughing even louder.

“I said keep it down!” The faint sound of Carys' half-irritated shout drifted from somewhere outside Aled’s room.

“Tell her I’m sorry?” Daniel said.

“Shut up.” Aled said, smirking.

┈┈┈┈․° * °․┈┈┈┈

It was 4:28 AM and Daniel felt, for the first time in a long while, that they were okay.

Notes:

That moment when you exhaust the meager supply of Daniel x Aled content that exists so you have to write your own...

Seriously, I want to read more about them!! So if anyone has written or will write more about their relationship, please share it with me.

Not sure why I chose to write a whole fic surrounding a phone conversation because 1. I hate phone conversations, and 2. I struggle with writing dialogue. I hope you still enjoyed the fic even though my inexperience in the two aforementioned areas may have made the dialogue unnatural :D

P.S. Was the first section just me venting about Hess' Law vicariously through Daniel? Yes. It absolutely was.

#radio silence #radio silence fic #aled and daniel #aled last #daniel jun #universe city #alice oseman #osemanverse

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mannatea · 11 months

Text

Break Open the Sky, a Tales of Symphonia ‘fic (Chapter 12)

Current Word Count: 97,018 Summary: What kind of “Hero” of Regeneration would she be to leave an infant to fend for itself? Someone had to have left it here for a reason. The question was, of course, why? But as she lifted the little thing carefully into her arms, the motion reminding her of nights so far in the past, now, the why seemed almost tragically clear: this baby was of mixed blood. Chapter Summary: Raine makes the difficult decision regarding what to do with baby Rose. Pairing/Characters: Raine, Original Characters, will also feature Genis, Regal, and Sheena. Endgame is Regal/Raine. Extra Info: This is technically an Accidental Baby Acquisition story, but I liken it more to “Doorstep Baby” literature because it sure ain’t cute. Rating: Mature, for themes. Genre: Eventual romance, gen, family, character study.

The title is the link to Ao3 for Chapter 12! (This is the next to last chapter!)

Notes are under the cut!

I thought this chapter was totally fine until I went to read it again yesterday and I hated so, so much of it. It felt awkward and stilted in places, and I swear characters were logic leaping to kingdom come in the dialogue.

Anyway, after rewriting half of the damn thing yesterday and today, I hope it passes inspection.

Sara as the secretary: I pulled this name from the RP that I did with an old friend but I'm not sure if she made that up or if it's in the game. Either way, it's in this story now because my bestie is Sara and I think it's funny.

I hope someone noticed Raine's little bouts of jealousy lmao.

There's a tiny bit more about Sybak here, though all the big juicy stuff is slated for the sequel, which I still haven't finished outlining. (I did get pretty close though.)

Finally, Raine's decision. I don't recommend reading this section if you haven't read the chapter yet, but if you want to read it anyway, who am I to stop you?

WARNING: This got really long and meanders a bit. SORRY.

Throughout this story, I've tried to make a serious effort to show the ways in which Raine cares for Rose, but also the ways in which she just...doesn't. There is resentment there. There is unhappiness. If Rose was her biological child, you'd think she had Post-Partum Depression. She takes care of the baby, but it's rarely written in a tender or sweet way. At one point in the story I even had Regal note that she seemed to do things automatically, almost without thinking about the fact that she was doing them. She has moments with Rose that are sweet but these were meant to feel like outliers and there aren't enough of them to balance the times in which she just kind of mindlessly takes care of her.

I don't count the sailing experiences against Raine, by the way; she did her best on the ship to Altamira, and on Regal's sailboat she was dealing with a lot (and he was there to help).

I do feel with time, she probably would grow much more attached to Rose, and love her more fully, but none of that would come without a cost, and...we've seen a glimpse of what that cost is.

Keep in mind that when I was outlining this story, Lila and Marcie didn't exist, so...the only company Raine had during the day for those months in Altamira was Rose! In this outline, Raine was torn between very badly wanting her life back, and also finding it difficult to go back to the way things used to be. It's also important to note that Regal really did not want to influence her either way in the original outline. This is mostly because he had grown rather attached to Rose but knew his opinion SHOULD not matter.

The romance between Raine and Regal was a lot more important in the original outline too. I doubt anyone would have guessed that because it's such a centerpiece in the finished product, but the original outline had gems like this in it:

-she's trying very hard not to love him (there are just SO many reasons why she's not good enough, but she's also very afraid of getting hurt). Like she knows he's a good man and any hurt feelings will just be of her own creation. still, watching the way he spends time with rose stirs something in her. -(she loves him already, feels like the incident at the party was her doing/fault because she couldn't keep a tight enough lock on her feelings when inebriated and regrets it, but still to this day can't quite harden her heart against him)

(In the original most of her attachment to Rose was formed through Regal, too, like watching him rock her to sleep when she just couldn't do it herself.)

With Lila and Marcie around, I didn't have to go into full on Yearning Mode and things were able to quietly and naturally develop between them with most of the yearning coming from Regal. Yay.

I s t r u g g l e d (AND I DO MEAN STRUGGLED) to decide which choice Raine would make in the end, even in the outline.

Just like in the finished story, Regal guides her toward a choice, though in the original outline he asks her more questions about Rose: if she wants to raise Rose to adulthood, if she wants to oversee her education, if she wants to raise her like a daughter and not a sister. His final question is, "Do you think you can love her?"

To which Raine says she already does.

This gave me two paths:

Raine keeps Rose because she loves her already and points Sheena toward the Crestfield Orphanage and the children there that kind of haunt her (in the original this was a group of 4 or 5 children instead of the brother & sister that ended up in the final draft).

Raine knows that Sheena will provide a better life for Rose than she can and gives her up even though it's difficult for her because she loves Rose.

I knew I wanted someone to adopt, but both Sheena and Raine were good fits for it, and it ended up being more about the kind of story I wanted to tell with Raine and with Sheena and "Found Family" and all of that.

There is a very real kind of love and trust in Raine handing over a baby she cares about to Sheena, someone she has had to learn to trust.

This is ultimately why I chose Sheena.

The original outline played a lot more, too with Raine's identity as a "parent" (particularly against her own will). Regal was originally going to tell her that while she did a good job raising Genis she does have an identity outside of that and if she wants to revisit it she can do that literally whenever; she can have her own biological kids or adopt and she can plan for it.

This also gets to the heart of some of Raine's larger fears in the original outline, which were eventual resentment toward Rose, and knowledge that the origin of Rose in her life could be negative in the future.

Anyway, especially in the version of the story I ended up writing, which included Marcie and Lila, I can't see Rose working out with Raine in a healthy or fun way. Like I said earlier, we got a glimpse of what the cost would be of keeping Rose, and let's just say that it wouldn't be pretty.

Raine thinks briefly in this chapter about her likely future doing physical labor trying to feed an adult, two growing children, and a baby, and you can chew on that for a while if you want to, but I didn't want to explore it. (She's suffered enough.)

My biggest annoyance with this chapter was getting Raine to actually make a decision. She's not a very impulsive person, so of course she'd want to think about it, but she's got a lot of issues to work through and no therapist to work through them with.

Regal's as good as it gets for her and he's not objective by any means. If you couldn't tell, he feels he knows what's best for everyone is giving Rose to Mizuho. He doesn't come out and say it immediately because he doesn't want to be That Guy.

But things sorta end up that way anyway, because Raine spends so much of the chapter stuck in a loop: struggling with feeling like she's following in her mother's footsteps by giving Rose away and fighting it almost desperately in her own mind. And to her own detriment!

Like, she's always been an incredibly responsible person; the fact that she raised Genis starting at age 11 makes that clear. I do think, however, that sometimes she takes it a bit too far and overreaches. Rose is perhaps an example of that. (She was definitely in over her head. But she was given responsibility?? What else could she do? Something something older sister Surface Pressure vibes.)

Obviously her capacity to care about others and do the right thing come into play here, right along with "saving the people right in front of us" but sometimes the right thing to do, the right way to save someone, isn't to take personal responsibility for them.

Raine was traumatized by her experience. Not only was she abandoned, but she was given responsibility of a literal infant at the same time. At 11 years old. She has a very hard time separating these two things and Rose feeds right into it in the worst ways. (It also wasn't the only time Raine has felt abandoned by someone in her life, so you can see why she'd feel so terrible about doing that to someone else, even a baby who won't remember it later.)

Raine knew all along what the objectively better choice was, but she couldn't choose it as long as she had other stuff in her head telling her she was being irresponsible/selfish/lazy/just as bad as her mother.

She needed someone else to tell her that giving Rose away isn't the same as her mother giving her up. She needed to hear someone else's voice in her head—not her own and not her mother's.

This was intended to sort of mimic Regal's line to her in the OVA where he says that surely her mother hadn't abandoned her, but rather...sent her through the Gate hoping Sylvarant would be a better life for her.

I hope Raine's cyclical struggle in her own mind came across believably enough in this chapter. (But if it didn't, feel free to criticize that, especially if you have ideas of ways I could have done it better.)

Now that Raine's decision has been made, there will be some emotional fallout. You can't learn to let go without some pain, after all.

So stay tuned for the final chapter to see that! :)

#raine sage #regal bryant #regal x raine #mannafics #tales of symphonia

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fountainpenguin · 11 months

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(Ask box meme ✨🖋️📜)

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

Thanks for the Ask! [Current Ask game]

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

Definitely "You'll Never Know" (the one about Foop and Anti-Wanda struggling with politics for 77,777 years after Anti-Cosmo's mysterious disappearance). I loved getting into Foop's head for this one. It's one of my favorites and I've reread it a bunch of times.

This is the piece I'd love to show outsiders to demonstrate what I write and how fanfiction is so much more than just quick fluff or smut [Not that those things are wrong, this is just a piece that doesn't fit in those categories]. When I actually tried reading it as though I were an outsider, however, I realized how many little bits and pieces of it require you to have decent knowledge of the series and worldbuilding :'D

But it's still one I'd love to share with outsiders who were willing to play along. It's just haunting and beautiful to me. It's very raw and painful for Foop and he's the most unreliable narrator in the world, and I love him.

This is the style that I love 'fics in: introspective, long, a bit meandering in places, that nice blend of creation and destruction, growth and failure, angst and pain and fluff and sweetness and agony and childhood and emotions and logic... and then it just whips you across the forehead at the end like "... Oh. OH!!"

Definitely a huge personal favorite. I also love "All I Ever Wanted" for similar reasons, because it's just... /gestures at that painful conversation when Anti-Marigold tells him he could never understand what she's going through and Poof just... yeah. And then... you know........ YEAH.

I have several fics of mine I cycle between to read when I'm out on trips or waiting in long lines. On that list, we definitely have:

"Watch and Learn"

"Temptation"

"You'll Never Know"

"All I Ever Wanted"

"This Is a Box"

"Whatever"

"Shadow"

"Think Positive"

"Trying Too Hard"

"Minion"

"Repeat"

"Yellow Flower Number 9"

"Health Bars"

"Golden Rules"

"Turning Scarlett"

"Six Shades of Gray"

"Precious"

"How to Get Ahead In Navigating"

"AlgoRhythm"

Long? Tension and drama? Little gut punches here and there? They all pass the Vibe Check and I love them.

---

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

I've heard very good things about my Sanderson! He seems to consistently be the fan favorite, especially in Origin of the Pixies, and I love that for him <3 I'm very glad because when I look at him and then look at his canon portrayal, I sometimes feel like I've gone too far with him... but people seem to like him a lot and I do too. He's stubbornly one of my favorites.

H.P., Poof, and Foop are very easy for me to write and I don't struggle with their inner or external dialogue at all. I was also surprised that Finley turned out to be one of the easiest characters I've ever written- you'll get to see a snippet of his POV in the upcoming 130 Prompt "I Just Live Here." I'm thrilled with how it came out... You can definitely see the H.P. showing through him. Little miscreant clone...

H.P. has this very dry and choppy way of speaking. He delivers these crisp, demanding sentences with a habit of deflecting blame and responsibility. He's cool, calculating, and honest... in a lying sort of way, because he's lying to himself all the time. Anti-Cosmo has this much more meandering way of speaking, edged by paranoia and second guessing himself.

Foop is a mix of both of them. He'll ramble on and throw in a lot of big words, then he'll veer sideways and throw in some super short sentences (usually childish ones like "Oh, please!" or "Super lame!" with exclamation points). Poof is a laid-back suburban kid. He gets defensive sometimes, but he's pretty chill. He's big on "Hey" and "Okay" and compromise.

(My secret hot take is that Foop and Cosmo actually have the same High Intelligence, High Charisma, and Low Wisdom scores but Foop's lived his life getting praised as a genius and exposed to literature and tutoring from his father and therapy, so he perceives himself as a genius, but Cosmo gets deprived of books and told he's a moron [see also, his deepest darkest secret being that he's an author, implying he doesn't like letting on that he actually CAN do things on his own and be successful], so he perceives himself as a moron even though they're... they're the same guy. Cosmo's more quippy while Foop is long-winded, but they're so much alike.)

---

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

Contemporary fantasy / magical realism. I like my magic very grounded and I like people to do regular things. Go on adventures? Are you nuts?? We've got dinner to cook and a family to raise, and HECK, my friend the prince is coming over soon!

My vibe is office politics / suburban politics / small town drama, but there's magic involved and fighting with magic is legal so it's, like... scary. But in a very soft, controlled, and localized way. You can still get your life flipped upside-down and lose everything you love, but at least you're not on a cross-country quest!

[Current Ask game]

#Fairly OddParents #FOP #FAIRIES!#ridwriting #Satirical vocab alien child show #130 Prompts #AlgoRhythm #asks #Anon #Ask box games

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tailsrevane · 2 years

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[book review] star trek: discovery: drastic measures by dayton ward (2018)

this novel places both of star trek: discovery’s[1] first two captains (georgiou and lorca) as up-and-coming lieutenant commanders in the thick of the tarsus iv massacre referred to in the tos episode “the conscience of the king.” lorca is in charge of a federation outpost on tarsus iv, and georgiou is in charge of field operations for the first wave of relief efforts to the beleaguered colony world.

i kind of didn’t need this backstory, and i’m not really sure anyone else did? was anyone really hoping for more on this when they saw that tos episode?[2] and having so many principle players from discovery as well as captain april’s enterprise involved conspired to make the universe feel way smaller, which is pretty much always a pet peeve of mine.

one interesting thing to wrap my head around, though, is that this is probably the only depiction we’ve ever gotten of prime universe gabriel lorca? like, i was ready to say that i kind of didn’t buy lorca as a guy who had served planetside for any length of time, but then i realized that at the end of the day i actually don’t know anything about prime universe lorca, so i had no basis to say that. kind of a head trip.

given that, it feels a bit weird that the book kind of brings lorca to a place where he has a reason to be disenchanted about the federation’s ideals and misanthropic in general. and there wasn’t a lot done to depict him as substantially different than his mirror universe counterpart. he even has the weird quirk about fortune cookies.

my original, unresearched guess was that the author didn’t know lorca was going to be revealed to be from the mirror universe until he had already finished the book and he tacked on the epilogue to account for that but didn’t change anything in the main body of the text.[3] but after doing some digging[4] i’m actually pretty convinced that isn’t the case. so at the end of the day i’m not too sure what happened there, actually.[5]

although i didn’t really necessarily feel like this story super needed to be told, i did like the overall structure of the book with the excerpts from one of the survivors’ books about the massacre interspersed among the narrative. the excerpts tend to be interviews with a character that’s just been introduced or done something important in the story, and it’s a nice way to get exposition dumps about those characters in a form that feels more natural and memorable than just having it forced in awkwardly in narration or dialogue.

georgiou being in charge of the relief effort doesn’t feel like it was super necessary and didn’t really give us any new insights into her or anything, but it did give us a few good character moments that reinforced things i already liked about her. we get to see her maintaining her faith in people and the federation’s ideals in the face of unspeakable tragedy, which really squares with the kind of dedication she displays to those ideals in “the vulcan hello.” she also gets great character moments with a young jim kirk[6] and the little girl who grows up to write the aforementioned in-universe nonfiction book

i think my biggest issue with the book, aside from it feeling like a somewhat unnecessary prequel, is that it at times it reads like a first draft. either that or it was edited very sloppily? there are just several moments where dialogue and narration seem redundantly similar to something that was said a paragraph or two ago, sometimes in extremely similar words. most egregiously, there were even one or two instances of the exact same sentence being repeated a few sentences later? just really sloppy stuff, imo.

basically, the main thing saving this is that there’s a pretty stable floor of “i will enjoy it at least this much” with star trek books unless they are truly atrociously written, and this one wasn’t. aside from the sloppy editing, it was fine. like, it didn’t put me to sleep or get hard to follow or anything, it just felt kind of meandering and like it was happening just because.

c-rank

notes

1. before you get ready to type that “well, actually” comment–i mean the show, not the ship!

2. for that matter, how many people even remember that tos episode?

3. the structure of the book also seemed suggestive to me because the epilogue actually comes after the acknowledgements and about the author sections, by the way, which i don’t think i’ve ever seen in another book before? it almost makes it feel like a “post-credits” scene. also this book was published in february of 2018 and lorca was revealed to be from the mirror universe in a january 2018 episode, so at first glance the timing would seem to line up, too.

4. my understanding after looking into it a bit is that the discovery writer’s room is actually unusually involved in the production of the tertiary materials like comics and novels, so that would seem to discount this explanation.

5. another possibility that probably occurs to some people here is that lorca being from the mirror universe was decided late in the show’s run, and i kind of wondered that too given the production chaos and high turnover of top-level show creatives, but, again, nope! jason isaacs has confirmed in multiple interviews that this was always the intention for the character.

6. this cameo was basically mandatory, so it’s not one of the “making the universe feel smaller” deals i was complaining about earlier.

#star trek #star trek discovery #star trek: discovery: drastic measures #dayton ward #star trek books #books #book review #reviews

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lightsinthesky · 10 months

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"Doctor's Opinion(s)"

This blog (is Tumblr a blog? Journal? What do we even call this space?) is a cultivated presentation of myself. That is a fact. There have been countless things I’ve written that did not make the cut for whatever reason. Some are too personal, some felt hypocritical in the nature of their content. Some were just raw, unfiltered, meandering feelings transcribed to words. Some of the “art” I create doesn’t make it for the same reasons. Not everything I put here I’m amazed at myself over. I just trust my instincts. Because while this is all very obviously cultivated, it is also the distillation of what I believe to be honest about myself. I do have bad days that don’t always get expressed here, whether due to lack of will or their oppositional nature to my foundational principles, beliefs, and behaviors. I don’t have all the knowledge and wisdom. I have very little. But I share what I find at least the possibility of utility in.

But I am the sum of both my nature and my nurture. There is no Justin without the myriad influences on me ranging from people to social constructs to art. So much has shaped me in so many ways. And while so much of this process of self-actualization is recognizing and cultivating truths that aid me along in this journey, I am not a pioneer. I follow in the footsteps of countless before me. And some of those people I am privileged to call my great friends.

I have only been able to achieve and recognize what I have to the degree that I have through concentrated efforts in tandem with those willing to help. Having a line of people independently tell me certain truths helps to internalize it. I’m emotionally stubborn and repeated evidence has always been a necessity for me in recognizing truth. I have rarely learned hard lessons after the first attempt. I try and try and try again, expecting different results. And sometimes, for better and for worse, that is what is required for me to make it stick.

So, today, after some out-of-left-field emotional turmoil, I feel peaceful. And I know that I’m able to arrive back at this baseline of comfort, hope, belief, (relative) understanding, and gratitude because of these people I have let in and who have, in turn, allowed me in. I don’t take relationships of any kind for granted. They are rooted in sincere, honest, and authentic unconditional love. It’s not something I reserve for everyone or give freely. And I’ve made plenty of mistakes in terms of who to give it to, but in the end, I’m still left with those who matter most: the ones who choose me back.

So I guess the point of this is just a sincere expression of gratitude for everyone who has helped light the way when the light inside me was dim. I can’t ever meaningfully articulate how much every single one of these people means to me. Even some who no longer play a part. I am the sum of my experiences and they’ve all gotten me this far.

I retain hope that my growth is constant and will see me through all things, good or bad.

I will never lose faith in love.

No matter who or what tries, it will always win in the end.

POV some lovesick fools:

#recovery

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sodetectivefestival · 2 years

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out from nowhere

1000 words fanfiction by sodetectivefestival

They ask us to fully explain ourselves through the intercom. Then give us a code to pin on the machine beside the gate, just outside the complex. That they say; is the only way for us to can be able to get inside the premises. Through speaking to a person we are visiting. We didn’t want to explain ourselves to them or, anyone else. Especially after we have observed many times, how most of them are prone to being rude and, easily manipulated by any would be intruder with money in his hands. Food parcels are the other edible thing which they very much seem to can able to resist.

Without wasting much of your time my dears, like they always say; without any further or due.

I’d like to tell you how they let us in, without much of a hassle last time we came to the very premises which I’m talking about looking for the truth. How they quickly scolded us and accused us of being the cause of much of their tenants’ distress. While vowing to never let us in, in the near future if we cease looking into the affairs of those they’re looking after in pursuit of our very own fame and fortune.

It took their manager’s intervention for them to let us through the gates of their palatial space. This happened while they were busy bragging about how good they’re at doing their jobs. I was very glad to hear him tell them where to get off. But got shocked after he started quoting his list of frivolous demands of which we didn’t adhere to, we would’ve found ourselves being tossed outside the premises.

______________________________________________________________

And one of his demands was us having a picture taken with him. Something I found very odd as it was never our duty to promote his flailing security management career. The photo didn’t come cheap as it was nothing other than a high definition picture. Which I later saw on his social network’s wall page. I’m still mulling over how I went against my team’s advice not to have a photo taken with him. No matter the threat he had promised to subject us to. My journalistic ethics also didn’t compel me to accede to or fulfil any man’s demands or wishes.

He was a no-goader because we had been there for hours. Struggling to get in. I should say though he helped us, he seemingly didn’t care about the welfare of our families or our careers. Which might be in line if we ever wrote a story off our heads tops. I drove our plate-less vehicle in with a smile. Oblivious to the meandering glares of his subordinates.

Guards not security officers. Not especially by our country’s safety & security standards. Here I’m talking about fully grown man who had once ask for our help in tears. But quickly went to their old ways when things between them and their boss started working out fine.

I remember how they shed tears and wet our reception with tears after I colloquially asked them to leave us in peace. As we had many tasks to complete before the end of our day.

_____________________________________________________________

I had wanted to rein them in for their internal mishaps, and for the abusive language they seem too keen to use on anyone who’ve come to their place. Looking to source out information which may lead to a smile on the face of anyone who feel terrorised by people like them.

People who become incensed too easily but, have got nothing good to say about those who take time off their busy schedules; to come help them out, when they no more known to whom they may look up to. We weren’t there to terrorise or jeopardise the livelihood of any individual but to solve the mystery which had most if not all of us scratching our heads.

Our knocks on our door were persistent and this I guess, startled a bemused toddler, who by the look of things, had no one to look after her, or friends to speak to in her moment of need, boredom which requires any man to be able have someone to talk can to.

It was nearly ten at night when she slipped her tiny little hand of a front door’s handle and looked at us without saying a word. Like answers to her all would-be questions were candidly written all over our faces. I didn’t what pain we were about to cause her if we went on with our plan to go after the truth without thinking much about how that would later make her feel. Bad was what I knew she would after we had dug down deep into the walls of her elders palace.

I didn’t plan to cut corners by writing unsubstantiated untruths like wet behind the ears journos always do. Only for them to be summoned before the press ombudsman and asked to explain how they came up to a certain conclusion without validating their truths first.

___________________________________________________________

Out from nowhere, her seemingly irate father pounced on our cameraman and broke our recently bought, expensive modern video recorder. After that had happened we felt we had no option but to carefully retreat to our rented trip car which though he continuously pelted with all sorts of missiles, missed.

He got charged with not only breaking our video recorder but with other misdemeanours which includes him trying his best to defeat the ends of justice. I hoped that if he could ever be given bail, all of the state witnesses will have by then, been provided with a decent shelter away from his fierce tongue.

He appeared before the judge I had also hoped that he would show remorse for the crimes he committed while claiming to be a man of honour. Since none of us is perfect, it would be better if we may get to learn to love and forgive each other’s wrongs. Or am I wrong?

#fanfiction #1000 words #writerblr #unsubstantiated truths #slipped her tiny little hand #candidly written #validating #pain #elders palace

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myaimistrue · 2 years

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as a falling leaf may rest or happy birthday dean!!!!!!!!

read on ao3 here or below the cut

Dean starts noticing when he’s reading.

In the evening, he and Cas like to sit next to each other in bed (Cas propped up with roughly eight thousand pillows, Dean with just one) and read a little before they turn the lamp off. It’s one of those small things Dean would’ve never thought to fantasize about before it became his life, but now that it is, he knows it’s worth daydreaming about. The bedroom they share now, with a view of the lake and a million soft blankets, is lovely in the golden lamplight, and it’s quiet enough that when they leave the window open, Dean can hear all the sounds of the world around them, buzzing creatures and rustling leaves and water lapping at the dock. All that, coupled with a good book and Cas’s warmth beside him, makes for a pretty perfect evening.

Tonight, he’s reading a book of sci-fi short stories Eileen lent him. It’s good so far, but he keeps having to squint to see the words on the page. They’re blurring in a way he’s not used to.

“Hey, Cas?”

It takes a moment, but Cas looks up from his book. “Yeah?”

“Can I use your book light?” Cas often reads after Dean’s fallen asleep, so he got this little clip-on light to use that won’t bother Dean like the lamp would. (Dean told him, repeatedly, that he could sleep through just about anything, and Cas had just kissed him and said, “Yes, but you shouldn’t have to.”)

“Of course.” Cas digs around in his bedside table drawer and hands it to him. “Is it not bright enough in here? I could turn on the overhead.”

“No, it’s alright.” Dean clips the light to his book and flips it on. The white light illuminates the words better, but it still feels weird as he starts trying to read. “I’m just… I don’t know. My eyes are weird tonight.”

Cas squints at him. “In what way?”

“The words are—I don’t know, blurry, I guess.” As Dean says it, it occurs to him that maybe there’s an explanation—one that he really doesn’t like.

Cas sets his book aside, which means that he’s got something to say. Great. “It’s very normal for your vision to change as you get older,” he begins.

“I’m not that old,” Dean says indignantly.

“No, but you’re over forty. That’s when these kinds of vision issues come up.” Cas gives him a knowing look, and Dean wants to kiss it right off of his stupid face.

“I don’t have vision issues.” Dean folds his arms across his chest. “Okay? I don’t need glasses or whatever you’re going to say.”

Cas tilts his head at him, and finally says, “If you’re sure, Dean.”

Maybe stretching the truth a little, he tells Cas that he’s sure. They both go back to their books.

“Your vision really must be fine,” Cas suddenly says a few minutes later, dry as a bone and not even bothering to look up from his novel. “Why else would you be holding your book about two inches away from your face?”

Dean scowls. “I like to read like this.”

Cas just rolls his eyes.

***

Really, Dean’s planning to ignore the issue. He hasn’t ever had great vision, but it’s never been a problem for him in life; if it didn’t matter when he was hunting monsters and fighting God, it definitely doesn’t matter now that he spends most days drifting on the lake in an old rowboat and kissing Cas. All that really happens now is that Cas squints angrily at Dean whenever he holds something really close to his face to read it, but Dean can mostly ignore that.

He notices more when he’s driving. Sometimes the road signs are a little hard to see, but nothing dangerous—just annoying.

He still drives Baby a lot, even though he doesn’t go nearly as many places as he used to. She needs to stretch her legs, so to speak, so he takes her out meandering little drives whenever he can. Cas likes coming along a lot of the time, making Dean pull over for every patch of wildflowers they pass.

Today, Dean and Jack are heading to Sam and Eileen’s. They don’t live too far off, and every couple of weeks, Dean and whoever feels like going make the hour-long trek to hang out for the day. Jack is particularly excited this time because Eileen promised she’d teach him how to play soccer.

It’s shaping up to be a great road trip. Just Dean and his kid and his car, the windows down and good music playing. Dean glances over at Jack, and he’s smiling brightly. Dean’s heart clenches happily in his chest.

Dean’s made this drive enough that he could do it in his sleep, but when he turns down one of the backroads that leads to Sam and Eileen’s little cabin, he can’t remember which of the turn-offs is theirs. They live at 301, so he squints at the mailboxes as they drive slowly past them, trying to make the numbers out.

“I can barely see those,” he mutters angrily. “What the hell?”

“Uh, Dean? 301 is right in front of us,” Jack says, pointing. “Can you not see that?”

Dean flushes and doesn’t respond, turning down Sam and Eileen’s long driveway. Jack doesn’t seem to think much about it, though, too excited by the prospect of soccer. He and Eileen get out in the backyard, laughing and kicking the ball around with delight, and Dean and Sam stand on the back porch with two cups of coffee and watch them.

“You alright?” Sam asks. “You’re quiet.”

Dean looks at Eileen and Jack goofing around in the yard, feels the January chill and the bright sunshine on his face. He takes a deep breath. Tries to settle a little.

“We’re getting old,” he says to Sam. “Aren’t we?”

Sam chuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are. Though you’ll always be older.”

“Guess so.” Dean grins at him. His little brother, with a house and a badass wife and gray hairs at his temples. “I, uh. I think I might need glasses now.”

Sam’s face does something like he wants to laugh but is holding back. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s getting kind of hard to read without holding the book right up to my face. And I could barely make out the numbers on your mailbox when we pulled in.” Dean looks at his coffee. “Cas keeps giving me shit about it.”

“For good reason, it sounds like,” Sam says. “Dude, you can’t go through life without being able to read anything. Lots of people get reading glasses.”

“I know. I know, but I—” Dean sighs. “I’m old, now. And I was supposed to be dead a long time ago. But I’m here, and my joints are all fucked and my eyes don’t work anymore, and I’ll probably go senile at some point, and I—I don’t know what do with that.”

Sam is quiet in that way he has, careful and considering. Dean watches as Jack kicks the ball right into the small goal Eileen set up for him, the way he laughs excitedly.

“Good one, kid!” Dean shouts at him. Jack gives him a brilliant grin.

“I feel that way too, sometimes,” Sam finally says. “It’s weird. But we’re really not that old, considering. We’ve got a lot of life ahead of us, hopefully. And who cares if we’re wearing glasses and gray-haired? We’re alive, and I think we’re pretty damn happy.”

In the yard, Eileen and Jack tumble to the ground as they fight for the ball, and their laughter fills the air and floats up into the cloudless sky.

Happy. Who would’ve thought?

***

“Yep,” Dr. Givens says. “Your husband’s right. You need glasses.”

Dean groans. “Seriously?”

She grins. “Dead serious. I’m going to recommend you start with a pair of readers, but in the next few years you’ll probably need to transition to wearing them all the time.”

“This is the worst,” Dean grumbles. “You doctors are sadists.”

“I hear that all the time.” Dr. Givens types something on her computer, then looks at him with a slightly gentler smile. “This is very normal, Dean. I know it’s not ideal, but really, this is just a typical part of aging.”

Dean’s mostly come to terms with it now, so he gets what she’s saying, but he’s still not happy about it. “Aging sucks.”

“You’re telling me,” she says wryly, pointing at her face. “I used to not be wrinkled, if you can believe it.”

“Hey, you look good,” Dean says. “Wrinkles are natural.”

“Aren’t they?” Dr. Givens gives him a look. “Just like changes in vision.”

Dean narrows his eyes. No wonder Cas sent him to this doctor—she’s just as tricky as he is. “You’re sneaky.”

“No,” she says. “I’ve just been doing this for a long time.”

Dr. Givens sends Dean off with instructions to buy a pair of readers from the store attached to the office. When he emerges into the waiting room, Cas snaps his magazine shut, looking expectantly at Dean.

“So? How was it?”

Dean sits down next to Cas, and mournfully, he says, “We have to go buy me readers.”

So they go next door and look around. Dean briefly suggested skipping this part and buying one of the pairs they sell in gas stations, but Cas gave him a look so cold Dean actually felt a chill run down his spine. But it turns out to be fun. They dodge the employees offering help, and as they search for the right glasses, Dean makes Cas try on all the silliest pairs he can find. Cas goes along with it, striking poses and making snarky comments until they’re both giggling like kids.

Eventually, they settle on a simple dark tortoiseshell-patterned pair. Dean thinks they look kind of cool on him, like he’s an Indiana Jones type, and Cas gets that look in his eye that means that Dean’s definitely getting lucky later tonight. So it’s kind of a no-brainer to buy them.

Dean puts them on in the car (Dr. Givens recommended he wear them while driving. She also mentioned the potential issues he might have with driving at night as he gets older, and Dean had to block that out before he had a panic attack) and looks at himself in the mirror.

“I think I like them,” he tells Cas. “I mean, I don’t want them. But they look good, right?”

“You look beautiful in them.” Cas smiles at him, but there’s something sad hanging onto the edges of it.

“What?” Dean asks. He takes Cas’s hand, tangles their fingers together. The feeling of Cas’s callouses, not from fighting or killing, but from long hours spent in the garden with Jack, makes Dean smile. “You okay?”

Cas reaches out with his free hand and touches the starburst corner of Dean’s eyes. “I could’ve healed this, once. You wouldn’t need glasses at all.”

“Baby—”

“I know you hate this,” Cas says, looking down at their intertwined hands. “I wish I could fix it.”

“Woah, hey.” Dean ducks his head down so Cas has to meet his eyes. It’s been about a year and a half since Cas lost his grace escaping the Empty, and the wounds from that experience reopen in moments the two of them don’t always expect. “Hey, this isn’t your fault. You and Dr. Givens were right—it’s normal.”

“It shouldn’t have to be.”

“But it is,” Dean says gently. He squeezes Cas’s hand. “My stupid eyesight isn’t something you gotta feel bad about, okay? It’s just what happens. And it’s fixable. I’ve got my sexy glasses, now.”

Cas looks at him, tears in his eyes but making that face of Dean adores, the Dean Winchester you’re ridiculous and I love you face. “Sexy glasses?”

“I think so.” Dean grins. “Don’t you?”

“You know I do.”

Cas starts on the grounding techniques Mia taught him, squeezing Dean’s hand rhythmically as he takes deep, steady breaths. Dean watches him closely; he’s learned that in moments like this, all he can do for Cas is just be here for him and wait it out.

“Okay,” Cas says after a few minutes. “Okay.”

“Better?”

Cas nods. “Better. We can go home.”

“You sure?” Dean asks, still a little concerned. “We can take another few minutes if you want.”

Cas smiles, then, and it’s a full wattage Cas smile. “What I want is to go home and ravish you in your new glasses.”

And who’s Dean to argue with that? He starts the car.

***

The party, if you can call it that, is over. Sam and Eileen went home a few minutes ago, Jack is with Claire up in his room playing on his Switch, and now it’s just Dean and Cas in the kitchen, ostensibly cleaning up but mostly making out against the counter.

Dean had requested a quieter birthday; last year was a blowout, and it was awesome, but Dean wanted something smaller, something easy, for this year. Cas did an excellent job with it, he thinks. There was pizza from Dean’s favorite local joint, ridiculous party hats purchased ironically by Claire and enjoyed genuinely by Jack, a carefully curated playlist of Dean’s favorite music, and even a misshapen but decent-tasting cake that read, “HAPPY BDAY DEAN” in truly obnoxious red frosting. It was a great night, full of laughter and good food and all the people Dean loves most. It was perfect.

Cas worms out of Dean’s arms with a laugh, and he starts wrapping up the only remaining piece of cake. Dean grabs the serving dish and dumps it in the sink.

“You know, you’re not supposed to help clean up after your own party,” Cas says.

“What can I say? I’m a generous guy.” Dean flashes a grin at him. Cas is not swayed by it, not that he ever is, but still smiles back.

They work in comfortable silence, and when the kitchen is finally sparkling to Dean’s standards, they collapse onto the couch, cuddled up close just because they can.

“Thank you,” Dean says quietly. “Tonight was really great.”

“It was.” Cas kisses him, slow and sweet and long enough that Dean hikes a leg up over Cas and straddles him. Long enough that Dean’s considering moving things to the bedroom when Cas pulls away to say, “I want to tell you something.”

“Oh, uh—” Dean shifts a little, wondering if he should get off of Cas’s lap, but Cas clearly senses his uncertainty and puts a warm, steady hand on his hip.

“Stay,” he says. “If that’s alright.”

Dean laughs softly. “It’s alright, baby. What’s up?”

“I love you,” Cas says seriously. As many times as Dean’s heard it in the past few years, it still makes him feel like he’s floating. “And I love you that you’re aging. I know that it’s hard for you to feel the effects, with your vision and knees, but I find you just as beautiful and perfect as I always have.”

Dean feels his face getting dangerously red. “Listen, Cas—”

“I won’t say much more, because it’s your birthday and I know it makes you uncomfortable,” Cas says, skating his hands up and down Dean’s flank. “But aging looks gorgeous on you, and you deserve this opportunity you have to do it.”

Dean surges forward to kiss him, and the intensity of it makes him realize he’s still wearing his goddamn glasses from when they played poker earlier and he needed to see the cards. He has to pull away to take them off, and Cas laughs.

“Oh yeah, laugh it up, dude,” Dean says. “I thought you found my aging gorgeous or whatever.”

“Oh, I do.” Cas smoothes a hand through Dean’s graying hair with his own slowly wrinkling hand. “And I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dean smiles and kisses him again, joyous and full. They’re becoming old men. He’s becoming an old man. And how fucking great is that?

#literally he forty three.......i love him i love him i lvoe him.#dean #deancas #spn #destiel fic #deancas fic #del's writing #offbeattraxx #deansbirthdaybash

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