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donnerpartyofone · 1 month

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horrorphones...

Like many of the cretinous shut-ins who follow this blog, I hate phone calls. If you call me on the phone without an approved appointment I will assume that you are experiencing a deadly emergency. You will scare the shit out of me and I may not even be relieved if there is no deadly emergency. For me to talk on the phone, I practically always have to write a little script, even if we are very close personal friends. I must have a physical list of talking points in case my mind goes totally blank from the enormous pressure and I forget my entire life. I usually have to have at least one drink for calls lasting longer than a minute or two. I would probably be most comfortable conducting all social business from behind a Late Show desk on which I could reassuringly tap my stack of helpful cue cards. I will write you very long personal letters. I will text and DM with you at all hours of the night. I just cannot talk to you on the phone. The phone fries my brain. Actually, I feel extremely nervous even after a phone call, even if everything went well, even if it was super fun. I kind of have to sleep it off.

Unfortunately, not all people communicate in non-phone ways. I have one best friend (I'm an adult, I don't put the top people in a hierarchy as if they all serve exactly the same purpose and some are better than others; I have a couple of verified "best friends") who is just too much of a free spirit to be really into the internet, or to be brooding over long written documents. I gotta talk to her on the phone or she won't feel loved, she'll feel detached and isolated. I love to talk to her, but I still need to get in the like phone zone in order to not act like the total fucking outer space alien that I actually am. Being me is very taxing.

But now I have this old friend, see. An old friend and also a friend who is old. Actually I have no idea how old he is, he was old when I met him. He gave me my first post-college job (my first "real job" ever, I was and remain an unemployable mess) at his comic book store, where I stayed for many years. The whole crew there was very tight. He is a cool, smart, funny, cultured, frustrating, infuriating, offensive, secretly caring and wonderful sort of person. We went through a lot together, including several years of a random customer stalking and harassing me. We dealt with the police together. We served the dregs of society together. Sometimes we hated each other. But he is a major reason that I survived my 20s.

Several years ago he was in a freak accident where he was pinned under a heavy piece of furniture in his apartment for days. It could have killed him. He already had a well-developed case of Parkinson's, I don't know if that's related. Through a series of different events, he wound up moving into an assisted living place on the other side of the country, near one of his brothers. I'm sure he hates it. Every year on Halloween, which is a little bit before his birthday, I send him a hand-drawn card featuring classic comics characters doing all sorts of demented things, along with a little update letter. One year I got a letter back asking me to call him. OH NO, I thought. I didn't call.

Yesterday was a big, very challenging, in some ways very rewarding day. When I was finally all out of tasks I decided to turn my brain fully off and become spectacularly stoned. I was well zooted when my fucking phone rang. I quickly Googled the number, and I'm pretty sure it was the assisted living facility where my friend is. I didn't pick up. They called back once, but left no message. I felt pretty bad, though I also knew that in my current state it would have been a huge disaster if I answered. What if he died? I thought, knowing that he has a lot of siblings and I wouldn't have been that phone call, and also if it were important they would have left a message or kept trying. I forced myself not to worry about it by popping a couple of Benadryl and making it an early night.

I think I have to call back though. I might regret it if I don't. I have been thinking about this for a long time. I have all sorts of worries. What if he's incoherent now? What if we can't understand each other? What if I have nothing to say? What if he IS coherent but he wants to say terrible things about politics (a life-long constant for him, I don't know if he even cares as much about politics as he does about trolling people)? But also what if he like dies and I have to sit around thinking about how selfish I am for never calling him for all eternity? I'm sure I'm the only person making him original personalized art for his birthday every year, but does that really get me out of everything else?

So the point of this post is to somehow force myself to call him. I have way too much shit to do and I am preparing for a lot of stressful social things with strangers and I need to stop being unemployed and I am cramping up a storm. But I think I also have to make the phone call. Maybe I will do such a bad job that I never have to do it again! Pray for me, pray for the sweet saving grace of personal failure.

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papirouge · 2 years

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I feel like you would not give a f if there were no christians in Palestine. Hope I am wrong though.

Nah, I'm defending ALL Palestinians regardless of their religion 💜

I hate Israel based on political but also religious reason. As a Christian, I know that Israel is the name of a land lent by God and God himself - not men. There's a reason He let biblical Israel be invaded and Israelites go to exile (don't you find interesting how Jews have been systemically kicked out of all 100+ countries where they've been exiled throughout History? don't you think there wasn't a message from God behind that?). The only time when Israel (the real one) will be rebuilt is after the End Times when Jesus comes back. It won't be from the hands of men, let alone through population deportation and war - especially from people who don't even acknowledge Jesus as the Messiah 💀

God does NOT support all of this and all Christians supporting Israel are spineless, ignorant and evil. The reason I'm directly addressing myself to Christians is because they usually are so vocal whenever Christians minorities are oppressed abroad. They won't shut up about the threat of Islam and terrorists killing Christians in Middle East or Africa (which indeed are big issues) but will conveniently go silent about the well documented oppression of Christians by Jewish religious (extremists). They also purposely ignore how religious Jews HATE Jesus and write slurs against Him & Christians on the walls of their city.

youtube

"we killed Jesus we're proud of it" Yeah, we know.. that's why you still refuse to acknowledge Him as the Messiah 2000 years later. 👀

Meanwhile you'll never see Muslim insult Jesus or Mary because they still hold them on high status in the Quran. But the Talmud says Mary was a whore and Jesus a warlock boiling in his feces..... That's why I can't take seriously any Christian supporting Israel or Judaic religion. They either have no idea of what they're talking about, or their (racial) bias against Arabs overpasses their theological consistency (WASP Christians will always defend fair skinned Ashkenazi over brown skinned Arabs any day, we been knew right?)

The modern state of Israel is a travesty. God didn't make it - it's the US tax payer's money who for the most part funds it. The IDF is known to terrorize populations and make war crimes, but the whole world goes blind about it because uwu anTisEmitIsm. Sorry but it's not antisemitism to have the honesty to say people pulling out tshirts bragging about killing pregnant women are evil & deranged. Even the US Marines wouldn't get away with such a vile stunt.

Oh and btw an Israeli politician called for the Genocide of Palestinians... (she's not the only who said crazy things about Arabs but ush ush bc antisemitism uwu)

https://electronicintifada.net/blogs/ali-abunimah/israeli-lawmakers-call-genocide-palestinians-gets-thousands-facebook-likes

Again: what other country would get away with such deranged stunts without being called out? That's why the accusation of antisemitism against anyone remotely of critical of Israel is retarded and dangerous. Because it makes "antisemitism" pretty thoughtful and reasonable.

Beside, as a Black person I know the story of my people and I know that Israel was the last country supporting South Africa apartheid. Racists supporting each other. Israel is a racial supremacist ethnostate with politicians routinely calling Arabs names to deem them as (racially) inferior, and let's not even being how they threat Black jews/immigrants....

#answered #free Palestine

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chrisevansszn · 3 years

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Valleys and Mountains Pt 5🏔

Final Chapter

1.7k

18 and up only ‼

“I want a fucking divorce!!”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“Why??? So, you can have your cake and eat it too? Who do you think you are??”

“I want my fucking marriage and wife back. Is that so hard? Yes, I’ve been talking to Cree but its because you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You narcissistic fucker you!”

He shakes his head.

“You know what! Your right! I have been fucking Jason to get back at you. You don’t deserve me!”

What the fuck are you thinking!

Chris swings in your direction but punches a hole through the wall. You are completely frozen in fear. He steps back and looks at his hand. There is blood coming from his knuckles. He grabs a kitchen towel, runs the kitchen sink to wet it and wraps it around his hand. He walks out of the kitchen and up the stairs without making a sound or eye contact with you.

You bent over finally catching your breath as tears run down your face. You didn’t move for about 15 minutes, stuck in that one spot. You finally looked back at the wall to see the damage. A perfect hole all the way through. You grabbed a paper towel and wiped your face as you headed to your room. You went straight to your closet to grab your suitcase to pack up some clothes. A night or two at a hotel is a must right now. There is no way you are staying here! You haphazardly throw clothes and shoes into your suitcase. You heard footsteps behind you and slowly turned around. Chris was standing there.

The silence in the room was excruciating.

“I’m going to a hotel.”

“I will go if you want me to.”

You swallowed.

“No, I don’t want to be here.”

You stood up to walk past Chris, he grabbed your arm as you walked past. You turned and looked at him.

“Y/N, I’m sorry for everything. I really am.”

You pulled your arm away and continued to your bathroom to get more stuff. Chris followed.

“Are you invited Jason to your hotel?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing! Fucking men!

“YOU HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING NERVE CHRISTOPHER! MEN WILL CHEAT AND FUCK UP THEIR MARRIAGE BUT THE MOMENT A WOMEN GETS EVEN THEY CAN’T HANDLE IT!”

“I can’t handle it! The thought makes me so fucking sick!”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your shit, and finished packing. You headed out the door with Chris on you heels. He didn’t say or do anything. He watched as you put your shit in the car and drive away. You went to an Omni hotel and booked for a couple of nights. You texted your boss saying you needed a couple of days off for personal reasons. Your hotel room was all you were going to see for the next two days.

Chris called but you let it go to voicemail, begging for forgiveness, and do go to marriage counseling. You didn’t reply back. The next two days you laid in bed, rarely ate anything, and had room service to bring you bottle after bottle. You slept and drank the days away.

Day two came and it was time for check out. You headed back home as it rained cats and dogs outside. You pulled into the driveway. Chris’ truck was parked. You took a deep breath and walked into the house. Chris was sitting at the dining room table, he looked God awful. You can tell he hasn’t been sleeping. You paused and stared at each other.

“Y/N.”

You waited.

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry about everything. Can we go to marriage counseling?”

Marriage counseling isn’t such a bad idea. This can only go two ways…the marriage heals, or the marriage ends. Do you even want to be married anymore?

“Sure. Set it up.” You walked off. You had a lot to consider, you and Chris both did dirt maybe you can really patch things up and move forward.

The day has come, your first counseling session. Chris found a young lady who was well qualified. You did the whole introduction thing. You thought maybe this would do some good but let me remind everyone of what Christopher said.

“Chris & Y/N, thank you for coming in today. This is a place where you can express exactly how you feel. Now, who wants to go first?”

“I will.”, Chris said. “I think a divorce is the best option.”

You turned your head so quickly. You couldn’t believe what this asshole just said.

“Wait Chris isn’t there another option here. I thought you wanted to save your marriage?”, the counselor said.

You didn’t say anything.

“I’ve been thinking, about everything. Both of us stepping out on our marriage, Y/N disappearing for a couple of days, and our fight.”

“I only slept with Jason to get back at you.”, you snapped.

“Don’t ever say his name in front of me again.”

“Or what? You started this whole mess!”

“Please now I need both of you to settle down. We have to have civil conversation here.”

You got up and walked off. You needed a minute. After all this man has put you though, he thinks he can initiate the divorce?? The doctors retrieve you from the hallway, and you go back inside. Chris hadn’t moved a muscle. You and Chris go back and forth, its literally the blame game.

Thank God you both took separate cars! This first session was a nightmare. What had gotten into Chris?

You made it home before Chris. He actually didn’t walk through the door until later. You sat on the couch waiting for him. A real conversation was needed.

Chris finally walked through the door.

“Chris.”

“What is it?”

“What was that shit today? You beg me to go to counseling and then you start off by saying you want a divorce? What do you want to do?”

He rolled his eyes. The fucking audacity.

“I’ve had time to think. I am sick of begging you to make this marriage work. I’ve done nothing but BEG you.”

“So, you want a divorce? Tell me now because I am not wasting my time going to counseling with you.”

He sat up and put it hands on his hips. You hated that shit.

“Yes, I want a divorce. I want to be with Cree.” He looked at the ground as he said those words.

“EXCUSE ME? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

“You heard me.”

You completely lost it.

“FUCK YOU CHRIS! I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS!

You went and pushed him on his face!

“Y/N, don’t do that shit!”

Chris gave you a slight push to put space between you two.

“Get out now…”

“I pay the damn mortgage on this home!”

“PACK YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Chris gives you a look. He walks past you and heads to the bedroom. You leaned back against the nearest wall. You had to take some deep breaths. You walked over to the couch and sat. You could hear Chris slamming the dresser as he packed up. Not a tear fell down your face this time, you just wanted him gone.

About 10 minutes later Chris walks by with a suitcase, grabbed his keys, his wallet, and walked out the door. You grabbed your MacBook and sat back on the couch with a glass of wine and begin searching for divorce lawyers.

You didn’t want to tell anyone what was going on yet. You were too embarrassed. After searching, you found lawyer and decided to call in the morning. You didn’t get any sleep that night per the usual. You headed to work the next day and called the lawyer to set up a meeting to get the ball rolling.

A week went by and you and Chris haven’t communicated not once. Jason was texting, but you weren’t responding at all. The meeting with the lawyer was productive, she got all the paperwork together for you to get Chris to sign.

A few days later, you heard the door unlocking as you ate dinner in the kitchen while working. Chris walked in. He looked at you and you looked right back at your screen.

He walked over.

“I got the documents today from your lawyer.”

You looked up.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“There is nothing to discuss, sign the papers. If you want the house, then buy me out, if not…it goes on the market.”

You stood up to take your plate to the sink. Chris follows behind.

“I’m not ready to let you go.” He steps a little closer.

“This marriage is over.”

“Please Y/N.”

Chris leans in and kisses you softly on your lips, it caught you off guard.

“Absolutely not. Don’t ever kiss me again.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Does your new girlfriend know that you are here? I wonder how she would feel knowing you are making a move on your ex-wife?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Like I said, sign the divorce papers so I can move on.”

“Whatever. My lawyer will be in contact with yours.”

Chris walked away to the bedroom to get more clothes and such. He comes back out 20 minutes later.

“You’re already packing up shit?”

“Yes. When you sign, I’m out.”

He said something under his breath and headed out the door with his stuff. A couple of days later your lawyer called and said Chris accepted the terms.

A few weeks later you and Chris sat down with your lawyers to sign the divorce papers. As you both walked out, you noticed a young girl sitting outside the room. You finished up the conversation with your lawyer and headed out. You walked by and the young girl smirked at you. It had to be Cree. You stopped.

“Did you just smirk at me?” You wanted all the smoke.

“I’m just glad this is all finalized.”

“You must be Cree the whore. Well, best of luck to you.”

You turned to Chris.

“Did you tell Cree about you kissing me a few weeks ago when you came to get more stuff?” You faced Cree. “Don’t worry sweetie. I stopped him, but just know he was ready to risk it all.”

You turned and headed down the hall, and into your new single life!

Hope you all enjoyed this series! 💛

@whxre4cevans

@supernatural-fan151

@fallenoutofrose

@itscrazycherryblossomcollection

@coldmuffinpartycloud

@art-estrange

@coffeebooksandfandom

@arabescapr

@firoozehmoon

@mssukeyna

@tantricevans

@marvelfansworld

@pmb1976

@marvelsis

#chris evans #chris jamal evans #cevans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #fanfiction

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tennessoui · 3 years

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40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”

#asks #i had a scene planned out where x y z happens and obi-wan lets anakin into his hut/home #and anakin is just like look im a part of the rebellion now!!#and obi-wan 'i use my sarcasm to hide my infinite sadness' is like #'yes im sure the rebellion wouldnt exist without you'#because you know. technically it wouldn't.#but anakin doesnt really get that context so hes like 'stop speaking in tongues old man!!!'#and obi-wan says 'please do not call me that' in the wateriest most loosely strung together voice anakins ever heard #anyways whats happening with me that all im writing is angst #i love happy things and happy endings #obikin #(because they'd get together come on anakin probably has an undercut now and hes thirty obi-wans only a man)#(the bitter resentment is strong but the flesh is WEAK BITCH)#kit to kit: u dont need another wip u really cannot have another wip ur not strong enough for another wip u--#prompt fill

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0aurelion-sol0 · 3 years

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Yo~

What's your opinion on the Will Byers DID theory? If you like it, which version do you like better? Both interpretations seem cool to me, though I personally like strangertheory's version better ^.^

Hi!

That's a very interesting question. I want to start by saying that I am a singlet, so I don't have DiD or OSDD. My knowledge of this condition is primarly known through medias I consume or some more "advanced" psychiatric documents or researches.

DiD is a condition that hasn't been always best represented or accurately represented since this condition varies from people who have it and so while there are similarities, the experience of it is very much unique and personal. It is also something that in a fictional setting with different genres, themes and tones is very hard to pull off or represent unless you go for the very realistic take on it.

It is bound to be, like many other things in fiction, dramatized. And speaking from a singlet perspective, who also had particular problems represented in fiction, I think it's okay as long as it's done right, in the setting, tone and genre it is in.

For example, we have today a lot more LGBTQ+ representation and like everything, unless you go for the fully realistic route, it's going to be simplified and dramatized. There's so many gender identities and sexual orientations today, you have to simplify it. And that goes for many other things that people care about in media, it has to be done right, but the writers still have a story to tell and unless that subject is the focus of the story, they're not gonna always spend their time talking about that. There is a story to tell.

Secondly, if it is the main focus of the story, that is where people have to do their research and really represent what they are talking about. Not some half-baked representation with dull arguments and points that come from a capitalist and conservative worldview. (Looking at you Disney.)

Now what you are referencing are @strangertheory 's and @kaypeace21 's theories which are about the show being about a DiD system where we see different alters evolving in said story with the host being Will Byers.

There is a lot of evidence pointing towards it, I'm gonna let you go see their posts and read it.

But their theories are very different in the way that they see the show portraying DiD, I have actually find quite a great way to describe the two takes.

@kaypeace21 's take is that elements of the DiD system have been externalised through science-"fictional" or supernatural means. Similar to Legion from the Marvel universe.

(David is a powerful mutant with DiD where each alters, if I remember correctly, has a different power or powers. (Which to this day is still one of the most BADASS thing I have ever come across though it must be quite terrifying for David.))

@strangertheory is an internalised POV on the DiD system existing in the show. She believes that what we are seeing right now is what is exclusively happening INSIDE the DiD system and that what we are experiencing is not our standard definition of the "real world". As in the physical world we all know. This would be in very vulgar terms happening inside Will's self, head, mind or brain. In a sense, it would be a more accurate representation of what DiD is about. A Shyamalan twist if you prefer.

(Though right now I don't have any word for word examples of such take, there is a show called MR.ROBOT that fits a bit of this description since there are moments in the show that we are seeing are only happening in the DiD system itself.

I recommend this show A LOT. It still is a bit dramatized but from what I know the DiD representation is quite accurate and pleased a lot of people with DiD. Also some people on the Stranger Things crew worked on that show.)

Now do I love the DiD theory ?

Heck yeah, I fucking love it! And with a big L! (Am I right "The First I love you?").

And I Love both of the takes and I think each one works at explaining the mysteries of this story. I even think that in some ways both could work well together.

I believe that DiD can be, without the meaning of being used, like many things a powerful storytelling "device" since it is connected to so many themes and other writing tools and is linked literally to the psyche, emotions and personalities of the characters.

I can understand why some people like both or one or respectfully and logically dislike both or one of the takes. But it is close to my belief about what the show is about or were even before I came into this fandom or on the internet, not as complex and thought out as the theory itself but pretty close in the overall themes and aspects of it.

(Though it bewilders me how much people lack imagination or are scared of such twist when I have seen so many of those types before whether it's done well or not, accurate or not.)

Now both @strangertheory and @kaypeace21 are intelligent people with very nuanced takes. And they had their fair share of completely unjust controversies coming from either rabbid ignorant shippers, far too sensible people or downright ignorant stupid people, most of the time 16 year olds. I am not saying that they are perfect, no one is, but the hate they have received is completely unjust.

And I am gonna lay it down right here, they are begging for an accurate representation here, they are not doing this because it just sounds cool and is edgy, they are actually wanting that The Duffers pull this off well. They would be very mad if they use all the imagery just to make it look cooler or scarier.

They are not bringer of truths, they are just like us. They are theorists, they believe in something that they think can explain the story they love and are experiencing. And so far, they have a pretty damn good track record.

They are analysing, dissecting the show because it's what they want to do and they believe in it and they believe the Duffers wants them to do that (I mean how come no one believes it when watching a show like that set in the 80's with so many references ?).

It is also supposed to be fun. Have fun for God's Sake! You can disagree with it but calling names and being disrespectful because somehow they don't agree with very basic, lazy and cliché theories (and no it's not being hypocrite, a lot of people barely do the work.) or are not on board with your creepy projection over the characters IS not okay.

And no, they aren't supporting p*d*philia as some people have claimed. How can you read these theories and come up to that conclusion ?

Most people haven't even read the DiD theory or have gone all the way through with it because they are lazy, easily bored people who don't have the time to just relax, process and think.

Stranger Things is not a kids show, some dumb teenage romance drama show with cool monsters! It's a very mature show, with real problems that are treated, out of which is trauma and mental health. Kids are killing people and even dying on this show. There is sexism, racism, abuse both physical and psychological.

It is a very mature and dark show. And you are being disrespectful to the Duffers when you say they are not that smart or that isn't that important. They are putting a lot of thoughts into this and the fact that no one really recognises this annoys me.

Or people only think it's important when it is only about the things they enjoy in the show. (Which is more hypocrite to me.) OR people are very stupid if they truly think that or are just jealous, bitter that two women have more imagination together and individualy than all of them or that person alone.

Color and costume choices, subtext, context, camera angles, directing, VFX, music, editing, sets, props, script, acting and editing are very important. All must be carefully done or you get very bad or generic stuff if you don't. If you love and you are passionate about the work, you put all the details you can into it.

And the Duffers and all the people working with them have already referenced those sort of things AND the practice of what we do on the internet. They are aware, they know because they have been in the same place too. They grew up with stories too, they made theories too whether it's on the internet or not.

At the end of the day, it is just a theory. An explanation of what is unfolding, may unfold or may have unfolded. I believe in it, I think it is reasonable, it has logic and it makes sense. It also has a lots of elements backing it up.

And the Duffers don't even have to go with DiD or mention it. Will creating some of the characters and supernatural events from his trauma is also similar and more accessible to the masses. But a Shyamalan twist can also work if it is done well.

And I am also open to other possibilities and theories, if they make sense and have enough elements IN THE SHOW and everything connected to it backing it up.

If the Duffers write something completely different but it is as good and also explains even better than this theory than I'll be okay. I love being wrong, it makes me learn new things and enhances the way I approach stories in the future.

If the Duffers only used this as some very inaccurate and disrespectful scary/abstract subtext without commiting to it. That is where I will have a problem.

Or write something completely incoherent with the rest of the show with a bad plot twist catering to the main public masses to sell the story even more and just make money so that they are safe with a fallacy of a work of fiction. Because they are cowards who didn't know how to manage themselves and baited entire audiences or listened to some crappy executive who didn't understand shit about the story. (wink wink, looking at a certain something...)

So yeah, I do love the DiD theory and both of it's takes and if it happens and is done right, with of course my perspective on the thing and PRIMARLY the perspective of people who have DiD or know a lot about it, I'll be pleased with it and I think it could be something very important for stories, people, the world and "art" in general.

Thank you for the question it was really fun! I hope I described the theory and the condition in the right way @kaypeace21 and @strangertheory and also the people who are concerned or know about it if I didn't let me know. Also, if you disagree with what I said, the way I said it or the subject itself let me also know IF it's respectful of course.

#stranger asks things #stranger asks #did theory #the did theory #will byers #will the wise #willel #stranger things

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hihellogoodbyebruh · 3 years

Text

Stingy

Pairing: Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes x Black!OC

Summary: EZ has a problem sharing and his girl, Monique is quite over it.

Warning(s): Some angst with a fluff ending

Word count: 2,552

AN: Ahhhh my first EZ fic. Based on a request I received from the lovely @ly--canthrope with an assist coming from Ginuwine’s Stingy. Thank YOU so much for your patience and encouraging words. I hope you enjoy this xo

You can say I'm tripping but I'm stingy And I can't hide it Wanna keep you all to me I'm selfish, why try to fight it?

An abandoned episode of Girlfriends played on the tv in the background as a woman sat straddling EZ’s lap as the two made out. His hands were rubbing up and down her sides under her shirt and her hands were gripping his face. One of her favorite things to do was kiss her boyfriend. She loved that they could just get lost in each other and it was the perfect opener for the mindblowing sex that was coming.

The familiar ringtone and buzz from her phone’s vibration echoed against the coffee table as she received a text message. She pulled away from the kiss and turned her head, trying to see if she could read the message from her position. She felt EZ stiffen, his hands moving down her hips to grip her thigh.

“I swear to God, Monique.” EZ began, feeling himself become annoyed. He can’t even enjoy her company at home without being interrupted. He’s tried so hard to be understanding, but that selfish part of him was fed up. The opening of Galindo’s company really put into perspective how often he misses time with her.

As Miguel’s assistant she had a very big hand in putting the opening celebration together. She’d been Miguel’s assistant for a couple years now. Her mother was a close confidante to Dita before she passed away. Dita wanted to keep an eye on her so she asked Miguel to give her a job. She was fantastic at keeping things organized and she already knew about the other side of business.

Working for Miguel was great because though some would hate being an assistant, he actually gave her a lot of responsibility. She was often put in charge of events while making sure everything in his life runs smoothly, at least on the legal side of things.She was so proud of her work tonight but she hardly had time to celebrate until she saw her man walking through the door.

She’d been with EZ, Ezekiel as she liked to call him because she loved his full name, for a little over a year. It was the best relationship she’d ever been in. He was kind, honest, caring, and oh so very fine.

She ended her current conversation before strutting over to Ezekiel, her arms immediately going around his neck. “Hi baby. I’m so happy you’re here.” She kissed his lips.

EZ loved seeing his girl in her element. She was very much out of his league in his mind and he felt lucky every day he woke up to her. “Hey beautiful.” He greeted her, hands resting on her lower back and pulling her close to him. “I see all your hard work has paid off.”

“It really has. Things couldn’t be going better. Especially now that you’re here.” She grinned at him.

“Oh yeah? You’re happy to see me?” He teased, smiling back so she kissed him again.

The two of them engaged in some conversation and heavy flirting before they were interrupted by her boss.

“Monique, I need you for a second…” Miguel announced, no time for pleasantries. He was always about his business. She could respect it but it was also annoying because he could have greeted Ezekiel

“Oh hi Miguel. We weren’t having a conversation or anything.” She sarcastically replied, giving her boss a look.

“Reyes..” Miguel acknowledged her boyfriend with a barely noticeable head nod before bringing his attention back to her. “You’ve put in the most face time with the Castillos and the lovely matriarch has requested your presence. We don’t want to keep them waiting, verdant?”

EZ rolled his eyes at Miguel but didn’t say anything. He was used to Miguel’s shit and honestly he didn’t like him either so the less they communicated the better.

The Castillos were a very important family that have entered into an arrangement with Galindo enterprises both on the legitimate and illegitimate side of business. It was already fragile so she wanted to keep everything on the up and up.

She retreated from EZ’s arms without a second thought. “Is everything alright? When we went over the final documents she didn’t bring anything up.” She began walking alongside Miguel but stopped in her tracks.

“I’ll be right back.” She walked back over to EZ and planted a distracted kiss on his cheek.

He mustered up a slight smile and then she was gone.

She didn’t come back until the end of the night.

She sighed, pushing her way out of his lap and snatching up her phone once she stood up. “He’s my boss, Ezekiel. You have got to let this thing with Miguel go. Enough is enough.”

“He just does this to piss me off.” And it worked. He wanted to have her all to himself, but he couldn’t do that with Galindo constantly texting her and having her work long hours. At this point it felt she was the one singlehandedly keeping his businesses afloat.

“So stop letting it piss you off.” She replied, like it was the easiest thing and to her it was.

He shot up from his seat and exasperatedly asked, “Why do you always defend him?”

“Because you’re being ridiculous. You knew who I worked for when we started dating.” She was annoyed they were even having this argument. Her attention was focused on her phone as she replied to Miguel with the information he needed.

EZ grew even more irritated that even in an argument he couldn’t have her whole attention. “What could he possibly need from you at 2 in the morning? Hm?” He snatched the phone from her hand.

“Are you out of your mind? Give me my phone back!” She gasped, shocked at his audacity. She and Ezekiel had been together for awhile now and he’s never acted this way. He’s never lost his temper with her. “Things happen. Emergencies. I never say anything when you have an emergency with the MC.”

“Bishop doesn’t text all hours of the night. Bishop doesn’t hate you and try to disrespect our relationship at every turn. And quite frankly, Bishop isn’t a woman so it’s not the same at all.” Ez snapped, his voice getting louder.

“And just what the fuck are you implying, EZ?” There was a clear warning in her tone of voice as she matched his volume. Now they both were yelling at each other. She never called him EZ either. Always preferring to call him Ezekiel.

He knew he should have backed down and cooled off but he was beyond tired of this shit. The angry words slipped outta his mouth before he could stop them. “I’m just wondering what all the late nights are really about. If I’m dating Miguel’s side piece just tell me!”

That was a mistake. Yelling was a mistake. Saying those words was a mistake. He knew it the moment he saw tears form in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” She whispered, voice slightly cracking. How dare he call her a cheater! He officially has lost his mind.

Ezekiel felt his heart drop into his stomach when he heard the hurt in her voice. It went too far. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, mariposa.” He started to walk closer to her, but she stepped back from him.

“This has nothing to do with me. Or us. This is you and Miguel continuing to have a dick measuring contest. Th-this all goes back to Emily.” The name rolled off her tongue with mild resentment. The two never had a bad run in with each other, but all the stories about Emily and EZ’s past relationship and how she was the love of his life always made Monique get defensive.

“That’s not true.” EZ refuted, but she interrupted him before he could further explain.

“Yes it is! And if somehow it’s not then we got some serious problems baby.” She just shook her head at him before demanding, “Get out.”

You're the only one, you're the only love That's strong enough to claim me So please forgive me I'm just stingy But how can you blame me?

It’s been two weeks since the fight with Ezekiel and Monique was really missing him. She was mad that he would be such a dumbass, but she still just wanted to be laying back on the couch with him watching tv.

Miguel watched as she pushed her salad around her plate, clearly not hungry. “Todo bien hermanita?” He asked, watching as she finally brought her eyes up to meet his. This was the quietest lunch the two ever had. Usually she was talking a mile a minute.

She smiled a little at the nickname. He only called her that when he was concerned or when he really wanted something. Truth is, the two had a sibling kind of relationship. She just wished EZ had seen and understood it. “I’m fine. Not really hungry.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, taking a sip of his drink. “Nestor and I had a meeting with the Mayans yesterday. Saw your novio and he looked like shit.” Miguel casually mentions and she tries to act nonchalant even as her heart races at the mention of a certain biker. “Imagine my surprise when he asked to pull me aside for a chat.”

“What!” She gasped loudly, jaw dropping.

“I’m sure you could guess what we spoke about.”

“Miguel…” She was ready to apologize to him for whatever accusations were thrown his way.

“I know I’m very demanding. It’s part of who I am. I demand a lot from myself and from those around me, especially those closest to me. That includes you, hermanita. But I don’t want to be the reason for your unhappiness. Even if it is with Reyes..” There was only mild disgust in his tone and she took that as an improvement.

“It’s not your fault he doesn’t trust me, hermano.” She sighed.

“He is crazy about you, you know that right?��

Monique went to answer, but Miguel stood up from his seat. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair and walked over to her, pushing down gently on her shoulders to keep her from getting up. He leans down and whispers “If in the end, you don’t want him and he won’t take the hint you let me know. He can visit my pew.”

She jerked her head back to give him a stern look, hating when he brought up that damn pew. He just kissed her head and walked away. She sat there dumbfounded for a second. “Wait, what-” She turned her head to call out to Miguel but her voice caught in her throat as she spotted Ezekiel right behind her. He walked over and took the seat Miguel was just in.

It was silent before she decided to break it. “You and Miguel working together? Hell must have frozen over.”

He cracks a grin at that. “Ha. Guess you could say we’ve called a truce. At least when it comes to a certain beautiful woman.”

“Calling a truce with my ‘side piece’? I’m sure Emily appreciates it.” She sarcastically replied, making him sigh in reply.

“I never should have said that. I was pissed off and being a sarcastic asshole. This never had anything to do with Emily. Yes we have history, but I don’t think about that anymore. I haven’t for a long time.” Monique looked down, wanting to believe him but having a hard time doing it. “I think about you. I think about you when we’re apart, I think about when I’ll see you again, I think about our future when you’re in my arms. You’re never not on my mind.”

His words make her want to smile, but she wasn’t done. “Then what’s been going on with us lately? Anytime I answer a call or text from Miguel you’re huffing and puffing. You sit there literally pouting like a 3 year old every time I have to do something for work. What’s the problem?”

“First, I don’t pout.” She started to disagree but he loudly continued, earning a playful glare from her. “SECONDLY, I know you’re an independent woman out here making it on your own and shit. I know it’s just been you and your job for a long time. But now you got me, mariposa. I’m here by your side and I like spending time with you. I like the quiet moments at home and our nights out. I want more of them. You work so much and you forget about everything else. Me included.”

“What do you mean I forget you? I don’t forget you.”

“Galindo Enterprises.”

“What are...Oh-” Her face completely dropped as she remembered the night. She got pulled away by Miguel and never went back to Ezekiel. She didn’t mean to, but she ended up checking on other things with the party and even though it hurts to admit she did forget about him. “Oh baby…” She held one of his hands that was on the table between both of hers.

“I’ve never been the one to cling and I don’t like to be needy but you’ve changed me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love being in your presence. Maybe I am kind of a baby, but I think wanting your attention is a good sign for a relationship. I’m not asking you to quit your job, but some boundaries would be nice. ”

She felt so bad. He was absolutely right. She had been alone for a long time. She wasn’t used to sharing her life with someone else. An adjustment was obviously needed. “I never meant to make you feel like I wanted anyone or anything more than you. Or that I cared about those things more. I promise that I will work on communicating more with you and not just doing what I want with no consideration for you.”

He nodded his head, but she had to add one more thing. “You do need to know that sometimes just like you can’t help getting called away the same goes for me. But I’ll talk with Miguel and we’ll work out something that works for us all. I can’t believe I didn’t realize. I’m so-”

Ezekiel cut her off before she could begin criticizing herself. “So amazing, captivating, elevating,” after every word, EZ placed a kiss on the palm of her hand. “Anyway you put it I’m happy to be your man.”

“I’m still salty at you insinuating I was sleeping with Miguel.” She declared, causing him to nod with a sad look on his face.

“How can I make it up to you, mariposa?”

“Hmm…” She pretended to think when she already knew what she wanted. She leaned forward and beckoned him closer with a wiggle of her finger. She whispered in his ear, “I wanna ride you with only your kutte on until you lose your mind.” She lightly bit his ear lobe.

She busted out laughing at how fast he scrambled out of his seat and took her hand, pulling her behind him as he hustled out of the restaurant.

#ez reyes #black!reader #black!oc #ezekiel reyes #hhgbyebruh fics #ez reyes x black!reader #stingy

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tobiosmilktea · 3 years

Text

amor vincit omnia — akaashi keiji

↪︎ O2. I CHOOSE YOU

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: i absolutely hated rewriting this chapter after it glitched out the first time 😔

since the beginning of your first year of university, you and the rest of your lovely friends had been eating in the library, specifically the large round table secluded and at the very corner for every meal without fail, and nobody really cared to stop you guys for two reasons. For one, no one really goes into that corner of the library that only collected dust, and two, you guys were there so often that you all befriended all the librarians to the point they stopped coming by to tell you guys to leave and eat in the canteen instead.

you were placed between daichi and kiyoko, counting the seconds by as they worked diligently in silence, munching on their lunch in the process. daichi tapped on the keys on his laptop rather quickly, the impact of each click being unnecessarily loud while kiyoko was cross-referencing documents and highlighting lines of never ending texts in a nice muted green color. tsukishima, on the other hand, was too preoccupied reading his book. eyes completely glued to the novel resting in his hands as he readjusted his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. sugawara was out and about somewhere in the sea of towering bookshelves to find a book to read, mentioning something along the lines of—and you quote, ‘something to quench his thirst for entertainment.’

it was honestly just his fancy way of saying that he was bored out of his goddamn mind. perhaps you were the same, eyes wandering your surroundings for something, just something to capture your attention for a few moments. it wasn’t at all difficult, actually, considering how pretty your university was.

higashi university had always been your dream college. not just by its blatant aestheticism, but the academia as well. with tanaka and nishinoya being your main friend group during your high school days, it feels rather refreshing being surrounded by other incredibly smart individuals than constant brain rot.

(no offense to tanaka and nishinoya, you loved them to pieces)

and as your mind began to wander, so did your gaze. from admiring the library’s interior to looking out the window, your lips slightly curved down into a frown.

it was only noon and the clouds were already darkening the sun’s piercing rays that usually shone through the large domed windows of the library. it was going to rain soon and for a couple hours as well.

it’s quite peculiar to think about now after you received that damned chain letter. earlier this morning, while shoving on your wool sweater and trousers, that even the weather app on your phone didn’t show any signs of inclement weather until an hour after you texted your group chat in an awkward panic.

you didn’t really pine yourself to be so superstitious. if anything, you were the complete opposite, and yet, here you were worrying over the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.

tsukishima lifted his gaze from the words printed on his novel as he pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. he flickered a look at you, a smirk appearing on his visage the moment he noticed the way you stared at a single drop of rain on the window, flowing down rather slowly.

that stupid letter of yours was still in your hand as well. he watched you fiddle with the corners, careful not to mess with the mahogany red wax stamp that sealed the envelope.

“have you thought about which poor, unfortunate soul you’re going to give it to?” he asked, smirk still annoyingly evident. this was the third time he asked you this question in a span of three hours.

you flicked your eyes towards him coolly before it fell onto the letter in your hands. "ask that question again and i’ll be sure to send it your way, tsukishima.”

“i’d like to see you try, honestly.” he muses, “your best bet is probably slipping it into one of your professor’s inboxes. maybe professor oshiro, by chance?”

“please,” you snort, “she only gave me one failing grade that i eventually made up in the end.”

“just give it to a random stranger,” daichi cuts in, eyes still glued to his laptop as he typed his fingers away. dark circles dusting his eyes like a dark shadow. law school was certainly doing its works on the likes of poor, poor sawamura daichi.

he shrugs, evidentially fatigued when he meets your eye.

“that way your grades won’t have to potentially deal with the consequences if your professor finds out.”

you nod, humming in response. that would be terrible.

sugawara then emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding up a book towards you with a smile on his face. “found one,” he beams, tossing it atop the messy table.

you reach for the book as sugawara pulls out his chair whilst he mutters something to his daichi about his whereabouts.

“wuthering heights?” you say the title aloud and capture kiyoko’s attention along with it.

“yeah. have you guys read it?” the silver-haired boy asks. he takes your opinions quite seriously knowing how much of an avid reader you and kiyoko were. whenever he needed book recommendations or opinions, he would always go to you two.

you nod, “i quite liked it.”

“some parts tend to be slow, though.” adds in kiyoko, taking the novel from your hands and flipping through the pages briefly before slipping back over towards sugawara. “it should keep you occupied for a few days.”

you chuckle slightly, giving her a look. “you forget how slow suga is at reading. the few days it takes us to finish a book is a good month for him.”

offense coated sugawara’s expression as he lets out a scoff in retaliation. “don’t you have a chain letter to give to someone?”

“she’s stalling,” tsukishima teases.

“am not!”

“then want to go give it to a random stranger then?”

your brows draw together, “right now?”

tsukishima nods as he stuffs his belongings back into his bag. “i’ll come with you for shits and giggles.”

a sigh escapes you, rolling your eyes as you take a look at the letter one last time and wanting to laugh at yourself for doing all this. a full chain letter from front to back, with the first quarter of it is you viciously apologizing that you had to do this in neat cursive handwriting, all written in fifteen minutes.

you gave in.

“fine,” you huff as you grab your own bag as well.

“good luck,” kiyoko muses up at you as you squeeze past her.

tsukishima waits for you until you’re by his side, strides shorter than usual just to match your pace as you two navigate through the labyrinthine arrays of bookshelves. the letter was in your hand, all small and discrete for a quick and easy delivery to an unsuspecting victim. your palm perspired slightly as you kept your eyes open, scanning for an easy person as you were aware of the possible repercussions.

you could easily get in trouble for doing something this childish, but you were in too deep already.

“hurry up and find someone, we’re almost at the entrance already.” tsukishima hisses in a harsh whisper.

“i’m working on it!” you hiss back.

“working on what?” a familiar voice asks then, capturing both you and tsukishima’s attention, whipping your heads towards the owner.

kuroo combed his freehand through his hair while he had two textbooks tucked under his other arm. he gave you a smile.

you never really got close with kuroo despite meeting him at nationals a few years back. despite only talking a few times due to him being good friends with tsukishima, you knew he was nice, incredibly smart in the sciences, and yet oddly awkward for someone as good looking as he.

not him, you thought to yourself, too nice.

“a little project,” the blond immediately answers just like that. “our majors tend to overlap sometimes, so we decided to partner up.”

“nice, i’m here with my friends to study as well.” kuroo states, causing your eyes to scan behind them for any evidence of their rambunctious selves.

like kuroo, you weren’t close with any of them either. if anything, they were just mere acquaintances on the precipice of becoming strangers. regardless, they all seemed quite nice too from your lack of interaction with them.

tsukishima says something in response then, igniting a short little catch-up conversation with an old high school friend as you lay distracted. your eyes flicked down to a study table in front of you, one of the chairs just a foot shy from you had a satchel hanging off of its side. the brown leather flap was wide open with its owner nowhere in sight as you gave your surroundings a once over.

carefully, you made your way over the table, pretending as if you were taking something out of your bag as kuroo was being distracted by the blond. neither of them were looking at you fortunately. as you placed your bag back over your shoulder, you slipped the letter right into the open satchel right at the same time–the envelope falling and disappearing into the depths of the bag.

“i’ve got to get to my next lecture,” you say to the two men, giving tsukishima a sly wink that it was a job well done. “i’ll see you guys around.”

checkmate.

fun facts! —

after kiyoko graduated and moved to tokyo, (y/n) and kiyoko kept in touch by sending each other cute handwritten letters

no one really is aware of that area in the back of the library since no one goes in that section often (this is uhh,, an important detail for later 😳)

taglist: (comment or send an ask to be added!)

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

Text

ILLICITUS: CHAPTER 1

Prompt: Y/N is a respectful narcotics agent, she worked hard to have her work recognized in a prominently male work field. She‘s assigned to the most important case of her whole career, investigate and apprehend the biggest drug dealer of U.S.A, the only thing she didn’t count on, was for the bastard to be so damn charming.

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Mob!Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18, Illegal substances, cursing (that’s all for now)

Tagging: @ziasaph , @reigns-5sos, @mindofasagittaruis , @jibbles26 . I’m also tagging these lovely humans(although they didn’t ask for it 👉👈, but they’re opinion is very important to me as well 💕) @blondekel77, @akiko-tanaka, @drew-is-boo , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan, @new-zealand-chic

Notes: I’ve had this idea for a few weeks now, and decided to give it a shot. This is originally planned to be a series, but we’ll see how this goes...I’ve always loved crime themed stories, so this is dedicated to my profound love for crime series. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

“Argh! Already?!” I groan as I get up from my bed, shooting a deadly glare at my alarm *4:30 a.m. how fun is that?!* I thought

I took a shower to help me shake off my sleeping mode, brushed my teeth and made me some tea to start the day.

I know, weird right?! What type of officer/agent/investigator doesn’t drink coffee and smoke cigarettes?? Well the answer is: me! I love the smell of coffee but hate the taste of it, so tea works for me. But I am kind of guilty on the cigarettes though, it’s not an addiction per say, but I do smoke one or two if a case is really killing me...is a coping mechanism.

I drove the short 10 minutes distance between my home and the DEA’s office in a comfortable silence. Once I parked my car, I took the elevator to the 34th floor. As soon as the doors open I find my boss waiting for me.

“Good morning, kiddo!” Jeffrey smiles

Jeffrey is a nice guy, 57 years old, 37 years in this job, a good wife, four kids and two grandchildren. He drinks so much coffee that I’m pretty sure it has replaced his blood by now! He’s like a damn chimney, three packs of Marlboro red every fucking day! I really don’t know how he still have any lung function.

He’s always been nice to me, always supported, always believed in my work and potential and sort of took me under his wing ever since I started working here. He’s one of the best and I was glad to have him as my mentor and boss.

“Good morning, Jeff” I lightheartedly smile

“How is it going kid? Don’t you just love the fresh air of mornings?” He lightly chuckled

I rolled my eyes “Oh yeah I love it! That’s why you called me here at 4 a.m.? To talk about your profound love for mornings?” I raise my eyebrows

He laughs “Oh you’re priceless kid! But no, that’s not what I called you in here for, unfortunately. Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

Once inside his room, he motions for me to seat down.

“So?” I ask

“I have a case for you”

“But I’m already working on a case with Alvarez”

“That’s his case. This one” he passed me a folder “Is all yours! I want you to lead the investigation” He smiled

I open the folder and read the information inside, when my eyes stopped by the target’s name I froze in place.

“Sir, I...” I whispered “I can’t accept this”

“Not only you can, but you will kiddo! I need someone who will not get intimidated by him”

“And you thought of me? Of all people?” I scoffed

“Yes, you’re the only one I can actually trust in this place. Rumor has it, he knows we’re investigating...” He stares at me

“Do you think someone snitched?” I ask

“Only five people knew about this operation....people who wears big shoes, if know what I mean..”

“Superiors?” I whispered

He slowly nodded “ Well, we know how powerful he is, so him having informers is not a shock, but I didn’t thought he would have such high hierarchy ones..”

“So why do you want to hand the investigation to me, exactly?”

“Y/N, there’s a reason why I’ve always liked you kid, you love what you do, you can’t be bought, you’re not scared of anything or anyone, you have a deep passion about this career and that’s hard to see! But also because I need someone I can trust with my eyes closed, and that’s you kiddo” He squeezed my shoulder

I’ve always been an ambitious person, since I was a little girl, this operation is a one in a lifetime opportunity for me to make a name for myself in this department, so I didn’t think twice, before saying

“I’ll take it”

He smirked “That’s my kid!”

......................................................

It was now 9 a.m., I’m debating whether I should go on and get this over with or postpone ‘till later.

“Ah, fuck it” I say as I open my car door and make my way to the security gate. I ring the intercom.

“Yes?” A male voice answers

“Agent Y/L/N, DEA, I would like to speak to Mr. Reigns please”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I could use some of Mr. Reigns infinite kindness” I bitterly said

“Well, he’s not available now” The guy responds and hung up.

*Fucking great! Now I’ll have to get a warrant that will probably never be signed! That’s just what I needed* I thought as I made my way back to my car, as soon as I was about to get inside of my car I hear

“Agent Y/L/N, please, wait” The same guy who answered me on the intercom was now at the gate

“Mr. Reigns will see you, now ma’am”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise as I followed the man inside the house to Mr.Reigns office.

..................................................

“Please, sit down, Mr. Reigns will be here in a minute. I’m gonna need your gun ma’am” I give it to him “Thank you. Would you like something do drink?” He asks

“No, thank you”

After two minutes, the door opened once more.

“Agent Y/L/N, what do I give the-“ He stopped by my side, measuring me up and down, visually surprised and amused by ‘the agent’ being a woman “Pleasure” He smirked, offering me his hand for a handshake which I accepted

“I would like to have a few words with you Mr. Reigns, if that’s ok”

“Sure!” He made his way to his chair, in front of me “So what can I help you with, agent?”

“I came here to deliver this to you, sir” I pass him a document “It’s an assent term, we’re opening an investigation on you and we would like for you to cooperate with the information we need it, if you sign it, you’ll give us the consent to investigate your business and patrimony as well as provide us any further informations we might need. You’re free to keep the document and show it to your lawyer if you would like. In case you don’t want to sign it, we’ll have to start a search warrant on your name, business, property, information and data”

I say as he reads the document

“May I ask, what’s the investigation for, agent?”

“Illicit substances, sir” He already knows about the whole thing, so there’s no point lying about it.

He gives me a smug smirk “I bet it must be very hard for you, agent Y/L/N, to be taken seriously in this field. I mean, you’re a very beautiful woman, surrounded by all those old men..If I had a gorgeous coworker like yourself, I wouldn’t be able to function properly...” He vaguely says

“Would you like to keep the document, sir?” I ask, fully ignoring what he just said and pretending it didn’t affected me at all! Yes, he was breath taking and incredibly hot, but also an investigation target. And I’m a professional for crying out loud!

“Would you like to have dinner with me, agent Y/L/N?” He charmingly asks

“Mr. Reigns, I’ll ask for you to not insult my intelligence, sir.”

“That’s exactly why I’m inviting you for dinner. Because I know you’re an incredibly smart woman” He stares at me with his brown eyes full of amusement

I reach forward and yanked the document out of his hands, I needed to get out of there before I would do something completely unprofessional

“I see you’ve chose the warrant then, no problem sir”

I turned to walk out of his office, when he grabbed me by my arm, pulling me towards his chest. He leans down, brushing his nose on the nape of my neck

“You smell amazing agent Y/L/N, what perfume is that?” He brushes his nose up on my neck, until he reached my ear “I think we’ve started with the wrong foot, don’t you agent?” He stepped back and brushed his lips with mine

“What do you say, we give each other a helping hand? I sign your little document and you have dinner with me, how does that sounds to you?” He whispers

“I can still go for that warrant you know?” I bluff

He lightly chuckled “Oh baby, we both know that, that warrant will never be signed” He rested his hand on my neck, tilting my head up “So what’s gonna be? Do we have a deal?” As his fingers caresses the back of my neck

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped through my lips “Deal”

He smiles satisfied

To Be Continued...

Please let me know your thoughts on this “potential” series and if it should continue?

#roman reigns one shot #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagine #mob!au #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe one shot #wwe x reader #masochist writes #illicitus series

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villainousshakespeare · 3 years

Text

Stalking the King Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Henry V/OFC

Multi-Chapter

Historical AU, Historical Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Angst, Sexual Tension, Bathing

Lisabet is a high born Lady of Oleans, France. When King Henry V conquers her city, taking her brother hostage along with other nobles, she vows to be revenged upon the foreign invader and rescue her brother. Dressed in boys clothing she hopes to escape notice in Henry’s camp, but the English King has a much more perceptive eye than she anticipated.

A bit of a plot heavy chapter, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

Lisabeta had seen no more than a glimpse of Henry’s sun kissed locks as he strode away that morning. Not, of course, that she wanted to see the King. She had seen enough of him last night. More than enough, she added, as the image of him in all his naked splendor slipped its way into her mind.

That vexing image seemed to be branded into her brain, so often did she find herself thinking of it when she let her mind drift. His skin, dotted with freckles and crossed with scars that somehow failed to detract from his masculine beauty. The breadth of his shoulders that tapered slowly, over a long distance, to his narrow hips. How could one so unquestionably awful be so unquestionably awe arousing? It was simply not fair!

She had barely slept last night, so active had been her mind. Her body also seemed more alive than usual. There was a curious heat within her, to the point that she wondered if she was feverish. Her skin tingled, and her stomach felt unsettled. Most distracting of all was the odd ache she felt in her womanly organs. She was not due for her courses for weeks, why was she feeling so out of sorts there? She didn’t know, but she was more than willing to blame the English King.

She hated him, more than she had ever hated anyone. He had toyed with her, she knew it! And yet, how could that be when to him she was simply one of his pages. The fact that he had treated her with such disinterest and disregard only meant her disguise was working, for no well born man, even an Englishman, would ever behave so in front of gently bread lady. And yet it maddened her to no end that he had been so with her. She wanted more than ever to find him and run him through with her sword. If she had to wait on him again, no doubt she would do so.

And yet, it was even more insufferable that he did not send for her. Lisabeta was not a woman used to being overlooked, particularly by men. She commanded attention the moment she arrived in a room by virtue of both her looks and her natural spirit. To be forced to sit idly waiting for Henry to call on her was not to be endured.

Around midday of the day following the tent incident she had been sent for, but it was not the King who had called her. She was beginning to wonder what pages were expected to do in a royal camp, and how she was to maintain her anonymity. The night before she had simply found a place on the ground near a fire, using her saddle roll as a pillow and her cloak as a blanket. It was a long night, with only restless sleeping on the hard ground, but she had endured it. In the morning she had snuck between a tent and a wagon towards the tree line and relieved herself, frantic lest someone should see her. It could not go on like this for long, and she knew it.

When summons had come, she assumed it was from the King. After all, who else knew she was there? Instead, she had been brought to a smaller tent not far from where the Royal Standard flew. A desk took up most of the space, somehow both neat and cluttered with papers and ink. Sitting behind it was a thin, balding man who looked less like a soldier that Lisabet herself. She guessed him to be her father’s age, and dark circles ringed his eyes.

“You are Phillipe Cavot, the King’s new page?” the man asked in a voice as tired as his eyes.

“I am, my Lord, what would you have with me?” Lisabeta struggled to make her voice sound more like an anxious page and less like a confident lady.

“King Henry thought I might make use of you,” the man sounded uncertain as he looked her over.

What! The King was handing her off like so much unwanted baggage to one of his underlings? Lisabeta seethed internally. How dare he be so high handed?

“Did he indeed, how generous of him,” she bit off.

“I thought it so, if what he says is true,” the man’s voice was mild and slightly perplexed at her answer. “Your hand, I take it, is decipherable? If so, you will be better than the last. I am Laurence, Henry’s secretary. I have a stack of documents to write, and time is not a friend to me of late. You will assist me here with all my work. I know it is less exciting task to aid a secretary than knight. But here at least some comfort does exist. There is a cot for you to sleep upon, and there behind the screen a chamber pot. Perhaps it is no luxury for you, but when one reaches my age, one will find such niceties are of a great import.”

Lisabeta was at first inclined to be outraged, if only because outrage seemed to be her reaction to all that Henry said or did. To be stuck in this tent with a reedy man with a reedy voice all day was not the reason why she had come here. On the other hand, it did neatly solve both of her core problems. It was as if providence had given her a way to stay until she figured out the next step in her plan.

In addition to all of this, it occurred to Lisabeta that this could be just the place she needed to be. If this man was King Henry’s secretary, then the documents scattered about his desk took on an entirely new interest to her. It was possible that hidden among the mounds of papers that looked to be mostly correspondences could be maps, perhaps even battle plans, detailing the English forces’ intentions. If she could put her hands on those documents, it could be a turning point in this war.

In her mind, Lisabeta pushed away the picture of Henry mercilessly and in its place forced in what must be seen as a happier view. She would wait until the secretary had left, of perhaps gone to sleep as it looked like he must soon do. Once he was out of the way, she would find the betraying documents, copy them down, and slip from the camp. How easy would it be then to send them via courier, or maybe even bring them herself, to the French King and his constable in Paris? Lisabeta could singlehandedly win this wretched war for France!

It was a plan, and she would see it done. She need never cross paths with the arrogant King Henry again. Let him preen around his camp in the mud for another day or two, she would not be there to wash it from his body. And all the better for that, she insisted to herself, even as she fought back regret.

***

“Your Majesty, what brings you to our tents?” Sir Stephen Boyd asked, beginning to drop to one knee in the mud before Henry waved away the need.

“My restless legs that needed room to stretched,” Henry laughed good naturedly. “How goes it with our enforced visitors?”

“Well, my Lord, when all is said and done. One little lad no more than three years old did give us all some trouble at the start.”

“Precocious lad! How did he manage that?”

“With screaming morn and night, to wake the dead. I tell you Sire, I’ve seen my share of war. I’ve fought in wars whose blood would fill a lake, and thought my life was ended more than once. But never have I known a greater fear than when the cub did last drift off to sleep and any noise did threaten our brief peace.”

Henry could not but laugh at the thought of the bluff old knight fearing a lad of three. The very sight of him proclaimed the battles he spoke of. Still, there lived inside the blustery warrior a soft heart. Henry remembered being found out by Sir Stephen after his first taste of battle. An overwhelmed squire, Henry had been horrified by the carnage he had witnessed. Ashamed of himself, he had hidden behind a wagon to empty his stomach before crouching down trembling from the shock, terrified lest someone should see him so unmanned.

But when Sir Stephen had discovered him, the older knight had not mocked or scolded him. Instead, he had hunched down next to him and handed over a flask of water for Henry to rinse his mouth. After Henry had stopped shaking, Sir Stephen had spoken to him in a matter of fact voice, telling him that all men of intellect were shaken by the reality of war. It was only the dull or the cruel who escaped unscathed. Any man worth following would react as Henry had, he opined, and he was proud that his future lord was such a one. With a nod, he had risen and walked away, leaving behind the water and a more thoughtful Henry.

It was because of this innate compassion that Henry had chosen him to have custody of the hostages. Other, higher ranked men had chafed, wanting the potentially lucrative position where they could extort money from anxiety ridden parents. Henry had thwarted them all, placing in stead an honorable man who would do his best to keep the young hostages safe and well looked after.

“A mighty terror indeed, how solved you it?” he asked now with a shudder.

“I handed off the boy to Mistress Mead,” Sir Stephen replied, face reddening. “She’s wife to Seargent Mead, a doughty man, and raised a brood of children of her own. I know your Grace did put him in my charge, but at his age he needs a woman’s care. I hope you know I meant no harm by it. I’d trust the goodwife my very life.”

“As I trust you with mine, my blustery friend,” Henry assured him. “I should have thought to do so from the start. I thank you, Sir, for seeing to it now.”

They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching a pair of lads in oversized helmets batter at each other. Henry wasn’t entirely sure why he had come here. He had been at his desk going over the papers his secretary had left for him, but his mind was not really focused. He needed to walk, to exercise. To get away from his tent where his eyes and mind kept drifting over to the large tub where the Gascoigne lass had bathed him two nights before. He had not been able to stop thinking of her since.

It was only because he had been celibate, he assured himself. That was the reason why he had responded so strongly to the chit. She was completely lacking skill in her ministrations. Her touch had been hesitant, shy, barely skimming over his skin. And yet, that had changed as she proceeded. She had grown bolder, pulling slightly on his hair, rubbing his aching shoulders and back. He had been loud in his appreciation, moaning as he felt the tension and stiffness melt out of him.

Well, it had melted out of his upper body, his lower body had been an entirely different story. As her hands drifted lower, his erection had become painful in its insistence. She was just inches away, all it would take was a small dip down for her soft hand to be wrapped around his length. He had wanted it with an intensity that left him throbbing. If he had not sent her away at that point, he would have dragged her into the tub with him.

It was a thought that kept occurring to him through the night and all the next day.

He thought he had hit on the perfect solution by handing her off to Laurence. The man could use an extra hand, and he could only imagine the girl’s education had included penmanship. He could not have her running about his camp, just waiting for someone to realize she was a woman, for god’s sake. She was a scandal just waiting to happen, in no small part because she seemed incapable of staying unobtrusive.

Laurance, on the other hand, could be trusted implicitly with her. The man was discreet to a fault, as one who preferences were as his had to be in their society. As Henry suspected, he had sussed out her true nature the first day, but rather than confront her with it had quietly brought it to his King’s attention. When Henry indicated that he knew her identity, but wished to do nothing for present, his secretary had sighed but nodded, mumbling that at least she had a passable hand a quick mind, if an even quicker tongue. She would be safe with him until he decided how to proceed.

He just needed to find out more about her, which brought him to his current location.

“Tell me, Sir, how does the young Gascoigne?” he asked, attempting nonchalance.

“Little Phillipe? He does right well, my Lord,” Stephen answered, slight curiosity in his voice. “That be him over there, the one in blue. He’ll make a proper Knight if ‘ere he grows. A bit to clever, like to one I know. But taking to account his lineage and vast side of the force he’ll one day lead, that is no bad thing, as I think you know.”

Henry watched the boy as he traded blows with another a head taller than him. He saw what Sir Stephen alluded to. The larger boy clearly had strength and reach on his side, but Phillipe easily side stepped the attacks launched on him. He had an excellent eye for what his opponent was about to do next. If only he had a better control of his own weapon. Acting on instinct, Henry strode forward, grabbing a practice sword from the wrack as he did.

“Your grip is wrong, if I may intercede?”

He didn’t raise his voice, he seldom did, but the two boys drew back, instantly lowering their blades. Phillipe dropped to one knee, and after a slight pause the other boy did the same, removing their borrowed helms.

“Rise up, Phillipe, I’ll show you how it’s done,” he offered, along with his hand to help the boy to rise.

He was a handsome lad, Henry observed. Very much the boyish version of his sister. Henry was continually amused at how everyone else took her for a boy. Her hips were obviously those of a woman, and the combination of padding and binding did not completely hide her other curves. On top of that, the planes of her face were more feminine, if older and sharper than the boy before him.

He spent the next hour happily helping Phillipe improve his grip. The boy had stamina, and after the first few moments lost his stiffness with the King. Henry enjoyed physical activity of all sorts and had been unhappy with the idleness. The lesson was just what he had needed to restore his good humor.

“Well done, my lad, I think you have the trick,” he said at last, setting aside his sword and ruffling the boy’s hair.

“I thank you, Sire, for sparing me your time,” Phillipe said shyly, panting a bit. “I father doth despair of my poor skill. Why even my own sister Lisabet can best me when it cometh to the blade.”

“Ah, Lisabet! That is your sister’s name!” Henry said, remembering now that he had heard the lovely moniker before.

“Why yes, my Lord, but know you Lisabet?”

Henry cursed silently, damning his tongue for saying the name out loud. A lovely name, he thought, although perhaps too soft for the sassy brat who had infiltrated his camp.

“By reputation only, to my woe,” he said with an easy smile to, “I hear she is the jewel of all of France.”

“So all do say, though I do see it not,” the boy made a face all brothers of sisters would recognize before continuing to ramble. “A willful fury, with a biting tongue is more the face that she does show to me. But those who know the fashion of the world have dubbed her oft an incomparable. My parents seek to make for her a match with every single gentleman of name.”

“And is there any one she most prefers?” Henry asked, irritated at the idea that the innocent vixen in his tent last night might be promised to another.

“No, not when last I spoke to her, my Lord. Papa would wed her to Lord Constable, I heard him say the match was all but made. But Lisabet just curled her lip at that. I think she fancies more to be a queen, or empress who could manage one and all. She certainly does like to get her way. But do not, please, mistake me good my Lord. Though she can be a right pain in my side, she is at heart a loving sister still. She wept when I did leave to be our pledge.”

“Belike she thought I meant to use you ill. I hope, Phillip, that has not been the case?”

“Why no, my Lord, though I should say it not, the days that I have spent here in your camp seem almost as a holiday to me!”

“Then I am glad to give you such a treat. You must inform your sister of the truth.

“I will when I am back at home with her. She will just roll her eyes and scoff at me and tell me that I do betray our house. She would have had us fight till all were dead, or ere she ever flew the flag of truce.”

“She sounds a truly formidable foe. How glad I am I had to fight her naught.”

“As you should be, she wields a blade with skill!”

“Gascoigne, will you talk the good king mad? Come over here and help to clean the blades!”

Chastised by the should from Sir Stephen, the boy ducked his head and bowed to Henry before running over to assist in the work. Henry smiled in reply, but him mind was elsewhere. So, his fiery, would be page was set to marry the Constable of France? And, moreover, she was a fierce opponent of the peace with England. That would not bode well for Henry or for Fance. He hoped to settle the matter of his sovereignty, and the good Constable was a stumbling block in his way. If the man were wed to a woman of passion who stood against Henry’s claim, he would be only more likely to dig in and voice his dissent. No, Henry did not think he could allow such a union to take place.

It had nothing at all, of course, to do with his own attraction to the woman.

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @justthehiddleswrites @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza

#The Hollow Crown #The Hollow Crown Fic #Henry V #Henry V Fic #Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston as Henry V #Romance #Historical AU #Historical Romance #Eventual Smut #Slow Burn #Mutual Pining #Enemies to Lovers #Angst

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wisteria-lodge · 3 years

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snake primary + slightly burnt snake secondary (some kind of built secondary model)

Hi hi hi!! Hope you’re well!! So tell me, is there a way to tell whether you’re a lion or a snake secondary beyond the actual “textbook” definitions? I think I’m pretty burnt, and I’m on my way to fixing that, but it would help to know where I’m supposed to be heading lol

(Btw, I’m a Sam coded Dean girl. I don’t think it’s relevant I just thought that system was both useful and hilarious and I’m so glad you posted that)

I also really liked how that turned out.

I’m pretty sure I’m an improv secondary. I think I’m bad at it, hence the burning, but it’s what comes naturally to me and what I would feel most proud of.

I end up planning for a bunch of things, and in some cases I don’t hate it.

Damning with faint praise.

Like if I’m giving a presentation, I open a word document and write down what I’m gonna say verbatim, even the language tics and pauses and hesitations and such, so it’s like I’m actually living it. Then I repeat the whole thing multiple times, amending it whenever I change something, until I feel like I’ve sort of gone through the experience already.

That is… the weirdest way of hacking an improvisational secondary. Because that’s what’s you’re doing. Improvisational secondaries need to be “in it,” so you get as close to that as possible in the prep work.

Then I scrap the whole thing and improvise when it’s actually happening – the result is often pretty different from the word doc

of course.

but I’m a bit more in my element because I’ve done it already and I know I can do it.

This is honestly a really good strategy to make yourself more comfortable with improvising? I can tell you’re unBurning, this feels very much like… training wheels, to me. Heck, I think I would recommend your method to another burnt Improvisational secondary.

I’m not sure, but I think that sort of thing is more built than improv?

Like, kind of? I’m autism spectum, and when I was younger I built a Bird model to help me feel more confident accessing my Courtier Badger. That’s what this feels like.

But I definitely feel like it’s a model I’ve developed to deal with social anxiety and my fear of failure lol. I didn’t do stuff like that before it got bad, and if I could deal with not doing it, I would.

I hear that.

In most other situations, though, I tend to jump right in and go with the flow. I really don’t think very far ahead. I guess I can if I try, when it’s just a matter of logic, but things like my life plans, my relationships, or even more short-term things like plans with friends or what I’m gonna eat or how I’m gonna deal with a task, I really can’t project into the future. I can’t really make decisions or see a situation clearly until I’m in it. Then I tend to make decisions very quickly, kind of on instinct, or whatever feels right in the moment.

You’re definitely an improvisational secondary.

(Actually maybe that’s a primary thing? I’m a snake primary, but I do have a very prominent lion model, and a bit of badger as well.)

Nah, that’s definitely an Improvisational secondary thing. I am curious about your primary though, because you say you don’t have too much in the way of life plans… and *that* is more where a primary would come in. You feel like a safe Snake to me (that is, a Snake whose people are safe) so there is a little bit of… what now? What is the Lion+Badger model you wear over the top interested in?

Point is, I prefer being spontaneous, even if it’s something important. Making plans and having to stick to them makes me feel trapped. I’m not the most constant person, and I like that about me. I want to have room to grow and change, even for the smallest things.

Completely, entirely fair.

Anyway, I feel like I’ve talked more about limitations and things I don’t want so far, but I guess that’s a burnt thing.

I mean, sure you’re a little underconfident, but you seem pretty far along to me.

I’ve seen you mention what’s really useful in determining a secondary is what you actually enjoy, so here goes. I like being in the moment, and I like being able to come up with ideas and solutions on the fly, by taking in the situation and using it to my advantage.

That’s very Snake secondary sounding language.

I think there’s a bit of a separation in my mind between “people things” and “being clever things.”

For “being clever things” (like… I don’t know, an escape room, a problem with an administration, a paper I have to write, video games, some kind of mystery…) I like to rely on being observant and quick-thinking, and if I can find loopholes or outsmart whoever I’m facing to win in an unexpected way, that’s even better (but really more for my ego than anything else, I guess finding the “normal” solution is okay, as long as you get there, it’s just less fun).

Hilarious. Yeah, you sound like a *confident* Snake secondary to me.

For “people things” (drama with family or friends, or if someone is being an ass, or if someone comes to me for advice on interpersonal things), I prioritize being straightforward and honest. If I have time to plan or if I’m giving advice, I might come up with something more sneaky and elaborate, but if I’m in the moment, I’m most likely to be really confrontational, stubborn and unyielding, even if it makes things more difficult for me.

Hmm. I am reading this as a Snake who likes being Neutral - especially those words “stubborn” and “unyielding.” There’s a reason Neutral Snakes are called “the unmovable object.”

If I catch myself, I try to avoid it, but that just means staying silent and removing myself from the situation – I can’t bring myself to make compromises if it feels like I’m betraying myself.

Okay, now that’s sounding more Lion.

To be clear, that’s almost exclusively with people I’m close to, or who are supposed to “know me”.

Oh okay. This is your secondary interacting with your primary. Actively lying to and misrepresenting yourself to Your People would be immoral to a Snake Primary.

With friends who aren’t in my inner circle, or acquaintances, or complete strangers, or authority figures, I might get upset internally if I’m perceiving a slight or injustice, but I can keep up the mask I need no problem. That being said, I don’t have a lot of patience for drama, so if whatever it is can’t be quickly resolved with a convenient lie or saying what works for me in a way they won’t mind hearing, I just stick to what I’m actually thinking and/or my neutral state (I’m not sure it’s accurate to use snake language here, but it feels like it and it’s convenient).

I think it’s highly appropriate and accurate. All that is reading very Snake.

I’ve seen a bunch of people say lion and snake secondaries are sort of at odds with each other, but I don’t really get the contradiction between them yet (as in, I don’t see why people can’t be both those “contradictory” things at the same time). I do mask a lot, and I enjoy it – I think it’s rewarding, and honestly it just makes sense – it’s what works best in that moment, and it feels natural to shift that way. I just don’t feel it’s a misrepresentation. The whole “it’s not cheating, it’s being clever” thing just feels a little too dishonest. Cheating is cheating, no need to be so smug about it. It’s not wrong, though, at least not always. If it’s hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it, then it’s wrong (might still do it if the alternative is worse, but that doesn’t mean it’s suddenly an ethical choice to make, it just means I’m okay with being immoral in that instance).

All that being said, I don’t think masking is being dishonest about yourself. I don’t think anything that comes out of my mind is “not me”, it just doesn’t work that way. The personas I have with different groups or people in my life are all genuine, it’s just that different sides of me are brought up. And if I’m acting in a way that’s actually not genuine, that mask is still my creation – if someone else were to come up with a mask for that same situation, it would be different, because their mind works differently. Everything you do is a reflection of yourself, and even if you were to try your best to be honest all the time, you’d never be able to show your true and complete self to someone else. You can’t even see that yourself.

Oh man. This is why I love writing these, and this is what I mean about Lion and Snake being so incomprehensible to each other. Because Lions fundamentally do not think this way, every word here is dripping with Snake.

It might be helpful to think of Lions as static. That’s how Shakespeare (who definitely seems like a Snake secondary…) writes about them, and he sees them as sort of tragic. Lions really do have a “core” persona that feels more true than all the others, and they really do exist in it as much as they possibly can. And feel good and moral about doing that.

And a mask’s point may be to deceive or to gain something, but being blunt and straightforward can be used in that way too.

You are literally thinking of “common Lion secondary presentation” as another useful mask, and it’s so Snake, and so fantastic.

I’m thinking this sounds more snake than anything else, so I’ll focus on why I thought I might be a lion too now. I guess the reason I’m on the fence is because these two are presented as “either you think the only way is through, or you’re looking for a way around it”, and I’m not comfortable saying I favor either.

That is *a* way to think about the two secondaries. But those are symptoms, not causes. The reason a Lion secondary feels that the only way out is though is because a Lion secondary must be themselves, or die.

My first thought was to say that I get more satisfaction from finding ways around a problem because it makes me feel cleverer and it’s more fun, but that’s because I’m zeroing in on certain types of situations (people giving me some intellectual challenge, debates, or video games). But there were also a lot of times where I stuck it out and kept going with pigheaded stubbornness, and got a lot more satisfaction out of that (physical challenges like obstacle courses, disagreements with my parents, winning over certain people).

Here’s where I think the confusion is. You’re a Snake secondary, and one of your masks looks very Lion. Note how you talk about using this “pigheadedness” with certain people, who you know will respond well to it.

In fact, I remember my father telling me one day “yeah, you’re never here to compromise, you just make decisions and inform us, and keep going while you wait for us to accept reality,“ and I actually can’t describe how proud and smug I was about that. Kind of insufferable, but I just get so euphoric when people see right through me and show they get me, even if it’s about the more annoying or bad parts of me.

I think that’s just a human thing. The mortifying ideal of being known is how you feel loved.

I remember a conversation I had with my ex after we broke up where she cut right through all my bullshit and discarded my whole mask to get right to my inner self and the core of certain issues, and even though I was still mad and upset, and kind of embarrassed that she could see me being vulnerable, I couldn’t help but be happy about it, because I felt known.

Yeah. <3

I don’t interact much with people outside of my inner circle, so I can’t tell if it’s entirely specific to them, but I really vibe with the “honesty is their strength” part of being a lion. That’s why my people trust me and rely on me so much, because even though they know how sneaky I can get and how fun I think tricking people is, they also know I default to telling the truth and saying what’s on my mind more often than not, because they’re my people.

I think that, as a Snake primary who mostly only interacts with Your People, you’re in a kind of unusual position. I know that the presentation of a Snake who feels safe can be blunter, can be more Lion-y. My experience with Snakes is… yeah, sometimes I know I’m being manipulated, or having my buttons pushed in a specific way. But I’m fine with it, because I’m one of their people, and I know they would never hurt me. That’s where the certainty is coming from.

Then again, I also have a “it’s not lying unless they’re entitled to the truth” attitude with basically everyone else. I just don’t think some people deserve to know me that way.

snaaaake

(lions are going to take the truth and PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE with it, and if you can’t deal that’s YOUR PROBLEM)

And “ideally”, as in, if I didn’t have anxiety and a bunch of other issues, I still don’t think I’d just be neutral all the time. Sounds boring. And inconvenient.

Snake secondaries are great.

Ahhh, should I even post this? I feel like my whole thought process before this moment of introspection was “so I really vibe with snake, but I’m also hotheaded and a bit of a bitch, so I MUST be a lion, right” lmao. I just think I’m a straight up double snake at this point.

Yep.

Oof, a long way from my original lion bird sorting back when I first discovered SHC hahaha

Yeah, I used to think I was a Badger Bird.

(For the record, I’m writing this in a word doc, and it’s almost 2k now. I haven’t checked how long these normally are, so I’m really sorry if this is too long!!! I’m like physically incapable of being concise I’m so sorry)

Sometimes I edit or re-arrange these slightly for a cleaning reading experience, but I’m having fun. I was engaged all the way though.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for doing these!! They’re super interesting and I’m sure it helps people a lot, and also it’s really cool to see how different people think. I’m a socially-challenged writer, so it’s useful to have that bit of insight into other people’s minds. Love ya <3 <3 <3

#sortinghatchats #snake primary #snake secondary #double snake #built model #sortme #wisteria sorts

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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my sister also moved this week, its such a mental and physical hassle. hopefully your move went/is going well!!

at least we can just imagine PEL! fivan also having a disaster move in Moscow/Brighton Beach as a coping mechanism (if we have to suffer so do our faves)

The customs line at New York JFK is a mile long, has not moved for almost an hour, and the reek of hot, tired travelers, as babies scream and people shuffle papers passive-aggressively, as if this will magically make more agents appear and stamp the damn things, is almost overwhelming. Fedyor wipes his forehead again and shifts restlessly from foot to foot, staring balefully at the whopping two whole booths which are currently open. It’s August, it’s hot, he didn’t nap much on the plane, and his sweat is dripping stingingly into his eyes. His phone doesn’t work and it won’t until he gets an American SIM card, which he can’t do until he gets out of this fucking line. Which, by all appearances, may be literally never.

Next to him, Ivan looks even more stressed out. It’s how he’s looked ever since they landed, and Fedyor doesn’t blame him. Ivan can follow a conversation in English, sort of, if the other person is speaking slowly, but absolutely nobody in New York does that. Likewise, he can barely read it, and so this is an incoherent, cacophonous, wall-to-wall barrage of America, the first time Ivan has set foot in the West and already has no option but to stay here. Shuffle, shuffle. Wow! One whole meter forward! Someone call the newspapers!

At long miserably last, they get to the front of the line, and hand over their Russian passports, helpfully opened to the visa page. They have just temporary visitor visas for now; they had to pay through the nose to get them expedited, and they’re lucky that Fedyor had enough money saved to afford it. His parents have grudgingly agreed to ship over his stuff, and since that’s as close as they have ever gotten to approving both his relationship with Ivan and his decision to leave Russia, Fedyor is not ungrateful. Once, you know, they have an actual address to send it to. They have a lawyer, or rather a law student (though Nikolai Lantsov is a name to conjure with, no matter the technicalities of his employment status) who has promised to help them, a friend of a friend of a friend in the Russian community of Brighton Beach who has offered ditto, and a booking in a downtown Manhattan hotel for the next week. After that – well, who knows. Hopefully something works out. That, or –

“Mr. Kaminsky, Mr. Sakharov,” the ICE agent says, reading their passports. (Of course he pronounces it wrong, Sack-a-roff instead of Sa-hha-rov.) “How long are you planning to be in the United States of America?”

“We’re…” Fedyor is the one who has to do the talking, and though he has faced down Kremlin agitators and Russian riot police and God knows what else without turning a hair, he’s freaking out. “We’re in the process of applying for asylum, actually. So it’s not clear.”

The ICE agent eyes them up and down, as if trying to judge what their reasons for claiming asylum might possibly be. Ivan is tense from head to foot, and hopefully does not look like a Chechen terrorist trying to sneak in past the noble guardians of American sovereignty. Fedyor knows that he hates this with his entire being, throwing himself on their mercy, even if he agreed to do this and to come here. He pulls out the letter. “This is from Nikolai Lantsov, at Hyde Perrier Claremont LLC in Manhattan. It explains our situation.”

The ICE agent takes it and scans it, looking bored. Ivan’s tension, if possible, increases. He theoretically knows that they’re not about to be arrested for being gay here (though any other reason is certainly possible) but the idea of just letting this officious, bureaucratic stranger know, just like that – what the hell. It’s completely insane. Impossible. They can’t get in, Fedyor thinks suddenly, forcing down a sick surge of panic. They’re going to have to turn right around and return to Russia. Their visitor visas are valid, but after that –

“Here.” Fedyor sounds too nervous, too solicitous, as he passes over the letter of invitation from the president of the Russian Citizens of Brooklyn Neighborhood Alliance. “This too.”

The document is likewise collected. The ICE agent reads, taking his sweet time, as the line shifts and sighs and stamps behind them. He holds up each passport and compares the photo to Fedyor and Ivan, asks them to confirm their date and place of birth, and then finally, stamps his approval cursorily onto each temporary visa. “Welcome to the United States.”

Trying not to shake too visibly with relief, Fedyor and Ivan take back their passports, thank him, step through the control point, and head down to baggage claim, checking screens to see which one has Aeroflot 102 from Sheremetyevo. It takes a while until their suitcases appear, they haul them off, and finally, after using the restroom and refilling their water bottles, step out into the sweaty evening, alive with honking taxis, jostling buses, droning recorded announcements, rental-car shuttles, rideshares, and other madness. Ivan looks like he’s overloading, and Fedyor grabs his arm. “Vanya, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Ivan takes a deep breath. “Yes, I am.”

“Just a little longer,” Fedyor promises. “Then we can sleep.”

He takes charge of hailing them a taxi, and the guy pulls over, loads their stuff into the boot, and starts the meter, as they pull out and almost immediately come to a dead stop on Grand Central Parkway. It’s the height of city rush hour, and once again, they are reduced to creeping forward a few feet at a time. Planes roar low overhead, landing and taking off from JFK and LaGuardia, and the driver has the Mets game on the radio, the air conditioner cranked up to bone-chilling levels. Hearing Ivan ask Fedyor how long this is going to take, he says, “Where is it you guys are from?”

“Uh,” Fedyor says. “Russia.”

“Huh. Nice there?”

“I guess.” Fedyor unaccountably chokes up. He is settled in his decision to leave, but right then, he misses it so desolately that it seems impossible to bear. “Yeah.”

At least the cab driver doesn’t care much aside from that – in this job, you meet people from all over the world – and once they inch through the toll plaza and onto Robert F. Kennedy Bridge, they move consistently, if slowly. Fedyor glances in every direction at their new home, trying to see as much of it as he can, to make it familiar. He’s only been to America once, during his final year at MSU when they visited Washington D.C., and this is plenty new for him too. Finally the driver pulls up at their hotel, they get out, and Fedyor pays him in cash, with a nice tip. “Thank you,” he says, as Ivan silently unloads their suitcases, in the honking, flashing, noisy, whirring, chugging ambiance of the city around them, the sweat and heat and hustle of lower Manhattan. “Have a good night.”

The driver thanks him, climbs back into his cab, and drives away, and Ivan and Fedyor step inside to check in. They collect their key and ride up in the elevator, and find that their room has a decent view of midtown, the glittering skyscrapers and the iconic needle of the Empire State Building. Ivan throws his bag down on the floor and collapses on the bed without another word, eyes closed. Fedyor pauses, then goes over and curls up next to him.

At once, Ivan shifts so he can pull him closer, and Fedyor buries his face in his neck. Muffled, he says, “Are we totally crazy?”

“Maybe,” Ivan admits. “But either way, Fedya. I’m glad that I’m with you.”

#heartrender husbands #fivan #fivan ff #pel asks #a phantom in enchanting light #anonymous #ask #(and thanks)#(we are super definitely for real leaving tomorrow so we have to pack and clean AGAIN tonight)#then two days of driving and more camping #welp?#moving is the worst truly

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onebizarrekai · 3 years

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I think that lucia di lammermoor is one of my new favorite operas not just because of the mad scene but because the opera makes no sense whatsoever

there are literally so many plot holes in the libretto. there are so many unexplained facets of the narrative, unresolved arcs, dialogues that mandate copious creative liberties, things that only happen off-stage, and some unsolvable problems that can only be fixed by cutting things or directing things a certain way. there’s so much nonsense it’s actually hilarious. if you read the source story of the bride of lammermoor the opera diverts quite a bit, but the bride of lammermoor is actually even worse, so let’s put that to the side.

let’s just start from the beginning of the opera, paraphrasing as much as possible. lucia’s evil brother, enrico, is the first lead to greet the stage, minutes after his goony normano. normano tells enrico the tale of how enrico’s archenemy, edgardo, saved the life of lucia, and he reluctantly admits that they are now in love with each other and are secretly meeting up all the time. enrico flips his shit and sings about how he’s going to kill edgardo or whatever. bide the bent (aka raimondo, but schirmir really said bide the bent, whatever the hell that means) exists and does priest stuff because he’s a priest. by the way, there’s this whole thing about how the ashton family (aka lucia and enrico) are protestant and edgardo is catholic and that’s why they hate each other and that’s why there’s a priest.

anyway they all leave, and then lucia and alice enter. lucia is, naturally, waiting for her illegal boyfriend: edgardo. she is very scared because enrico is a piece of shit and wants to kill her boyfriend. alice is like “yo man this is a bad idea” and lucia is like “where’s edgardo” but lucia is also perturbed by something else. she has a ghost story to tell about this nondescript fountain and tells alice about the girl who was killed by her lover at this fountain, and then suddenly goes like “by the way the ghost of the dead woman appeared to me” and like wow ok lucia. after singing about all of the water turning to blood in her hallucination, she proceeds to completely change moods and sing about how much she loves edgardo because she is crazy. after all of this, edgardo finally arrives and tells lucia about how he actually has to go to france to do ambassador stuff and disappear for an indefinite period of time. he says that they should finally tell enrico about their relationship. lucia completely shuts him down, and then edgardo cries about how enrico has killed his family and how she’s the only light of his life. they end up deciding to keep their relationship a secret anyway and then vow to marry each other.

act 2, enrico has ordered normano to forge a break-up letter from edgardo to send it to lucia. normano shows up to give it to enrico, enrico summons lucia into wherever he is to tell her that he needs to marry her off to some other guy in order to save their family. lucia is like “but I’m marrying someone else” and enrico is like “oh yeah? read this” and gives her the letter, and lucia naturally breaks down because it’s a big lie about how edgardo has found someone else in france. she cries about it until this big fanfare plays to welcome her new husband, arturo. at this point lucia is singing about nothing except how much death would benefit her right now. enrico leaves after being an asshole for a few more minutes, and then in comes bide the bent to lecture lucia about the invalidity of her previous marital vows. she leaves to change into a wedding gown.

enter arturo, this random loser that enrico wants lucia to marry. his lines are so cliché that he’s probably reading them off a sheet of paper (which is exactly how we staged the production I am currently doing). somehow arturo knows about lucia’s affair with edgardo because those two were actually horrible at being secretive, but also he doesn’t care because he gets to marry a hottie. enrico tells arturo about how lucia’s mother died and that’s why she’s crying about the wedding. lo and behold, lucia enters and she is crying. they hold the wedding right then and there under the Authority™ of bide the bent, enrico forces lucia to sign the wedding documents, and then everyone is like “wait who’s at the door?” and then EDGARDO BREAKS IN and he’s like “EDGAAAAAARDO” and they sing a whole sextet that borders a confusion ensemble except it’s a bel canto tragedy.

edgardo is like “yeah man! it’s my right to be here since I’m engaged to lucia!” and enrico is like “PSH” and bide the bent comes up like “sorry she just signed this Other Marriage Contract” and shows it to edgardo and edgardo is like WHAT and he comes up to lucia like BRUH YOU DONE THIS?? and lucia doesn’t even know what’s happening at this point, she’s just like “yes?? but” and then edgardo takes off his ring and hers and then throws a temper tantrum before he gets kicked out.

behold the wolf’s craig duet, the most stupid and pointless thing in this opera considering what happens later. enrico barges into edgardo’s house and they sing about how they’re going to kill each other and duel at the graveyard. that’s it. there’s probably sexual tension.

after that, there’s a wedding party, except with a Horrifying Twist. lucia goes upstairs with arturo and fucking kills him. having lost her mind, she comes out covered in blood and sings for like twenty minutes in a very impressive manor. she collapses on the floor at the very end.

there’s a random recit right afterwards where enrico, bide the bent and normano briefly talk about lucia losing her mind. while enrico is crying about lucia, bide the bent literally blames normano of all people, who did exactly nothing, for every bad thing that happened to lucia.

the final scene begins at the graveyard. now, I know what you’re thinking. edgardo and enrico promised to duel each other here, right? right! so where the hell is enrico? I dunno, not here. edgardo is here, and he’s crying and stuff about his dead father. he’s very sad and probably wants to perish. a chorus shows up mourning something. edgardo asks about it and no one wants to tell him. bide the bent appears in all his priestliness and tells edgardo that lucia is now in heaven. how did she die? beats me. she died of insanity or something. edgardo has lost the final thing in his life that matters to him, so he decides to “go see her” and stabs himself.

the opera ends.

welcome to lucia di lammermoor. now, some of these plot holes are resolvable through directing. for example, lucia’s insanity is inexplicable in the libretto. nobody is just sad about their boyfriend and commits murder–granted, her first aria had her singing about a ghost and a fountain of blood. why’s she like this, though? she’s probably not ok. so like, some people explain this by making enrico way way worse than just a big liar. in the production that I’m doing, enrico is being depicted as sexually abusive towards lucia, and like, yeah that helps do some explaining. but you know what it doesn’t help? the parts of the opera that normally get cut, like the stupidass wolf’s craig duet that exists for no reason and usually gets cut because it makes no sense. also, the scene right after the mad scene where bide the bent comically blames normano for everything even though it is clearly enrico’s fault and enrico is randomly mourning lucia even though he was horrible to her for the whole opera. unfortunately, when you have companies like the met, which do full operas with no cuts, you get the whole, nonsensical story in its full glory, not to mention the met tends to shy away from taking creative liberties with the directing.

so like, why do I say this opera is a new favorite? well, aside from it being fun to sing, since I’m doing it for the first time, it’s absolutely hilarious to consider who the real mastermind here is, since for some reason, the librettist seems to think that it’s normano. you have to make up so much subtext in this story in order to even make it begin to make sense, so how far can you take it? how much nonsense can you create?

easy mode is assuming the mastermind is enrico. he’s a horrible person. obviously bide the bent accuses normano because he’s trying to divert the blame from enrico, who may or may not kill him if he says the truth. however, enrico does not go to the graveyard to kill edgardo and tie off loose ends (which I personally think he should have). enrico just kind of disappears, honestly, in spite of being the main bad guy.

bide the bent is another viable option. he blames normano to divert attention from himself. he plays the role of the peacemaker between edgardo and enrico during the sextet, but it’s all a sham. the reason bide the bent appears in the final graveyard scene is because he’s the true villain here. he simply took advantage of everyone around him in order to make sure everything went according to plan. enrico’s bs towards lucia, lucia’s insanity, edgardo’s depression, normano loyalty, the whole deal. he wishes to rise in power… perhaps the reason enrico does not show up in the final scene is because bide the bent has already disposed of him.

what if it was edgardo? what if he and lucia devised a plan to create an opening that would allow them to run away? what if arturo was in on it? lucia pretends to murder arturo, pretends to go insane, and the plan was to finally flee with edgardo… but then they were INTERCEPTED. their plan was ruined. lucia was disposed of by the enemy off-stage and it was too late. they claim she died of insanity, but she was killed by normano under enrico’s orders, or whoever else is the designated evil one here.

in the met, for some reason, they decide to have lucia’s ghost come in during the final scene and silently “coerce” edgardo into ending his life, which sounds cool, but it was ridiculous. I just remember the blood bag being in the wrong place so he had to stab himself in the kidney and lucia actually pushed the prop knife in like she wasn’t literally a ghost. there was also a ghost during lucia’s first aria that totally upstaged her. this opens up many stupid doors for directing such as arturo’s ghost returning as well if need be. anyone’s ghost could be there. ghosts canonically exist at the met. arturo could be fortnite dancing during the mad scene.

behold, a terrible take. edgardo is having a secret affair after all, but he’s having an affair with enrico. enrico is enraged when he discovers edgardo’s relationship with his sister because he thought that THEY had a thing. he vengefully tries to break them up by marrying lucia off to arturo. enrico and edgardo sing the wolf’s craig duet as a not-tragic breakup song.

honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this goddamn cast was sleeping with each other. the possibilities are endless

during the staging period of the show, we all came up with so many stupid and hilarious ideas that we could stage an entire comedy version of this opera. maybe one day it could happen. maybe…

anyway it’s like midnight and I’m doing my cast’s performance of this opera in two days, and I just drove home a while ago from performance 1 today talking with my family about all of these stupid possibilities, so it’s all on my mind. at least the mad scene is fun to sing

#random stuff #me? going on a comical tangent about opera? more likely than you think #there's a lot of content warnings for stuff here but that's to be expected of opera #honestly I'll lose my mind for real if I have to do this show at face value #enrico isn't evil enough in just the libretto alone #see operas usually have pretty simple stories #and plot holes #but LUCIA #lucia is something else

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that-one-weeb-but-starwars · 3 years

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A Marriage Arrangement with death pt 4

All I can say is well. Well my bad-

Read Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 3.5

Y/n's eyes slowly opened, turning her head she was face to face with Savage.

Smiling softly her hand reaching out for his face, rubbing Savage's cheek with her thumb lightly.

He slowly woke up, his irises bright in color and lowly shining in the dark room. Y/n said nothing- thank the gods for black out curtains. She thought his eyes were so pretty with there soft glow

He kissed the palm of her hand softly as she smiled, leaning forwards they shared a soft kiss.

"Well good moring." She smiled.

He only sighed, pulling her into his chest as she chuckled.

"Go back to sleep."

"Come on we can't stay in bed forever." Y/n responded kissing his chin, he was rubbing her bare back with one hand she smiled at him, relaxing in his grip she sighed happily.

"We're getting married today."

"Again."

Y/n chuckled, "You don't want to get married again?" She teased.

"Why unify again and tell the galaxy when my galaxy is infront of me."

Y/n flushed deep red, as she moved her gaze away, her chest tightening and butterflies filling her stomach.

"Oh...I..." she spoke trying to come with a counter. His hand carassed her cheek as he sat himself up.

Y/n kept her gaze away the headboard seemingly more interesting, but soon then she realized she was laid down on her back, Savage over her frame as she looked at him to catch his gaze- and hold it.

"Hello there..." y/n spoke trying to cover her akwardness.

He leaned down kissing her softly without another word, her arms wrapping around his large frame, hands rest at the top of his back.

Pulling away softly Y/n whined playfully, chuckling he held her, she pulled him back down into a kiss happily as a leg wrapped around his bare waist.

A soft groan of pleasure was drawn out into the kiss and the two pulled away softly with a pant.

"Moring sex sounds fun." Y/n joked as he chuckled, going to kiss her again there was a knock on the door.

Y/n groaned in displeasure, its always someone. Pulling herself from under him she covered herself with a robe. Walking towards the door it opened with a push of a button.

"Oh- Misses Gladlys-" y/n responded, "I uh...why are you here?"

"I was requested to get you on account of your mother Princess."

Y/n nodded, "uhuh for?"

"Well to get ready of course. It is your big day."

"The ceremony isnt till later in the day?" Y/n questioned.

"Well yes but-"

"Misses Gladys I love you. And you know that. But I have another matter- Very Very big matter."

"But Princess."

"Just this once. Give me..." She spoke looking back at Savage, his hips and below covered by the blankets as his top half was put on full display for her, "Give me 45 mintues-"

"Fourty-Five Mintues!? Princess you're mother-"

"Sorry Misses Gladlys! I promise just once! Bye!-"

"But Princess-"

Y/n shut the door, locking sealing it shut from the inside.

"Now." Y/n spoke turning back to him walking towards the bed as she dropped her robe.

"Where were we?"

"Sleep."

"Right."

She climbed into bed as she curled up to him, his arm drapped over her hip in protection.

"The sweet glory of sleeping in." Y/n smiled nuzzling into his chest as he chucked, both going back to sleep for another hour.

Yet she would be woken up by a loud knocking, causing her to groan. Savage was also woken up as Y/n pulled away from him recovering herself she opened the door.

"Do you have any idea what time it is!"

"Yeah Yeah Im going." Y/n spoke walking back into the room and going back to Savage.

"Wish me luck with her- and someone will be here with a set of chlothes. My brother's will want to talk to you before hand," Y/n spoke kissing him softly, "Love you."

"I love you too."

She smiled as she left, being yelled at as soon as she opened the door.

"Yeah yeah lets go."

Savage sat up rubbing the back of his neck, meanwhile getting dressed his chlothes from the other night, pulling the boots on and bottoms, leaving his armour off he pulled on the turtle neck. That's when he received a transmission.

Picking up the hologram fromed as Ventress stood there.

"Savage."

"Mistress."

She crossed her armors, "has she trusted you?"

"Yes." Savage spoke, "I believe this may be a strong allyship between the two worlds-"

"You fool! This is an infiltration! Do not get attached!" Ventress argued.

"I thought this was ment to be Unification. Not a hoax." Savage tried to defend, but it was useless.

"Count Dooku will be present today both at the ceremony and to sign documents. Its when we will attack, killing Count Dooku and the royal family. And Dathomir will finally regain what was lost to them."

What was he suppose to say- No? He couldn't do that, he did belong to Ventress after all. The spell did what it was ment to.

"You will kill the royal family! And that Pathetic thing you call your wife." Ventress demanded.

"Yes. Mistress."

"Good."

The transmission was cut as his head felt like it split open, holding it in pain he growled.

The doors opened.

"Hey! Savage! We wanted-" it was one of Y/n's brothers, "You okay?"

"I-I am fine." Savage lied.

"Oh. come on then."

He followed the group leading him into a lounge area, all her brothers sat there. They cheered for him as he ended.

"Big day huh! Must be exciting!"

"You idiot he was married at Dathomir as well."

"Your an idiot!"

"Sorry for them." Fresco spoke apologizing for the twins, handing Savage a cup, "for your headache."

Savage nodded almost immediately downing the water, leading him to come sit down

"You heard fathers coming back?"

"Good maybe mother will finally stop being so mean."

"Please you know she bullies him too."

"You havent met all of us have you?" Fresco spoke.

"No I don't believe I have."

Fresco smiled, "there is a lot of us. You know the twins and Attiucs."

The twins were busy arguing but Atticus waved looking up from his book.

"Ezio here is the oldest." The older teen raised a cup taking a drink.

"Im after him, and Jacob's next, after are the twins but you met both of us" Fresco added, "Juniper is next."

The teen with his hair half buzzed the other side long and braided lifted up a lazy hand, sitting upside down on the couch as he listened to his brother.

"After Juniper its Atticus, and then the triplets."

They were busy dualing around the room with sticks, "Cornelius, Hamilton, and Magnus."

Hamilton stopped to wave Politely but was ran into by his two siblings as they fell onto the floor.

"What about you? And your brothers? Sisters?" Juniper questioned but Atticus kicked him.

"You little shit!-"

"I don't have any brothers. Not no more." Savage responded his glass being refilled by butler standing by.

"Hey! We got you. We're all brothers now." Fresco spoke a fist to Savage's shoulder playfully, "we're an off bunch but mean well."

The group contuied to talk to Savage, it was odd how accepting they really were. Somewhere in the back of his mind made him regret all of this.

He'd have to kill all these people.

So what was the point of getting close?

Soon enough all of there suits came, Savage the only one in white.

"Who do you think Y/n will recieve?" Juniper asked the group.

"I believe a moder. Perhaps Sutur." Ezio explained fixing the flower pin in his hair.

"What is receiving?" Savage asked.

"Hmm?" Fresco asked, "Oh it-"

Mid word Juniper cut in, "It's part of the religion. The 12 gods are believed to comibned to become the earth beneath us. Sutur is just one of the gods, mostly know for being a core due to its controling of everything hot. When you marry one born on this planet goes through a 'receiving' its rare but only twelve can get a god, but you can also get an enity or a passed loved one though that's super rare. They give you there strength within battle."

"But Y/n's much more powerful than a core- which is why she should be getting Hela." Jacob cut in.

"Hela hasnt been someones beck and call since Father." Ezio argued, "and we all know how he ended up. You wish that upon your sister?"

The group went quiet.

"I was given the impression your father was alive." Savage responded.

Fresco sighed, "when he was assigned Hela he descended into madness with each kid born. They think he's in Helheim and will return- He'll be Y/n's receiver."

"I think he's dead dead." Jacob responded, "like he deserves and mother better follow him"

"You can't say that!" Atticus argued.

"Please Attiucs grow up." Juniper spoke.

Savage listened intently, as Fresco looked back at the Zabarack, "We may have a large family, but the heads of the family aren't...the best"

"It sounds like my family." Savage told him as they all started filing out of the room, leaving just him and Fresco in the room alone, "I. Unfortunately grew up without one of my brothers, he was taken away due to his special ablities."

Fresco listened as he poured them both a glass of whiskey, "And my younger brother. I don't remember what happened, or if he's even alive."

Handing Savage the glass they stood by the window.

"Makes you not want to have kids." Fresco questioned, "I know it scares me. Becoming the one thing I hate."

"On Dathomir men are only used for mating and then usually killed off." Savage spoke.

Fresco frowned looking out the window- how was he ment to respond to such information.

"I know my sister will treat you with Kindness." Fresco spoke, "it seems you're already growing on her. I seen you two at the dinner."

Savage felt his chest tighten, he was falling in love with her, and he liked it. He loved the idea of her.

"Guys hurry up or it will be the groom walking down the Isle." Ezio told as he had quickly come back.

The two left with each other side by side. Both enjoying the silence as they walked down the steps. Thats right, He had only been down and up these steps a few times, but those few times were some of the best times of his life.

Stopping outside the castle he looked back, seeing it all shiney as the sun hit it perfectly, looking like something out of a book. The whole walk was like that- there was no reason to take out a whole planet for the sake of Dathomir, Dathomir didn't need another planet- he would of liked them to fix theres first atleast.

"Savage?"

He turned his head seeing Y/n standing there, when was she here? Looking around a bit shaken she stood in her wedding dress- it looked perfect on her, with a full bottom and a lacey top that had the same matching sleeves. When were they at the alter already?

"Are you okay?" She whispered softly, the priest reading off religious text.

"I-" he spoke looking at her what was he suppose to tell her?

Her white dress would be bloodstained within a matter of mintues due to what Mother Talzin was planning?

"I have a headache is all." He responded.

Y/n frowned, "maybe some food afterwords will make you feel better. Caf was even skipped this moring."

"Right." He responded, and left it at that.

"Do you take this man to be your husband? To take of him in sickness and health? To love him without doubt?"

Y/n smiled, "I do."

Her hand gripped onto his in excitement, that small squeeze made him happy, feeling her hand in his.

He had no idea what the woman infront of them said but only said the words as quick as he comprehend.

"I do." He cut the lady off.

Y/n flushed as she looked down flustered.

"Then I do pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Y/n was pulled in quickly, shocking her, but it wasn't unwelcomed, kissing back the large church full of people cheered as they pulled away and as he did He seen Count Dooku sitting next to Mother Miranda. The group of people settling down, calming themselves once more as the woman cleared her throat Savage being gestured over by her brothers who were off to the side as he went over.

"With the coming of age you Y/n will be the caller of one of our twelve gods. You may be choosen for something greater, or passed by as a common folk." She spoke, "are you ready to give yourself to the twelve gods and let them judge you as one!"

"Yes head preist." Y/n spoke as her wrist was grabbed and palmed opened where it was sliced open Y/n gritting her teeth slightly as she was dragged to the floor, only following as her hand was put face down on the alters floor.

The woman moved to the side as the doors behind the alter creaked. Atticus holding onto Savages leg as Savage put a hand on his shoulder telling him he'd be okay.

"By the twelve gods..." Fresco spoke as the door opened a large hand crawling onto the carved in wood.

"I-its Hela..." Ezio asperated as the door swung open heavily crashing into the wall. Which it was hinged to.

The room silent and still as the other swung open.

The figure large, made up of what seemed to be Ash, body exposed and what looked like to be burnt half way just to show her dark innards, she was on all fours as Y/n looked up at her, slowly standing up as it went quiet for a moment.

Y/n reached out her cut hand, Hela reaching out her hand as well as Y/n looked forward keeping her eyes on Hela.

Somewhere some how Helas hand had shrunken along with part of her arm as they were bound by the cut on Y/n's hand.

'They're here-'

A warrior bursted into the doors as Y/n turned her head, "We're being attacked! The ships! They've all been destroyed!-"

The man stopped stabbed through the back, and fell to the floor.

"So sorry to ruin this happy momment."

Y/n growled as her hand was let go, and in place of Hela's hand held a sword, as Ventress walked down the isle.

"Damn are sister really is a bad ass-" Ezio spoke under his breath.

Dooku stood up as well, saber in hand.

"You were foolish to come alone." Y/n argued Hela still behind her looming in all her darkness.

"Who says I'm alone?"

Just as she spoke, a Battalion of night sisters filed into the room from both sides of her.

"Savage." Ventress spoke.

"Yes Mistress."

Almost immediately Fresco who stood besides Savage was lifted up into the air, force choking him as Fresco grabbed at his neck.

"Savage! Stop! Now!" Y/n demanded, "Stop now!"

"Kill him. Now." Ventress demanded.

There was a large crack as the filled church was still in shock, the young man thrown to the floor as his brother immediately surronded him.

"He's dead! He killed Fresco!"

Thats when the chaos started, when one had been pronounced dead.

Y/n could remember, it was all a blur. All the fighting- the blood shed. All she remember was ripping through people with her new found sword, swinging at heads and abdomens, she was luck that her skirt hadn't had a train.

Atticus had ran to her as she fought on the stairs stabbing a nightsister in the face and kicking her back, her white dress covered in dirt and blood, "Y/n!"

"Attiucs! Run away now!" Y/n argued, blocking another weapon, kicking the women in the female Kenobi's

"I'm not gonna leave you!" He shouted.

"Damn it Atticus!" Y/n shouted slicing the woman's flesh and grabbing his hand, "Come on! Lets go!"

Atticus ran hand in hand with her, somehow and some way some of her brothers caught up, they running and escaping to the castle.

"We have to be quiet take off your shoes." Y/n whispered the group hiding behind a wall as they all pulled there shoes off, "You have your run away bags all ready?"

"What?" Magnus asked, his other brother Cornelius, holding his hand, he had lost one of three to Ventress.

"Shit thats right, they never made there's. I'll go with them." Ezio spoke quietly,

Y/n nodded taking a quick head count, they had lost so many already, Fresco, Juniper, and Hamilton.

"I'll take Cornelius and Magnus." Jacob offered.

"I'll take Atticus. Ezio- weapons and maps?"

Ezio nodded, "becareful."

They all nodded, spliting up, Y/n had lucky gotten Attiucs up the stairs and to his room, as he was grabbing his things.

"Y/n." Atticus spoke as she was making sure he had everything for a final time as they carefully walked to her room, once inside she answered him.

"Yes Atticus." She responded going for her own bag.

"Savage...he isnt that mean. I know he isn't." Atticus spoke, "I know we didn't know him long but- he didn't wanna kill Fresco did he?"

Y/n tossed her dress the the floor dressed in trousers now fixing her top.

"Atticus." Y/n spoke kneeling down to him, "I know you liked him. I did too, but I don't even know anymore."

Attiucs frowned, as she held his shoulder's, "Are you going to kill him? Savage?"

Y/n frowned, "I don't know."

#star wars: clone wars #star wars tcw #tcw savage #savage x reader #savage opress #well shit #i killed a lot of people off damn #tcw savage x reader

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teamhook · 3 years

Text

Finding Hope :: A CS August Rush AU birthday fic

Hellol! Okay, before I go on. I swear this will be the last WIP I start. I had to. This story is for my favorite dork @hookedonapirate cause I love her to death. She had asked me to write it before but at the time I was writing the Forever My Girl CS AU.

Happy Birthday!! Hope you like your present.

Thanks to my beta @ultraluckycatnd she is the best!!

FFN

AO3

A love for music unites an unlikely pair. The rhapsody they unknowingly created will give life to the hope they still have in their hearts.

Killian Jones and his older brother Liam had arrived from London with nothing more than the clothes on their back to pursue a music career. The lives of the Jones brothers had been difficult since the beginning. Their mother died at a young age and their father had decided he was not made to be a family man.

The Jones brothers had formed The Outlaws with some fellow expatriates they met along the way. The venues they played weren't the best, but they managed to make a name for themselves enough to have steady gigs.

Emma Nolan had grown up with loving parents but after an unfortunate accident, she was left alone. Afterwards, her grandfather took her in. George Spencer was an ill-tempered man. He wasn't a doting person, which caused Emma to become closed off. She focused on solace in the cello. Thankfully, the man valued pomp and grandeur so, at the thought of his granddaughter attending Juilliard, he eagerly made it possible.

On a rare night out with her best friend Elsa, they decide to go to listen to a little-known rock band called The Outlaws they saw fliers for. It was love at first sight. The lead singer mesmerized the young cellist with his voice. The girls waited for the band to finish their set to introduce themselves to them. Elsa and Emma fit in with the band perfectly. The Jones brothers had quickly gravitated towards the blonde beauties.

Emma and Killian had slowly drifted away from the group. It ended up being the most magical night for the young lovers above New York's Washington Square.

Months later, Emma finds out she is pregnant. Somehow, she already loves her kid so much. Her grandfather makes his displeasure known, however, every moment of her pregnancy.

The day her life changed was gloomy and rainy. After an argument with George, Emma had gone to the store to buy some last-minute things for her baby. The drunk driver came out of nowhere. When she gives birth prematurely, her grandfather takes advantage while she is unconscious and gives the baby girl up for adoption. The moment Emma wakes up, she is told the news that her baby is dead. The news shatters her musical dreams and any hope of happiness.

You're not special. You're just like the rest of us... alone, nothing but an orphan.

The music... Can you hear it? Listen... I can hear it everywhere.

It's in the wind ...

in the light...

It's all around us.

All you have to do is open your heart and listen.

Sometimes the world tries to knock the hope out of you.

They tried to stop me from hearing the music...

I believe in music the way others believe in fairy tales. When I'm alone it builds inside me eager to erupt into a melody. I like to believe that what I hear came from my parents. That the music I hear is the same one they heard the night they met...

Maybe that's how they found each other and that's how they'll know I am theirs and find me...

Hope Swan had grown up in foster care. As a baby, she had been adopted but returned once the couple was blessed with their own flesh and blood. After that, she bounced from foster home to foster home.

In her shared room at the group home, she's currently at, Hope records herself humming a song that keeps playing in her mind, but is rudely interrupted by her roommate who mocks her. "You are not special. You're just like us, an unwanted orphan."

The girl walks away, slamming the door.

Hope's eyes water at the mean girl's words. She knows it in her heart that she is wanted and someday she will find her parents. She continues recording her humming of the song in her heart.

Hope is now eleven years old. She stands in the back of the group as one of the younger girls is adopted by a couple. Maybe she should be bitter and want to be adopted but if she was, she would never find her parents. They're out there and she will find them.

Hope runs away once more from her group home. Living on the streets she makes friends easily, but is still guarded. She knows that someday her parents will come looking for her. All she wants is to go home.

As she wanders the streets, runaway Hope Swan is getting closer to find her home. She knows she will find her family. All she has to do is listen to the music in her heart and follow it.

A kind man, Merlin, is assigned Hope Swan's case. She wasn't a trouble maker, but she was reportedly closed off with the couples. He is notified that she has run away. She has a history of running away. The picture of the young girl saddens him. He wishes he can find her and place her in a good home. She is a pretty girl, with blonde hair, vibrant sea-blue eyes, dimples, and a slightly dimpled chin. He posts her picture on the board.

Emma Nolan had moved away after losing her daughter. Her little girl, her grandfather told her the baby was a tiny girl. The heartbreak led her to become a music teacher to kids. She was always surrounded by children and music. That was the way she chose to honor her child. An unexpected call from her grandfather's doctor makes her break a promise she had made to herself years ago. He is the only family she has left.

Once she arrives at his house, she is summoned to his death bed.

His eyes tear up. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I don't hate you Grandpa, but my heart hasn't healed. Time will never heal this wound," she sniffled.

He closes his watery eyes. "I think I can help with that."

Emma gets closer to his bed, confused. "How can you say that? My child is gone! You didn't want her, so you threw her away while I slept. You took that away from me. I couldn't hold her!"

"Emma, enough!" he screams, then immediately starts coughing from the effort.

"I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I know now that family is precious, that image doesn't matter. Emma, I have a confession. I hope it's not too late and that you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

Emma stares at him.

"She's alive. Your little girl is alive."

"What? How can you be so cruel and say that to me!" Emma says with disbelief and tears pooled in her eyes.

"Because it's the truth. She is alive. I gave her up for adoption, and I was the one who signed the papers. I was your next of kin since you weren't married."

Emma gapes at the old man as she let her limp body drop to the chair next to his bed. "You gave my daughter away as if she was property because I embarrassed you?"

George Spencer can't keep his eyes on his granddaughter. The once-proud man weakened by age and disease casts his eyes down in shame. "In my safe, you will find the documents."

"What good will that do me?" Emma asks.

"Emma, my attorney can help you find her," he says quietly.

"But-"

"Emma, if your parents were here, they would tell you that you should never lose hope," he says.

Emma stands up. "You're right, I'm going to find my daughter."

George sighs as he falls into a deep sleep, his machines flatlining. The nurse that had given them privacy to talk rushes in as soon as the machine goes off.

Emma finds the papers and with trembling hands, calls Mr. Gold, the attorney.

The man is a ruthless slimy bastard. He tries to convince Emma that her kid is better off where she is. Of course, he would say that seeing he had helped her grandfather do this to her; he was just covering his ass. She doesn't care about that. All she wants is to get her kid. She has a daughter and she is out there. She hopes to God that she is being taken care of.

Killian Jones had moved to California not long after The Outlaws broke up. He had given up his dream of singing, but somehow had managed to gain a thriving career as an agent.

He had also distanced himself from the memory of Emma. After the band broke up, his brother and former bandmates had moved to Boston. Killian thought the further away he could get would be better, though. He tried forgetting her, but he knew he could never forget her. It was only one night, but he would belong to her for the rest of time.

Liam had called him a few days prior to ask if he wanted to join them in a reunion of sorts. They were going to play at the little place where he had met Emma. The joint was going out of business so in an effort to raise money to save it, The Outlaws had agreed to come out of retirement for one night only.

Killian had yet to agree, but 'what if' rattled in his brain. Something inside him tugged at his heart. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants gets what he deserves, Liam had told him over and over. He decides he will do it. He will fly to New York and look for Emma. He prays to every deity he can that she is not married. It's a selfish thought, but he couldn't bear it if she isn't meant for him.

Killian picks up the phone and dials his brother's number. "Liam, I'll be there."

"Brother, you'll do it? What happened to never setting foot in New York?" Liam asks.

"Liam, are you going to question my decision? I thought you would be happy," Killian says through gritted teeth.

"I am, I am. I'm just surprised. Killian, this doesn't have anything to do with her, does it?"

"Brother," Killian sighs, "Even if it was, I don't have a way to contact her." Sure he was lying, but his brother didn't have to know all his reasons.

"We are driving out there," Liam says.

"I'll fly. I will text you the details once I've made arrangements," Killian says.

"Alright, see you then," Liam adds. "Brother, it's going to be good seeing you after so long. I miss you."

Killian sighs. "I miss you too."

The line disconnects. Alright Emma Nolan, what have you been up to? he thinks as he enters her name in the browser's search engine. He had thought of looking for her before, but he had never found any sign of her online. He knows her family has money but somehow she has managed to stay hidden. The only information that would come up was of her grandfather's business deals. His heart tells him that this time, though, things would be different.

Sure enough, he finds one headline: "George Spencer dies at home after a long battle with heart disease."

Killian reads the headline carefully and his heart sparks with hope to see Emma again. The newspaper lists her as the sole survivor of her grandfather's Estate. That means she would have to be at his home. He winces at the thought. He knows that his method to approach her while grieving will be considered to be in bad form, but if it is the only chance he has, he has to make the best of the situation. He takes a deep breath and alters his flight plans so he can arrive a couple of days earlier.

Mr. Gold had changed his tune when Emma didn't fall for his manipulations and offered his services. Emma reluctantly accepted his help. He told her to give him a couple of hours and at that time, he would have information to make her search easier. He quickly found out that her daughter had ended up in foster care. He gave her the name of the caseworker assigned to Hope Swan. That was her baby's name. Emma tries to ignore the fact that her daughter is in the care of the state. She wonders what she looks like? Does she take after her or him? Killian Jones, he had never left her thoughts, but before it was painful to think of him because inevitably her thoughts would end on her daughter. Emma smiles, realizing how fitting the name Hope was for their daughter. Emma thanks Mr. Gold and goes to see Merlin Wilde.

Emma arrives at the CPS office. Her nerves are getting the best of her. She approaches the information desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Wilde?"

The woman looks bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

Emma shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I must speak to him, though."

The woman rolls her eyes. "Fill out the sign-in sheet. I will see if he can fit you in today." She gets up and heads to a door behind her desk.

Emma is about to sit down when something catches her eye. Pictures of missing kids. Runaways. She gravitates to the board. Her heart is beating so fast as her eyes land on a name, Hope Swan. Emma smiles as she stares at blue eyes that reminded her of the pair that stole her heart all those years back. The sound of someone clearing their throat startles her.

"I'm sorry for startling you, Miss Nolan. I'm Merlin Wilde." He smiles at her as he looks over her sign-in sheet and signals for her to follow him.

"Oh, no it's okay. Yes, I wanted to speak to you in private. My situation is not a common story," Emma says as she follows him to his office.

They enter his office and he kindly motions for her to take a seat.

Emma looks around the office. She tries to get a feel for the man. He seems kind, but looks can be deceiving.

"Miss Nolan, how may I help you? Is there a child in a situation you are concerned about?"

Emma nods. "Mr. Wilde, yes, in fact, that is the reason why I'm here."

"Alright," he starts taking notes. "May I have the child's name?"

"Hope Swan," Emma says. "I'm her mother."

Merlin looks up from his computer. "I'm sorry," he says as he types rapidly on his computer keyboard, before looking up quizzically. "Her case says she is in the care of Mrs. Emerald."

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I'm Hope's biological mother." She takes a deep breath. "I was young and unmarried when I got pregnant with her, and my grandfather didn't think having a child was appropriate." Her eyes begin to sting because of the tears. "He took it upon himself to decide that giving my daughter away while I was unconscious because of an accident was the appropriate decision to make. Until recently, I thought Hope was dead. I'm here because I need your help getting my daughter back. I understand she is in foster care, so it shouldn't be a big deal, right?"

Merlin keeps his eyes on her and laughs. "She is a good kid, the people that had fostered her before never had a complaint about her. She loves music and she always hummed a melody to herself. She was just not open to letting them in. It's like she knew she didn't belong there. I'm afraid that has caused her to run away on several occasions. I was just informed she ran away from the last home."

Emma's eyes tear up. "I loved my daughter from the moment I knew she was there. I used to play a song on the cello for her that her father sang the night we met. Until the day I thought I had lost her, I played the same song. I need to find her."

"And we will, Miss Nolan. I have put up fliers all over the city."

Emma nods. "I will look for her myself. I plan on hiring a private investigator. Could I have a picture of her?"

"Of course, Miss Nolan. I will do all in my power to help get your daughter back. I'm going to go looking for her at Washington Square Park. That is a hot spot for runaways. If you would like to join me? We might get lucky," he says as he hands her the picture of Hope from her file.

Emma smiles. "Sure, I will. Thank you for asking."

Hope is sitting on a bench at Washington Square Park and then she hears some music playing. Instantly, she is drawn to it. A boy around her age is playing the guitar. She smiles wide and sits down to enjoy the show. People surround the boy as he plays and they drop change on a baseball cap on the floor. Once he finishes playing, the boy picks up his cap and puts the money in his pocket. He grabs his guitar and thanks the crowd before leaving.

Curious, Hope follows him to an abandoned theatre.

Killian arrives on the first flight of the day. He rents a car and makes his way to the Nolan Estate. He is a nervous wreck. What will Emma think of him showing up unannounced? He hopes she will be happy to see him.

The boy Hope was following introduces himself as Henry. She likes him. He is nice and he promptly explains that all the runaway children live there. They had been taken in by Walsh Oz, the "Wizard". The man provides a roof over their head and food.

"Don't worry, Hope. He will teach you how to perform in street corners to pay for your part. If you're lucky and any good, he will let you use one of the park's spots," Henry says. "When he gets home with food, I will introduce you."

Hope thinks to herself it couldn't be that bad. This way, she won't be picked on for playing music.

Henry smiles fondly at Hope. "So why did you run away?"

Hope smiles back. "I'm going to find my parents. How about you?"

"My adoptive mom didn't love me." He shrugs. "Hope, I know you will find them."

Hope beams. "Thank you, but how can you believe so?"

Henry smiles. "I have a feeling that you will find them and then you will have your happy ending."

The Wizard hadn't always lived in condemned buildings. He once had been a success in his art but lost it due to some scandal years ago, but he could still spot talent. The young girl Henry had brought to him had loads of talent. She had played a song that most of the other kids couldn't play. The girl was magical. She appeared to be a musical genius with savant-like abilities and perfect pitch. He knows he could make a good living off of that girl. He smiles wickedly as the girl plays with his prized guitar, Roxanne. "Well, looks like we found our top earner thanks to Henry," The Wizard says to the group. He pulls Hope to the side. "Alright, you are going to be in my old spot at the park and you will be using Roxanne." He scrutinizes her. "Now what should we call you?"

"My name is Hope," she says.

He walks back and forth contemplating and shaking his head. "I know, I shall call you Odette."

Emma and Merlin arrive at the park. They split up in the hope to cover more ground.

Merlin posts missing posters of Hope on every corner he can; he even hands some to the people walking by.

Emma is walking around the corner when something catches her eye. They have some posters for an upcoming event displaying some talent from Julliard. She smiles wistfully, she misses her music. She takes out her phone to call an old friend. Elsa had ended up at their old school as a teacher.

Somehow her connection is stronger now. She has a sudden need to play. She feels it will help her connect with her daughter.

Tag list:

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#Captain Swan #cs birthday fic #hookedonapirate #cs ff #CSMM #Captain Swan Movie Marathon #CSMM20

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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Oh, can I please ask for one of your folklore prompts? “And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want/just not home” my tears ricochet For a young Tony, maybe? It doesn't have to have a pairing if you don't want to. :)

A house and a home are different. Tony did not know this until he was in college, much to his surprise.

A house is somewhere you live. A central place that you come back to in between visits to other people or places or countries or anything else. It is not personal. It is something you use until you no longer see the need or the desire. You can move to a lot of them.

A home lingers. A home is where you smile late at night over drinks. It is where crumbs reside from last night’s takeout, and you spend lazy Sundays.

(Tony also didn’t know what that was either.)

He’s lived in a lot of houses. He has a lot of houses. There’s the one in New York that is looming and lonely and probably would be his least favorite except it’s in New York, which earns it its redemption.

There is sunny Malibu with its beaches and great views. There are a few others.

None of them are homes. It’s just a place to rest for a couple of months or a year or until Howard decides it’s not enough.

He gets to MIT and gets a dorm room, same as everyone else. It is pitifully sad, he gets sun only in the mornings, and that sucks. He kind of hates it. He guesses that’s the college experience.

He also has a roommate. Jarvis had told him it’d be good for him, and Tony had had to talk Howard out of about twenty-seven different legal documents that basically said “if you ever breathe a word of anything to anyone, you’re being legally sued.”

James Rhodes. Literally studying to become a rocket scientist, has questionable taste in posters, and waves at Tony when they meet each other.

“Call me Jim.”

“...Jim. Are you eighty or something?”

It’s probably the wrong thing to say. It definitely is the wrong thing to say by Jarvis’ raised eyebrows and down-turned frown.

But James Rhodes takes it in stride.

“You can call me something else if you want, but it has to be good and I have to approve it. Can’t be my last name, can’t be Jimmy. Anything else is fair game.”

Different reaction. That’s...that’s weird.

So Tony shrugs, smiles as Jarvis leaves, and realizes that he’s alone and Howard doesn’t really have an influence--except he does, god he does--and Tony asks James Rhodes if he’d like to get pizza.

“You know anywhere with good pizza?”

“Wanna find out if Hemingway’s is any good?”

“It’s either going to be artisan hipster or the worst. Hell yes.”

It’s artisan hipster. It is bad, and James laughs as he tells a story and burns his tongue when he’s reenacting his mother is chewing him out, using his full name, and:

“Rhodey,” Tony gasps out.

“I told you that you couldn’t use my last name!”

“It’s technically not your last name, sugar plum,” Tony mocks, using one of his mother’s nicknames against him. “You are forever now Rhodey. Forever.”

From there, friendship progresses. Tony’s never actually had a real friend before, not that he tells Rhodey that. Besides, Rhodey probably knows. Tony just automatically assumes he’s paying for everything, and he’s not sure what to do with genuine affection for a couple of months.

He looks at Rhodey with such love and affection. He does, really. Rhodey has created a whole new world for him.

And then, the holidays.

Thanksgiving is Tony’s least-favorite-holiday for a variety of reasons. It’s all a fake kind of gathering. “Coming together to celebrate gratefulness” is the biggest goddamn crock of bullshit he’s ever cooked in his life, and for once his family isn’t doing a PR stunt, so his mother has announced that he’s welcome to be back home, but they won’t be there.

Howard is taking Jarvis with him on a trip to England to visit Aunt Peggy and probably talk shop about Cap and ice and stupid fucking theories about the degree of alive he’ll be when he’s found.

(When. What pretentious bullshit.)

Tony doesn’t want to be alone in the house, because that’d suck shit and MIT would be better. At least he could make shitty ramen and cry and only get a noise complaint instead of one of the cleaning staff members saying that he probably needed therapy.

“You are not staying in the dorms, what the fuck man,” Rhodey says. “You’re coming home with me.”

“Now darling, I thought you said we weren’t going to be forward about this whole thing,” he purrs, putting on an old Hollywood accent. “Are you finally coming up and seeing me?”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be as forward as I want,” he decides, and Tony wishes he wouldn’t say things like that, because that seriously get’s a man’s heart rising. “Besides, I told you that you need to have my Aunt Kendra’s rolls, and that’s a promise. So, Thanksgiving is now with the Rhodes’ family.”

Tony doesn’t know if they know that he’s coming. He also doesn’t know the dress code, and Rhodey is absolutely no help.

“What do you mean by casual?” Tony squawks. “Is it business casual? Dressy casual? Jeans casual?”

“What do any of those mean?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to look like a failure at this shindig. Your mother will die over her cooking because I’ll pull out of the wrong wardrobe and be a fool. I’ll die, and you’ll have to bury me, and you won’t even know which outfit I’ll want. God, this is going to--”

Rhodey shuts him up, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Just wear your red turtleneck and your dark jeans or whatever. That looks nice.”

“You noticed?”

“You don’t give me as much credit as I deserve,” Rhodey grunts. “Early wake-up on Monday. I’ll supply coffee as long as you give me gas money.”

“I’ll give you anything for coffee. I’ll give you my hand in marriage for coffee.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rhodey teases. “I might actually do that.”

God, I wish you would.

Rhodey’s house is a nice place, a wire fence bordering with a porch swing covered in a light dusting of snow, and swinging slightly with the wind that blows through the neighborhood.

There are quite a lot of cars parked in the driveway and in the street, and Tony can see at least six people inside the house, which is more family than he actually knows on either side.

It’s all warm and yellow, and Rhodey moves with an ease that Tony didn’t know happened outside of those cheesy family shows.

He throws open the door and there are shouts of joy and happiness and “Jimmy-boy!”

“I didn’t know Jimmy-boy was on the table,” Tony remarks dryly. “And here it’s been for months, Jimmy-boy.”

Rhodey groans.

“This is worse than Rhodey,” he mutters.

A woman who could only be his mother steps forward, grinning.

“Call me Mama, darling. And what’s this I hear about ‘Rhodey’?”

“He burnt his tongue on pizza while telling me about a time he got a well-deserved talking-to by your own graceful words, Mrs. Rhodes,” Tony says. He’s charming. Oh, he’s very charming.

She giggles.

“I said mama, but I can’t say I’ll mind too much when you talk like that. Jim, you should’ve had us meet earlier.”

“You see I would’ve, but I happen to value myself,” Rhodey says.

“You do?” a man says. Mr. Rhodes, tall and a smile that could put any of the fake veneers in Hollywood to shame. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Rhodey gets pulled into a hug, and he laughs, and Tony has the Distinct Memory that He’s Never Been Hugged by his Father.

Well, isn’t this a time to realize family inadequacies!

“Rhodey, light of my life, where am I setting up my suitcase?” Tony asks.

“Come on up with me. We’re sleeping in my room, hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, and Tony smiles when he sees Rhodey’s room.

He loves it. It’s decorated with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, a peeling Star Wars poster that has most definitely been needed to be thrown away for more than five years (but won’t be), and a few trophies from soccer.

Tony’s never had his own room decorated with anything but the current trends, his mother hand-picking his comforter and the decorations in his room. And they all say he’s so “fashionable” and “keeps an eye out for trends.”

(Ha.)

It’s odd for him to see a house look so...lived in.

“Welcome home,” Rhodey says. “I haven’t grabbed it yet, but I’ll use a sleeping bag and you can take the bed.”

Tony snorts.

“No way, honeybee. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. We’ve shared a bed before, this is no different.”

"Only if you’re sure,” Rhodey says, smiling at him. “This is a bit different than both twin beds being crashed together because we wanted more space for the fridge.”

“This time we don’t have the fridge,” Tony quips as Rhodey laughs.

“Come on, let’s head downstairs. Mama’s probably gonna have us wash dishes or something. Maybe set up some more chairs.”

What actually happens is that their laundry machine has gone rebel-mode, and is currently trying it’s best to fling the door open and spew laundry everywhere.

“Shit,” Mr. Rhodes says, looking at it. “Another call to the repairman this month...”

“He won’t get here until a week after Thanksgiving,” Mama says, sighing. “How much do you mind your jeans freezing up a bit?”

He smiles a bit at his wife.

Tony’s never seen that. But he likes it.

“I can fix it,” he says. Family turns to him. This is all quite embarrassing. “I, uh, I’ve taken apart some washing machines before. I think I can figure it out, if you don’t mind me poking around.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” Mama says. “Jimmy, I like this one.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll go get the toolkit for you. Need anything?”

“Towels and you, honey-pie.”

“You get one out of two of those options.”

“You treat me like a vagrant,” Tony declares. Rhodey laughs as he heads to go get supplies.

The night goes on. People occasionally check in, and Rhodey assures them that it’s going well.

“Instruction manuals are such bullshit,” Tony says. “Half the time they’re written by someone who doesn’t even know how to do it themselves. The other half, no one uses them.”

“Well when you take over your company, write better instruction manuals,” Rhodey says. “Pass me a towel, things are about to get sudsy.”

Forty-five minutes later, the washing machine is probably doing better than it was even at production, and Tony gets a kiss on the cheek and cheers all around him.

“This calls for cookies,” Rhodey declares. “Tony, let’s go get some.”

They sit at the kitchen table, and Tony learns so much about Rhodey’s family. He sees him laugh and relax and tell the funniest stories about when he was little and got stuck in a tree.

It’s home. That’s how he finally understands it. Home where you keep on going long after, with people you love.

He doesn’t have one of those.

He thinks, maybe, that he could make a home of his own. Maybe he could have AC/DC posters lining a wall, or have the pictures of friends and vacation in the kitchen.

And Rhodey would be there. For now, he’s going to enjoy his hot chocolate and try to get more embarrassing stories about his best friend from his family.

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #the difference between a house and a home #mit era #rhodey #tony stark #jarvis #anyways yeah i don't think tony would actually know what a home looks like #he's Deficient

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