any inflection

The Voice of King Mickey: A Tragic Piece of Disney History

If there’s one thing that bugged me about being in the Kingdom Hearts fandom, it’s the fact that it seems to be the general consensus that the new voice of King Mickey isn’t as good as the old one.

Which I can actually understand because it’s like night and day when listening to King Mickey in Kingdom Hearts 2 compared to Birth By Sleep.

And when asked what’s wrong with the new voice, most of the time people say they’re not really sure… it just sounds off.

But I just learned something. Apparently the new voice (Bret Iwan) was originally hired to just be an understudy to the old voice actor (Wayne Allwine) so essentially Bret was going to learn from the master and essentially have Wayne as a voice mentor.

Unfortunately, this didn’t end up happening as Wayne tragically passed away from complications caused by diabetes a short time later.

Which means that Bret was suddenly hired as the new voice of Mickey Mouse with basically no professional training. Bret could still do the voice, but couldn’t obtain any of the knowledge about Wayne’s experiances that spanned for over 30 years. Any personal tips about inflection, emotion, or even inner character interpretation was lost.

And what was one of Bret’s first gigs as Mickey Mouse? You guessed it, Birth By Sleep.

So imagine. The legendary voice of Mickey Mouse passed away before Bret could really learn anything and now he is suddenly forced to voice a generally happy go lucky character in a serious light that is vastly different from anything else the character has ever been in. That must have been terrifying.

So I’ve always felt bad for Bret. He was given the short end of the stick and did as best he could, again, without any real training from Wayne Allwine before he tragically passed away. It’s a real sad situation for all involved.

And not to mention that Wayne voiced Mickey in Chain of Memories…. but it was around the time when his health really started to decline… he sounds tired and you can really tell he was very ill while voicing that game. So not only do we have an entire game where Wayne was really sick, but this is also the last prominent voice for King Mickey before he passed (excluding non-verbal noises in 358/2 Days).

So essentially the Kingdom Hearts games hold a tragic turning point in Disney History. It captures the slow declining health of the legendary Wayne Allwine right before he passed away (which honestly makes it difficult for me to replay Chain of Memories) and it captures the slow climb for Bret Iwan who didn’t even have the chance to learn before becoming the new voice for King Mickey.

In the end, I’m glad that most people have learned to accept Bret over time. He’s definitely grown into his role and you can tell the difference between Birth By Sleep and the newest instalment, 0.2 A Fragmentary Passage.

It’s just really sad that Bret’s transition to be the new voice of Mickey Mouse happened in this genuinely devastating situation for all involved. They did their best in bringing the voice of King Mickey to life despite the challenges they both faced and I have the highest amount of respect for them.

Thank you Wayne Allwine


and Bret Iwan.

You both are kings to me.

Stealing Sweaters (Part 6)

Thank you very much!!!! 

If you’re new to the series, please start here!


“So I was thinking, for the eighth year quidditch teams, we could see if any other sixth or fifth year players wanted to join, just to fill out the roster,” Ron said, gesturing animatedly with his hands as they made their into the great hall for lunch.

Harry brow furrowed as they sat, “But we have enough players-”

“Enough people who can fly.” Ron said loading up his plate, “Just because Zabini knows how to use a broomstick doesn’t mean he has any talent, or interest for that matter, in being a chaser.”

“I suppose…” Harry conceded, his brow furrowing further. He glanced around, trying to figure out what seemed off.

“So-” Ron paused to shovel some sort of green bean concoction into his mouth- “wif a few fifh years and sifs years we can-”

Hermione sighed and leant in front of Harry to say, “Ron please finish your food, then talk. No one wants to see the process.”

Ron made a vague mph sound as he dutifully closed his mouth.

“That’s it-!” Harry pointed to Ron and Hermione on either side of him, “the two of you aren’t sitting together!”

“Like I want to be stuck listening to Ron go on about quidditch, I mean really,” Hermione said shortly, already digging a massive book from her bag and charming it float in front of her so she could read as she ate.

Ron shrugged and gestured for Harry to get some food. He still felt a prickle of unease at the back of his mind but he did his best to ignore it and began filling his plate.

“Malfoy!” Hermione called out, waving her hand like she did when she wanted to be called on by a professor.

Harry froze, staring blankly at his plate, his ears straining to hear what they were saying.

“Yes, Granger?”

“Have you read Killgow’s Art of Potioneering?”

“I have,” Draco said warily.

“Excellent,” Hermione said, and as Harry glanced over, saw her grab Draco’s arm and pull him into the seat beside her, “I have some theories-”

She disappeared into potion theory, talking about compound reactions and differential magic effects, all of which Harry would have needed years worth of private tutoring to even know half of what she was saying. Draco was following her with nods and interjections, moving to a different page of Hermione’s book with a flick of his wand to highlight whatever point he was making.

It wasn’t until Draco glanced over at Harry and caught him staring that Harry realised he was staring and quickly looked back at his plate. He felt his cheeks grow hot and silently cursed himself. He ate a few bites of food to give himself something to do so that he wouldn’t be tempted to glance over again.

It was all Hermione’s fault.

Every since she had said that Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Before he had been planning to talk with Draco, to try and figure out what he had done wrong. Now he didn’t know what to do.

Ron leant forward, suddenly entering Harry’s line of vision and making him jump. He called over to Hermione, “Hey, Mione, I was wondering if you’d look over my charms paper before I turn it in.”

Hermione pulled herself away from her discussion with Draco and frowned at Ron, “You should have asked earlier. How are you going to fix anything right before class?”

Ron shrugged guiltily, “You could, check my spelling? If I’ve put something stupid in I could scratch it out.”

She sighed, “Fine.” Hermione stood and with a deft swish of her wand, Her plate leapfrogged over Harry’s and his slid underneath, her book dutifully moving back over her plate, now in front of him. “Trade places with me, Harry?” she said, already moving in a way that suggested her words were more or less a formality.

Harry hesitated, shooting a desperate glare at his best friends as he realised the source of all his unease was this- whatever they had planned. He reluctantly moved down a seat next to Draco.

Draco who was eating, or moving his food around on his plate in a very focused manner. He didn’t even look over as Harry took his new place.

Harry grabbed up a bread roll, very slowly cutting it in half and then smearing too much butter on it before setting it down on his plate, feeling too nervous to actually eat it. “Done much flying?” he asked, just to break the unbearable tension.

“No.” Draco said stiffly, “Studying, mostly.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry said faintly.

“We have exams coming up, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Draco said without any inflection whatsoever.

“Yeah…” he absently started to pull his roll apart with his fingers, “Never too early to get a start on those.”

“They are the most important exams of our lives.”

Harry nodded, as he glanced over, he noticed that Draco hadn’t eaten what little he had put on his plate, all of which looked worse than the bread roll mess on Harry’s plate. At least he had eaten something when he was trying not to stare. Harry looked at Draco himself and noticed faint shadows under his eyes and worried that he was looking thinner than before.

“Would you like the tea pot?” Harry asked, knowing that even in his worst moods, Draco always at least had tea.

Draco looked over and for just a second their eyes met, before Draco turned away, squeezing his eyes shut like he was in pain. “It’s fine. No tea. I’m fine.” He stood up and grabbed his bag, “Not really hungry anyway.”

Harry watched him leave, a tiny squeezing pain lodging itself in his chest. “Has he been eating much?” he turned and looked at Ron and Hermione who were watching him intently, no charms paper in sight, “Do you know? He looks thin.”

Ron shook his head and added a shrug.

Hermione said, “I don’t know but I haven’t exactly been watching Malfoy’s eating habits.”

“Not very well,” A light airy voice piped up from Hermione’s other side. Luna leaned into view, “I think Draco’s worried about something.”

Harry grabbed his bag and stood up, “I’m just gonna go to the kitchens. Maybe I can convince the house elves to send him something…”  he hurried off, his friends watching him go.

“He hardly ate anything himself,” Ron said.

“I think your plan sucked.” Ginny draped her arms around Luna’s waist and rested her chin on Luna’s shoulder.

Ron frowned and said testily, “What do you know about anything.”

“Anyone can see what you two are up to,” Ginny said.

Luna smiled, “I think it’s sweet. Harry and Draco will be so happy once they’re together.”

“If you can manage a plan that isn’t utter rubbish,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

Ron’s frown deepened into a glower, “It’s not like it’s going to work out all at once, is it? It’s like a chess game and in chess, how you move your pawns is just as important as how you move your queen!”

Ginny opened her mouth to retort but before she could say anything, Luna reached over and gently tugged on Ginny’s earlobe which had the strange effect of making her blush and go entirely silent. Luna turned back to Ron and Hermione, “What Ginny means is that we would like to help.”

“We have an idea,” Ginny added.

Luna nodded, “It’s quite good.”


Part 1 ~ Part 2  ~  Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 (you are here!) ~ Part 7   ~ Part 8

Combat Medic space Orcs

I created a Tumblr specifically for humans are weird/space orcs. This is my contribution: Combat Medics.
As a veteran combat medic myself the concept looking back seems kind of outrageous. In the early period of their existence combat medics were military noncombatants. But in recent years we have been fighting enemies who will kill or attack anyone sporting a red cross. So the military has changed its tactics and mixed their medics in to the rest of the unit by arming them and taking away their red crosses. This effectively made us healers who can, and will shoot the enemy.

I wonder how aliens, who have a treaty similar to the Geneva Convention would take this…


Captain Drex'la , Commander of the Rentu, a Frigate class pirate hunting ship, had received orders from Galactic Command to dock and rotate out some of his crew. When he arrived at space dock he received notice of a last minute change and he was receiving two Terrans. This set the commander’s beak on edge. He had heard of the ferocity and ingenuity of human non-combat officers, but he was also aware that most humans will disregard rank structure if it does not suit them.

After some consideration he decided to speak with them individually after they came aboard to see if they were worth keeping. He received their service and personal records and reviewed them briefly and became confused immediately by one. With this he called in petty officer Davis.

Davis arrived promptly to the captain’s office and snapped a sharp salute, “You wished to see me sir?”

Drex'la’s neck quills shuttered as the universal translator transformed his words into a series of grunts, chirps, and clicks he could understand. The sound always seemed so artificial to him though, lacking any inflection. “At ease. I believe there was a mistake in your assignment here petty officer.”

The petty officer dropped his salute and cocked his head slightly, as if he may have heard the captain wrong, “I don’t understand sir.”

At this the captain’s quills rattled, the universal translator must have translated improperly. He pondered his next words carefully before responding, “I started reviewing your service record,” the captain held up his pad and pointing at the petty officer’s picture on the screen. “It says your service in the Earth navy was as a ‘medic’ with your marines. We have no need for additional medical staff on this ship.”

Once the translator finished it’s job Davis’s eyes narrowed slightly and the edges of his mouth curled into the faintest “smile”. The captain realized that even subdued, a smile was unsettling. “Sir,” Davis responded, “I am here to serve with the boarding party, not in the infirmary.”

This made Drex'la almost drop the pad, “But you are a medical professional. We are out hunting pirates, they do not follow the Rel'tésh Accords. They will not hesitate to shoot you or take you hostage. You have no place on the front line.” The captain was beginning to think this human had not understood his orders coming on board.

However the human gave a “nod” and responded, “I am aware sir, and I am a not going in unarmed. I am a veteran combat medic who is trained to fight and provide aid to the injured. I was assigned to you to serve as a marine first and medic second.”

The captain does shakily set down the pad now. “You being a combatant breaks the Rel'tésh Accords.” His tone elevating in pitch and the air sacks under his quills began to inflate in anger.“ I will not have you breaking the laws of my people!”

To this Davis simply responded. “I am not a medic attacking an enemy, I am a combatant who can give aid. There is the critical difference sir. The Galactic Command seems to agree.”

After a very long pause the commander clicked his beak in exasperation. The human had not stepped out of line or directly challenged his command in any way and yet he had the captain 'over a barrel’ as the humans say it. “What special equipment will you need?” The captain finally spoke.

“I will get with the ship’s doctor and review the crews basic anatomy and medical needs. Then I will modify my load out to be of the best aid to the most crew members with the least amount of equipment. Think of it as a stopgap between the doctor and the front line.”

With this the captain handed him a pad and dismissed him and as the petty officer turned for the door and left the captain felt very tired by what had transpired.

Fast forward half an earth cycle and the petty officer is now commonly referred to as “Doc” by most of the crew. The captain has put him in for 4 commendations and the captain is not sure he will always have a “medic” on his ship after this.

Possession.

Reader x Chanyeol x Kyungsoo

Warnings: implied smut


“Kyungsoo”.

His name escapes in an airy pant as pleasure shudders through every inch of your body.

He follows quickly behind you, gripping your hips as he thrusts upward; slower now to pull you through your high.

After he’s savored the feel of you for as long as either of you can take, he pulls you down to his chest, wrapping his strong arms behind your back to hold you tight.

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high school losers hc’s

@eddiekasp and @eddiesbadbreak helped a lot with this and i love them


- all seven of the losers would sign up for a class that literally no one else takes so they would have at least one class all together

- bev and richie take theatre all four years and bev heads up the costume and makeup crews and richie always gets comedic roles in the shows

- bill plays football and baseball, and mike plays football too, but the other losers are more hyped about football season. they come to every game and richie is a student section leader and flag boy

- one of the game’s student theme is jersey theme and stan wears bill’s letterman jacket

- stan runs for student council and all of the losers help with his campaign and he ends up winning

- richie and eddie have biology together and they sit in the back at the same lab table and richie doodles all over eddie ( @eddiekasp has a post abt this gO READ IT)

- all of the losers would come to every play and musical that richie is in and eddie brings him flowers and afterwards when they are taking pictures, eddie is CHEESING SO HARD

- stan plays on the baseball team for his sophomore and junior year with bill and they have so much fun. they throw the ball with each other during lunch while the other losers lounge near by and chat with them.

- eddie will always run lines with richie either for his auditions or the show itself and he always reads them without any voice inflection and it makes richie laugh

- they carpool with each other a lot

- they all have “study sessions” around finals which are really just them avoiding studying at all costs

- in the classes they have together, they have a system to help each other out with answers during tests through a series of foot taps and arm stretches

- ben runs track and bev comes to every meet and cheers for him the loudest

- ben convinced richie to join track because he has so much energy and eddie gets super happy that richie is doing something healthy

- richie comes home from every meet and practice so exhausted and he conks out all curled up next to eddie

- one day per semester they will have a skip day and drive into bangor for a fun time

- a dumb senior tries to pick a fight with richie on the first day of school one year and richie just turns around and lays that boy out in the middle of the cafeteria and no one messes with him for months

- richie and eddie skip class sometimes and bum around either the empty locker rooms or auditorium

- mike gets sick for like a straight week and the losers go see him every day after school and bring him food and his school work

- during pep rallies, richie is the one who leads all the cheers and he announces all of the football players in one of his big, booming voices

- everyone loves richie

- when it isn’t track season, ben takes part in model un and youth leg

- eddie is in HOSA and DECA and richie gets super sad when eddie has to leave for state/national competitions

- eddie also takes art and sketching class with bev and for one project he does a portrait of richie and it turns out AMAZING and richie sees it at Arts Night and tears up

- mike is super good at algebra and geometry and tutors for some extra cash

- one time the teacher left the room and richie called a pizza place and ordered lunch from the teacher’s phone then got detention 

- bev is in debate club and she absolutely kills her competition with her quick wit and killer outfits

Crafting Effective Dialogue

I am going to do my best to give you tips on how to create effective dialogue, as crafting effective dialogue is a very difficult thing for many writers, including myself, to do. Back in December I did a high school visit. The teacher told me her creative writing students had issues creating effective dialogue, so I played an activity with them. I’m not sure how successful it was, but I hope they took something away from it. In any case, I’m going to draw upon that activity to lay out some tips here. 

This post will be longer than my Creating Effective Action Scene post. 

  • Dialogue should reveal something about the character. Dialogue is an effective way of showing something about a character, or conveying how a character is feeling. Here is a line of dialogue from my novel, When Stars Die. A little bit of context first: Amelia is currently spying on shadows she has been seeing for a few weeks. She has no idea why she has been seeing them, but something in her tells her that they are real.

Colette’s voice rises behind me, a quiet thing in the tremors of my mind. “Are you searching for those shadows again?” 

 This conveys a few things. The line before it shows that Amelia is terrified, that not even Colette’s presence is enough to calm her. Colette is her best friend. Colette’s dialogue conveys that she knows Amelia has been seeing these shadows for some time, but that she doesn’t believe they’re real. After this dialogue, Amelia thinks how she has no reason to tell Colette that she is seeing them. Now I could have had Amelia simply say that Colette doesn’t believe the shadows are real, but instead I follow up with another line of dialogue that has Colette trying to ease Amelia’s worries by telling her that it’s stress for the impending trials that Amelia will have to face if she wants to become a professed nun.

  • Dialogue should reflect a character’s personality. If your character is a well-read person, that character’s dialogue should reflect that he or she is. If your character skips school a lot, lives a troubled life, and wanders the streets a lot, your character is probably going to cuss more than usual, have a more cynical way of speaking, and your character is probably going to be more honest and forthright when others are asking for opinions from said character. But don’t fall into stereotypes, either.
  • Dialogue should be authentic, but should be an edited version of a way a person would speak. Listen to how people speak. People tend to put a lot of ‘umms,’ ‘ers,’ ‘likes,’ ’yeahs,’ and pauses and breaks between sentences, which is not something readers want. You want dialogue to be real, but you don’t want to litter your sentences with these inflections. For example:

“Um…I, uh, want to order some fries, and uh…what’s that up there? Oh, a burger. Yeah, um. I want that.” She nods. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds good, and uh, um…oh…that’s it.”

That’s how a real indecisive person would talk. Let’s edit it down to something like this. 

“Um…I want to order some fries.” She pauses, looking up at the menu. “What’s that up there? Oh, a burger. I want that, too. That sounds good.” Her eyes pass over the menu, then she looks at the cashier. “That’s it. Thanks!”

Just listen to the way an actual person speaks and edit out any inflections. Read your dialogue out loud, too. If it sounds funny, it will probably read odd to your readers. 

  • Show the tone of your dialogue. You want to limit your use of adverbs when writing a story. Period. You especially want to try to avoid them in dialogue. Strong verbs are often best used in place of adverbs, but let me give you an example to show you what I’m talking about when I say show the tone of your dialogue. 

“I am so pissed!” he said harshly. 

This is basically me telling readers that he said it harshly. Now let me show you:

His finger tensed on the screen of his smartphone. He wanted to smash the phone so he could forget she ever sent him that text. “I am so pissed!”

It’s wordier, of course, but the fact that he wants to smash his phone conveys how angry he is without having to use an adverb. I didn’t even have to use a dialogue tag because of the preceding sentences. If there is plenty of context before your dialogue, you can simply write “I am so pissed!” and that will be enough to let readers know that, obviously, he’s saying it harshly. 

  • Dialogue should stand on its own. You don’t want to weigh it down with exposition. For example:

“Remember last summer when I kissed that guy and you were there? You were totally stunned when I kissed him, and you told me I was an idiot.”

“Yeah, and we were in the 9th grade, too! Now we’re in the 10th grade, and there’s this other guy you want to kiss, and you’re not going to be an idiot this time, because this guy is cute.”

Can you tell this dialogue is actually talking to the reader and not the characters talking among themselves? You shouldn’t have to have the characters tell readers about what happened last summer, that they were in the 9th grade when it happened, now they’re in the 10th grade, and now there is another boy this person wants to kiss. 

It reads and sounds unnatural. Exposition only works when the other character has no knowledge of the thing being explained. Otherwise, it’s an info dump, and you don’t want that in your dialogue. 

  • Your dialogue should have purpose. Dialogue should build toward something or reveal something. You don’t want your characters to spend too long, bantering back and forth about something that may be completely irrelevant to the plot. Your characters must speak for a reason. They shouldn’t talk just to talk, like people tend to do in real life.
  • Use gestures, actions, and dialogue tags. Dialogue tags should be used when readers have no clue who is speaking, or when an action is proceeding the dialogue spoken. Nodding, smiling, laughing, glaring, pointing, ect., ect., ect., are all forms of gestures. Use these to convey the tone of dialogue. Have your characters interact with the environment, too, while they are speaking. That is considered an action. Refer to the dialogue examples above for examples of actions I use to strengthen dialogue. 

 

  • Dialogue should be surprising. You don’t want readers to be able to know what a character is going to say next. 

That’s it for my advice on dialogue! Any questions on anything in the post, feel free to message me.

My next post will be advice on how to handle your editor once you have signed a contract with a publisher, for those aspiring authors—or how to handle edits period with either your agent or editor. 

Nerves

Prompt: Imagine being Garcia’s sister and meeting Spencer after all these years of hearing about him to help on a case, but your reaction surprises both of you

Warnings: idk, maybe language. If you watch Criminal minds, think of that sort of stuff

Word Count: 4664

Note: “What’s with you? You need a hug or something?” for @hanny-bananny This was so fun! Beta’d by the ever fabulous @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

~~~~~~~~~~~

You’d been out of graduate school for about four years now, with quite a bit of experience as a forensic psychologist. However, that didn’t stop any of the surprise when SSA Hotchner called you yesterday to ask if you wanted to assist a case.

“Dr. Garcia, I know you’d be a valuable asset for our team on this. This is your area of expertise, correct?”

“Yes, sir. But I’m not sure I have the correct skill level that your team does,” you had answered as you gathered ingredients for your dinner.

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anonymous asked:

Hello, beautiful author! I love your writing. You provide a depth of character that I appreciate so much. For COBLMF, whatever happened to Gale? He was possessive over Katniss and acted like her boyfriend every time Peeta saw him (not to mention that he kissed her) and I can't believe he won't try to cockblock again. Peeta would have to wonder about this K and G "relationship" Curious how/whether this came up. A final one shot? :)

Anon, thank you! You have unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) found one of my weaknesses. I detest loose ends. My hand slipped…for a couple thousand words. Oops. Not beta’d so any mistakes are solely my fault. Rated M-ish.


Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside

He manages to make it the entire Thanksgiving weekend without thinking about her too much. He’d forgotten how much work all the kids could be, although technically Vick is an adult now. In the madness of the holiday, he slips up and thinks about her three times. The first is when the bird comes out of the oven and his entire family can’t stop talking about how sweet it was of Katniss to share or wishing that she had at least been in town. Ignoring her asinine suggestion that she return here, Gale reminds them that if they move to the city, they’ll be able to see her more often. Before he can worry about it too much, he changes the subject to whatever nonfiction book Rory can’t seem to peel himself away from and that does the trick.

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Bad Moon Rising: Part 6 [Modern!Kylo x Reader]

BMR Masterlist // AO3

A/N: Ah! I was having some trouble with this part, but then it took off. I should have Part 7 (what?!) polished up soon, too! Enjoy!!

Warnings: Language. Suggested violence.

Word count: 1,700+


Work had consumed your life, and you gladly let it. Anything to get your mind off of whatever it was that you went through. You didn’t allow yourself to call it a breakup. You were never actually with Kylo. Sure, the relationship was bound to flower into a romantic one. But it hadn’t, not yet. There was only one dinner date, drinks, and a kiss. One solitary kiss. 

But you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about it. You had never been kissed that passionately before. The more you thought about it, the worse it got. Every time you recalled the moment, there was something new you remembered. The way his hands commandingly grasped the sides of your face. The way he pressed you against the wall. You would think that was it. But next time you remembered how his hair ticked your cheeks, or, god-forbid, those damn lips of his. It was enough to drive you crazy. 

But he wasn’t yours. He never was. 

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Unspoken | Part 2

Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean is unresponsive and kind of a dick in your relationship lately and you decide to finally leave. Events cause a bond with Crowley. What happens when Dean finds out?

Words count: 1816

Originally posted by spn-spam


7 ½ hours later, 2 gas stops and 1 long cry session along the side of the road and you had finally made it to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Jody had always said you and the guys were welcome had you ever needed it, and well, you needed it. At least just for a few days until you figured out just where you intended to go. She welcomed you in with open arms although she had grimaced a little when you told her you left Dean and would appreciate her not telling him you were there if he called. “Just while I’m here. After I leave I don’t care what you tell him, please” you begged. “All right, all right. Go put your bag in the guest room and get some sleep. I’ll make breakfast in the morning and we’re going to talk about this” she mothered. Rolling your eyes, you thanked her and went back to the guest room.  

After a hot shower you tried laying down to sleep but instead tossed, turned, and cried so much there was no sleep to be had. You got up, threw on a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt and grabbed your jacket and keys before heading out the door for a drive.  

You sat at that crossroads for what felt like ages deciding whether you were making the right choice or not. You got as far as actually putting the box in the hole 3 times, but couldn’t bring yourself to cover it with dirt, summoning a demon to make a deal with. You felt like you had walked 3 miles with the amount of times you walked from the car to the hole to the side of the road to sit and cry or throw up.


“Darling I have never had someone debating a deal so long in my life…well after life” you heard Crowley’s distinct accent and annoyance from behind you. You turned to see him leaning against the street sign inspecting his fingernails as if he might have gotten some disgusting mortal dirt on them.  

“Gee sorry to bother you. I’m sure you had nothing nefarious to do” you scoffed.  

“Well I did have plans but then some of my minions came to me complaining of this pull at a crossroads that kept snapping back at the last minute. Thought that sounded like something that might amuse me. So spit it out sweetheart. I haven’t heard any chatter about those two dolts being on a hitlist… well not any new ones at least, so this can’t be about them” he rattled on.

Again you just started crying uncontrollably without being able to get any coherent words out. Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes before stepping over to you to wrap his arms around you in a caring hug. “Now now pet, what’s got you blubbering about” he asked sincerely. You had been one person Crowley didn’t hate even though you were a hunter. He had this small soft spot for the boys, but since you had helped him out and not been a douchebag hunter like most and actually got to know people/monsters before just blowing them away or chopping off heads, Crowley had always liked you. That and you could dish out as much crap as he gave, especially to Dean and Sam, he genuinely didn’t want you hurting. As soon as you could stop crying enough to tell him what happened, he insisted you two talk somewhere other than the side of a dirt road. “This is a Tom Ford after all”’ he boasted about his tailored Jacquard stitched suit.  

With that he snapped his fingers and you found the two of you sitting at a large white marble and glass dining table in the middle of an impressively large white dining room with minimalist art flanking the side walls, a gigantic beautiful kitchen behind you and a floor to ceiling glass window overlooking a gorgeous lake in front of you. You looked at him wide eyed and he simply shrugged his shoulders “What, I have a summer home, sue me”. That’s so Crowley to say. A fruit platter, bread and cheese platter, and piping hot tea was splayed out in front of you. You snagged a slice or melon and started talking about everything that had been going on, like he was one of your best girlfriends, not thinking that he could use this against Dean or you in fact at any time he saw fit.  

The two of you walked for about 3 hours when you had started yawning. He snapped you back to your car at the side of the road in South Dakota a few miles from Jody’s house. He gave you a phone with his number in it, since you left yours at the bunker not wanting it to be tracked, and told you to call when you thought about his offer and disappeared. You drove back to Jody’s and went straight to bed, feeling a little better since having talked to someone, even if it was the King of Hell himself.  

When Jody had woken you up to ask if you wanted breakfast you politely declined and went back to sleep. You actually stayed in bed moping all day. Jody had brought in a plate of breakfast anyway and had sighed disapprovingly when she saw it had been untouched later that day when she brought in some lunch. “Honey I know you’re upset but you gotta eat something” she rubbed your arm as you stared out the window from where you were still lying in bed. “Do you need me to stay home with you? I should just call out. I’m going to call out” she prattled. “No. I’m fine Jody. Go to work. I was just going to get up anyway” you lied to appease her caring nature. “All right, but you had better get some eating done missy or I’ll shove it down your throat when I get back” she threatened unconvincingly. You grabbed the sandwich off the plate and took a bite of it, giving her a cheek filled smile “happy”? She shot you a pissy smile and left for work. As soon as she was out the door you spit out the sandwich and laid back down.  

You were starving, but not for some turkey sandwich and chips. You decided to go check out the fridge. Nothing looked appealing while everything looked appealing at the same time. Ugh, you closed the fridge and went back to your room not having decided anything was worth eating, so you ate the damn turkey sandwich and chips. Then you went back to bed. Thoughts of what you had, what happened, and the options laid in front of you swirled around in your head, making you start crying once again. Good thing that crying often led you to sleep.  

When you awoke again it was dark out already. You checked the time, 9:39pm. You got up to go downstairs, seeing the empty lunch plate was gone, you assumed Jody was home from work and had checked on you so she grabbed it. You made your way down the hall when you heard her phone ring.  

“Heeeey Dean, what’s up?”

“No I haven’t heard from her, why?”

“What did you do?”

“Uh huh, right and elves shrink my clothes while I sleep at night!”

“Yah yah, I’ll call if I hear anything”

“You too, Bye”

She turned to see you leaning against the wall entering the living room. “Thanks” you offered a genuine smile.

“I keep my promises. Now you wanna tell me what happened between you two?”

“Ugh Jody I don’t want to talk about it again” you whined.

“Ok fine, I’ll just call Dean back and tell him to come over so we can all talk about it” she gave you her dare me to smile. You did not want to dare her.  

“FINE!” You balled your hands up into fists at her. Damn her and her motherly ways.

Originally posted by m00ndanse

You followed her into the kitchen where you grabbed some sodas and sat at the dining table while she made microwave popcorn. You started spilling your guts while she listened and gave a head nod and a mmmhmm once in a while.

“Why didn’t you call me, I thought we were friends?” She asked looking hurt.

“How many people in this line of work do you know that are good at sharing feelings with other people?” You retorted sarcastically.

“True. But when your relationship starts tanking after 2 years, I’d think that would warrant a call” she replied pointing a finger.

“Next time I promise I’ll call MOM” you laughed.

“Very funny. So what’s your plan now?”

“I am still thinking about that. I think I’ll just throw a dart at the map and go” you said as you picked at the handful of popcorn in your hand.

“Are you going to play with that all night or actually eat it?”

“I completely planned on playing with it, but now that you’ve uncovered my plan I guess I’ll eat it.”

The two of you talked for about another hour until she retired for bed having to work in the morning. You told her you were going to shower and go for a drive, maybe a bite to eat at the diner in town so she didn’t worry.

And that’s what you did. Showered and went to the diner. Once you walked in you spotted an oddly overdressed gentleman sitting at one of the booths. You walked over and sat facing him. “Kinda not the place I’d expect to catch suck a dapperly dressed man in” you smiled.

“As opposed to the side of a dirt road perhaps?” Crowley responded with his usual sarcastic inflection. “So any news for me?” He asked.

“I want to go over some details, how’s this going to work, any possible loopholes you might be hiding first” you squinted suspiciously at him.

Placing his hand to his chest “Darling I’m offended at the accusation that I would be so devious as to loophole anyone. Ok I have on occasion in the past, but this is a true-blue offer for you. I simply want to help.”

“A wise man once told me the devil is in the details darling” you grinned.

“Oh he sounds quite handsome too” the witty banter never ended with him.

Details were discussed as you downed a double bacon cheeseburger, large cheese fries, a milkshake, and 2 pieces of cherry pie.

The next morning you picked up your bag from Jody’s, left her a note thanking her for the hospitality and friendship but you were ready to start a new chapter of your life and you’d stay in touch. With that, you grabbed your keys and headed out to your car where Crowley waited patiently in the passenger seat.


To be continued…

Part 1 .. Part 3  

@feelmyroarrrr @nervousmemzie @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @nolahxrocks

anonymous asked:

request for the angst queen with a prompt where one of the gods take over Noct's s/o's body (like Shiva w Gentiana) and their no longer the person he fell in love with. Also thank you two so much bc you inspired me to start my own side blog (take-pitioss-on-me) and I'd be blessed if y'all would check it out. 💚

Alrighty, while I’d like to point out that Shiva actually is Gentiana, I really really enjoy this concept you’ve suggested. (And I rly rly love Noct ok?) 

This was a difficult one to craft while trying to somewhat stay true to canon— something I always strive to do in some kind of regard. So I had to take some liberties with the (very vague) lore of FFXV. Roll with it my dudes.

SO! With that being said.

On with the pain train!

{1,611 words}


It started after Altissia.

After you finally woke.

The healers said that they were certain you’d never open your eyes again. Noctis never left your side upon waking to find that everything had crumbled around him. He held on to your hand as if it was the only thing keeping him balanced in this wretched world— where heroes die too soon and the innocent far too young.

He had been told by Ignis how it had happened. Who it had been. The same man who stole his eyes and Luna’s life.

The day that you woke, Noctis was resting his forehead in the palm of your limp hand, caressing your wrist when your thumb twitched against his temple. He assumed it to be another one of his fragmented daydreams, the ones where you finally opened your eyes and he took you into his arms.

He realized it to be nothing short of reality when he pulled back, watching your eyes flutter as he gripped your hand. Yes, nothing short of reality because when your clear eyes opened, they were anything but relieved.

You stared at him as if you had lost your mind.

Keep reading

Zutara week Entry: Day One: Fire Lady

The morning of the wedding is one of the most beautiful Katara has ever seen.

Warm golden sun rays stream through the windows of her chambers, past the drapes that clothed them, heavy, a deep scarlet. The sun beams bounce off the walls, also red, soaking her room in a delicious, almost other worldly, incandescent glow. Beyond the heavy hues of the bedroom walls, she can hear the hustle and bustle of movement: the voices of servants, many of whom she’s come to know by name, hushed but hurried, the dull thump-thump, thump-thump, of frenzied footsteps and the sharp ringing of bells piercing the lazy morning air. The tell-tale sign of a nobleman or foreign dignitary in need of a servant’s assistance. In the several months that she’d been residing in the Fire Nation, Katara had almost gotten used to the sound: a crisp tinkling that went off at hourly intervals. It was perhaps one of the most outstanding features of the fire palace’s west wing, which traditionally housed a select few fire nation court nobles and more recently, the occasional international diplomat and personal guests of the Fire Lord himself.

And future fire ladies apparently, Katara reminds herself, an overwhelming and unnameable emotion suddenly coursing through her. She stands up, suddenly desperate and determined to take a stroll.  

The scene that greets her outside the room is everything she expected it to be, and yet she is every bit taken off guard by the sheer number of people running around the once nearly desolate hallways. People of all different backgrounds, although if she’s being more accurate, they are mostly from the fire nation and earth kingdom, clad in long, flowy emerald coloured robes and ruby red garments, pepper her vision. She hears the splash of liquid spray onto her attire before she feels it, at almost the same time she sees the young man carrying the now empty pitcher squeak like a cornered gerbil-mouse, his whole face blanching as he stutters out a panicked, barely coherent, apology.

“Master Katara…Ambassador…My Lady…” Each title is punctuated by the boy’s frantic genuflecting, and Katara immediately puts a stop to it with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“That’s quite all right, no need for all that, see…” she makes the slightest of gestures, the flick of a single wrist, really, and her drenched sapphire robes and dark hair are completely dry, the water re-occupying its rightful place in the pitcher once again. “There, no harm done…um”

“Jiro.” He supplies looking monumentally grateful and smiling shyly.

“Jiro.” She grins back, “Although, you might want to change that water.” She suggests kindly.

He nods enthusiastically and rushes off with a moderately loud, “Yes, my Lady. Excuse me, my Lady. Thank you, my Lady.”

And Katara resists the urge to cringe, I don’t think I could ever get used to that, she thinks. Just as she’s forced herself to think for the past few weeks…

Her feet propel her forward on her stroll of their own accord.  

On her aimless walk, she gazes out of the seemingly never ending rows of windows that line the corridors, stopping briefly to admire the view. The sky is a relentless blue, cloudless, the air cool and refreshing; a welcome reprieve from the infamous fire nation heat and humidity. It’s almost as if the weather itself was joining them in jubilation, a gift from even the spirits themselves to commemorate this historic, unprecedented union of cultures and nations; a triumph of love and forgiveness over hatred and war.

Subconsciously, Katara’s gaze leaves the manicured hedges of the central courtyard and lingers some distance beyond, attaching itself to the fire lord’s private gardens.

The waterbender smiles to herself, remembering late afternoon discussions about inconsequential things by the turtle-duck pond, watching the sunset by the fire-lily beds, sitting in comfortable silences, simply enjoying one another’s company; and, after dark, having bending battles to let off some steam. She grins smugly, the memory of vermillion flames flashing across her vision, the crackling of ozone as static burst around her, the feeling of being indescribably lost in her element, the flow of water, the flow of power thrumming through her veins. All the pressure and stress of politics and dealing with the minutia of their daily routines vaporising in the air between them, wafts of steam created by the clashing of their elements.

They never hold back. Not with each other.  

Katara gulps, blue eyes darting to the highest window of the east wing. The fire lord’s chambers. Images of their other, more… clandestine, more incandescent, rendezvous flash behind her eyelids unbidden. Memories of warm hands on her cool skin, of rough, marred skin beneath her fingertips, of soft lips: an impossible all-consuming heat, the taste of electricity…

She blinks, hard, and continues walking.

Finally, she stops, her legs stiff and trembling, like she’s been on a long journey, a trek on foot. Her brain catching up with her eyes at the sight of her destination. The young woman almost laughs. Of course, she thinks, the voice in her head an exasperated drawl, despite the thunderous pounding of her heart in her chest.

She enters the small space with only the slightest trepidation but immediately relaxes when her suspicions are confirmed.

She can’t help the fond smile that spreads across her face. In his five years of rule and reign, some, the hopeful and optimistic, have described him as the greatest fire lord to grace the country in a century. Others, his most vocal opponents, whom, despite the greatest of efforts, still carry lingering resentment at how they were denied their ‘glorious victory’ at the end of Sozin’s hundred year war, have called him a traitor, a treasonous failure unworthy of the title of Agni’s scion and the dragon throne.

But right now, in this tiny, storage closet hidden from view, he’s a grown man struggling to wear his pants. And Katara thinks she likes him best this way. He grunts in frustration under his breath, looking like he wouldn’t hesitate to incinerate every item of clothing on his person in righteous retribution. She clears her throat attracting his attention. He swears, a string of rather un-regal profanities leaving his lips as he whirls around in surprise. His whole body visibly relaxes once he sees that it’s her.

“Katara,” The unconcealed, unabashed joy in his voice makes her heart clutch. “What are you doing?”

“I think that’s my line, Zuko.” She says with a teasing, playfulness she doesn’t quite feel.  

He immediately looks at a point somewhere beyond her shoulder, like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world, while his fair skin, suddenly turns scarlet at the cheeks and she absently notes how he matches the rest of his attire now.

“Right, well,” He makes a vague gesture towards his clothing, a conglomeration of dark reds and bright yellows, of fabrics and metals. She would say he looks powerful, majestic even, if it hadn’t been for the complete state of disarray that his raven locks currently remained in, and the ridiculous angle his topknot rested in, loose and deflated, like it had been drained of all life and simply wanted to fade into oblivion. “I didn’t care much for the tailor’s ‘last minute additions’”, he jabs his thumb at his metal clad chest, ah, the armour “I just felt it wasn’t necessary…with the occasion and all that.” He says the word ‘occasion’, delicately, experimentally, as if she might spontaneously combust if he were to even utter the word wedding.

“Right, of course. Fire nation armour at the wedding of the century, plus foreign politicians making up a huge chunk of the guest list does not equal a good idea.” She hopes her tone is free of any inflections of bitterness, when she says the phrase ‘wedding of the century’. If the fire lord notices anything, he doesn’t say it.

“Math humour,” He chuckles, the sound a siren call. “You’ve been hanging around your brother too much.”

She shrugs, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “So what exactly is the problem?”

“I-can’t-seem-to-get-it-off.” The sentence is one short, tumbled rush.

“What?” She laughs softly. Incredulous.

“You heard me.” He mumbles, seemingly irritated, but clearly embarrassed.

“Yeah, I did. I just can’t believe it. Actually, yes I can.”

She closes the door behind her, ignoring the alarm bells going off in her mind.

“Turn around,” She mock sighs. “Let’s see what we can do.”

He grumbles yet again but obediently does as she requested. After a few minutes of teasing banter on both ends, a tug here and a pull here, the offending armour is down away with. And Katara’s hands find themselves in Zuko’s hair, repairing the damage his previous attempts at armour removal had left behind. She fights to keep her breathing steady and calm her traitorous pounding heart. It’s just hair, her voice growls within her mind. But her senses rebel and attack her with memories of the two of them in a similar situation, in this same room, actually, which they had often used for private…err… ‘discussions’, with her hands lost in his silky locks for very different reasons, then his hands in her hair, tugging at fistfuls to expose her neck to his mouth, hot and hungry and…and…

“Okay, all done.” She suddenly exclaims. Cracking the peaceful silence like a komodo-rhino egg.

“Thank you.” He says.

She’s about to respond when she realises how, at some point during her fixing of his hair, she wound up facing him yet again. They stand now, face to face, tantalisingly close in the limited space surrounding them. Zuko’s looking at her. Really looking at her. His golden gaze takes in her appearance, her traditional water tribe robes, delicate blues, and furs, white. Her hair, wild brown curls, barely tamed by braids and blue beads. Then, finally, amber eyes meet blue. She wonders what he’s thinking. She doesn’t have to wait long for an answer though.

“You look so…” He sounds awestruck, clearly struggling to put it into words, “Nice.”

“Whoa, ‘nice’? Let’s not go overboard with the praise, there.” But she’s blushing in spite of her teasing. “Thank you, Zuko. I think you look really nice t—”

“Are you okay?” He seems to blurt out. Katara has no doubt that if he could glare at his own mouth, he would.

The question hangs in the air for a beat too long. She knows what he means of course, when two people know each other inside and out the way they do, there’s no room for ambiguity. She contemplates lying, shrugging off his question and forcing a comforting smile onto her visage. But then she remembers who she’s talking to.

They never hold back. Not with each other.  

“You’re marrying someone else, Zuko.” She says. Her words are ice cold, meant to cut deep and visceral. Her ire isn’t necessarily directed at him, well, not completely. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel upset with him. Part of anger may even have been directed at fate or destiny or whatever was in charge of throwing obstacle after never ending obstacle, between herself and the one person in this life who made her feel so…complete. However most of it was at herself. She had been reckless, allowed herself to be vulnerable, spilled out all that she was, and wanted to be, into his waiting arms and did the same for him. And she thought, what? That loving him was going to be enough to fill in the gaps, nay, the chasms that stood between them and reality. Well, it wasn’t, she thinks bitterly. “How can I possibly be okay?”

He nods. He understands her disappointment and pain and frustration. Of course he does.

“I’m so sorry. I wish things could’ve been different.” There’s a pause. He seems to be choking back some kind of emotion. But in the limited lighting she isn’t too sure.  “But I want you to know that I don’t regret any of it. These past few months with you have been…” he pauses searching yet again for the right words, twirling his wrist around as if the simple act could conjure them out of thin air.

She doesn’t know exactly when it started. She can remember every detail and day of their first kiss and many other gradual intimacies they shared over time. But her feelings for Zuko, their feelings for each other, are another matter entirely. Perhaps they began to make themselves known after he and Mai broke up for the last time, a final clean break, an understanding that they had different goals in life. Zuko wanted to usher in a new era of peace into the world through his regency, and Mai couldn’t stand the politics of it all. “It just wasn’t her.” He’d told her one evening by the pond, after he had detailed how he and Mai had dissected their relationship, exposing the ugliness beneath it all, and ultimately deciding to go their separate ways. Last Katara had heard, Mai was being initiated into the order of the white lotus, as part of the first wave of the secret organisations first female members.

Zuko had poured himself into his work after their break up, trying to fill his former lover’s now empty space with knowledge and possibility. Katara, equally as eager to secure her position as the water tribe’s emissary to the fire nation, did likewise. Soon comparing notes, sharing studying techniques and anecdotes about their day turned into something more. But now, on the precipice of losing that something, Katara can’t help but wonder if there was possibly more even before that.

She stops him. Zuko was never particularly exceptional at talking about or even out right displaying his romantic feelings. So she spares him. One last time.

“Zuko. I may not be okay right now, and I probably won’t be for some time. But I will be.” She steels herself, not wanting to say the next words but knowing she has to. “She’s a good person, Zuko. The people love her.” The words ‘and I’m sure you will too’ remain unspoken. The next words feel like shards of ice on her tongue, but she manages to say them anyway.

“She’ll make a great fire lady.”

“And you’ll make an incredible fire lord, Zuko. I believe in you.” And she means it. She really does. She can honestly say she’s never met anyone who has his determination and drive and who only wants redemption, peace and prosperity for his nation. And for the world. The world couldn’t have asked for a better fire lord. She does know however, that he isn’t perfect. His recurring moments of self-doubt and blind devotion to his people’s redemption being examples. But she’s come to care about him even with his flaws. Just as he does with hers.  

At those last four words something flashes in Zuko’s eyes.

“And you’ll be okay too Katara. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. You helped your father and brother to rebuild the Southern Water Tribe, taught waterbending as a world renowned master and left your home to come here and represent them. You’re amazing. And being with you was amazing.”

“Zuko…” Katara breathes not sure how to respond to his praise. The irony of their role reversal is not lost on her.

“No, Katara. I need to say this and you need to hear this.” His tone is firm but his smile is gentle, if a little pained. “I love you.”

The waterbending master is speechless. Which, she is aware, isn’t the best time to be so. It’s not as if Zuko hasn’t told her so before. He has. Though his declarations were few and far between initially. There’s just something about him saying it now, the finality of it all. And for the first time in what feels like a long time, Katara is suddenly very aware that she is in a closed, dimly lit room with a soon-to-be-married man.

And she is struck by the very real, very sudden urge to kiss him with everything that she is. To leave her mark on his heart. To ensure that he’ll never forget their time together. Never forget her.

But her face has been made up with all sorts of heavy and expensive paints and powders. And she already knows his heart just as he knows hers. And she knows he will never forget her.

So she reaches for him instead, her hand a gentle touch across the marred skin of his scar, along his jaw, down the lines of his neck, before he draws her to him. They stay like that for some time. Foreheads touching, the sound of their joint breathing the only sound. Until finally she pulls away with a strangled, barely audible, “I love you too.”

It is enough.

It has to be.

Her name is Himiko.

A young woman born to a middle class family in the fire nation who migrated to the colonies in the earth kingdom when she was merely an infant. She like a few others of fire nation citizenship, were of airbender descent and had dormant airbending genes within them. She proved to be an excellent student under Aang’s tutelage, one of the best, actually. A master airbender born into the fire nation, who spent all her life living amongst the people of the Earth Kingdom. One couldn’t imagine a better candidate for the role of a queen consort, who is to rule by the side of a progressive monarch in a post-war economy and atmosphere, if they tried. The fire nation nobles, who would’ve greatly preferred someone of a ‘higher station’ begrudgingly support the union. The Earth Kingdom aristocracy has mixed feelings about a ‘product of fire nation imperialism with knowledge of the their land’ on the throne of their former century long enemy and the newly formed air nomad council of elders is not completely on board with the arrangement either, as it doesn’t really keep in with their slowly reviving traditions, as marriage isn’t an institution recognised by airnomad customs. But the message of their marriage is one that’s so profound, no one can really stand against the poetry of it all: the fire nation nearly wiped out the entire airbending race, if these two people could find love, unite their two peoples, and rule together towards a better world, then the world really is a changed place. A place where anything could be possible…

Katara smiles. She smiles at her friends and takes the time to interact with every single one of them. Suki wants to know if she’s okay, Sokka and her father tell her it’s okay if she ever wants to come home, Toph probably can tell she’s lying but to her credit doesn’t say so. Aang seems to blame himself somehow for how things turned out. She is his student, and one of his people. He wishes he could do something, says he should have fought against it harder. And for second she is reminded of when they were children, and how he had had a crush on her, long gone now, it was a simpler time, she thinks. She smiles at him. At all of them. She dances and drinks, moderately, and claps at the end of every speech.

Until even she almost believes it’s genuine.

She even gives her congratulations to the fire lord and his lovely, new bride.

 @zutaraweek

TKM Canon Divergence

If Browning hadn’t beaten Kevin to telling the truth about Nathaniel:


“Andrew.” There was nothing that could get past Andrew’s blind focus on Neil’s whereabouts, nothing, except one of now only two people he still had a deal with. Andrew’s eyes flicker to Kevin, his mind still racing through possibilities for Neil’s disappearance, one hand dialling a hospital that’s way too far away for it to be plausible but at this point Andrew’s looking for impossible. Kevin is clutching Neil’s abandoned Exy racquet and he’s looking at Andrew like he’s sorry.

Like he’s about to hurt Andrew but he doesn’t want to.

Andrew wouldn’t recognise this look if it hadn’t been on Neil’s face when he first mentioned Proust; the majority of the people who’ve hurt Andrew definitely wanted to. He wants to rip the look off Kevin’s face, because there’s nothing Kevin can say that will hurt him, he’s untouchable, invulnerable…

(He hasn’t felt this breakable since he was seven and the bedroom door creaked open the first time- Since the first time in Cass’ house that he put knives to his skin and watched his not-life drip down the drain-)

Kevin clearly can’t see how close Andrew is to losing the last of his control because his throat merely works up and down for a full minute, unprepared to get the words out.

“Nathaniel’s not coming back.” He says eventually, and the racquet in his fist is squeezed so hard Andrew swears he sees it splinter before Kevin’s words register. They aren’t the words of the coward, for once, who wants to give up and let Riko drag him back to Hell, but the truth as Kevin sees it. Sunrise, Abram, Death, Truth. 

Kevin knows something.

There are hands bending his thumbs backwards almost to the point of dislocation, an almost-blue Kevin choking in air on the ground in front of him, and Neil’s racquet, that’s tumble to the tarmac had alerted his teammates on the bus to Andrew’s latest actions, is partially under the body of the bus now. There are strong arms with tribal tattoos wrapped round his waist, and stocky boxer’s hands gripping his biceps but it’s the thinner female hands on his thumbs that snap him out of his rage for long enough to understand that Kevin cannot pass on his news after he’s dead.

He watches silently, not hearing his teammates’ demands for answers, as Kevin sucks air desperately into his lungs. The red lines around his throat are going to bruise tomorrow.

Andrew wonders when Neil became worth breaking the last shred of goodness in Andrew.

“What do you know.” He demands and it’s not a question. Renee may have managed to pry his hands off Kevin’s throat, but no-one’s taking him away from his answers.

“He’s gone. He’s gone, gone, gone; he never existed in the first place!” Kevin chokes out, verging on hysteria. Abby is flapping somewhere in his peripheral vision and Renee has let go of his hands though Wymack and Matt aren’t quite trusting of his control enough yet to let him go completely, but Andrew has quite possibly never cared less about people touching him without his permission.

“Kevin what are you talking about?” Wymack’s tone is far from Andrew’s stony countenance but he’s still more stern than comforting, realisation about the subject in question marring any affection he usually shows for his son. Kevin buries his head in his hands and his shoulders are shaking. Andrew’s patience is rapidly diminishing.

“Neil. He was running. He told me he thought he’d get to the end of the year before they found him but I found a paper before when we were searching for him and the Butcher was released on early parole; I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” And this time his eyes meet Andrew’s and he’s begging Andrew to believe him. Andrew’s never liked begging. “If I’d known-” Kevin shakes his head because he knows best of all that it would have changed nothing. Kevin never would have encouraged another junkie to run, not even to keep him alive. What was life worth, if it wasn’t spent on an Exy court?

“There’s a countdown on his phone.” Andrew hears himself say without any inflection, and it’s proof of his wavering self-control that he says the words aloud at all. “He knew.”

“Who’s this Butcher?” Matt explodes from behind Andrew, two steps behind as ever. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, because whoever’s got him; Neil’s just as de-

“Nathan Wesninski.” If there was ever air in Andrew’s lungs there isn’t any more because he knew Neil hadn’t told him the whole truth but his father being alive, the man who burnt an iron into his shoulder and cut open his stomach with a cleaver, is information that was critical to Andrew keeping him alive.

Which is why, he supposes, Neil broke their deal today. His secrets were more important than his life.

(His secrets were more important than your life. A voice whispers and then Andrew can’t purge the thought. You were amazing, you were amazing, you were amazing-)

“He works for Riko’s family, the main branch.” Who knew Kevin had been a repository of information this whole time. How many secrets could Kevin have given him?

(But that wasn’t the point; Neil’s truths were given to Andrew because he wanted to give them. Andrew wasn’t like them)

“Where is he?” Kevin doesn’t get a chance to respond because then Wymack’s phone ringtone is piercing the air. All of them find themselves holding their breath; Kevin’s face crumples, Andrew doesn’t know how he managed to gain this let alone how to lose it-

“The FBI have found Neil. He’s in Baltimore.”

nonsense-girl  asked:

thank you! *sobs quietly* that's so beautiful and heart-warming, thank you!! <3 can I request more please? (sorry, AoKi is life <3<3) takes place during wc finals, after the awarding ceremony, Aomine congratulates Kise and they patch things up ('cause you know their IH match was heartbreaking but we didn't see some angst between them after, they just suddenly become 'ok' after it even without proper talking), and maybe accidental/forced/awkward confession? Light angst plus fluff, thanks again!

Aw you’re welcome! *hug you back* I’m so excited about this ‘ask’, I wonder what it is… lmao xP Take your time! Have a good day too! <3<3

Anonymous said:

scenario with Kise and Aomine where Kise stops admiring Aomine (after Kaijo vs Touou) and fawning over him altogether, after some time Aomine realizes he wants Kise’s attention all to himself after all and confronts him, insert love confession? thanks so much your AoKise are so amazing especially the one with punching Haizaki <3

Hi dears! Sorry if I made you wait! First, thank you for your kind words! I’m really happy that you like my Aokise’s things! (I LOVE THEM TOO) Second, since you two sent me similar asks on the same day, I decided to answer with one but longer drabble! I hope you’ll be satisfied with this, let me know and thank you for your support!

AoKise, Angst + Fluff, After Seirin’s victory, Confession

 

Don’t Stop Following Me

 

Aomine fought with the crowd of people that was trying to leave the stadium and cursed every single one of them. Were they a flock of sheep or what? He had also lost sight of Momoi, damn.

After an interminable struggle, he finally reached the exit and inhaled fresh air. He immediately moved away from the mass, choosing a more secluded path. The sky was already dark and he was still thinking about Kuroko and Seirin’s victory, when he caught sight of a well-known blond in front of him.

Instinctively, he raised a hand and called him.

“Oi Kise!”

He regretted his action on the spot, remembering that well, the last time they had spoken…he hadn’t been the best friend he could have been, right?

He hoped the boy hadn’t heard him, but, like a trained dog, Kise stopped and turned in a second.

“Aominecchi?” stuttered shocked, waiting for the other to reach him.

Aomine could see his expressions going from happiness, to bitterness and finally to a blushing uneasiness. He wasn’t feeling any different, but probably his face was frozen in the usual scowl.

“What are you doing here?” Kise asked, fidgeting with his hands.

“Got separated from Momoi. I’m going home,” he explained briefly, eyeing nervously the way Kise avoided meeting his eyes.

“Ah me too! But my team lives in the opposite direction, so it’s fine!” he stifled a laughter, scratching his nape.

“I live near you,” Aomine blurted it before he could realize. Kise for a moment stilled, and then forced a smile. He had written on the forehead that he was uncomfortable and part of Aomine would have liked to punch himself for making that implicit offer, but he had always been good at ignoring people’s feelings and doing what he wanted, so why stop now?

“Let’s go,” he ordered with a nod and started walking. For a second, he didn’t heard any sound of footsteps behind him and his heart missed a beat, yet Kise moved in the end. Aomine sighed in relief, trying to erase the flashes of their last match from the mind.

Kise walked in silent by his side, hands in the pocket and eyes covered by the blonde bangs.

“Tetsu was right all along uh?” at some point Aomine commented to break the silence.

Kise blinked and pushed aside his own thoughts to look at him.

“It seems so,” he agreed with a bittersweet smile. He was grateful to Kuroko for the new world he had showed him, but at the same time the defeat still burned.

The silence dropped again.

“Listen,” Aomine burst, clenching his fists, “About our match-” he began, but Kise interrupted him.

“Are you here to rub salt on the wound?” hissed in disbelief, glaring at him, and Aomine growled annoyed.

“I’m not, you idiot.”

“Strange, oh Unbeatable One,” Kise mocked him shaking his head and Aomine hit him on the shoulder.

“I’ve never done something like that.” He alleged, wounded by Kise’s joke. He had been an asshole but he had never belittled Kise.

“That’s discussible.” The other insisted showing a small pout and crossing his arms. Aomine felt the need to hit him again but restrained himself and inhaled deeply.

“During that match,” he tried again, a little uncertain of how and what he wanted to say, “You stopped following me.”

Kise stiffened and whipped his head to look at Aomine, eyes wide with shock.

“W-what do you mean?” he muttered. Aomine’s blue eyes were serious as they never had and Kise felt a grip around his throat.

“What I said,” Aomine repeated more sure, slowing his pace, “you stopped following me.”

“I don’t know what are-”

“You’ve never done it before. You have always chased after me,” Aomine continued to speak, like his walls had broken down, “You were the only one who never stopped chasing after me. It didn’t matter how strong I was becoming, it didn’t matter if the gap between us was growing larger, it didn’t matter if I was unbeatable. You searched for me. You challenged me. So why had you stopped?” he breathed in the end, slightly panting. He didn’t even noticed he had slowly raised his voice and halted.

Kise was staring at him petrified and some passersby were glancing curiously at them. But Aomine didn’t care. He didn’t even know he was that angry until that moment.

“Why, Kise?” asked again. He needed an answer. He was thinking about it from that time, growing more and more uneasy as days passed by.

The distressed tone that surfaced in his voice unblocked the blond, who took a step back as if Aomine had slapped him and wrapped an arm around his own waist as to protect himself.

“Why? Because that way I could finally beat you. Or that was what I thought.” He answered with a cold, disillusioned smile, “What’s wrong? Your powerful self don’t accept my insubordination? You don’t like it when no one is fawning about how strong you are? Were you offended?” he spited his accuses one after the other letting all his bottled up anger surface.

“That’s not-”

“That’s not what?” Kise abruptly interrupted him and grabbed him by the collar of the t-shirt, “Were you lonely because I wasn’t there? Did you feel left behind? Well, welcome to my world.” Kise hissed, few centimeters away from his lips. Aomine speechlessly stared at his burning golden eyes. Why his voice was so sad? Why he was on the verge of crying?

Kise let him slowly go, trying to calm his accelerated breathing. He didn’t want to speak anymore. He didn’t want to let him see his true feelings a second longer.

“You’re such an egoist, Aomine,” he murmured with the same cold expression he had worn during that fatal match. Then he turned and tried to walk away.

The sound of his name, without any suffix, without any cheerful inflection, echoed in Aomine head. He watched Kise’s back leaving and a thought crossed his mind: “Is this what you have seen for all those years?”

“Kise!” he called reaching for him, but the boy jolted and suddenly bolted away without turning.

Aomine cursed and sprinted after him, stretching his hand. He had never had the need to chase after something, he had never felt the fear of not reaching what he wanted. Yet he was learning how bitter and scary it could be.

“Kise, stop!” he chased after the blond like his life depended on it. Kise tried his best and pushed his body to the limit, but Aomine was still the best, wasn’t he?

He finally caught his wrist.

“Let me go!” Kise screamed, but he tightened the grip.

“No!” he roared before yanking and roughly slamming the boy against the nearest wall. He pinned him by the shoulders, impeding him from wiggling out of his hold. “You have to listen to me!”

“Why? Why I have to?” Kise cried as desperation took over.

“Because I don’t like you stop following me.” Aomine admitted panting and letting his tiredness crept in his voice.

Kise tightened his lips and ducked his head, trembling.

“And what should I do, you egoistic idiot?” he replied trying to hold back the tears, “If you need a dog or a fool for your own entertainment, find someone else. I can’t stand as player on your level because you never recognize me, yet I can’t stop chasing your shadow and become a proper rival because you don’t want it. Do you want to make me even more miserable? I’m tired of looking at you from afar…” he confessed finally dropping any resistance and shrinking against the wall.

“I don’t want you as a rival or player!” Aomine exclaimed instinctively. Only the pained expression that flashed on Kise’s face made him realize that it wasn’t what he should have said.

“Are you a sadist?” Kise whined in disbelief. He was crying and letting him crush his heart and that idiot just poured salt in the wound.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Then be clear!”

“I’m trying to-”

“Do you want to break my heart again, you insensitive asshole?”

“I said I’m trying to-”

“Not that you car-”

“I’M TRYING TO CONFESS!” Aomine finally screamed it out, exasperated and annoyed at the same time. Why Kise had to speak that much?

“W-what?” Kise stuttered lifting his head and staring at him shocked, eyes still filled with shiny tears. He had to be mistaken…

“I’m trying to confess,” Aomine repeated slowly and rested his head against Kise’ shoulder, “I love you, I don’t want you to stop following me. Please come back, even if I’m egoistic. Sorry for having realized it after so long.”

Kise remained there, petrified for some seconds, and then blinked at the blue haired head. Realization hit me.

“Aominecchi!” he suddenly shrilled and the other guy jumped for the surprise, “Repeat it!” begged catching his face between the hands and squeezing his cheeks.

“Uh?” Aomine looked at Kise dumbfounded and tried to break free, but the guy’s fingers remained planted into his skin. He was staring at him with eyes full of expectancy and incredulousness.

“Say it again!”

“No.” he grunted avoiding his gaze.

“Aominecchi! Please!”

“I’ve already said it. Stop with this shit and answer me.”

“I’m not answering if you don’t say it again.” Kise threatened serious and Aomine groaned defeated.

“…I love you, go out with me,” He muttered unwillingly and embarrassed. A light pink hue colored his dark cheeks.

Kise slowly let him go and took a step back to look properly ad Aomine, struck by both euphoria and confusion. It had happened so fast and after so long at the same time. He felt lightheaded, as if he was still caught in a dream. A happy dream.

“Oi, you said you were going to answer!” Aomine fretted, trying to calm down his own heart. He was starting to believe that Kise was going to escape again. Not that he could have blamed him but-

“Yes.”

Aomine stared at Kise’s blushing face. He was wearing a bright smile, the one of the old days, and his eyes shined brightly. All the sadness had finally left him.

“Yes, I love you too,” Kise beamed, as he vibrantly accepted his confession. He didn’t even hoped it for it anymore and yet. He was on the verge of exploding for the happiness.

The other boy suddenly crouched to the ground.

“Thank God!” Aomine sighed in relief holding his head between the hands; “Don’t tease me like this!” growled glaring up at the blond, who had burst into a lighthearted laughter.

“Now we’re even!” Kise chanted playfully, bending slightly towards him with a mischievous smirk.

Aomine however didn’t miss the chance and suddenly grabbed his collar; in a swift move dragged him down and planted a rough kiss on his soft lips.

Now, we’re even.” Aomine allured satisfied when they divided, licking his lips. Kise’s face flushed even more and, with a whimper, he let himself fall into Aomine’s arms, on the ground.

“That’s sly, Aominecchi!”

 

Some old ladies on the street that had stopped to watch the entire scene clapped furiously and dried their eyes with handkerchiefs, expressing aloud compliments and congratulations. Ah, those younglings in love!

B.A.P Bodyguard Daehyun 'Where Do We Go From Here'

anon asked: Hello~ Has anyone requested an expansion for Daehyun’s bodyguard drabble? If not, I would like to request it, please! ^^ Your writing is so incredible! I thoroughly enjoy everything you write. Please take your time and don’t ever feel rushed!

A/N: You are such a sweetheart, thank you honey. I hope your expansion was worth the wait. *hugs*

This is a drabble expansion of a reaction I wrote here.

~

He was like a big, loud puppy. With a gun.

Seriously, had anybody certified him to carry that thing? Daehyun was not what you had imagined when you’d been informed you were getting a personal bodyguard in addition to those on the grounds. In your head you’d thought of some hulking, dour individual. Instead you got a ray of sunshine who smiled all the time and had a comment for everyone and everything.

It was interesting that over the past few months he’d seemed to be taking more than a professional interest in you. He was a bit flirty yet never enough that you could out right call him on it. However the impish gleam in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then he started following you around. Which, admittedly, was his job. But even during his off hours he was always there. And if you got absorbed in work and ignored him there was no mistaking his pout of displeasure. It was surprising how his lively face could transform into one that looked like it’d never known a smile. Orphan waifs had nothing on this guy.

Daehyun’s constant expression of every emotion he felt was fascinating. And attractive. On a daily basis you dealt with people who lied as easily as breathing. Unfortunately to survive in that world you’d acquired the skill yourself. But you found him most disarming when your silver tongue had no effect on him. He could always see through you. To be around someone so carefree and without guile was intoxicating. He was lightning in a bottle. And you found yourself feeling more for him than you probably should.

Despite his behind the scenes joie de vivre he was a good guard. Alert. Protective. Then one day you were forced to add reckless to that list and everything fell apart.

Keep reading

The Most Beautiful Artwork

Dropping a short Thrawn and Eli drabble here for @lmhersch, because sudden inspiration. :P


“You’ve mentioned your favourite artwork a couple of times,” Eli comments, at the end of yet another long day tracking pirates and smugglers across the galaxy. “Why don’t you just procure it and bring it onboard? You hardly ever spend your officer’s salary. I’m sure it would be acquirable.”

Thrawn’s smile when he glances in Eli’s direction is faintly amused, and holds a hint of something that Eli has never observed in the Chiss Commodore before - nostalgia.

“Regrettably, this particular piece is unobtainable,” Thrawn murmurs as he watches the whorls of hyperspace flicker past the viewport. “Even for me.”

“Political reasons?” Eli ventures. Perhaps it is gathering dust in a Moff’s mansion somewhere, unappreciated for its beauty except for its weight in credits. All art is priceless to one such as Thrawn.

“No,” Thrawn says, quietly. Hyperspace traces pale tendrils across his skin, like salty currents across a darker sea.

The Chimaera drops out of hyperspace, and stars leap out towards them in a mantle of diamonds; and to the side, a space-station, hanging like a metal brooch there in the sable velvet.

Eli watches the stars for a while, shoulder-to-shoulder with Thrawn. This is not the bridge, and so he does not have to stand a step behind and to the right of his superior for appearances’ sake.

Thrawn speaks just as the engines under their feet recede to a low hum in preparation for space-docking. His voice is clear in the new, muted silence. “You are wondering what this artwork is.”

“Yes, sir,” Eli admits easily. “You have spoken at length about its meaning, but not what it is, exactly.”

Thrawn’s fingers, clasped behind his back in his customary posture when he observes the stars, tap against each other, once.

“The most beautiful artwork I have seen is the sunset on my homeworld,” Thrawn says, without any particular inflection at all, as if this were only a comment on his next masterplan, and not the most personal piece of information that has ever left his mouth in front of another. “It is unobtainable because it cannot be captured. The colours themselves are different to Chiss eyes than they are to any other species’. You would be quite unable to understand the effect even if I were to describe it to you.”

Eli watches him for a moment. He does not know what to say.

And then he does.

“Let’s finish this, then,” he says. “And then you will be able to go see your favourite artwork.”

“I wager you will see it first,” Thrawn murmurs, almost too softly to hear.

“Sir?”

Thrawn turns towards him. “Nothing of consequence. Come. We must welcome our new arrivals.”

END


If you would like more Thrawn and Eli, try A Maudlin Thing (also on FFN) and Coruscanti Chiss.

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Double Agent Vader fic: Rocks and Water

Finally a new DAV fic! Sorry for the long wait, everyone. (If you want to read the whole series, the best place to do so is on AO3.)

This one begins very shortly after Trophies, but covers a span of several months during Anakin’s wild bantha chase for the location of the Rebel base between ANH and ESB. It will be a two-parter, as well: the next part will be from Leia’s point of view.

In part one you get: Anakin building a lightsaber and definitely not having any conflicted thoughts about Obi-Wan Kenobi, or any parental feelings about Leia. Nope. None at all. Also we get a glimpse of the secret network of free droids within the Imperial ranks. And there’s a lot of Tatooine folk magic. (If Master Obi-Wan could see this, he’d be very grumpy indeed.)

Title is taken from Deb Talan’s song of the same name, which is basically the Anakin and Leia theme song for this ‘verse.

Warnings for: some body horror (mainly because Anakin has a morbid sense of humor), implied abuse, medical situations, burning, and…casual talk about murder?

Part 1: The Lightsaber

His new left hand was nearly identical to the old one. Anakin smiled to himself without any real humor as he tested the fingers. He wondered darkly if his Master had a store of such things somewhere, just waiting. He’d certainly been ready enough with the life support suit, all those years ago.

Keep reading

juliethatesromeo  asked:

One of my MC was brainwashed and forced to be the "villain" of the story, forgetting all about his real identity and past. Everyday he wakes up decided to accomplish his revenge towards whom he considers his enemies, powerful and sure on his beliefs. But due to a conversation with another MC (an enemy), he starts to remember traces of his real life and became more and more anxious; unsure. I'm not sure how to introduce this inflection point. Any ideas? Sorry for the long question and thanks!

Hi!

I personally love character arcs like this. The result kind of depends on his personality: they say you can’t force a hypnotized person to do something they wouldn’t do when conscious. I would say the same principle applies to your MC: is he naturally predisposed to violence, or will he turn back to the good side when he figures out who he is? It seems like the former, so I would say check out this post, which will give you some guidelines for writing his character as his mental stability crumbles.

Also, your character may experience trauma as he uncovers these memories – for instance, if he remembers the process of being brainwashed, he would probably experience either PTSD or something similar to it, since brainwashing is accomplished by isolation/sensory deprivation, total control (meaning that even your MC’s most basic needs are regulated by his captors – for example, his bathroom schedule, or the clothing he wears), a lack of current information (he will always be kept in the dark, whether it’s about where exactly he is or how long he’s been there or anything else), torture of both a physical and mental type (as in, your character may be questioned for twelve to sixteen hours at a stretch, and kept in moderate to acute pain during that time; then he may be sent back to his cell for sleep, and then promptly recalled for another session), physical debilitation (his food would be regulated to ensure rapid weight loss and weakening of his muscles), personal humiliation, and certainty of guilt (if your character’s captors are trying to guilt him into a crime). So make sure to do your research on PTSD and the effects of trauma.

I hope this helps! If you need anything else, please feel free to ask. - @authors-haven

“Can I help you?” he asked, no longer hiding his contempt for the class and the ridiculous human being in his door.

“I’m here for Business And the Arts,” the man replied in a deep voice, bereft of any inflection.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Hux barked out.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, and his shoulder shrugged infinitesimally. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Hux could feel a wash of heated disbelief and irritation surge through him, raising his hackles and consuming the last of his patience.

“Since you hadn’t noticed, perhaps you’d like to get out of my classroom. Or, if you feel so compelled, sit down and pretend to show some level of concern for your academic progress and I might decide not to drop you from the class,” Hux said.

The scowl that broke out across the man’s previously neutral face was impressive, and Hux privately thought it could have rivaled his own. But Hux was a weathered and tried expert of staring down assholes, and the man broke first under his gaze and stomped towards the back of the room, to the last empty seat.

From Vitas Bervis, Ars Longa, Kylux University AU, with Hux as a Business Professor and Kylo Ren as one of his students.