Short Ficlet - Blog Posts

Guys, I crave a really long, well written ANGSTY love triangle fic between Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi it's not even FUNNY. Here's my little dabble at it. I might make a full fic :3

Not proofread!!!

Trios never work

“Why are you so cold to me, Meg..? I just want to talk to you.” Nobara whispers in a cracking voice.

Megumi feels anger swirl in his gut. He hates how she's making herself out to be the victim when she's the one torturing him. Dragging him around for whatever sick and twisted reason. She has Yuji wrapped around her finger, and she wants to rub it all in his face.

“You just want me to listen.” he snapped, not phased by the sad look in her eyes.

Her mouth gaped open, and she looked like a fish gasping out of water. Her throat squeezed tight, making getting words out so much more difficult.

“No..no that's not what I want, Meg I-”

“Stop calling me that for fucks sake Nobara!” He cut her off.

“You trying to include me in this fucked up trio makes me sick, everytime i hear that dumb nickname I want to rip my ears off!”

His teeth bared as he yelled furiously at her. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he backed up. His voice lowered now as he continued to speak. “You are so insufferable. If you don't realize that, you really are stupid.”

Her lips trembled, fat tears streaming down her face as she stared at him with wide eyes. Eyes full of confusion and hurt. She was hurt he felt that way, and she would rather die than make him feel that way.

“Meg-gumi I'm so sorry. Did you feel left out? Unwanted? I don't understand, I really tried to include you,” she sniffled.

He scoffed, his curled lips full of irritation.

“You really just don't get it, That's the problem, Nobara.”

Her brows furrowed, and she looked completely lost. That ticked him off.

“You try to include me when you and Yuji are already all over each other. I'm not needed, and yet you still want me around. Does that not seem cruel to you?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

Her heart stopped. Her lips formed a deep frown as she began to shake her head slowly. Her eyes squeezed shut as tears forced their way out from behind her lids.

“No that's not what.. I would never… Megumi, I like you! I like you, that's why I always—” she bit her lip, looking down as the tears blurred and warped her vision, “—that's why I always tried to involve you..”

Usually, when she says something she's been longing to, it feels like a weight was lifted. This time, though, she felt the weight multiply. It clung to her like a curse, something dreadful. The air was just as heavy. She could barely breathe. Her lungs wouldn't open up all the way, even though she just opened herself up to him.

He stared at her with angry brows but shocked eyes. He never considered this. He always thought she liked Yuji and didn't care about him. Was he really that oblivious? He didn't notice it when she'd always beg to do his makeup when she'd drag him to try desserts, to go anywhere with her. All the memories suddenly rushed into his head, wracking around in a painful manner. He squeezed his nose bridge as the skin between his brows crinkled.

He didn't know what to say, how to go about this.

“I'm…I'm sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair, revealing more of his face.

“I imagine I don't seem so desirable now.” He whispered.

Nobara blinked away a few more tears. She sniffled before smiling.

“No, you can't sway me that easily.” She said, trying to lighten the mood.

This just made the pang of guilt in Megumi's chest grow. It was like the feeling itself had tendrils and was digging deeper inside him.

“Nobara. I'm sorry, but I can't forge false feelings.”

She bit the inside of her cheek so hard just so she wouldn't cry. She nodded with a smile.

“No, I understand. Don't worry about it.” She assured him.

He hesitantly nodded.

“Sorry for making things awkward between us,” she muttered.

“Don't be sorry.”

She smiled weakly before walking off.

A Clown met a Doctor at the asylum one day, and asked if she wanted to be free. The Doctor replied that it was the Clown who was the prisoner, but alas, she was already intrigued. The Doctor spoke with the Clown again, and again, as he told her of the freedom of the mind, from limits, from morals, from sanity. Carefully the Clown led the Doctor closer and closer to the edge. He told her he loved her, but he laughed as he said it. Down, down, down… The Doctor fell and was reborn, a Jester after his image.

3rd of October: Durin's Day / An Treasamh Latha dhen Dàmhair: Là Dhurin

English Translation:

In the early years after the dragon came, the Dwarves of Erebor set their eyes on survival. Much was lost to them during this time, cultural and religious customs they failed to sustain in their wanderings.

As soon as they had homes once again, mines to work in and forges to fire, Thorin looked to these things for the final missing piece in their lives. His nephews, growing fast, had never experienced Durin's Day in any way other than that of the Blue Mountains.

He heard Erebor in their speech, saw it in the style of their clothes, and even in the weapons they favoured, but so much of his nephews' cultural references lay elsewhere. He wished for them to understand Durin's Day through the eyes of their own culture.

Thus, ten years since Erebor had seen its last Durin's Day, her people put on a feast in Thorin's Halls the like of which was rarely seen. They worked tirelessly to have everything right: musicians woke up old ballads, bakers brought back old delicacies, and the elders gathered to pass their folktales onto the new generations. The exiles.

Another wound was healed that night, another wrong put right. Thorin watched over the festivities as Fili and Kili learnt how to sing a traditional Erebor hymn and thought of his own childhood.

Finally, everyone came together on the stone slopes before the gates of their halls to watch the last vestiges of the sunset fade from the sky behind them and the autumn moon rise in the eastern horizon. For a precious few minutes, both lights lingered together, before the sun was overcome at last.

Thorin stood with his arm around Dis and the boys by their legs, wide-eyed with their first Durin's Day beads braided carefully in their hair. They were't likely to sleep tonight.

The towering stature of the Misty Mountains blocked it from view, but Thorin knew - could see - beyond their white peaks lay Erebor, bathed in the silver light of Durin's moon.

Maybe he started it, or perhaps they all did so at the same time, but slowly and quietly, their low Dwarven voices rose into the sky with a song of home-sickness on their lips. A mourning song.

Oh, far over the Misty Mountains cold...

Scottish Gaelic Translation:

Anns na bliadhnaichean a chaidh seachad as dèidh don nathair-sgiathach tighinn, thoirt na Troichean Erebor an sùilean air mairsinneach. Chaill iad tòrr tron àm seo, nòsan cultarach is creideamh nach do chùm iad beò anns am fuadan aca.

Cho luath ‘s a bha dachaighean aca a-rithist, mèinnean a bhith ag obair anns agus ceàrdaichean a chuir teinne anns, chaidh Thòrin don rudan seo a’ sireach am pìos mu dheireadh air fhàgail bho am beathannan sa Bheinn Ònaranach. A’ fàs cho àrd a-nist, cha robh na mic a pheathar eòlach idir air an dòigh dhen Là Dhurin ach an dòigh na Beanntan Ghorm.

Chuala e Erebor san dòigh-bhruidhinn aca, san stoidhle aodach, eadhon san arm a bha an dithis measail air. Ach leis na rudan beaga, chunnaic e gun robh sin a’ tighinn bho àitichean eile. Bha e airson ‘s gum biodh iad a’ tuigsinn Là Dhurin tron shùilean an cultar aca fhèin.

Air an adhbhar sin, deich bliadhna seach gun do chunnaic Erebor an Là Dhurin mu dheireadh, chuir an t-sluaigh aice seòin air dòigh nach fhaca iad gu tric anns na Tallachan Thòrin. Dh’obraich iad gu cruaidh airson a h-uile rud a bhith ceart: dh’èirich ceòladairean seann balantan, rinn bèicearan seann biadh fìnealta, agus chruinneach na daoine aosmhor ri chèile airson am beul-aithris aca a thoirt don ghinealaichean ùra. Na fògraich.

Shlànaich gort eile an oidhche sin, rud eile a chuir ceart. Choimhead Thòrin air an subhachas mar a dh’ionnsaich Fìli is Kìli laoidh traidiseanta Erebor a sheinn agus smaointeach e air na làithean anns an robh e fhèin beag.

Mu dheireadh thall, thàinig a h-uile duine ri chèile a-mach air na slèibhtean mu bheul an geata nan tallachan. Choimhead iad air dol fodha na grèine san speur air an cùlaibh, an solas a’ dol às beag air bheag. Agus gealach an foghair a’ tighinn suas san fàire Ear. Airson beagan mionaidean prìseil, dh’fhuirich an dà sholas anns an speur ri chèile mus do dh’fhalbh a’ ghrian.

Sheas Thòrin le a gàirdean timcheall a phiuthar, Dìs, agus na bhalaich ri taobh nan casan. Bha na sùilean drileach aca a’ coimhead mòr, agus bha a’ chiad grìogagan Là Dhurin a bh’ aca air pleatach anns am falt. Cha bhiodh e comasach gun cadail iad a-nochd.

Cha b’ urrainn dha a’ faicinn tro na Beanntan Àird a’ Cheò, ach bha fios aige gun robh Erebor air a seasamh dìreach thar air na mullaichean gheala, lannrach anns an t-solas ghealach Dhurin.

Is docha gun do thoiseach esan e, no ‘s docha gun do rinn iad uile e aig an aon am, ach gu slaodach agus gu samhach, chaidh na guthan ìosal troiche dhan speur le òran chianalais air an bilean.

Ò thar na Beanntan Àird fhuar a’ Cheò...

1st of October: Mountain / A' chiad latha dhen Dàmhair: A' bheinn

English Translation:

Since the day the dragon came, it seemed to Thorin he saw the mountain clearer with every step he took away from it, with each mile he and his family led the people of Erebor west, their backs to the mountain, its form in his mind grew firmer.

They toiled in strange lands, selling their skills like simple trades-folk instead of the masters they were. How low we are fallen, the young prince would seethe, still proud despite their loss.

Thorin's people had not been long in connecting Thror's hoard to the dragon's attack; the first to do so turned their backs on him, choosing to join their kin in the Iron Hills than suffer the Wilds under a leader they did not trust. Those who kept faith and remained, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, Thorin vowed to protect.

Even before the disappearance of Thrain, a shift came in Durin's Folk. They began to seek guidance from their prince, following his lead and rallying behind the dream he described for them: a new home in the west, far from hardship and strife where they may rebuild all that was lost.

But always in his mind lay the same thought, the mountain, the mountain, the mountain. In his dreams he looked on it from afar. Watching. Waiting. He would bring his people home, redeem his family for their grandfather's sickness that brought them all to ruin.

The birth of his sister's sons came in a time of peace. The older they grew, an ever-increasing choir that sung with the drums from the deep followed him....the mountain, the mountain, the mountain, they cried.

Oh the lonely mountain...

Scottish Gaelic translation:

Bhon dearbh là a thàinig an nathair-sgiathach, chunnaic Thorin a’ bheinn nas soilleire le gach ceum a thog e air falbh, leis a h-uile mìle a stiùiridh e is a theaghlach an t-sluagh Erebor gu Iar, an dromannan ris a’ bheinn, dh’fhàs a cumadh cruaidh anns na inntinn.

Dh’obraich iad ann an dùthchannan neònaiche, a’ reic na sgilean aca mar gun robhar luchd-malairt farasta seach na maighstirean a bhathar. Cho ìosal a tha sinn air tuiteam, smaoinich am prionnsa òg le fuath geur, fhathast moiteil a dh’aindeoin an calltachd.

Cha tug e fada gus an cur an t-sluaigh a h-uile rud ri chèile: sabaid an nathair-sgiathach agus tasgaidh Thror. Tionndaidh na ciad feadhainn an aghaidh an Rìgh agus thagh iad a bhith a’ dol gu na luchd-dàimh aca anns na Cnuic Iarainn, an àite a bhith a’ fulang san dùthaich fhiadhaich fo cheannard nach robh earb annta ann. Ghealladh Thòrin gun dìon e na feadhainn nach deach, a bha a dh’fhantainn agus a chumail creideas leotha.

Eadhon ron thuras Thràin nach tàinig e air ais bho fhathast, thàinig atharrachadh air na muinntir Durin. Thoiseach iad a’ sireadh stiùireadh bhon phrionnsa, a bhith ga leantainn agus a’ tighinn ri chèile air cùlaibh an aislinge a bha e ag iarraidh dhaibh: dachaigh ùr san Iar, fada air falbh bho dhorradas agus strì far am faodar a h-uile rud a bha air caill a thogail a-rithist.

Ach an-còmhnaidh anns na inntinn bha an aon smaoin, a’ bheinn, a’ bheinn, a’ bheinn. Anns na aislingean, choimhead e air fad às. A’ coimhead. A’ feitheamh. Thoireadh e an t-sluaigh aige dachaigh agus cuir ceart gach rud a rinn a sheanair a thoirt iad uile gu lom-sgrios.

Thàinig breith mhic a phiuthar ann an àm ciùin ach mar a dh’fhàs iad suas, dh’fhàs guth còisir anns na inntinn a bha a’ seinn leis na drumaichean às na h-uamhan. A’ bheinn, a’ bheinn, a’ bheinn, dh’èigh iad.

Ò a’ bheinn ònaranach...

Amon Rawya

(Tha mi fhathast ag ionnsachadh na Gàidhlig - bithibh snog XD)

Reunion

(I’m not 100% sure what the etiquette is for formatting, so my apologies if this looks awful.)

Warnings: Angst? Yeah, angst. The usual Order 66 feels. Rex being soft.

This is a character I came up with during the Bad Batch weeks, and I might be posting little ficlets about Miah and her clones, because her heart is full. Enjoy :)

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Miah’s reunion with Captain Rex came mere weeks after Order 66, a time fraught with peril for any who held ties to the Jedi, let alone a Jedi themself. She didn’t know what planet she landed on, only that it had enough people for her to hide amongst. The terror and uncertainty caused by the Great Purge fractured the remaining Jedi, so Miah travelled alone, unsure whether there were other survivors out there, somewhere in the Galaxy. Even the fate of her Master, Obi-Wan, was a mystery to her.

Walking the busy streets in the evening, Miah reflected on what led her there, as she often did; what else existed for her to dwell on, except the past? The present seemed so dark, so bleak and shattered - so far from what it was supposed to look like. 

Underneath the folds of her cloak, Miah’s hand found the amulet Echo gave to her; she screwed her eyes shut, coming to a stand-still in the rain as another wave of grief and pain threatened to topple the young Jedi. These feelings, powerful, and dangerous, acted as constant companions that swarmed to fill the void left in the Force where her friends should be. They made her feel less alone.

She slowly opened her eyes again, tearing them away from the star-dotted sky above, her mind desperately wondering where did we go wrong? 

The wind blew through the street at a howling pace, many bypassers losing their hoods. Miah’s stayed up, and she hoped it wasn’t too conspicuous. Across from her, a man hurriedly tried to cover his head again, but not quickly enough; she watched him turn, saw the flash of blond hair and all-too-familiar features, immediately recognising the man she’d been honoured to call Vod. 

Elation caught her tongue, swelling inside her chest until it was bursting. Finally, Miah thought with a smile, a friend who isn’t dead.

Then, as Rex’s gaze locked with hers, a light sparking in them, Miah’s memory caught up with her emotions. Cold fear dropped into her stomach like a ten-tonne weight, and the smile vanished in an instant. Before she could think about his expression, the way Rex had acted, the clearly out-of-place circumstances they’d reunited under, she turned and fled into the marketplace. 

Concentrating in order to avoid panicking, Miah cursed when she heard his heavy-booted steps falling close behind. Years spent together on battlefields meant he knew her every trick, could predict her every move. The icy hand of dread once more clutched at her heart, but Miah refused it; she would not be responsible for the death of another Clone. Especially not him. 

“Miah! Wait!”

She ducked under a passing merchant cart, continuing to run without any real idea as to where she was going. But this proved to be a fatal mistake when the alley became a dead-end, and Miah stood at the wrong side.

Hands shaking under her cloak, fingers grazing the cool metal of her lightsaber, she turned around - hoping beyond hope she somehow lost him in the crowd. But, no; at the other end of the alley stood Captain Rex, someone Miah used to gravitate toward, now she shrunk away from him.

“Please,” she whispered, holding her hands out as they quivered, silently asking Rex to stop, “don’t...I can’t...not again. Please. Don’t make me do this.”

If Miah had been able to look at the former trooper, she might have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way his steps faltered as Rex saw her fear, and his devastation at seeing his friend so distraught by his presence. But her eyes refused to settle on him, to see the face of a million men, the faces of the Clones she struck down on Coruscant. Her friends.

“Miah,” he said softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She made a sound that could have been a sob, but it got stifled and bitten down. “Don’t try and trick me, Rex. I don’t want this. Leave me alone, please, brother.”

In the darkened alley, rain fell heavily on them both: the Jedi who fought for so long, she no longer had the energy to raise her lightsaber in defence of her own life; and the Captain who had been turned into an enemy by circumstances beyond his control. Neither moved, and neither was willing to harm the other. But the tension, the shared knowledge of recent occurrences between the former comrades kept them on edge, reluctant to act in case something went wrong.

Finally, Rex slowly raised his hands in the air, his brow furrowed and a deep frown on his face as he took a cautious step forward. “Vod’ika, I swear to you, I’m not a threat. My Inhibitor chip was removed by Ahsoka.”

Miah blinked, almost looking at him. “...Ahsoka?”

A tiny flicker of hope appeared in her voice when she nearly let herself believe it, nearly allowing herself to believe there was one other Jedi alive, because even now, after everything, Miah struggled to think of Rex as anything but trustworthy and loyal. Which he was, but how did she know his chip wasn’t active?

“Yes,” he said, seeing an opportunity to calm her, “Ahsoka survived. I helped her get away. The chips caused it all, the Clones, we didn’t mean to do it, Fives-”

“I know,” she said, “I remember. A purpose bigger than any of us could comprehend.”

Rex nodded, hesitant and unsure of his next move. “I don’t know how to make you believe me.”

Miah finally looked him in the eye, resisting the stinging in her own. “Neither do I.”

Stuck on the path back to each other, they continued to stand in the rain, away from the bustling city crowds and the heaving market. They seemed to exist on the very edges of the throbbing veins of society, which stung when memories of when they were front and centre, back to back, in the very midst of it all crept into their thoughts. A curious thing, how two people so intimately tied to actions determining the fate of the Galaxy could pass unnoticed, two lonesome figures in the evening downpour, nameless faces to be forgotten. 

And yet, to them, forgetting the other’s face was an inconceivable thought; how could they, when the clearest years of their life were spent building an iron trust, a bond forged in battle? Rex had been one of the men to give Miah her name, a gift she never took for-granted, not for a second; and so, placing her faith into that bond, she reached out into the Force, the first time since the shock of Order 66 caused Miah to cut herself off from it, searching for the truth.

“Rex...you’re not lying to me, are you? I really don’t want to hurt you, I can’t…”

The former Captain shook his head, a soft, reassuring smile making its home on his lips. A familiarity surrounded the expression, helping to convince her. “I swear, on the memory of Fives, my inhibitor chip is gone, and I am not going to try to kill you.”

Miah hesitated only a moment, the solemn vow carrying enough weight to lower her defensive stance. She stepped forward, holding out her arm for him to grasp. “I’m sorry, Rex. I know Clones whose chip have been activated don’t speak like this, I just had to be sure…”

He clasped her forearm tightly, reaching over with his free hand to grasp her shoulder. “You have nothing to apologise for, Miah’ika, I understand.” Tears gathered in his eyes, and Rex bowed their foreheads together. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you again.”

Miah laughed softly, cradling the back of his head. “I think I might have an idea, Vod.”

Two Wizards; One Soul

Little bit of dark!Dumbledore, and mostly rosy wording. I wrote this while listening to a Grindellore playlist on youtube, where I also posted this story. (I don't have the link right now but I will add it later). Nothing inappropriate!

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Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald are the most powerful couple to have lived; the entire Wizarding World lay sprawled at their feet long before any ministry had the chance to act against them. No power remained to oppose either wizard alone, certainly not both.

They revelled in each other, drunk on power and the burning love shared between the two. No one else existed in their world, except them. Magic burst from their fingertips at a whim, and with the Deathly Hallows on their side, nothing could part Gellert and Albus, not even death.

Instead of revealing the world of magic, they infiltrated ever muggle powerhouse on earth, whether it be government or economies - it all fell to their influence, and without realising it, the world of the muggles came under the rule of Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Many attempted to challenge them, rebellions that were crushed before the spark could become flame. But these new rulers were not cruel, only interested in peace and the end of fear. Any who disagreed possessed little power to do anything about it.

The two men, physically so different, bore twin souls, entwined by a searing, deadly love that overruled everything. Defied every possibility, spit in the face of doubt, and smothered the idea of the word impossible. Together, there was nothing Albus and Gellert could not achieve.

*

Dark eyes glittering, Dumbledore met the eyes of his lover. No. The eyes of his soulmate. What other word could describe them? From the moment they met, love blossomed with every word and stolen glance. He used to fear its burn, before he gave in and relished the power.

Grindelwald looked back at him, pale hair glinting in the moonlight. To anyone else, the apparent blankness of his face would put doubt in their mind; but Dumbledore, who knew him better than anyone, saw the bright fire flickering in his gaze. Those eyes, contrasting, clashing, but ultimately the same, spoke to Albus on a level nothing else could.

Magic crackled around them, the very air alive with their energy. Reflected in his soulmate's eyes, Albus saw themselves, and longed to stay there forever. The world could burn to ash, and he would not care, only if Gellert stayed too.

"My dear," came his voice, low, rough, laced with the chill of his homeland winds, yet still igniting fire in Albus' gut, "the day is fading."

Grappling for air to respond, Dumbledore unconciously stepped closer. "Time to go?"

Grindelwald's hand cupped his face, stroking over the trimmed beard for a moment. "Time to go."

With one last look at the smouldering ruins of MACUSA, they vanished, closer in embrace than any human could ever hope to be spiritually.

Their love, though hot and damaging to the touch, would change the world.

In fact, it already had.