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sardonicallys · 3 years

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𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿

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𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Band Singer AU!Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Fluff, Touch of Angst

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, Alcohol Consumption, Pining Over an Ex

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: When spring melts away the exuberance of winter, you're left collecting what was supposed to bring an abundance of blossoms only to find it somewhere closer to summer.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7,124

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: I wanted to wish a happy birthday to @bart-man! Thank you again for being my very first comment, it means the world to me. I hope you enjoy my little gift to you. I hope this fulfilled the request you had for me!

I have a note at the end that details a little bit of my inspiration for this work.

Just slight of snowfall, there is a deafening silence that consumes every noise for distances into a hushed whisper that withers away like how your breath does when it fogs glass panes, only ever lasting just a moment before being frozen back over. Whether it is because the cold captures your throat so aggressively that you do not allow your words to go to waste or because the wonder in the way snow drifts from the sky as if the stars were trickling down the navy sheet — a secret to whoever was cutting holes and letting the light from the other side seep in — there was something sacred about snowfall.

It was sacred in the way that climate used all its forces to brew together a prayer that included chill, humidity, and rain. Although it was an occurrence partially guaranteed, there was something about the anticipation of the glimmering flurries that never allowed one to relinquish that breath of waiting. Right before the first snowfall every year, there would be a period of continuous rain, blanketing Seoul in the melancholy ash skies that delivered the premature wish of winter. Though you hadn't minded it much in the past, recent years have made your commute strategically difficult.

The word is petrichor, but it smells more like the way you imagine a wet stray dog does when you're on the subway, crammed with the aromatic hints of human and pollution. The end of your day had already arrived as the sun bid farewell just before you shuffled down the steps into the train tunnel — not that you could have seen it from the thick masts of cotton that shrouded the sky — but nonetheless you were ready to be back in the comfort of your home. Checking your watch, you listened to the speaker announce the next stop, just one away from your own, while you shifted against the bar you were propped up against. Your feet were pulsing from your pinched heels that were a sorry excuse for support while you stood all day. The door slid open as you arrived at your stop, led by the wave of others, you headed with the current before resurfacing to the street. Sliding your umbrella out from its cover and launching the automatic release mechanism, you carried it over your head as you scurried down the street and towards the alley of your neighborhood. Right as you hit the home stretch, it occurred to you that your excitement to wash away the day's customer rants and murky rain had to be halted when you remembered your refrigerator was empty. Cursing yourself for not picking something up at a convenience store — now a ways away — and knowing that at this hour, there were no restaurants within a block you could simply order from, you marched back towards the main street.

Had you decided to simply starve that night, perhaps you would have never had the chance to meet him. It's an extreme way to express how you had spun the situation a million times over, wondering if there could have perhaps been a different outcome, but the resulting factor was that it had already happened and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. There was no reason to linger on something that was no longer tangible, even if somewhere in the crevices of your thoughts, you continued to do so. As you exited the store, produce in tow, the rain had subsided and instead exchanged you for the falling starlights of snow. Dragged by the weight of your groceries and captivation to stay just a bit longer to watch the flakes drift from the sky, you stalked up the hill towards your apartment building. Neck craned to observe the particles coming into full view, you could have completely missed the stranger on the corner who was plucking away at his guitar. The strums pulled your focus the same way his fingers tugged at the steel, and you listened to the way he posed his voice like the flakes above — cold and clean, but somehow it felt like he was praying. To who or what, you weren't sure, but honestly you didn't need to know. It's was methodical, soothing, and every note of his melody had meaning.

That's how he said your name too, months later when you had decided you were irrevocably in love. A plethora of songs written like love letters delivered to your ears, the subtle intimate moments where he stared at you between mundane actions like sharing dinner or reading a book. And he kept you warm through the winter, you like to think. You like to think he wasn't the chill that left you shivering, alone, when he finally melted away come spring. You like to think that the sudden gap in messages — your fair warning that you did not heed to because you were in love, blinded by the spell of snow — that spanned at first, as a daily occurrence and slowly grew into a weekly one, and then none at all, were all because he was busy. But when the crashing wave of realization came to you, you liked to think, you weren't thinking at all. Because maybe you weren't. Maybe, none of this had happened, and you were simply dreaming through the illusion of winter. None of your friends had a chance to meet him anyways since your schedules never quite lined up, so perhaps, he was less like waking up to a blanket of snow and more like watching flakes melt the moment they kissed the pavement. Maybe you weren't cold enough to keep him, or worse, too warm to preserve.

"Please, please please, you missed every lunch date we have had for months," you listened carefully to your friend, her voice carrying with desperation into your receiver as you somberly smiled, "The least you can do is let us have dinner with you for your birthday!"

What was there to celebrate? You had finally stopped living in a delusion and blaming yourself for the disappearance of someone who you thought you may have had a future with, but other than that, you still lacked the confidence to be fully present with others because it wasn't necessarily that he left but more that you waited, made up excuses, and tenderly hoped for something that deep down you knew wasn't going to happen. You felt foolish, and honestly, swallowing laughter was stiffening your facade. Never quite gaining the courage, you had told everyone around you that you both realized you were no longer interested in whatever relationship you were cultivating. It wasn't their fault, but the timing never felt right and how could you possibly seek comfort when your short and quick burn of a relationship would only earn responses even neighbors and passerby's could offer.

Oh that's too bad. You deserve better. I'm sure there's plenty of fish in the sea.

You didn't want to hear these generated answers pointed to your aimless plight, so you stayed silent and nursed your wounds on your own.

"I don't know, you know the shop has been busy lately," your excuse is mumbled as you peer up to check if a customer would magically fabricate and you could use them as a way to hang up, unable to continue lying.

"Someone can cover the evening shift I'm sure. You always go in so early just to do all those arrangements anyways," you hear a pout on her mouth as her whines increased.

"It's best to do them fresh or the flowers will wilt!" Chuckling softly as you twirled a piece of ribbon around your finger, a silence drifted between you two, "Please, I know you have been busy, but I miss you."

I miss you too.

But you didn't have the heart to see the faces of your friends, not when it took everything in you not to feel the rushing rapids of emotions that were still tittering between apathy and desperation. You found yourself crying into cups of coffee when it tasted too sweet, or when you arranged roses in a vase and the light bent against the convex glass. You felt frustrated and rage filled while you emptied the laundry drum and the clothes were sopping wet because you put it on the wrong setting, and even more upset when you'd see the milk would expire next week. Nothing felt like anything and yet felt like everything, all at once.

"Just for your birthday," the soft whisper of your friend emitted as you sighed, succumbing to your people pleasing antics, "Okay. Just dinner though."

And it was just supposed to be dinner. Everyone promised you. That is, until they all got drunk off the wine that was at the table and begged you with slurred speech to go to some bar with them. You should have figured honestly, but trapped between the loving affection of your missed company and the guilt that you had been deceiving them with a smile all night, you begrudgingly accepted. There was some popular live band playing, so your friends had been thrilled that they got to snag a table just early enough before the place got packed, but for you, this was how you began concocting your escape plan, oh sorry, I got lost in the crowd and couldn't make it back in! easy.

Execution was key here, and commencing meant to perfect your timing. Any misstep and you'd be sent back to this table, to your detriment, where you may have to remain all night. This was your limit, and you weren't sure how much longer you could hold up. While the band was setting up on stage, you managed to keep up your air of confidence amongst your drunken friends — whether you were actually good at acting or they were just too shit faced to notice didn't really matter at this point. Sipping through half your ombre cocktail that didn’t have enough juice, you managed to hold out through the first song of their set before mentioning to your friend beside you that you were headed to the bathroom. As they arranged themselves to let you out — smart that they trapped you between the wall and table — you took a deep breath before brisking towards the crowd.

An unsolicited but familiar shout of your name ruptured through the murmurs from the crowd, through the melodic guitar strums and echoing high hats, through your body as — by nature — you halted and swung your head towards the owner of the voice. Fingers wound tightly around the strap of your clutch, your eyes met with your winter, with your snow, with your melted river that had departed to the ocean. But the voice didn't come from him it came from her, an acquaintance of yours that you only associated with because of a friend of a friend of a friend, or something like that. You can't even remember her name, honestly. Here she was, the degrees of separation so much closer than you thought, with her arms hung from someone who was now a stranger to you. It took you a moment to meet her gaze, so fixated on him as if you were finally met with a reality check, a reminder that he did indeed exist. At least, at one point.

"I knew it was you! Hey!" The chiding excitement in her voice indicated booze before you even needed to lean in and inhale it. Peeling her arms of him, she embraced you in an awkward hug as you patted her back gently, some weird sick feeling of comforting her for this compromising situation that scrapped your escape route entirely. While being held by the drunken almost stranger, you looked over at him to see a deep rooted wall between you, this creation of amnesia that erased your existence from his knowledge all by choice. It was in the way he directed his gaze past you as if you had not been standing there, in the arms of his — new? — lover. You were so entranced by this warmth, this coddling from someone you would have least expected to see in contrast to the cold chill that you were delivered from the eyes of a stranger who once loved every inch of you. Pulling away, you heard her pipe up, "What are you doing here?! Is everyone else here?"

You can't remember what you responded that had her gingerly waving as she dragged along her love — perhaps you directed her to the table where everyone was waiting — but you suddenly had no energy to leave. No energy to go back, but none to move you from that very spot. If there weren't a crowd of individuals surrounding you, wedging your weight from one to another, you may have collapsed right there. You wondered if this was the ultimate form of jealousy, where every atom in your being had suddenly felt like it did not belong to you, but it wasn't necessarily part of anything else either. The feeling of isolation in your own vessel, so hardened and cold, that even if you wanted to lash out at her, there would be no reason to. Not because he didn't belong to you anymore, or that the way you watched them walk away reminded you of how you two once were, it was simply because you did not want to be here. Not at this bar. Not in these clothes. Not in this body, not in this mind. You suddenly felt such a detachment to every identifiable piece of you, and all at once nothing mattered.

Was it your ego speaking? Is this really how you felt? You were unsure, but now at the bar, nestled in your very own corner with three shots and eight cocktails in, the numbness was the only emulation of what you could find befitting for your current state of mind. It helped that the band was actually as good as your friends mentioned, your head swaying to the beat as you giggled to yourself in reminiscent memories that floated through your eyes, the thick and viscous waft of nostalgia rendering your current state useless. Had you been just slightly sober, you would have realized the tears that festooned your waterproof mascara — thank goodness for makeup that repelled any kind of liquid right? The bartender had pitied you, watching as you cried between each sip of your drink, and really didn't have the heart to shoo you away.

While the band announced an intermission, the lead singer shuffled down the steps and towards the counter eagerly to finally grab a drink he had been promised since the start of the set. Had he not overslept, he would have been buzzed like the rest of his bandmates, but his fucked sleeping schedule said otherwise. Dropping into one of the stools, he propped his elbows up while leaning into the counter to read the labels that were doused in fluorescent blue lights. Gaze trailing up and down like he was scouring a crossword puzzle until his eyes fell onto you — head against the wall and glass cradled in your hand. Honestly, it would have been more surprising if he hadn't noticed the mourning individual — you — in the corner. Peering towards the bartender in an attempt not to make you feel so conspicuous, he ushered her over to order.

"Is she okay?" muttering quietly as his drink was being prepared, she nodded softly in response before whispering back, "I don't want to bother her, she seems like she wants to be alone."

"...What happens when it's time for closing?"

"I hope she leaves by then," pouring the caramel tinted liquor over the block of ice as it cracked against the glass, she tucked a napkin beneath it before pushing it towards him.

"You hope? You know how emotional drunks are, Somin."

"Yeah yeah, I know I know, but she looks harmless."

"Looks," rolling his eyes, he took a sip of his drink as she ran the faucet, wetting her hands and retorting, "You know, I kicked your drunk ass out of here all by myself, Jaebeom. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Ooo, scary," feigning a shocked expression, he stole another glance at you, your head propped up from your palm, your elbow a makeshift stand against the counter. It wouldn't be a stretch to say he knew how you felt, a man with a mess of a relationship track record where he was notorious for giving a little too much for those who never gave enough. But he wasn't one to impose on others, he told himself, so he simply observed you.

"Besides, today is her birthday."

"...You're joking."

"Nope," Somin lifted the license that was in her possession to hold the tab before reading the month and date out.

"How can you be sad on your birthday?" It's sort of rhetoric, but in many ways, it left an acrid taste in the back of his throat knowing just how many melancholy birthdays he had spent — probably more than his current lifetime. Taking another sip of his drink, he wondered what kind of night you had that led you here, somewhere full of people but longing for solitude. You were traveling through your own daydreams, though, whimpering by yourself and unable to notice that there was another individual at the bar, even with how deeply he stared at you — or even the other two that were approaching you from behind.

"Hey! You know everyone was looking for you," the acquaintance of yours who you still could not manage to name happened to find you for the second time that night. Your rationale was running low, however, and had you not been wearing waterproof makeup layered beneath a waterfall of setting sprays and baked on powder, perhaps she would have seen how tormented you truly were, "They left already, but if you want, my boyfriend and I have a table!"

Something about the new strangers that approached the frame suggested to Jaebeom that these weren't your friends, your body language warping in discomfort. The dried tears were preparing to resurface as you straightened yourself out, hoisting in your throat, a polite way to decline without turning int a sobbing mess. Your boyfriend, huh? You had so many questions you wanted to ask, these words you could not find swimming in the depth of your skull between the cocktails and old, meaningless song lyrics. Your inquiries fall into your hands and slip past like snow, disappearing at your touch. You must have stayed quiet too long because you see your acquaintance's face light up, "Oh! Speaking of which, where is your boyfriend?" Craning her head around excitedly, it takes all your strength not to let your jaw fall open. Teeth clenched, you cursed whoever mentioned to her that you were seeing someone, and even more fervently that they failed to include that you had stopped seeing him.

Jaebeom wasn't one to eavesdrop — nearly always disassociated to his surroundings — but he had heard more than enough. Reading beyond just this interaction, he had a few assumptions that he could safely make. Honestly, he definitely didn't have enough to drink just yet to attempt the brewing plot he had patchworked together in his mind, but perhaps he felt pity for you. There was something familiar about your feelings and how they surfaced, so in some ways, he thought of it as saving himself. Downing the rest of his glass of whisky, he stood up and strode over towards where you were, affectionately running his fingers up your arm and around your shoulders, "Are these your friends?"

"...Wait! Oh my God why didn't you say you were dating the lead singer?!" The tone of her voice is absolutely thrilled and starstruck but you're unable to register what is going on, the amount of liquid depressant in your system truly slowing every moment down. The only thing you capture is the face of your ex contorting with some tinge of disgust you are unable to quite fathom. Unsure if it was directed towards you or your acquaintance's reaction, you peered up at the stranger who was holding you — ready to deny his claim and inform him that he had the wrong person.

"You didn't introduce me, love?" Looking directly at you, the jolt of his gaze is so immersive you felt your breath diminish — unsure if it left your lungs or simply combusted, "...Sorry."

You're not even sure why you apologized.

"No wonder you didn't want to sit with everyone!" Having a conversation all on her own, you're unable to figure out a way to evaporate, so focused on wanting to disappear at this very moment as if manifesting your wishes would be instantaneous. The discomfort of the heated glare Jaebeom felt from the other male confirmed his suspicions — that's who she's crying over huh. But according to this interaction, it seems they're the only ones who knew of their secret. So he played along.

"I have one more set to play, can you wait for me?" You simply nodded in response, suddenly deaf and mute to your surroundings, particularly because of the way he created this energy around you that made you feel so overwhelmed with warmth and focus, it emulated the flare of sun when your eyes just didn't quite dilate enough. Watching the stranger trail back up the stage, your acquaintance and ex had disappeared back into the crowd, while you replayed the events as if you were watching someone else in your mind.

The velvety vocals that matched the nylon strums yanked your haggard thoughts that were swimming in the volatile pit of your core sloshing with flammables, recapturing your dazed confusion. Though you had vaguely remembered enjoying the vocalist's performance earlier — or what you could manage to recall from it — the shapes and color from the sounds spun more effortlessly in your mind, your focus long gone from your self pity and now redirected to the honey dipped tones of the stranger. You both captured one another's gaze as you felt an elusive moment where the spotlight carried on his presence amongst the crowded bar, hazed with smoke and laughter that wasn't meant for anyone in particular. There must have been something in your drink, because you swore you were going to be sick with the onslaught of this rush. Thank God you were well trained in autopilot, if there was a degree for it you'd have the highest prestige. Before the end of the last song, you managed to crawl out of your trance — barely — while your body carried you towards the exit.

Trudging through the crowd proved to be more difficult than you initially anticipated as the wave crashed towards the barricade of the stage. The shortness of breath that constrained your throat and lungs confused and manipulated your directional sense, every time you managed to spot the blaring neon sign that led back outside, you lost it between the swarms of people. It really didn't help that your vision was an impressionable vertigo from your reckless regard to how much you could actually handle drinking. It felt like you were swimming, except the current was stronger than you were — waded through the crowd like a piece of mere driftwood and much less like a person. You empathized with the emptiness of the inanimate object though, stumbling along before feeling your arm hooked by a firm hand right as you managed to escape the labyrinth swarm, "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

It seemed so much harsher than it sounded, but you were relieved there was some sort of humanity between the sea of people. You had been told long before that sometimes things that were desperately trying to be seen, would be, even if they weren't in plain sight, "I need to go."

"You owe me one," the singer gently dropped your arm as you shifted your weight between your heels, awkwardly, unable to figure out a proper response between the repetitive numbness of the beating drum against your skull and the fact that his gaze was just as warm now as it was earlier.

"Look, I appreciate it, really, what you did back there," vaguely gesturing towards the bar you took a short step back, "But I really need to go."

Honestly, Jaebeom would have let you go had he not watched you be jostled between the crowd during your attempted leave. At this point, he questioned if you knew just how drunk you were, the pupils of your eyes blown to a pretty deep dilation but painted with a backdrop of red he assumed came from the dehydration and your cry fest from earlier.

"Where?"

You don't know how to answer him, "...Just, just anywhere, not here."

"Then let's go together, Cinderella."

You liked to think that the amount of loneliness outnumbered your logical reasoning one hundred — no, one thousand to one. There were no fronts to put up because this was a complete stranger who didn't even know your name but his recognition seemed to be just high enough that if something were to happen to you, there would be no way he could simply disappear from the consequences. Your decision to trust him is rather vague, but you don't have the ability to really question it. It doesn't take you long to decide and he sees the flame of interested that burrowed into your pupils as you both disappear backstage and out the door towards the parking lot where you see some of his bandmates loading up a van full of their equipment and instruments.

"Let me take the car," directed towards them, he helped lift an amp into the trunk before one of them scoffed, "Hell no. You're not going off to get laid this time, Jaeb."

Other than the two conversing, you heard laughter and couldn't help but feel the infectious spark that coaxed you to do so too even if you were the butt of the joke, technically. Eyes rolling, the singer nudged him aside as they took apart a mic stand together, "I'm not, I wanted to get her home."

The sudden looks you received from every band member had you awkwardly pulling the hem of your skirt down as you tittered in place, trying to keep still but your vision still hazy.

"You know if you're so jealous of Jaebeom getting laid, maybe you should try singing, you always say the lead singer is the one that gets it in," a different person attempted to continue the joke while you swung you bag in front of you, letting it tap at your knees. So his name is Jaebeom.

"Seriously, please? It's her birthday—"

"...Oh?" They simultaneously looked at you again as you flinched in place, half paying attention to the conversation but mostly just listening to the chattering of those who stepped out for a smoke, "...Huh?" Registering what they were talking about, your brows knit in confusion, "Wait, how did you know it was my birthday?"

"You forgot to pick up your bar tab, sweetheart," Jaebeom held your license up between his thumb and index, waving it around as you suddenly felt your lungs crash into the pit of your stomach. As if this night couldn't get any worse, you really were making yourself out to be the best fool you could concoct. Whether or not you decided it was a good idea to have followed him, you realize now that it wouldn't have mattered because he had your ID. Though, he didn't seem hostile? Or so you hoped.

Finally given a set of surrendered keys, you climbed into the small two door with Jaebeom as the others told you both to be safe and ushered you away, "No more pretty girls exclusively for you after tonight, Jaeb!" The comment had left your cheeks flushed, hidden only beneath the well applied makeup. After dropping your license into your lap, he pulled out onto the main street while you peered at him curiously, "...You're not holding my ID for, I mean, as a...As hostage?"

"Why would I do that?" Wrinkling his nose, he stole a glance at you before laughing and rolling the windows down to let the warm evening air waft in while you slipped the card onto one of the pockets of your clutch, "...You came along all on your own, didn't you?"

And the flush on your face must have deepened, whether you could spot it or not, you felt it. Well, it was either that or the alcohol spiking in your system as you felt your mouth go dry and that tunneled dizziness set in hard while in the moving vehicle. Jaebeom must have noticed because he kept peering at you, gently placing a hand on your knee as you got quiet, "Hey, you good?"

"...I feel sick."

Not wanting to make a mess out of the communal car, you waved him away as he cursed beneath his breath. Obviously not at you, but the fact that it was getting late and that left him with fewer options to help remedy the situation. Of course he should have listened to Somin when she offered him to take some water along, but that honestly was even before he found you wandering the crowd with no way out. Pulling up to the side of a convenience store, he murmured a curt "be right back" and before long, returned with a small bag of items. The only thing he handed you was a massive water bottle longer than your forearm before instructing you to drink. Propping the passenger door open, you simply nodded while taking shallow sips. The soft bell of your phone perked your ears as you unzipped your clutch and, right before your eyes, watched the device somersault from the safety of your bag and onto the pavement. Wincing, Jaebeom flinched from the sudden crash and your whimpering before asking if you were alright.

"...Yeah, but," with a soft cry, you lifted the now shattered screen of your phone to show him the damage you caused from your clumsiness.

"Would you like to use mine?"

"Who the hell memorizes phone numbers in this day and age!" Tilting your head back against the car's rest, he found himself attempting not to vocalize a chuckle he desperately wanted to release. Your antics were rather cute, especially for someone who had drank themselves under, but he didn't want to add gas to the fire.

"...Well, it's still useable right now. I think. Would you like me to respond for you?"

"Who'sit from?"

Squinting at the lockscreen, he took a moment to formulate what the sender's name was between the cracks and chipped glass, "Kyungah?"

That was her name, Kyungah. That bitch. But you stopped yourself. Was she? Honestly she probably had no idea the history you had with her boyfriend. Exhaling softly, you took another swig of water and secretly thanked that your phone was crushed.

"...Ignore it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, ignore it."

After half the water was consumed between your head tossing back and forth with your eyes shut while Jaebeom sat quietly beside you, you finally felt a sense of normalcy return. But that relief was only diminished by the suddenly embarrassing sound of your stomach croaking in hunger. Stiffening, you tried to rush out a response as the engine turned, "Cool, I'm hungry too."

How you two end up in this retro western themed diner is beyond you, but it was open, nearby, and it seemed clean enough. The cherry red interior somehow helped perpetuate a sobering ritual that was calming you between its glitter and chrome finish. You can't remember what you ordered, but you're so caught up in how warm you feel again, but this time simply from the silence of your company. It's more welcoming than you'd felt in ages, and somehow it released the tension that you had been feeling for months, completely constrained in the worry of yourself. Even when Jaebeom finally broke the silence, it didn't feel like anything was taken from you, "...I'm assuming Kyungah was your friend at the bar." The way he said it hinted the term loosely as you shrugged, taking a sip of water, "Sort of."

"And I'm also, just assuming, that her boyfriend might be your crush or something like that?"

"Wow you found out all that from stealing my license?"

Biting back a grin, he shook his head in response, "I didn't steal it, you left it behind. And I mean, you practically showed it."

Slowly tipping your head back and forth, nodding in silence, you let out a soft sigh while contemplating what you wanted to tell him. Or rather, how much you wanted to tell him, "He's my ex." When the words leave your mouth, you feel a sense of liberation in a way you hadn't, even when you told yourself that many times over. When you woke up and recalled a dream that felt more like a memory and less like fantasy, when you came home and had to stop yourself from announcing your arrival. All these moments that piled up and reminded you that you were a singular entity, on your own, and though being alone didn't equate to loneliness, this was sadly not mutually exclusive in your current state. Perhaps it needed to be relinquished so you could feel that sense of release, it needed to be told to someone, anyone, so that you could finally stop causing your wound licking suffering.

"Ah, I see," hands folded in front of him, you offer him a smile even before you meet his gaze — afraid to see that stupid look of pity that you were dreading and why you held these words so close to you, even in the presence of your closest friends. But rather than that, you get a look of understanding, the expression of someone who wanted to listen. There was no sorrowful sympathy or pained empathy, there was only understanding.

You're so taken aback, you can't seem to form another word in relation to the subject before deciding to change it entirely, "You know you're carrying a bag bigger than mine?" Gesturing towards the crossbody that was slumped beside him in the booth, he peered over at it before laughing.

"Why didn't you leave it in the car?"

"Because the stuff I picked up at the store while I was getting you water shouldn't be left in the car."

"...What's inside?"

"A surprise."

The food arrived, consumed — mostly by Jaebeom to your surprise, my God that man could eat, and plates departed between a few short stories about nothing really at all, and somehow you weren't quite ready to leave. You realized that the company was soothing and healing in a way self-isolation could never have been, and you regretfully felt apologetic to your friends' missed shopping outings and dinner dates, the endless brunch invites and parties that you could have been participating in, letting your mind drift and heal instead of letting the wounds fester out of control. So caught up in your thoughts and the individual ways you were planning to apologize to each friend that you had dismissed during this time, you don't realize the check had already arrived at the table and that Jaebeom was already prepared to return it.

"Oh wait! Hold on!" Grabbing your clutch, you opened it to your horror. Where was your wallet? Shifting around the stray receipts and your compact as if it would magically surface what you were looking for, you dug through frantically while the waiter took the folded checkbook. Lifting your head to look at Jaebeom with a confused expression, you began apologizing immediately.

"Don't worry about it, I was planning to pay anyways," pausing, he peered towards the edge of the table, "...Maybe you left it in the car?" Fishing the keys out from the pocket of his bag, he handed them to you as you rushed out to check. Scouring beneath the passenger and driver's seat — in case — you peeked at the floor on the off chance it may have been kicked to the back. Nothing under the car or around it, you leaned your forehead against the frame of the automobile in defeat, tapping your skull along as if it would make you generate your thoughts properly. You couldn't catch a damn break tonight.

"Did you find it?"

"No."

"I have a key to the bar, we can go back and check," Jaebeom began shrugging off his bag as he gently placed his palm at the center of your back, causing you to shiver at his fervent touch, "Don't get worked up over nothing, you know?"

Emitting a sigh, you nodded in agreement as you tugged at the handle. Surprise. You peered through the window to see the keys gingerly sitting on the driver's seat, all doors locked. Parting your lips, you can't even make a noise at this point, because you simply want to crawl into a hole and rot inside of it. Jaebeom only laughs, pulling you away from the car as he started down the street and back towards where the bar was, "...You know you could have just said you wanted to spend more time with me."

Almost completely silent for the next block, feeling as though your presence may have been a complete burden, you are proven wrong as you watch his hand direct your vision towards a building, "You know that cinema used to be a regular theatre?"

"...Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid, my stepdad had a little shop out front and he must have felt so bad during the summer when I got stuck helping him that he used to let me go see a movie like once a day," chuckling softly, you felt guilty for smiling at this shared memory, still so frustrated that you had to put him through such a night, "...They show art films here now right?"

"Yeah, nowadays," humming softly, only the sounds of both your steps ricochetting off the empty and barren sidewalk, you stopped when you saw a forsythia tree still in bloom. Jaebeom barely notices as he took a couple steps back to match with you, "Hm?"

"...It's kind of late for these to be in bloom," mumbling softly, you stared at the yolk colored blossoms illuminated only by the street lamps above.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the green stays around but the flowers usually fall away..." neck craned as you wandered around the tree, he mimicked your action while observing the plant.

"You know a lot about this tree."

"I'm a florist."

"A flower artist."

Bursting out laughing, you nudge him gently, "Yeah, something like that." Both of you quiet back down, but this time, you felt less like a nuisance and more like you were strolling with a friend. Well he was kind of like your friend now, right? He even knew something none of your other friends knew.

"...Hey, I want to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Do you really get laid that much?"

Swinging his head to face you, though still matching your short strides, his expression is plagued with shock. You're not quite sure if he'll answer you honestly or laugh.

"Are you still drunk?"

"No!" Smacking his arm, you tilt your head back as the laugh that came from your diaphragm swam up, "I mean it! Your friends said—"

"They say that any time any of us ends up grabbing attention, don't think about it too much."

Smiling, you continue, "And how do I know you're not lying?"

"Well we're just walking, aren't we?" His smirk could practically drown you.

"Ah, touche."

Creeping through the narrow alleyway, stumbled thumping up the metal steps, and through the back entrance, you hid your giggles behind your teeth. There was something that offered exhilaration, as if you weren't allowed to be here regardless of Jaebeom's key. Even after the mess of the evening you made at this very location only hours ago, it felt like there was something welcoming you as you both entered the dark end of the stage. Filtering the lights on, he led you towards the main hallway and into the bar.

"I'll wait for you here," wandering onto the stage, he collapsed his weight in the center before propping his arms back and reclining. It takes less than a minute for you to spot your wallet, jammed between a barstool and the counter at the corner you were taking salvation at. A breath of relief left you as crouched down and retrieved it, pushing it into your clutch as you went to return to the stage. Squinting from a distance, you wondered what Jaebeom was unfolding in his hands as scarlet wrappers were being discarded beside him. Flipping open a matchbook, you walked up the steps and saw several stacked Chocopies tiered up to resemble a cake. Coiling a paper around a match, you watch the flared light as he shoved it in the center of the highest tier before singing the soft, familiar song while clapping his hands for added percussion.

If it were any other time, you'd be rolling on the floor, laughing. But tonight, you felt like you needed exactly this. Settling beside him as he wrapped up the song, you closed your eyes and really did wish your hardest before blowing it out. You both clapped before he grabbed one of the pies and shoved the entire thing into your mouth, to your disgust and surprise. Taking one of your own and having a bite, you tucked your legs close to you, "...So this is why you carried such a big purse huh?"

Rolling his eyes while chewing, you imagined he had a good comeback for you, but he doesn't. Rather, he asked what you wished for. But you tell him it's a secret. After that, you can't really remember what else you both conversed about, but when you wake up against the stage you're reminded that you really can't make any of this any worse. But somehow, it is better than you expected, as you peer up and see the warm glow of what feels like the sun, waiting for you.

Your wish was that this would be the first of many birthdays to come where Jaebeom felt like summer, and summer never ended.

While I was reading through one of my poetry books, I felt some kind of pull. I decided to go ahead and attach it with a translation, in case you wanted to know where my inspiration came from:

종이배 하나 접어 Fold One Paper Boat

어제 내린 눈이 마지막 눈이길 바랍니다 I wish yesterday’s snow fall would be the last 지금 불어오는 바람이 마지막 북풍이길 바랍니다 I wish the wind blowing from the north would be the last 혹시 내가 그 마음 얼어붙게 한 적 있다면 이 제 용서하세요 If I ever froze your heart would you ever forgive me 봄빛 닿는 곳마다 눈부신 빛이 일어납니다 When the spring light reaches out and blinds you while it rises 강 위에 잠시 머물던 얼음 다 녹아 바다로 흘러가면 The ice that once was still on top of the river melts and flows into the ocean 물속에서 놀던 고기들과 만나 지난겨울 이야기 나누다가 As the water enters the ocean, meeting creatures, reminiscing about last winter 종이배 하나 접어 가만히 강물에 띄워 보내겠습니다 I will fold a paper boat and let it travel down the river and float to you 강물이 햇살 없이 저 혼자 그리 아름다운가요 Can that river be beautiful without sunlight 봄이 결울 없이 저 혼자 그리 눈부신가요 Can spring shine beautifully without winter 흘러흘러 그대에게 이르는 마음 아니라면 Flowing, flowing if my feelings don’t reach you 이 마음이 무슨 소용일까요 Then what’s the point of having feelings

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hb-writes · 3 years

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The Audit

Summary: It’s 1924 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara and Finn make their annual visit to their mother’s grave.

Inspired-ish by this request: Also do the family celebrate her mums birthday? I think it would be a nice occasion where they celebrate her birthday and it’s nice for the twins especially whilst the boys are away polly makes a thing of it. ( I know nothing like this happens on the show, but I think they should) xxx

AN: So while I don’t think the family would celebrate her birthday, and actually find it painful to talk about her most times, I could see Finn and Clara sharing a little tradition like I’ve written about below. It’s not quite what you’ve asked for, but I hope you still like it!

Featuring: Finn Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Shelby!Mother

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Clara’s mind was settled on approximately seven things aside from the path she walked along, paying more mind to the questions in her head than the cobblestones at her feet. Truth was Clara had little need to pay attention to where she was going. She was far more familiar with the cemetery and it’s surrounding landscape than she was comfortable with, having buried far too many in her relatively short life.

“You’re late.”

Finn flicked his cigarette away, startling his sister as she glanced up from the pavement. He pushed off the pillar he’d been leaning up against, the entrance a sad excuse for a welcome, composed of no more than two crumbling stone columns and a rusted wrought iron gate.

Clara pulled her coat tighter, frowning as she stepped closer to her brother. “Tommy came back early, said he wanted me to go through some things with him before the… I suppose it doesn’t…” Clara took a breath and met Finn’s eye. “I’m sorry.”

Finn shook his head, closing the remaining distance to pull her into a hug, his chin easily fitting over the top of her head. They hadn’t seen each other for a stretch of time, both of them overly occupied by the vastly different bits of life that customarily kept them apart, the Blinder duties and generally reckless adventures for Finn, and the Shelby Company Ltd. duties, and school, and family business for Clara. It was the recklessness that usually brought them together, the pair accustomed to passing at least a few evenings a week up to nothing particularly good. But with half the family locked away, they’d all had to step up. While Finn found getting up to nonsense revitalizing, Clara had been too busy for it, and far too tired aside.

“Don’t worry about it,” he offered, settling his arm around her shoulder as they walked the familiar route from the entrance to their mother’s grave. “At least it’s not raining again this year.”

Clara allowed herself a light snort, conceded a small smile as she leaned into her brother because there’d been more rainy cemetery visits over the years than not. Clara knew her brother didn’t care for the annual trip quite as much as he used to, had an inkling that he found it a bit asinine now compared to when they were kids, just a couple of orphans grasping onto a handful of wispy memories of a woman they knew very little about. That described them even still.

If Clara was being honest, she found it all a bit silly too, but the ‘do we or do we not?’ of the occasion was never a discussion between them. The only discourse they ever had on the subject, always initiated by Finn about a week ahead out of custom, was in establishing a time they’d both be available on her birthday.

It had been nearly ten years now that the twins had been coming to their mother’s grave and although they’d never told the others, never asked for a sibling’s accompaniment or gave a hint as to what they were both doing sneaking off on their mother’s birthday, Clara had a feeling they all somehow knew.

It was why when not an hour before, as she grew antsy, repeatedly shaking out her wrist to check the time while she sat perched on the edge of Tommy’s desk, something shifted in him. Tommy simply asked his questions about the books and let her go, wordlessly accepting her answer of ‘out with Finn. He’ll bring me home’ when he asked where she was heading off to.

Visiting their mother’s grave usually felt a bit like ringing in a new year but with less of the flair and celebration. Maybe an annual audit was a more apt description, seeing as Clara and Finn kept a ledger, a nondescript notebook stashed in the nightstand of Clara’s bedroom at the Watery Lane house, accessible to them both, though Clara would argue that Finn had more access to the archive now than she did, being as he stayed over on the lane much more often.

Still, neither of them was likely to touch the book between visits to the cemetery, more likely was it that the ledger passed their minds only in the week or so before their mother’s birthday, and even then, neither of them was apt to do more than think on what they’d be marking down, mentally preparing themselves for the occasion, ensuring things went smoothly.

The book came with rules, a certain etiquette that went unspoken between the two of them from conception to practice. The implicit secrecy of the whole thing, and the way they constricted their documentation to a particular day and place had been precedents set from the start. They’d only write while at the cemetery, while in their mother’s supposed presence, and there were limits on what was documented, the format decided nearly a decade prior, each of the entries nearly identical in configuration though the content varied.

Finn and Clara recorded what happened in the preceding year, took an audit between the two of them of anything new they learned about the woman, and made a few promises to themselves and each other, intentions expressed just between the two of them. The words held no true pressure for realization, just an assurance of support from the other in the case they chose to move forward.

This year felt different to them both as they’d prepared though, a bit forlorn and detached and impossible, what with Arthur and John and Michael and Polly locked away, and Ada in America, and Esme and Linda barely speaking with the lot of them, allowing the twins a bit of connection for little more than the sake of the babies, and on the order of their husbands.

Clara had, on a fair few occasions, pondered what their mother would think of their situation, of Arthur and John locked away, of Clara feeling a bit that way herself while her twin brother was left to flounder, feeling lost and redundant as Tommy did what he did, all of his moves in the name of the family he’d allowed to take the punishment for his sins, and all while Ada played at being a neutral party from a continent away.

They went through the motions without discussions, Finn helping Clara to settle the blanket she always brought and taking a sip from the thermos of nearly cold tea while she found the pen and the appropriate page.

“Shall we review?” Clara asked, glancing at the page as she marked the year at the top in bold loopy script, 1924.

Finn took his time with another sip, prolonging the silence with an exhale and with the pen held still against the page Clara trembled, taking no care to pretend that it was only from the cold.

“She’d be ashamed,” Finn finally said and though Clara nodded, she wasn’t entirely sure of what her brother meant. There was far too much she could be ashamed of.

Would she be ashamed that her sons and sister-in-law and nephew were criminals of the worst sort? Murderers?

Would she be ashamed that her once sweet, doting Thomas had ordered it all and let the others take the blame?

Would she be ashamed of the twins? Of their lack of action in the face of the others’ plight?

Despite wanting to fight Finn, despite wanting to say that they didn’t know their mother well enough to say how she would feel, or that they didn’t know Tommy’s plans well enough to decide either way, Clara knew Finn was a bit right, so she swallowed her retort. No mother would wish this for her children, or at least, Clara liked to think that their mother would never wish for this.

And anyway, Clara often questioned those very things herself, pondered if she had put up enough of a fight to Tommy, analyzed at length whether she and Finn and Ada had been too forgiving of it all, but then she thought what choice did they have? Tommy was all they had now, and even if Polly hadn’t been locked away in Winson Green or Ada hadn’t gone off to Boston, Clara didn’t know if she was capable of not forgiving her brother.

She hoped a certain part of her mother would be proud of her, proud of the advanced education she’d received, proud of Clara’s love of stories, and content with the kindness and loyalty she showed to her family, despite it all.

Clara took a sip of the tea, grimacing as the cool liquid hit her tongue.

“Did you learn anything new?” she asked.

Clara hadn’t. The information about their mother, the little anecdotes, usually came so organically, in moments when one of the twins reminded a sibling of some long forgotten trait of hers or when someone was feeling just the right bit of nostalgic, but it had been a busy year, filled with the death and misery and arrests, and very little else.

Finn’s answer came with the slight shake of his head and Clara felt the same difficult swallow as her brother, her eyes growing wet though she’d told herself she wouldn’t allow it. She’d be strong for Finn today, and for Tommy and Ada and John and Arthur, too.

Clara took care as she set the thermos down, a small whimper breaking when Finn took her hand. “She’d be proud of you though.”

Clara coughed and cleared her throat.

“Proud of us,” she said, meeting his gaze.

Something in Finn’s face shifted though he kept his hold on both her hand and her eyes. Clara knew Finn didn’t truly believe it. The sentiment barely registered with him, and she knew that her brother thought that if he had just run a bit quicker, or shouted a bit louder, he could have saved Arthur and John from the current reality. She knew it because despite everything, she similarly held onto the imprisonments, John’s and Arthur’s and Michael’s, like they were her own, like she’d been the one to put them in the cell even if she’d been innocent aside from serving as a bit of fuel to the fire.

Clara put a dash beside the spot she’d designated for the new information and jotted out a few lines below.

“I think this covers the updates.” Clara turned the book towards Finn. “Is there anything...?”

Finn shook his head as he glanced at the information she’d inputted, the neutral bullet points that described the past 365 days honest enough though they were far from agreeable.

“Goals?” Clara asked.

Finn scoffed as she said it and fished out his pack of cigarettes. “You mind?”

Clara shook her head, watching as he lit the cigarette and took a long draw from it, scoffing again as he looked at her.

“You know what I wish for?” Finn said, using his cigarette to point at her the same way Tommy often did. “What I long for?”

Clara shook her head.

“Nineteen fucking fourteen,” he said.

Clara felt a shiver run up her spine at the thought. 1914. Things had been simpler then, lighter, but Clara only remembered 1914, and the tenderly memorialized years that care before it, like mere glimpses of a distant life. She remembered bedtime stories and the one-off moments that had frightened or surprised or somehow otherwise wormed inside her psyche but she’d not give up the decade between just to go back.

“I’ll just take having everyone home,” Clara answered.

“That all?” Finn asked, shaking his head at her. “Can’t believe it would be. I imagine you’re wanting highest marks and employee of the month and a new horse an--”

“That’s what’s most important,” Clara answered, nodding a few times to settle it in her mind. “Fuck the marks and Tommy’s accounting ledgers. I’d just like them all home.”

Finn smiled. “And I’d like for them to take us seriously for once,” he said. “It’s only Esme who ever really listens.”

“Yeah, cause she’s not an idiot,” Clara said. “And cause she’s nearly the youngest in her own family. She knows what a shit hand it is.”

“Ah, well, I wouldn’t know much about that,” Finn said. “It’s you who’s the baby.”

Clara shook her head, a smile on her face despite the words she offered. “Fuck off, Finn.”

Finn smirked at his sister. “Come now, Clara. We’re sitting on mum’s grave, on her birthday of all days, and you’ve gone and cursed twice in less than a minute. What’ll she think of us?”

“It’s been quite a fucking year, Finn. I think she’ll understand.”

“Yeah,” he echoed. “Quite a fucking year.”

Finn watched, quiet as his sister etched two words into the bottom of the page, the twins’ wishes for the next year summed up with two simple words, home and respect.

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Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

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🏷:

@beautycinders @buckybluebarnes @cecii22me @lovemissyhoneybee @marquelapage @midnight-dreams-23 @mo-onstarrs @ohhersheybars @pollyrepents @unicorndetective22

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #finn shelby #finn shelby x sister #clara shelby #little lady blinder

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sithapprenticemaul · 3 years

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Hunter ; Hunted - Part Two

summary: Stripped of his sacred armour and weapons, Din has a choice to make.

word count: 1.6k

pairing: Din Djarin x Sherrif!Reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff I guess

a/n: part two electric avenue. I struggled with this chapter, but I’m pleased with how it turned out in the end. let me know what you think!

Part One

Din awoke with a groan, his head throbbing, an after effect of whatever had been injected into him to make him lose consciousness. Part of him wanted to go back unconsciousness. The dark, restful warmth of not having to face the consequences of his actions. He felt like he needed a millennia’s worth of sleep.

Blinking his heavy eyes open, he was instantly as alert as he could be. It was dusk; he estimated he had been out for around eight hours. He felt a strange sensation in his body and as he tried to move his arms, realising he was tied up and more worryingly he had been stripped of his sacred armour and weapons. He felt naked and vulnerable without his second skin, only his helmet remaining.

Din tried to move his legs to find his footing only to find himself swaying in the night air. In alarm he realised he was tied up and hanging - there was no ground beneath him, only the dark chasm of the dusty valley below.

“Nice of you to finally join us in the land of the living.” you spoke dryly. You had been waiting for nearly two hours for the Hunter to wake up so you could question him. There was only so much scenery to look at out in the middle of nowhere on Tatooine.

You sat back against a large boulder, feigning relaxation, and ease. The warm fire you had built was staving off the cold night, bathing your body and face in a flurry of warm colours. You watched in amusement as the Hunter was slowly piecing together what had happened to him. He dangled out over the cliff face like bait; the rusted imperial mining machine he was strung from groaned in the night.

You pushed yourself up, making your way over to the edge of the cliff to talk to your captive. Hands on your hips, you couldn’t help but smile in sympathy at the plight of the mighty Hunter brought low. The sky behind him was a dazzling array of orange, yellows, purples, the twin suns on their way out for the evening.

“What do you know about me?” you asked quietly, the question almost getting lost in the breeze.

Silence. The Hunter simply hung there, unspeaking, and unmoving. Was he ashamed of being caught? Embarrassed? Perhaps he simply was not the talkative type.

“Bear in mind I haven’t killed you yet. You could at least do me the courtesy of answering my questions,” you spoke as you shifted your position, drawing your cloak tighter around you. You were too far to feel the warmth of your fire.

“(y/n) (y/n), Imperial bounty, 75,000 credits,” he finally said coarsely, his throat dry.

Your eyes bore into his helmet, your mind ticking over the information.

“Do you know why there’s a bounty on me?” you asked tentatively, almost afraid of the answer the Hunter might give you.

“No.”

You released a breath you didn’t realise you were keeping. Your past was not something you liked to discuss, let alone with a stranger who had come to take your life.

“You have two choices now Hunter; me or your life,” you started to pace the edge of the cliff as you spoke. “I’ll let you go unharmed if you stop pursuing me. You have my word.”

Din couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the offer. There was no doubt you could kill him without a second thought right now. You could have, should have, killed him at any point given the threat he was to you - but you hadn’t. Yet here you were, offering him freedom in exchange for his silence. His life for your life.

You walked over to the old machinery, a crane, pressing a dusty button that brought the Hunter down to the cliff.

Din was grateful to finally feel the earth beneath his feet.

You leaned passed him, your bodies uncomfortably close for a fraction of a second as you cut the rope that attached him to the machinery. His arms and torso were still bound as you walked him over to the warm fire, setting him down across from you as you sank back down. You were showing him kindness, but you weren’t stupid. He would stay bound until you got what you wanted from him.

Din sat, the warmth of the fire warming his cold body, only now realising how hungry and thirsty he was. His stomach grumbled loudly. He felt weak, tired, yet still as on guard as he could be. You had caught him, tied him up and questioned him. Din wasn’t sure what to expect from you next.

You heard the grumble of his stomach too, feeling guilty that you’d left your prisoner to go hungry. You were fiercely protective of your people and town and your self-preservation skills were off the proverbial charts, but you were not a cruel person. You leaned over, rooting around in the bag you had packed for the trip. You brought out a canteen of water and some fruits.

Walking back, you dropped to the floor, sitting cross legged in front of the hungry bounty Hunter, your knees touching ever so slightly. You reached out for the Hunter’s helmet and he jerked his head away from your touch.

“Easy, Hunter,” you spoke tenderly, as if comforting a wild animal. “I’m just lifting it up a little, I won’t take it off, I promise.”

He relented, his thirst getting the better of him and you tipped the shining beskar back just a touch as you brought the canteen of water to his lips. He hesitated before drinking deeply, closing his eyes at the relief of the cool, clean water. He could feel droplets of water spilling from the sides of his mouth.

Din opened his eyes suddenly as he felt your soft fingers wipe at the corners of his mouth. You were so gentle. Maker when was the last time he had been touched with such care. Din noticed the softness in your eyes, your demeanour warm, calm, stripped of the brash and tough exterior that came naturally with the responsibility of caring for so many people.

You fed him the sweet fruit, taking bites of it yourself as he chewed. You were tired and hungry yourself, but you couldn’t rest until you had an answer. Until you knew that you were safe.

Bellies full and thirst sated, you sat back down across from the hunter, the fire illuminating you both in the dark night.

Din watched as you stretched, taking care to mind your injured shoulder.

“How is your shoulder?” he asked, guilt swirling within him at having injured you.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ve had worse.” you replied, looking over at the bandages and gauze where Kintara had patched you up.

You both sat in silence, the only noises being the crackling fire and the nocturnal creatures of Tatooine.

“I’ll drop the bounty on you.” Din finally spoke. He swallowed thickly; he’d never done this before. He was hoping his fierce reputation within The Guild wouldn’t take a hit. Then again, if you killed him, he wouldn’t have a reputation to worry about.

“Swear to me...on your beskar,” you offered back to him, needing more than words. You needed a solemn vow. Your life and the lives of many others weighed heavily on your shoulders. Anyone could make a promise – the trouble was keeping them

Din perked up at the mention of his holy armour. It wasn’t common for outsiders to have knowledge of his religion. You’d stripped him of every piece of his armour but his helmet. Evidently you understood it’s importance. Din was grateful.

“I swear.”

The days tension finally dissipated from your body; the exhausting kept at bay by your anxiety finally kicking in. You and your town were safe, for now at least.

“Thank you, Hunter.” you replied gently, grateful.

“Din. My name is Din.”

Your face gave away your surprise. You were happy with his vow, even happier with this show of friendship.

“Din.” you repeated back to him, testing the word on your tongue. “It’s a handsome name.”

The night air was close to freezing now, and you dug a blanket from your bag. You held the blanket tenderly as you stood up and walked over to Din. You softly placed the blanket on him, only now realising his body was still bound.

“Oh, sorry...I forgot,” you said sheepishly.

You leaned down, being careful as you cut the ropes binding the Mandalorian with you pocket knife.

Din was grateful to have his body back, settling himself under the warm blanket. His body was calm but his mind racing with a million questions - would you really have killed him? Had you killed others that came before him? The biggest question was directed at himself - had he really just sworn on his beskar for you. You and you alone, for the first time in his life.

His mind darted back to your gentle fingers on his face. He couldn’t deny he wanted your hands back on his face. Din wanted to know you – this strong yet compassionate woman. A leader who radiated strength, tempered, and sustained with love. One who could have easily taken his life and yet delicately offered it back to him, asking only for your own in return.

Din had no doubt had you been a foundling you would have been a fierce Mandalorian warrior. Din blushed, grateful at his helmet for shielding his face. It had been a truly eventful day.

“Get some rest Din, we have a long trip back to town in the morning.”

You both slept, safe in each other’s presence, unaware of the bond forming between you.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars self insert #star wars fanfic #din djarin #the mandalorian #alina!writes

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sweetsmellosuccess · 3 years

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The Best Films of 2020

The 15 Best Films of 2020

Normally, when I assess a full year of cinematic offerings, I consider both sides of that coin — the outstanding entities, and the least successful — but the year of our lord two thousand and twenty provided more than enough misery for all of us, I do believe. Ergo, in my own small way to bring better vibes into the universe, for this year’s round-up, I’m staying solely on the positive tip, highlighting those films whose unfortunate release date during the Year of the Hex shouldn’t preclude them for being fully appreciated. Let’s take a year off from negativity and schadenfreude, shall we, and just stroll amongst the poppies and bright sunshine of some of the best releases of the year.

15. The Invisible Man

“Leigh Whannell’s film is thoroughly modern in approach and sophistication, but the film it most reminded me of was made back in 1944. George Cukor’s Gaslight starred Charles Boyer as a loathsome husband who attempts to convince his already anxious wife (Ingrid Bergman) that she’s going insane by secretly rearranging things in their house and taking things from her so she thinks she’s always misplacing them. He preys on her emotional vulnerability in order to mask his own pathology and emotional detachment. The effect is absolutely enraging: Onscreen, he’s one of the more hateful villains ever committed to celluloid.”

Full Review

14. The Killing of Two Lovers

“From the opening sequence, with a distraught, estranged husband standing over the bed of his wife and her new boyfriend with malice in his heart, and a gun in hand, the film spirals out into incredibly well structured compositions, taking us inside and outside of David’s recurring psychosis, utilizing a bevy of techniques: The framing shrinks down around him, the sound gets muffled, as if underwater, save for the incredibly unnerving metallic sound of cables being stretched taut, and the sickening kathunk of a heavy car door slamming shut.”

Capsule Review

13. Another Round

“Typically, Vinterberg avoids simple conclusions — and God help us all if this film gets picked up by a U.S. studio and remade with, say, Vince Vaughn, Kevin James, Steve Buscemi, and Chris Rock — providing more or less equal examples of the delirious fun drinking with your friends can be (the film opens with a group of high schoolers gleefully doing “lake races” whereby teams compete to drink a case of beer while running around the nearby body of water; and closes with the same teen crew, and some of their teachers, whooping it up in celebrating their graduation); and the horrorshow it can become (one teacher ends up peeing the bed, and on his wife in the process, another wakes up bloodied and out of it in front of his neighbor’s house), leading to very real and horrible consequences.”

Capsule Review

12. Soul

“Co-director Pete Docter is the creative force behind many of Pixar's best titles, having a hand in the Toy Story franchise, WALL-E, Up, and also directing Inside Out, a brilliantly moving treatise on the subject of emotional upheaval. This film, which he co-wrote and made along with fellow co-director Kemp Powers, is his first film back at the helm since that high-water mark, and he has again dug into the fertile earth of our mortality and come back with a particularly vibrant crop.”

Full Review

11. The Burnt Orange Heresy

“Based on the novel by Charles Willeford, the film briskly moves through its paces, clouding the waters with the schemes of duplicitous men, who have sold out any love of art for their greater obsession of cash and prestige. A literary thriller in the vein of The Talented Mr. Ripley, it’s become a genre all too rare in the era of blockbuster bravado. This film will remind you what a mistake that is.”

Full Review

10. Lovers Rock

“In the course of the party, the fuses blow while the house DJ is spinning Janet Kay's "Silly Games," a fan favorite at the time. Undaunted, the guests continue dancing away, singing the lyrics a capella in delirious unison, as McQueen's camera swirls around the living room as if nothing happened. Such a heartfelt moment of unbridled togetherness, putting into distinct bas relief the sense of community we've been denied as a species in 2020, feels like a benediction, an epitaph for the year, and a salve for what we've all been so desperately missing.”

Capsule Review

9. Time

“Ostensibly, it’s about the strain of incarceration on even the most grounded of families (an experience naturally disproportionate for POCs); but, on a deeper level, it’s also about the manner of our use of the limited number of revolutions we get to enjoy situated on this earth. It is a profound knock-out.”

Full Review

8. New Order

“Meet the new boss, only in Michel Franco’s damning portrait of a society locked forever in cycles of oppression, revolution, and new oppression, it makes no difference who you are, what your belief system is, or whether or not you subscribe to a moral set of ethics.”

Capsule Review

7. Dick Johnson is Dead

“Utilizing stunt people and special effects, Johnson kills her father off a number of different gruesome ways, as a means of softening the blow of actually losing him as his mind slowly slips away. This eventually culminates in a final gambit, both acutely painful and deeply moving, in which our sense of things gets seriously upended. As Johnson put it during the post-screening Q&A, the film serves as a “doomed experiment trying to keep my father alive forever.” This film won’t make him immortal, alas, but it does make him indelible.”

Capsule Review

6. Martin Eden

“Marcello packs the film with offbeat bits and pieces of other films, including strips of what appear to be vintage home movies, sometimes in juxtaposition to what Martin is feeling — a group of kids swinging wildly from the bar of a fence, to a full galley ship taking in water and suddenly sinking like an iron ingot – which adds a more winsome, timeless element to the narrative. It’s clearly set in the past, but avoids being too dependent on that particular sense of place and time. Martin is a young man, at first, just coming into himself, and the actions he takes, what he goes through, the film seems to suggest, would be similar in any age.”

Full Review

5. Minari

“The film is certainly charming, but that’s not to diminish its straightforward approach to its characters’ plight. It doesn’t shy away from their difficulties, and as a result, it doesn’t cheat towards smarmy emotional closure.”

Capsule Review

4. Collective

“The breath of hope in the film, when the inept Minister of Health resigns, leading to the placing of a new, emboldened director who works quickly to clean the quagmire left by his predecessors, is just as quickly expelled after the next round of elections, in which the Social Democrat party — the very ones in charge of this catastrophe in the first place — gets re-elected with an even greater majority than what they had before. A perfect reflection of what happens when a government is allowed to exist without any meaningful oversight, other than from a bedraggled press and a disenchanted electorate.”

Full Review

3. First Cow

“Reichardt, a naturalist at heart, is not known much as a humorist, but there is a lightness to her screenplay -- co-written by Jonathan Raymond, her frequent collaborator, who wrote the original novel upon which its based -- that keeps it as sweetly airy as one of Cookie's fried confections. The two friends are so out of step with their surroundings -- the party of men Cookie initially travels with are little more than brutish thugs, and the fort upon which they end up is no better -- they almost had to find each other. They are reunited in the local bar of the fort only because literally every other patron runs out to egg on a brawl between two loutish combatants.”

Full Review

2. Never Rarely Sometimes Always

“Hittman’s eye for detail and emotional complexity — her characters can rarely articulate anything they’re experiencing — is incredibly acute, and she pulls tremendously understated performances out of her two leads.”

Capsule Review

1. Nomadland

“Perhaps no American director since Terrance Malick has made more of the collapsing light of dusk and twilight than Chloe Zhao. Much of her new film, which stars Frances McDormand as a transigent woman (“not homeless, houseless”), who traverses back and forth across the west in her beat up live-in van, doing seasonal work, takes place in that particular kind of vibrant half-darkness that shrouds the desert and its mountains with a magic kind of mystery.”

Capsule Review

Other Worthy Mentions: 7500; Assassins; Bacurau; Beanpole; Beginning; Black Bear; Bloody Nose Empty Pockets; Boys State; Come Play; Emma; Gunda; His House; Horse Girl; I Am Greta; Jacinta; La Llorona; Let Him Go; Limbo; Mangrove; Mayor; MLK/FBI; One Night in Miami…; Palm Springs; Possessor Uncut; Red, White & Blue; Relic; She Dies Tomorrow; Shirley; Shithouse; Shiva Baby; Some Kind of Heaven; Spring Blossom; Swallow; Tenet; The Dissident; The Invisible Man; The Nest; Sound of Metal; The Vast of Night; The Viewing Booth; The Way I See It; Vitalina Varella; Welcome to Chechnya

Inexplicably Underrated: 7500; Shithouse

Biggest Welcome Surprise(s): The Vast of Night; His House; She Dies Tomorrow

The Best Two Films I Saw This Year, Period: Satantango (1994); Harlan County, USA (1976)

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greekbros · 3 years

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"greek-Bros: The Return of an Old Enemy"

Chapter 12: Matters to Attend To

After a rough night of sleeping in the tough dirt with roughly 15 or so big cats, Dionysus prepares to leave for Olypmus. He was waiting for Apollo to pick him up, feeling as if he'd been gently shoved into a small box to sleep in while dogpiled by his own pet big cats. He drinks in the scenery of the morning, wondering what the day shall bring. Feeling the top of his head feeling a little bit warmer, he looks up to find Apollo riding above. "Ah there you are!", he shouts to his brother in the sky. Along with the ball of fire trailing behind Apollo's chariot, it's golden embellishments shined bright enough to create a blinding glare, leaving Dionysus to shield his eyes for a short second.

Riding down to Dionysus's position, Apollo waved back, "Good morning. How was your night?", he asked softly. Apollo also looked a little sleep depraved as well, after Dionysus's afternoon celebration, he had his own issues to deal with. Apparently, there had been issues around the coastal areas around mainland Greece that weren't related to wolves....but a bizzare influx of dolphins harassing the locals.

Dionysus yawned loudly, streched his arms and gave his back a good crack, "let's just say it's easier to imagine sleeping with big soft animals than it is to actually put into practice.". He groggiingly climbed onto Apollo's chariot. ".....so is there any seatbelts on this thing?", he joked.

Apollo shook his head and snaps the reins, off they went to Olypmus. "Well, hang on then, time is of the essence.", he chuckled. He snapped the reins and off to the clouds above the two went, the clouds at first felt like cool mist but slowly thickens into a softer fluff that opens to a sea of soft white and blue. Off in the distance, Olypmus stood proudly like an island.

Meanwhile, Zeus had returned to Olympus with the growing concerns that had become prevalent throughout the Mediterranean; the wolf attacks. Pacing back and forth, Zeus was pondering what to do about such an issue. "Wolves of all things", he though. Did he need to talk to the other gods about this? Was Hades responsible for this, inspite of his lack of evidence that Hades has yet to be responsible for any surface issues. He hadn't the foggiest idea what is causing it. "oooooh....where is that girl....I know she's the greatest huntress in all of Olypmus but she shouldn't be taking this long.....and Athena....my goodness with all her wisdom and intelligence....a little empathy wouldn't hurt once and a while.", grumbling on while rubbing his forehead, oddly enough even mentioned Athena's name gives him a mild headache. Inspite of this, Zeus still worries for all his daughters.

Hermes could only watch as he was growing more entertained by the hole in the floor Zeus had created. Hera was more disgruntled at Zeus because now the nice marble floor now have sizable divot. "..... Zeus can you PLEASE just sit down. You're not the only one here with a headache, how am I going to find a stonemason at this time in the morning?", she groaned. Spectating the whole issue, she really had become curious as to how Zeus could be blaimed for this, maybe its so bad that he would be banished and she would be made Ruler of the Sky, but she doubts that.

"I understand my dear, but there are more important matters on our plate.", as Zeus says this the sound of Apollo's chariot. "Oh thank goodness.". Zeus hoped with Apollo and Dionysus now present, there would be a few more heads working together. "Ah good morning boys.", Zeus urgently greeted them.

Dionysus slid down the marble floor for a dramatic entrance, while Apollo calmly walked in. "Good morning father, good morning Hera you look absolutely radiant today", Apollo greeted back. The two placed themselves on their designated thrones.

Hera wasn't too flattered but she appreciates the greeting with a head nod. "Morning... Apollo. So what has your father done this time?....". She has been watching over both Olympus and the earth while Zeus had been flying around. Tapping her perfectly sharpened nails on the arm of her gold and marble throne. "Well?", she inquired again.

With the rough sound of clearing his throat, Zeus interjects to answer for Apollo. "Well Hera, it seems we have a pest control problem, 'wolves'...........'wolves' have been seen doing such strange things .....but others say it's really not wolves. If memory serves me, we did not create wolves to act like this......boys, have any of you found any new information?", Zeus inquired.

Dionysus and Apollo looked at each other, remembering the day before and what had transpired during the Dionysian Games. Dionysus glances away, trying to deter any responsibility in being the first to tell anyone, Apollo is given the unceremonious task of explaining what had happened on Delphi. "Well.....let's just say, while Dionysus was having a...day time event, it seems that there was some semblance of a sighting. No one was harmed thankfully....", as he finished he looked at Dionysus, hoping he was going to going to fill in any details.

Dionysus, pretended that he wasn't paying attention. Apollo continued to stare at him until he took a coin from his pocket and aggressively flicked at Dionysus. The coin hit Dionysus's head with an audible tunk as it bounced off, "Ow! Fuck man what the hell?!", Dionysus rubbed the currently forming lump. He looked around as he saw Hera, Zeus and Hermes were looking at him, clearly knowing he knew more than he was willing to share. "Ugh....yeah....someone saw a dog thing? Yeah but as Apollo said, no harm no foul...", he hoped his flimsy confirmation would suffice.

Zeus obviously took this as a sign something was wrong and that these creatures were indeed becoming more and more brazen but he wasn't going to pry Dionysus anymore for obvious reasons. He was still wondering where Artemis and Athena were, probably assisting mortals or actively finding more information.

Zeus than turned to Hermes, usually his energetic messenger was more talkative, yet right now he was rather quite. "Hermes....is there anything you would like to share? Any news that would ....at the very least help us... Artemis told me you witnessed one of these creatures yourself?", Zeus asked. He could see Hermes looked a little anxious, in fact Hermes hadn't taken his encounter very well since he first saw it. "My boy, do you have something to say?", Zeus again asked.

The wings on his hat emoted his sudden alertness much like how a dog would, he was mentally elsewhere but quickly came back to planet Earth to put it 'mortally'. "Oh well.....it wasn't too bad.... Artemis shot it in the mouth...hehehe, but....I'm more use to things staying dead.", he rubbed the back of neck, "The creature came back to life shortly after she killed it. I've never seen something like that in my life.", Hermes responded somberly. He felt silly being scared of something that wouldn't be out of place in the Underworld, but he knew that it wasn't something he had experienced in its controlled chaotic environment. "Outside of that, it seems they're very sturdy and very fast.", he continued.

Off in the hall, Artemis and Athena had finally arrived, although both were empty handed, Athena had come with her pride humbly swallowed. The two sisters entered the throne room unannounced as to not disturb Hermes's story.

Dionysus went from playing with his curly locks to glancing past Zeus and seeing Artemis and Athena. "Oh cool, you're here!", he exclaimed with a smile. Artimes waved back, but Athena stayed stone faced.

"Ah there you two are! Where have you two been?", Zeus bellowed.

Artimes walked towards her barely used throne next to Apollo, slumped onto her seat, surprisingly exhausting. It was obvious Artemis had been doing most of the leg work of investigating what has been happening, meanwhile her brothers decided to have fun with their fake Olympics. ".......ugggh....", she groaned and turned to Apollo, "so....did you look over Delos like I asked?"

He had been so occupied with Dionysus that he had COMPLETELY forgotten to check if the island of Delos was untouched. Apollo struggle for a few seconds, as he was about to say something.

"You didn't fucking check didn't you?", Artemis interrupted. Lucky for her, she had checked Delos and the island was currently at the bottom of her list worries.

Apollo couldn't help but give an embarrassed half smile and immediately points to Dionysus and whispers, "this is your fault". Dionysus of course couldn't help but give an identical smile.

Athena stood in front of Zeus, "Father....I believe I owe you an apology for doubting your judgement....it seems.... Athens has come under a terrible affliction....the city has been relying on outside trade these past few days because the farmlands have been savagely ravaged by unknown forces. On top of all that......Theseus hasn't helped much politically, considering he is off on some pointless quest with the rest of his demi-brethren, the state executives have been scrambling for answers to the myriad of metropolitan issues. Disappearing blacksmiths, sightings of creatures in the night and hordes of food, metal, and wood supplies have disappeared over night. I seek your your guidance, for this is genuinely a force I have never experienced.", she was at a loss for words with her situation. Athens has had many terrible lows in its long history, but nothing of this supernatural sort.

He looked at his children, he shook his head. "Your apologies are always accepted my dear Athena. Laps of judgment always happen.", Zeus said with a smile.

She held her head up high, "If I may ask. Is there explanation to.our plights?".

Dionysus stretched his legs a little, "it's wolves I think....but they're kinda funky. Hermes says that THESE wolves can get hit with arrows and like...not die....it's kind of weird. Oh and apparently they like destroying food tents.", he interjected.

Hermes turned to Dionysus, "This thing wasn't a wolf! I know a wolf when I see it, this thing had hands! And it stood on two legs and was fast on them!", he corrected Dionysus was short burst of annoyance.

Obviously, Hera was about to toss herself from the top of Mt. Olypmus from all the sweetness of Zeus's love for his children, the destruction of anyone's food tent or anything, she couldn't care less about it. ".....Can we go on?", she strained. "Frankly Zeus, I just want to know what does all of this has to do with you.", She paused as she was just speaking at suddenly thought had dawned on her. ".... Zeus.......this "wolf" business doesn't have anything to do with Lycaon does it?....You DID say the problem was taken care of....right?", Hera spoke with a tone of ripe displeasure.

Zeus couldn't deny it any longer. An unnatural wolf, Athens in social chaos and the constant bickering between his children had to stop. "Children........it's time I told you the whole story....do you remember when I've told some of you the story of how I defeated the most evil man in the world?", he asked.

The other gods became curious, what did an old bedtime story that their own father had to do with all of this? Hera let out a long and disappointed sigh, it really did have something to do with him, but she had secretly hoped he wasn't responsible for it.

He continued, "Many decades ago, it should be a century or so....if memories serves me correctly....I was invited to a feast in Arcadia by King Lycaon himself. In the story, I told that I defeated him by turning him into a wolf and destroyed his desperately sons for serving me a feast made from the flesh of man..... however.....I may have left out a few.... important details....I did turn him into a wolf....but I left a small semblance of humanity in him so that he may suffer ridicule and hatred for the remainder of his life......that...may have been the greatest regret....I should have ended him when I had the chance.... however, I cannot contest for how he has managed to live for so long....but I do fear it maybe my power is what helped with his longevity.....I doubt he's alone too....", he solemnly ended his story.

The five Olympic offspring sat there in disbelief, the rumors were true and their own father had direct responsibility over the situation. Hera in the meantime, felt a little sorry for Zeus, if she was responsible for such a blunder she would no doubt feel an eating guilt in her heart. "Zeus, listen, what's in the past is done....you fucked up and honestly that's no surprise.....", she put it bluntly.

He turned around unamused but not surprised that his wife would take a swing at his ego, yet all he could do is agree. "Now..... children, we must spread ourselves around and look high and low for Lycaon...no matter the cost.", he declared.

A low crashing noise could be heard from halls, alarming everyone in the throne room. The boys screamed, Artemis was too tired to care and Athena raised her shield and spear ready to defend everyone in the room. Zeus and Hera were worried but there was a likely suspect on their minds. "Ares!", the two said in unison. If anyone would regularly break urns and vases in Olypmus, it was Ares. Whom oddly enough did not come to the meeting. Apollo, Dionysus, Hermes and Athena were the first to charge towards the noise while Artemis had no intentions of moving for the moment.

In another room, Ares was trying to help Ajax use armor and play with a wooden sword for the first time. Turns out, after a few hours of roughhousing with his own war hounds, Ares realized Ajax could use his paws to hold things. So one silly thing led to another, and Alex accidentally broke a vase. "Nice swing Ajax, you'll lead your own army in no time!", Ares chuckled with enthusiasm. Ajax wagged his tail and adjusted his ill-fitting helmet. "You know what, I'm hungry. Come on Ajax, let's go get something to eat", he gestured to Ajax to follow him to the kitchen. The pup's tailed wagged even more enthusiastically, he gently removed his helmet, placed his shield and sword down and followed his new devine friend.

As the two miscreants went to the kitchen, the rest of the Olympians just missed them by a few seconds. Apollo and Athena were armed and ready while Hermes and Dionysus were reluctant to have followed them.

Apollo and Athena both look at the obvious mess of broken urns and damaged marble along with the instruments of the crime. "Hm...It definitely looks like Ares may have been here....but what would he want with set of juvenile training armor?", Athena questioned.

"Hmmm....maybe he's taken up another Amazonian student?.... after all it's not like he's done it before.", Apollo speculated.

"Well I'm not cleaning up after his kids again.", Dionysus groaned brushing away a piece of broken pottery with his foot.

Hermes looked around and started to hear more clattering coming from the kitchen. "I think we'll get our answer shortly.", he pointed to the direction of what at this point sounded like a dog playing with its food.

The four than slowly cornered the entrance way to the kitchen, Apollo and Athena on opposite sides of the door. Dionysus, summons his thyrsos, to protect himself and Hermes who's just behind him. Athena motioned to Apollo to get ready to bust into the kitchen, he agreed with a stern nod.

Zeus and Hera have just arrived, spectating the mess of a hallway and had just about enough this. "OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE.", Zeus bellowed and opened the kitchen door to fine Ares mid bite into some meat and Ajex sitting on the counter, peacefully chewing on lamb chop.

It was a standstill for the ages.

"Son.....what is that?", Zeus asked calmly and sternly.

"Lamb chops.", Ares replied.

"....no.......I mean....what...is....that?.", Zeus pointed at Ajex.

Ares hadn't thought so quickly in his life and drew out his sword and pulled Ajex closer to him. In a deadpan tone and a blank stare, "Take one more step Dad I will wreck everything.". Ajex obviously was completely clueless and just innocently looked at everyone.

Everyone from Zeus and his children all armed themselves. "ARES I NEED TO YOU STEP AWAY FRO. THAT ABOMINATION.", Zeus commanded him.

Athena raised her spear, "Ares you dimwitted buffoon! That creature's kind has cost us all dearly!", she hissed at him

Ares still expressionless knew he wasn't going to let his family hard a single fur on Ajex's head.

The Olympians were all shouting and tried coaxing Ares to give the wolf pup but the god of war wouldn't budge.

Hera, finally pushing Apollo and Dionysus aside, "ARES! What is going on?! And why is that thing on the counter! You have no idea where it's been and I thought I told you no snacking before meals!", Hera shouted with a wag of her finger.

"Oh I gave him a bath before we started training.", Ares replayed.

"TRAINING?!?", everyone shouted in unison.

Zeus's voiced boomed, "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT CREATURE IS CAPABLE OF!".

"FUCKYOUDADYOUCANTTELLMEWHATTODO!", Ares defiantly shouted back.

As the quarreling between the gods continued, Hermes at was fearful at seeing this kind of creature again until he started to get a closer look. "Wait a minute..... isn't this the dog with tattered clothes your thespian friend told you?", he turned to Dionysus.

As if a candle was suddenly lit, Dionysus than remembered the joust. "Hey it's that dog thing that cost you the joust you know the one you lost and got very very VERY humiliated in?!", he hoped reminding Ares about his loss would make him relinquish Ajex due to anger.

"Oh really? Well ok than accidents happen I guess. I guess little Ajex here had places to go. Ain't that right buddy", Ares said with a smile basically forgiving Ajex for costing him the joust. Ajex let out a little yip with glee.

"Damnit. I thought that would do it. Sorry guys I tried.", Dionysus shrugged.

Hera was distraught and disappointed, "Oh my gods you've named it too. Now we'll never get rid of it.", she said breathlessly.

"Come on mom, it's just a dog. I mean sure he's really misshapen for a dog but he's managing pretty well with me.", Ares still had no idea that what he was holding close to him....was more closely related to a cursed human.

"Son....that is no hound....that....is what I had turned Lycaon many years ago....I turned him into a part wolf monstrosity for the purpose of punishment! That right there!.....could be his very offspring! Or worse!....an innocent child who was transformed into wolf.", Zeus gravely explained.

Ares looked at Ajex, "....oh...so that's why he has thumbs.".

The rest of his siblings couldn't believe that Ares had just realized this and collectively groaned. Zeus could only nod in minor disappointment while Hera shook her head.

Hermes on the other hand stepped a little closer to Ares and Ajex. "....Well....thus one DEFINITELY isn't the same kind of beast me and Artimes saw.", he than started to feel extremely silly for being so afraid of this small and somewhat cute looking creature.

"That's because it's a wolf cub!", Artimes had finally caught up with everyone. "I mean seriously, you guys got worked up over a pup? I mean seriously it still teething.", She pointed at Ajex who was still chewing on a lamb bone.

Ares looked at Ajex, "you mean like how babies do?....cool. That explains why he bit me when we first met.", he fondly remembered.

Zeus went pale. "Son....did....did ugh...Ajex you called him? ....well....did he draw blood when he bit you?", he deathly asked.

Ares looked at his arm and saw no marks, then he looked everywhere else that Ajex had teethed on and still no marks. "Nope. Little guys' gonna have to grown into his big teeth later.", he knew that dogs had their own set of baby teeth much like humans did, so considering Ajex's lineage, there was a good chance he still had many of his baby teeth.

A deep sigh of relief was let out by Zeus.

Apollo than asked, "Father, why is it such an issue that it bit Ares, it's not like as if gods could die of an infection....even so I can fix it.".

Zeus shook his head, "Because I've seen what happens with mortals who survive an attack from these monsters....they become them.", the others became visibly worried, expect for Ares and Hermes. Hermes of course could always outrun them and Ares simply assumed he was impervious to injury.

Ares than realized if he hadn't been so physically hard to chew on he would be a half-wolf half-war god. "WAIT A MINUTE I COULD HAVE BEEN A WOLF WAR GOD THAT SOUNDS EPIC AS FUCK!", He shouted.

Apollo, Athena, Artimes and Dionysus looked at each other in clear worry, the idea of a beastly war god even more so vicious than what he currently is now is a far more unfathomably terrifying idea.

Hermes was still looking at Ajex with mild curiosity. Suddenly Ajex looked at him a tilted his head with equal curiosity. A sudden urge to do something Hermes wanted to do when discovered he could perform a neat little trick. He than raised the wings on his hat upwards in an alert position. Ajex's ears did the same thing. Than Hermes switched to a 3 o'clock position, Ajex than followed through and mimicked with his ears.

The rest of the gods looked at this strange display and went silent, surely something important was happening.

Ares however was starting to get jealous, "dude da fuk can you stop that's super fucking weird.", he asked but Hermes continued with different wing positions as if he was giving signals. Ajex was oddly enough having fun with this activity and let out a yip.

"I can't believe it.... we're completely in sync! You know what this means?", Hermes exclaimed at his wings alternated with Ajex's ears. "This could be like a secret handshake or something."

His brothers were obviously was confused, "Ugh...is this going to help us? I mean it's a cool trick but how is this going to solve anything?", Dionysus asked.

Hermes chuckled a little and replied, "oh no there absolutly nothing useful about this it's just fun to see if another animal would do it.". Another collective groan from everyone could be heard.

Athena rested her spear, "This has been a waste of time! All that's happened was the discovery of this creature infiltrating our ranks through Ares's pure ignorance and we still have no clue where to find these b-", she suddenly stopped mid sentence and looked at Ajex and started to formulate an idea "....... surely....this...Ajax has a family...I mean for such a young pup, he has to be missing his parents...", She glanced at Ares whom was still keeping Ajex close. He didn't want to part with him.

Zeus knew what Athena had been implying, he agreed with this plan but he didn't want to lose anymore of Ares's trust. "Athena, as much as that sounds like a wonderous strategy, I believe we can achieve our goal in finding Lycaon.... without harming the young creature.", Zeus walked up to Ajex, no matter if this creature had fangs, claws and fur, it was still in a sense a child.

Scoffing at Athena's attempt to gain her favors by being "tactful", she couldn't help but sense Athena was simply trying to be a little bit insensitive to Ares considering the two have had it against each other for years. "Or....I can just track down trail where me and Hermes found the first wolf. I mean, if I remember correctly there IS a complex cave system in Mount Parnassus.", she concluded.

Ares was relieved.

Zeus had than remembered what Athena had mentioned about Theseus and the rest of his half-born children. "By jove I've got it. BOYS! You're off to find Lycaon.", he announced.

Apollo, Dionysus, Hermes and Ares all looked at Zeus in mild disbelief. "Wait what?", they all murmured in unison.

#greek-Bros #greek bros #greek gods #dionysus #Zeus #hera #artemis #athena #ares #Apollo #greek bros: the return of an old enemy #chapter 12 #short story #fiction #greek mythology

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retributionpriest · 3 years

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Victim(s)

Lyrehl Dazkar was not having a very good day. It was hot, she was sticky, the shop was out of the biscuits she liked--and to top it all off--she was going to be late for lunch with Arlyn.

Looking to shave off five minutes of her walk back to their rented room, she peeked down one of Ul’dah’s many snaking back alleys. That’d at least give her a bit of time to wash up quickly before lunch without causing her to be too late.

Hefting the sack of snacks and other 'essentials' necessary while they were in town for business, Lyrehl took off down the shortcut. Preoccupied with planning the most efficient route back, she didn't see the group of men move to block her way.

"Excuse me," she said, annoyed at being forced to stop. “You’re in the way.”

“You think this is a social call missy?” one of them spoke up. “You can either give us your purse, or we can take it from you and leave that pretty face of yours cut n’ scarred. Your choice.”

“Are you kidding me? Quit wasting my time and piss off. I have places to be.” With an annoyed sigh, she tried to step around, but was blocked by another from his group.

Lyrehl could almost see the gears behind his eyes grind to a halt and it was clear that he hadn’t expected her to have as much fight as she did. “I don’t think you fully understand the dire situation you’re in,” he responds, doubling down on his decision by drawing his knife on her. The others around her followed suit, cruel smiles forming across smug faces.

She looked around at the scant few people that were within eyeshot, but their averted gazes and furtive glances were answer enough. They would not be inclined to help her.

Turning back to face the pug nosed thug, Lyrehl smiled. That meant they would not be inclined to help them either.

"Th' fuck you smiling at bitch?" He waved the knife around in the air in front of him, a move that might have intimidated someone softer or weaker. Unfortunately for him, she was neither of those things. Slowly, she set her groceries down on the floor, making sure they were nestled carefully against the wall before she straightened back up to leer at the would-be mugger.

"Children really shouldn't play with knives you know, you might cut yourself." Lyrehl replied, stretching her fingers out and cracking her knuckles.

It took a moment for the insult to sink in, and when it finally did, he lunged at her with an inarticulate cry of rage.

Sloppy, she thought, never fought anyone who would put up a fight.

In a flash she was the one who held the knife, and before he could even react to the pain in his broken fingers, it was buried up to its hilt in his neck. "Should have learned not to wave a weapon around if you don't know how to use it hm?" Her lips curled into a smirk, far more cruel than any of her attackers could muster.

He gurgled, slumping against the wall as the two of his friends behind him exchanged glances--too shocked to know what to do with themselves. A spark of aether and a flick of her tail followed, and the leather that sheathed the tip of it was gone. The bronzed blades glinted in the early afternoon sun and Lyrehl savoured the fear and regret in her quarry's eyes. Perhaps today wasn't so bad after all.

The first one took off running the direction she had come from, and for the moment she let him go. Letting out a barking laugh as the other stumbled towards her with another dagger drawn, she feinted to his right, batted his wide swing away, and buried her barbed tail into the softness of his overexposed belly. She pulled it out with a vicious twist, pausing to wipe the gore away on his shirt. With his friend taken care of she turned towards her last attacker and fashioned a spear of aether in the palm of her hands, ready to launch it straight into his back as he tried to flee.

But the faint sounds of shouting stopped her. “They’re just down this way, you have to help! Please, they’re going to kill her!” Hearing the commotion coming around the corner, Lyrehl groaned. Of all the days for someone to actually try to be a good Samaritan, it had to be this one. Her spear disappeared in a puff of wasted aether and she raked a hand down her forearm. A line of red blossomed under her touch, nothing that wouldn’t be fixed quickly at home, but still deep enough to look convincing. Slumping against the wall, she did her best to appear as soft and non-violent as possible. Squeezing the self-inflicted injury so it oozed crimson, Lyrehl intended to play up her plight to earn any extra sympathy that might be offered.

“Thank Nhaama you’re here,” she wailed, stumbling towards the first guard who approached her from round the corner and dropping to lean against his legs. “They attacked me. I… I was so scared, I had to defend myself but I…” Her eyes were wide and scared. The blood from her arm left a smear of blood on his pants.

The guard tried awkwardly to soothe her as Lyrehl buried her face into whatever part of him she could get her grubby hands on. Dialing it up to eleven, she heaved with sobs that she hoped seemed real enough.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now miss.... We’ll have a chirugeon see to that cut…” he muttered as she thanked every deity she could remember that this might have been the single most gullible guard in the city. “But we’re going to need you to come with us and someone will have to talk to you okay?”

Wait. Wait what?

As soon as those words left the guard’s mouth, Lyrehl’s heart sank. Not only was it hot. Not only was there a witness. But now, she wasn’t going to even make it for lunch.

It wasn't just shaping up to be an ordinary not-very-good-day. It was going to be a fucking horrible one.

#lyrehl #ffxiv

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communistkenobi-archive · 4 years

Text

“It is good to restore the natural order of things after a period of such disarray, don’t you agree?”

This is probably one of the most underrated lines in The Mandalorian. Not because it’s true, but because it is a far more insidious form of the overt fascism we see in the Star Wars movies, precisely because the audience is primed to agree with it.

This line, which the Client delivers at the end of his first conversation with Din, is immediately preceded by him sympathising with the tragic plight of the Mandalorians (“the beskar belongs back into the hands of a Mandalorian.”). We learn about how humiliating it is for them to be forced to hide in the sewers to avoid total extermination; in the S1 finale, it’s even hinted that Mandalore itself has either been taken over or destroyed beyond recognition. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that calling those historical events “the Great Purge” and “Night of a Thousand Tears” is intentionally evocative of real-world genocides enacted by fascist and colonial governments; I mean, they even cast a German actor to play the Client, which is stock-standard American Hollywood code for This Dude Is A Nazi. Now, these parallels become troublesome when it’s revealed that Death Watch saved and cared for Din (which, for those unfamiliar, is a violent terrorist group that overthrew the previous Mandalorian government), so I’m hoping S2 will bring some clarity on that front.

Beyond that, though, we see the struggles Din has to overcome - the harassment he has to endure about his faith and way of life, how difficult his job is (and how much easier it would be if he could work alongside his fellow Mandalorians, something that isn’t possible in the current state of the galaxy), and we are reminded multiple times about how few Mandalorians are left. The show is sparse with its exposition, but the most consistent piece of worldbuilding the writers do is telling the audience, over and over again, that Mandalorians do not have an easy life by virtue of who they are as people. It’s drilled into the audience so frequently that by the time we get to the end of the season and see the pile of helmets in the covert, we are repulsed and shocked because we know exactly what that means and what that pile of broken helmets represents. It’s not just the physical destruction of Mandalorians themselves; it is an explicit attack on their way of life and everything they hold sacred.

So when the Client says that line to Din, that sentiment is supposed to sound enticing. The Mandalorians want nothing more than to return to who they once were, to reclaim their place in the galaxy; at the very least, they want to live in a world where they don’t have to literally hide in the gutters. What is obscured from that statement is context and intent - the Client very explicitly does not remind Din of the fact that the Empire is the reason he and his people are so heavily persecuted in the first place. He also does not define what the natural order is supposed to be or look like - he deliberately allows Din to fill in those blanks, because the Client’s version of such a world does not include Mandalorians at all. What the Client means is not what he wants to be heard in his words, which is exactly what makes it so dangerous in the first place. He isn’t calling for the death of rebel scum, he isn’t making any sort of appeal to physical force - he is deliberately being vague and framing his comments as sympathetic statements that feel intuitively agreeable, but they are no less dangerous and no less fascistic than basically anything the Empire or the First Order (still nascent by this point in the timeline) stand for.

And we, the audience, know all of this! We know the Empire is bad and wants to rule the galaxy with an iron fist. But that line is not a factual one; it is an appeal to emotions, and especially after watching the entire season and coming back to the pilot, we know exactly how tantalising that appeal would be to someone as marginalised as Din.

#mando.txt #the mandalorian #din djarin #the client #mando meta #his dialogue reminds me a lot of heidegger's work #which i unfortunately had to become familiar with since he did a lot of writing about the sacredness of place #so he's frequently taught in geography courses #but yeah the client is this like. really good academic type of fascist than i dont encounter as often in media #because it requires a more nuanced understanding of fascist thought in order for it to be subtle like this #like usually its very surface level 'destroy rebel scum' stuff #which i mean dont get me wrong is also good for establishing villains #and is an easy shorthand to communicate to the audience that these are the bad guys #but star wars is so well established by now that i think they can get away with the audience being familiar with the empire to some extent #so they have the space to be less obvious with their rhetoric #anyway. this show is good #sw meta

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imagineteamfreewill · 4 years

Text

Consort - Part 3

Title: What You Need

Pairing: Goddess!Reader x Dean

Word Count: 2,690

Warnings: Slight angst

Summary: Dean meets his assigned handmaidens and spends time with Y/N, including exploring outside the temple for the first time.

A/N: This is part three of Consort. Feedback makes the world go round!

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There were three temple women in Y/N’s chambers when Dean woke up the next morning. Y/N wasn’t there and the handmaidens seemed more relaxed. He’d never seen them before and he frowned a little, sleepy and confused. He was sure he’d met all the women in the temple.

Slowly, Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. Before he could do anything more, the three handmaidens rushed to his bedside. One of them pulled the blankets down his legs as another opened the heavy curtains that blocked sunlight from entering.

Dean squinted. “Wait, wait. I can do it on my own,” he grumbled, swatting at their hands before they could pull the blankets entirely off of him.

“This is our duty, Dean,” the third handmaiden said. Her voice was gentle and Dean stilled at the sound. “This is how we’re supposed to serve.”

“At least tell me your names. If you’re required to serve me like you serve Y/N, then I want to at least be able to treat you well.”

The three women exchanged wary glances before nodding.

“I’m Rosalie,” the first woman told him. She gestured to the other two women and continued, “That’s Joanna, and that’s Bethany.”

“I used to have a friend named Joanna,” Dean replied, sadness filling him. He looked down at the blanket that was still covering one of his legs. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

The room fell silent as Rosalie, Joanna, and Bethany watched him for a second, then went back to their work. The fire was soon stoked with logs, despite the fact that Dean was still pretty sure it was magical, and he noticed that Bethany was holding a fresh set of clothes for him.

“Would you like to dress now, Dean?”

Dean tore his gaze away from the folded garments to meet Joanna’s eyes. She smiled encouragingly and reluctantly, Dean nodded. He climbed out of the bed and stretched. Once the kinks in his neck were gone, he reached for the clothes.

Bethany shook her head and stepped away. “We’re supposed to dress you. All you need to do is undress so we can take your clothes for washing.”

There’s no way I’m letting anybody dress me, Dean thought, grimacing. I’m not helpless.

The three women exchanged another silent look before Rosalie spoke up. “If you ask Her for a dressing screen, I’m sure she will provide,” she told him.

Dean nodded, but stepped away when Bethany moved towards him again.

“Please let us do our work,” Rosalie pleaded. “She’ll be back soon.”

It dawned on him after a moment that they were afraid of Y/N, and though they pitied him just as much as the other temple servants, they were afraid of what he could do to them through her.

Dean frowned and looked between them. “I’m not going to hurt you, and Y/N— She won’t hurt you either.” He cursed himself for using Y/N’s real name but continued, “You’re safe with me. I’m still a servant here, just like you.”

Rosalie shook her head and glanced at Joanna, who gave her a barely-there nod, then turned back to look at Dean. “She’s manipulating you,” she told him, her voice quieter than before. “I can already tell that it’s working.”

“Who’s manipulating me?”

“She is,” Rosalie repeated. “She manipulates all her consorts.”

The three women passed the clothes amongst themselves and Dean undressed, hoping that if he did what they wanted, they’d keep talking.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“She has strange abilities. Her consorts fall in love with her and they do her every bidding. You need to be careful,” Joanna warned. “Guard yourself.”

They’d clearly dressed people before; their fingers barely even touched him as they slipped clothes on over his limbs and closed fastenings in silence.

Were they the handmaidens for the consort before me? Is that how they know all this?

Before he could ask them any more questions, the women were gone and Dean stood by himself beside the bed. He was confused, but he pushed away the questions and tried to focus on the things that were in his control. Y/N’s powers were completely out of his control, but hopefully she would grant him the dressing screen. No one had dressed him since he was a little kid, and that had been his mother. Rosalie, Joanna, and Bethany were strangers, and though they held valuable information for him, Dean wasn’t sure he could do that every day.

“Good morning.”

Y/N’s voice made him jump. Dean hadn’t even heard her enter the room, but when he looked up, the doors to the chambers were already closed and Y/N was standing at the foot of the bed with a smile on her face.

“Good morning,” Dean replied. He forced a smile for her benefit.

“How are you feeling? It’s good to see that you’re awake and dressed,” Y/N said.

“I’m well.”

The room fell silent for a moment and Y/N’s smile faded. Finally, she spoke up again and said, “You were uncomfortable with being dressed by the handmaidens.”

Dean was surprised, and it must have shown on his face because Y/N chuckled.

“I’m well aware of peoples’ emotions, Dean. You don’t have to hide things like this from me,” she said.

More like I can’t hide them from you, Dean thought as he turned to make the bed. It was already made—the three women must have done it when he wasn’t looking—and he aimlessly smoothed the fabric before dropping his hands back down to his sides.

“Come, Dean.” Y/N gestured for him to follow her to her vanity. “Do you have another story for me?”

“Of course,” he answered. Dean thought quickly as he followed her, then took the brush from her outstretched hand.

Y/N undid her braid in silence before looking over her shoulder at him. Her eyes glittered eagerly. “Well? What’s it about?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in her voice. “Turn around and I’ll tell you,” he said.

Still grinning, Y/N turned back around and placed her hands in her lap, and Dean had the thought that she looked like an excited child. He began to brush her hair with long strokes, being as gentle as possible as he started telling her a story he remembered from his childhood. It was one that his mother had told him often, and though the thought of her made him sad, Dean knew that Y/N would love the story. By the end, she was so wrapped up in the characters’ plight that she didn’t even notice that he’d finished brushing and braiding her hair long before and had since been idly standing behind her.

“I want to hear that one again sometime,” Y/N said as she swivelled in her chair to face him. She frowned when she saw him standing with his hands at his sides. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a little while,” Dean shrugged. He wouldn’t admit to her that his feet were starting to ache and the cuts from the day before were making shivers of pain run up his spine.

Y/N made an exasperated noise and stood, guiding him over to the edge of the bed. “Sit. Let me see your feet.”

Dean obeyed, sitting back far enough for her to be able to see the soles of his feet without contorting too much. Y/N let out a sigh and he felt her shift the bandages, then remove them completely. She stood and cast him a stern look as she rounded the bed to get something from her trunk.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Dean. Your wounds are still tender,” she scolded.

“I apologize. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Y/N said as she knelt again and began to wrap new bandages around his feet. “I just wish that you would have more care for yourself. I need you to be healthy and happy.”

Dean didn’t answer. Y/N finished wrapping his feet in silence, then stood and reached out a hand for him. He took it and allowed her to help him stand. She didn’t drop his hand once he was upright, and Dean’s cheeks warmed at the thought that maybe she’d just helped him as an excuse to hold his hand. The warning he’d been given that morning slithered into his mind, however, and he quickly dropped her hand just as soon as he’d taken it.

Guard yourself, he heard Joanna say.

“You’re still afraid of me,” Y/N sighed, and Dean focused back on her. Her eyes were sad and his chest tightened at the sight.

“I’m not—”

“I can sense your emotions, Dean, and we’ve already discussed what will happen if you continue to lie to me.”

Her words from earlier kept Dean from apologizing again. Instead, he simply nodded, and Y/N smiled in response before reaching out and taking his hand. She squeezed it gently and then began walking, moving slowly until he moved alongside her.

“Where would you like to go, Dean? The library? The gardens? The baths?”

Confused, Dean stopped before they could go any farther. “What?”

Y/N smiled gently and squeezed his hand again. “This is your home, Dean. You can go wherever you’d like, as long as I’m with you. There’s a lot to explore here.”

The doors opened on their own as she and Dean neared, and he let Y/N lead him out into the hall without another word.

“We can go to the library tomorrow,” Y/N said. “The gardens are beautiful today, and the sun is shining. I’m sure it’s been a long time since you’ve had fresh air…”

Y/N looked back at him for confirmation and Dean nodded slightly. He was sure there was longing in his eyes as she led him through hallway after hallway. All of them looked identical, but eventually they arrived at a set of doors bigger than any other he’d seen inside the temple. Sunlight shone brightly through the cracks around the outside and he felt his heart lurch at the sight. He hadn’t been outside since arriving after his Culling, and now that his opportunity was here, he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Come,” Y/N urged as the doors opened. She dropped his hand and stepped out into the sun, stopping to turn her face upwards towards the light.

She looks beautiful like this, Dean thought as he looked her over. He watched from inside as Y/N dug her bare toes into the grass and took a deep breath. Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled, then looked back at him.

“Are you coming? You can enjoy this too, Dean. It’s been created for us to enjoy!”

“I haven’t been outside in a long time,” Dean answered.

“All the more reason to enjoy it,” Y/N replied.

Carefully, Dean stepped out onto the grass. It was soft beneath the parts of his feet that weren’t bandaged, and the sun warmed his skin almost instantly as he squinted to see the rest of the garden. When he looked over at Y/N, she was smiling up at him and her eyes sparkled with joy. It was clear that she enjoyed being outside.

She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly, Dean thought as he watched her. Is this who she really is, or is she just trying to manipulate me like they said?

“Would you like to see my favorite part?”

Nodding, Dean slipped his hand into hers so she could lead him. Y/N’s smile grew even wider at the action and she walked with him across the large lawn until they’d reached the far edge of the gardens. A thick line of forest bordered the grounds. Trees taller than he’d ever seen stood proudly, and ferns, grass, and moss, covered the ground in a heavy carpet of green.

Y/N ventured closer, dropping Dean’s hand and leaving him standing on his own. She trailed her fingers along the trunks, staying silent as she walked along the treeline. Darkness waited beyond the outermost trees and uneasiness settled in Dean’s stomach when he realized that he had no idea where the temple was. He had no idea what could be lurking in these woods, and if it was something dangerous, he’d be responsible for protecting Y/N.

“Y/N?” he finally called.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Please come back. I’m not strong enough to protect you if you get hurt.”

Y/N stopped. “Protect me? Protect me from what, Dean?”

“From—” Dean searched for the words, gesturing vaguely. “From whatever’s out there. I don’t know how to protect you. I’ve never been trained as a guard.”

Y/N smiled softly and stepped away from the trees. She made her way back to where Dean stood and took both his hands in hers.

“I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you were capable of keeping me safe, Dean.” She squeezed his hands and stepped backwards, taking him with her. “Now come. Meet my forest. There’s nothing here that can hurt either of us.”

She led Dean to the treeline and placed a hand on one of the trees. Dean did the same and was surprised to find that the tree thrummed with energy underneath his palm.

“They’re… not regular trees,” Dean said after a moment, looking over at Y/N in surprise.

She smiled and shook her head slightly. “No, they’re not. These trees provide the people of Camor with the plants and resources they need to survive. They’ve been here for millenium, and tending to them is part of my duties.”

Amazed, Dean watched as Y/N parted from him, slipping through the thick forest and brushing her fingers against the trunks as she walked. He could feel the energy and the life coming from the plants all around him, and the feeling of excitement that came with that energy reminded him of his childhood in Lawrence.

Y/N turned around, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. “You enjoy the forest, too. You’re relaxed here.”

“There is a forest near where I grew up,” Dean replied, leaning against the closest tree. “My younger brother and I used to play in it. We would have sword fights and climb the trees, and when it rained we would look for animals and bugs by the river.”

“You have a brother?” Y/N asked. She came closer, her dress trailing through the dirt and getting caught on the plants as she walked. She ignored it and settled on a large rock nearby.

Dean nodded. “Samuel. He’s only a few years younger than me.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes,” Dean answered, his voice softer. “I miss all my family sometimes.”

Y/N nodded slightly and looked up at the canopy above them. “I apologize. I will try harder to keep your days filled. I only wish for you to be happy and healthy here, Dean.”

That’s not what I need, Dean thought. I don’t need more distractions.

After a moment, Dean gathered up the courage to tell her that. Y/N stared at him, tilting her head in confusion.

“Then what do you need, Dean? I can provide you with adventures and things to do inside the temple and in my gardens. Is that not what you want?”

“I need…” Dean stopped. He didn’t know what he needed. He knew what he wanted—he wanted to go see his family again. He wanted answers and he wanted to know what would happen to him now that he was Y/N’s consort.

Y/N stood and gave Dean a comforting smile, then held out her hand for him once again. “It’s okay. You don’t need to answer me now. Come, let’s eat. I’m sure you’re hungry by now.”

And she was right, Dean realized as he took her hand and began the walk back to the temple entrance. He was hungry.

Maybe she knows what I need better than I do.

_______________

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cowboylovins101 · 5 years

Text

THE HAZARDS OF RABBITHOOD

Fic

Wolf!Arthur x Rabbit!Reader

Warnings: It steamy, but also very fluffy ☺️

Tags: No one

Hybrid AU stuff with low honor Arthur. This ended up being a lot fluffier then I thought but thats okay. Basically everyone is an animal and has the ears and tail to match.

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Being a rabbit had its perks. Your sense of smell was incredible, your sense of danger was on point, and the distance at which you could hear things kept the gossip fresh and interesting. The one thing you weren’t quite sure about though? Predators really liked you. Wolves really liked you. The smell you emitted, the sounds you made, they way you were easily scared, a wolf’s favorite things. Which is why you found it odd that the one wolf you’ve met up close only wanted one thing; to keep you safe.

Arthur Morgan, popular in camp, and Dutch’s right hand. You couldn’t quite understand his interest in keeping you close, keeping you secure. Of course, being the outlaw he was, he never said this directly but you knew, knew in the way he calmed your fits, the way he kept Micah and other antagonists at a distance, the way he sat near you, hell the way he looked at you. Not even a month after you hopped your way into Dutch’s camp had he said the words “You need anything, just ask.” The softness of his tone having left you with a flush and a heart skip. Was he toying with you? Predators always did that. Was he waiting for you to drop your guard? You weren’t sure, but, you were never really sure about anything so for the most part you played it off, kept your distance. People had warned you about him anyway, telling you not to get swept away, that of all the outlaws in this camp Arthur was one of the least honorable. Sure he cared for the camp, but he almost relished in the opportunities to rob and kill, and he loved to give a good threat and a snarl. But, he didn’t seem that way to you, if anything his sweetness had an edge to it, but that was all. Now, you wouldn’t usually be so obsessed with thoughts like this, but things had been a bit rough for you lately.

You couldn’t sleep. At all. You’re least favorite part of being a rabbit. Being so nervous. Some kind of insomnia was plaguing you because of it, and you were just lucky enough for this to be the third night in a row. All the uncertainty surrounding the camp right now after moving by the lake front was keeping you up, but you were tired, egregiously so, and yet the moment you laid down you were suddenly awake again. It sucked.

You sigh heavily. If you didn’t sleep soon you’d find yourself even more tired the next morning, and being chewed out for sleeping on the job was not what you wanted, not again. The prospect of being yelled at made you extremely anxious let alone the act itself, therefore you just had to get sleep tonight. You huff out a breath of determination and get to work. Maybe a pace or two around camp would tire you out? You put the needle and cloth down, brushing off the dirt that had collected on your pants from the dirty fabric you’d been working with. Walking around camp you carefully make sure to stay a reasonable distance away from the various cots and tents as to not wake the others. You loop not twice, but three times, feeling no different than before and you sigh again. You stretch, you jog, you do push-ups for Gods sake. Why won’t you get tired enough? You resign yourself after a good 30 to 40 minutes of this, perhaps sleep would just have to come for you another day.

You take the shortest route back to your cot, ears pulled back in defeat, just wanting to at least finish that coat you’d been working on, when you realize that this path takes you directly by Arthurs tent. Your keen sense of smell is what alerts you to this as it detects that which is wholly Arthur. You stop.

“You need anything, just ask.”

His words ring through your mind and you wonder just how far it goes. Would he help your insomnia? He always seems to sleep well despite having a lot more to worry about than you. You pace nearby, the thought not being too far off but far enough that you question its validity and your own sanity to even think of disturbing him for this. Finally, after what feels like forever you pull back the flap to his tent and walk inside.

And, he’s asleep. Which you had anticipated, but seeing him so peaceful made you wonder if this was a good idea. You stepped further in, careful in your footing to avoid loud noises and you can’t help but take a look around his tent and find it minimally decorated but very much Arthur, paying close attention to the news clippings and photos. There was so much about him you didn’t quite know, so much you wanted to. You wondered how much closer he’d let you get. Although he seemed to treat you with direct kindness unlike others, most of your conversations involved you and only you. He would always ask about your past, your family, your future, but he rarely mentioned himself, and although you asked, he wouldn’t always give, at least not as much as you had hoped. A part of you feels sad about this, as if he himself had made the decision to separate you two, to put a barrier between you as others had told you to do yourself. But there wasn’t much of a barrier in entering his private tent now was there.

You take a deep breath. It couldn’t hurt to try and get his help, whatever that may be, and he had said anything hadn’t he? You tentatively reach a hand forward, your white ears folding back as your body pulsates with ever growing anxiety. What would he say, what would you do? But you wanted, no needed to sleep. Was he really your only option? You shake your head eventually, hand having stopped just above his shoulder, this was ridiculous. You begin to retract your hand but in the next moment a strong grip pulls at your wrist, your back slamming into the cot and a deep throaty growl reaches your ears as you feel sharp teeth touching you neck. You freeze, breathing rapidly as Arthur looms above you, pinning you with his body until his hold suddenly loosens at seeing just who woke him up. Your fear doesn’t leave you though, eyes still wide.

“Y/N?” Arthur gives you a perplexed expression which quickly turns to worry as he sees the way your chest heaves and the tightness at which you hold your ears back against his cot, you’re practically frozen to the spot.

“Whoa, whoa” He raises his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm and your eyes track the movement. He very slowly gets closer, placing one hand atop your head but you can’t help the flinch the contact gives you. He starts to give a slow and steady pets, “It’s alright lil’ rabbit, you’re ok, shhh.” He continues to pet and shush you, his tone gentle and quiet, an action so unusual for a predator but oh so calming to your frayed nerves and racing mind. Your body finally relaxes under him and you let out a deep breath so he removes his hand using both to prop himself above you. You can tell he feels guilty for having frightened you, but he certainly doesn’t even begin to understand why you’re here in the first place.

“What are ya’ doin’ here?” You avert your eyes, there’s no point in lying anyway, not when you’ve been caught red-handed like this. It takes some time but eventually you give your answer, though you do mumble it under your breath and Arthur has to strain his ears to hear you. If he wasn’t a wolf he wouldn’t have heard any of it at all. His face turns from strained and confused to realization as he registers your activity and your reason together. But, that doesn’t do much for him, it still doesn’t quite make sense and he finds himself scratching at the stubble on his chin, a single eyebrow quirked upward. “So you can’t sleep, and you came to me?” You nod.

“We- well, you said you’d do anything and I…You just always seem to be well rested so I thought maybe you could help,” You shirk away from him and curl into yourself ever so slightly, ears turning back towards the cot again, “Was I wrong to do so?” He quickly shakes his head and gives you a small smile as he eases your worries. You liked that, it felt like, like he was meant to do that.

“’Course not. I’m just not sure what I could do for ya’. Can’t exactly sing, and I ain’t much for stories. Well, mine wouldn’t do much except give ya nightmares. Know the reason you can’t sleep?” You grab one long rabbit ear, a nervous tick, fingers idly rubbing at the fur as you recall what brought you here in the first place.

“It’s just, things are so uncertain right now. I’m so…worried. Worried about the camp, about our safety…Worried about you. I can’t sleep when all I can do is think.” He nods, resuming his earlier petting as he plops down beside you. The look he regards you with makes your heart beat and your stomach flutter, but you can’t look away. He thinks for a moment, humming as he does so before he seems to settle on some kind of answer to your plight.

“So what? Ya wanna sleep with me sweetheart?,” Your vision registers the sway of his tail behind him, and you can tell he’s pleased with the prospect, the sly smile spread across his face being the biggest indicator. Before you can really answer he’s pulling you into his chest, which gives you little room to protest. His hold is firm, but…it’s so warm and comforting too, the effect having taken over you almost immediately. It’s one of those moments where you’re mind and body are on a different wavelength, and you feel as though something more should be said, another answer or action but your body is telling you it’s fine, that this is good. Without a second thought you settle as best as your nerves will let you, letting the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

“I can do that for ya.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You did what!?” Karen stares at you in disbelief. You hadn’t planned on sharing about last night but seeing as days had passed since your last restful sleep, you had slept much later then planned and had been caught sneaking out from his tent this afternoon. You bite your lip and look away from her and Tilly’s prying gaze.

“Did you two, I mean…with him?” You look up then, eyes wide as you frantically shake your head, your face beet red.

“What! No no no, we just I mean, I couldn’t sleep so, so you know,” They lean in closer to hear as your voice lowers significantly in volume, “He held me while I slept.” Karen and Tilly look to each other and back to you.

“Wait. You snuck into his tent, and you just slept?”

You nod.

“And nothing happened.”

You nod again.

They seem confused for, one, why you would do that in the first place, and two, how he didn’t just eat you up and then spit you out after. However, they seem to let the confusion go, you clearly knowing more about who Arthur really was than them. Not that they really could considering how closed off he was about himself. Mary-beth who’d been reading her book, and subsequently having abandoned it for this conversation, had finally decided to chime in herself placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You remember what we had said though right, that you have to be careful? Hell, ya gotta be careful of half the people here.” The way they looked at you then had you feeling a pang of guilt but at the same time you had no regrets for your actions whatsoever. You hadn’t felt safe and certain in a long time, but being in Arthurs arms, hearing his gentle voice speak to you, you had felt protected. You weren’t about to apologize for that. However, you weren’t really the type to argue and kept your statement concise and simple.

“I don’t think he’s the big bad wolf everybody says he is, and even if it’s true he doesn’t treat me that way and…well, that’s that.” Before they could protest you decide to leave, telling them you need to get more water to finish this laundry, ignoring the fact that you all had barely started so there was plenty clean water left to use.

You spent the remainder of the day to yourself for the most part, puttering around and doing this or that; small but helpful tasks. You noticed as the day went on a pair of eyes would watch and linger on your figure; you knew it was Arthur. You had made eye contact several times, and he returned your gaze with a smile that you yourself couldn’t help but respond to. As night fell, the camp settled, people picking spots near the fire to sleep, or relaxing with a book or light conversation. You had just set down a book yourself, stretching your arms out above you, feeling a bit of fatigue pull at your senses and you hoped tonight that you would get some sleep yourself. You hear Arthur call your name nearby, ear twitching in that direction, and when you turn to look towards him, he beckons you over with a flick of his wrist. You follow without a second thought.

“You look like you’re ready for bed, come on then, let’s get to it.” You tilt your head in question, but he ignores it, instead he grabs hold of your hand taking you towards his tent and leading you inside without any hesitation. You blush and turn away as he immediately starts to strip out of his vest and button up still not understanding how you went from A to B in this situation. He turns to you a moment later when he hears nothing from your side of the tent, hands pausing on the button they’d settled to and he lets out a huff of frustration.

“We’ll come on now, I know you ain’t sleepin’ in all that.” Oh. That’s what it was. He wanted to sleep together again? But…why? Your bewilderment must have been plastered all over your face because as soon as he recognized the reason for the furrow of your brow his face softened as he looked at you. Closing the space between you he places a hand atop your head, gently ruffling your hair, and your ears lower on instinct to accommodate the motion.

“Didn’t you want me to help you sleep?” You supposed he was right, but you for sure thought it was a one-time thing, not a repeat kind of deal. Your face flushes as you think about another night shared with Arthur and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to. Your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt and you nod your head in agreement and he resumes getting changed for bed. He’s courteous to you, turning to face the other way so you can get comfortable taking off layers for a better sleep experience, and when you settle in his hold that night you wonder if this means anything. You hope it does.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This trend continues, each morning you’d do your work and each night you fall and rest nestled in Arthurs hold. At this point almost everyone in camp was aware of this happening and had silently deemed that you belonged to Arthur, and quite frankly you didn’t mind. The girls finally left you alone about how dishonorable he was and you yourself felt so content and rested each morning you had no reason to complain about this labelling.

You currently sat by the lakeside, humming a tune to yourself while you sewed up some cloth for cleaning purposes, feet swaying on the edge of the dock. Your so caught up in the gentle breeze and warm sun that you practically jump out of your skin when someone comes up behind you, calling your name in a tone you don’t like, or better yet, that you hate. You turn, and sure enough it’s Micah. He was another wolf in the camp and when you first arrived, he would pick on you quite a bit, popping up behind you just to give you a scare and see you jump or making comments about how he wants to eat you. After awhile he had mostly stopped, probably because the novelty had worn off, and now that you had this unspoken label of being under Arthurs protection, he had stopped bothering you entirely. Well, maybe not.

“What d’ya doin’ out here lucky foot? Sewing some cloth.” You don’t respond. Your ears are pulled back and your eyes look for some kind of way out but considering the narrow nature of this dock it would be hard to slip past.

“You know, I heard rabbit stew is quite delicious,” You swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest, “Mind if I try a bite?” He snaps his jaws at you which makes you jump, shaking your head quickly and he laughs at just how anxious he’s making you right now. You eye him carefully as he plops down next to you on the end, your body curling so far into itself to keep your distance.

“I hear Morgans takin’ a liking to ya’. How about I help you at night, I’ll keep you real safe.” His face is too close. You don’t like it, not at all. It’s still daylight and you doubt he’d actually do something but that does nothing to fix the frantic thoughts that race through your mind. Arthur. You want Arthur. Where is he? He said he’d keep you safe. All you can think about is where Arthur could be, and why Micah had decided to tease you today.

You open your eyes, having closed them without realizing it when you hear a loud splashing sound, water touching the bottom of your pants. Micah sits in the chilled lake, ears completely pulled back and voice growly as he yells.

“What the shit Morgan!?” You turn to see Arthur, his face giving off an air of pure aggression and he bares his teeth and growls.

“Don’t. Touch. This rabbit is mine.” Your heart skips a beat. He called you his. Everyone else did too, but, but there was something much more appealing about hearing the man say it himself. You hear Micah give a growl in response and you stand to hide behind Arthur, finger clutching the cloth of his jacket. Micah lets out a huff, giving up as he trudges through the water to the shore, spitting as he passes by you both but Arthurs eyes never leaving him until he’s far enough away. Your heart finally stops drumming in your ears and you let go of Arthurs jacket as he turns to face you. He places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb rubbing idly as you look at each other and any trace of fear or left-over anxiety washes away, replaced by a fluttering in your stomach. Eventually his hand slips from you and he walks away, looking to you a moment longer before he leaves.

Your mind is of course constantly replaying this moment over and over. The way he snarled to protect you, teeth and claws bared, the softness in his eyes as he regarded you, and the fact he had called you his. You cover your face at that last bit, cheeks red and body filled with a kind of happiness you hadn’t expected to experience in this little camp group. That night when the two of you were settling for bed you just had to bring it up, you wanted to know what this was between you.

“Arthur?”

“Lil’ rabbit?” He smiles as he plops down on the side of the cot, starting to take his boots off, a cigarette poised between his lips and eyes facing downward, but you know he’s listening.

“Today, er, well earlier. You said I belonged to you when Micah was there and um…” He’s watching you now, having stopped his ministrations. His face is unreadable when you glance over to him and that makes you nervous but he doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to finish despite having stopped talking, fingers gripping and releasing each other as you try to find the words to the question you want to ask most.

“Do you, I mean are we, or rather what,” you let out a huff of air, why can’t you just say it!? No. You knew why, because what if you were wrong about his intentions, his actions, his possible feelings. What if you were a means to an end a, a toy or something? What if everyone had been right before? You look at him again, expression desperate, but you don’t know what for. He still says nothing, taking a long drag of his cigarette before crushing it below his heel. You struggle for a few more moments, starting and stopping again, your face growing hot and your hands getting sweaty.

“Take yer time darlin’” He finally speaks, and his voice seems to relax you and you feel more sure. How did he do that to you so instantly? Regardless, you know you need to just relax. Just breathe. It was just you and Arthur here after all, that’s what his tone had told you, that it was alright, that he was here.

You take a few deep breaths. You open your mouth. And you tell him how you feel.

“I like you Arthur, a lot. And, when you said I was yours today I thought maybe, just maybe you liked me too. And I…Well I, I want all this to mean something, rabbit and wolf, whatever. I want. I want you Arthur. Could you ever feel the same about me?” Your question is tentative, shy, with a hint of a shake to your voice as the nerves begin to bubble up once again. But Arthur smiles, tells you to come over, and when you do he pulls you down to sit in his lap and he kisses you. Its soft, a softer kiss than you’d expect an outlaw like Arthur to give but you accept it nonetheless, and when you split apart you didn’t need him to answer but he does regardless.

“When I said you were mine I mean’t it lil’ rabbit. You think I’d sleep in this same cot with just anyone? It’s been somethin’ more since day one.”

He kisses you again and you feel like this time you don’t want to part, your head in the clouds. The kiss you two share takes mere moments to turn from tender to heated and you let him have the lead. The next time he breaks apart he plants kisses along your face and jaw before biting your lip, licking at the flesh before kissing you again, your tongues touching. He scoots back eventually, pulling you along so your sat between his leg on the cot and you let him maneuver you so your back is against his chest. This time he puts his lips to your neck, nibbling at the junction between your neck and shoulder, careful to keep the bites light enough so his sharp canines don’t hurt you. When he nibbles on your ear you let out a pleasured sigh and feel his hands move from the side of your hips to the hem of your shirt and he begins to unbutton from bottom to top, mouth continuing to leave marks across your neck and shoulders, pulling the shirt off as well as the undershirt beneath.

“This alright?” You nod your head unable to speak as his hands massage your chest, forefinger and thumb rubbing at your nipples. You let out a moan as he pinches them and you can feel him smile into your neck, his tongue licking a long stripe up to the base of your ear. His other hand teases at the hem of your pants, rubbing at your hips and slipping under before retracting to trace patterns on your side and stomach. You whine, a sign of begging, as his fingers dip in again but deeper, so close to where you want them most, and on the third swipe you buck upwards. You whine out his name and hear him chuckle in response.

“Somethn’ the matter?” You turn your head to look at him, a pout poised on your lips and Arthur relishes in the sad look you give him. Before you’re even able to ask him to touch you his hand dips down, fingers caressing your sex and you let out a surprised moan. He rubs his hand against you and you rub against him in return, biting at your lip as his fingers dip lower and tease at your entrance. He removes his hand and your about to protest but feel him lift you up with one hand and tug at your pants with the other to which you respond by using your own to assist in stripping you of both pants and underwear. You hear his tail thumping behind him as he wags it, hand returning to your entrance and pushing inside. Your hand goes up to grip at the base of his neck, legs uncocniously lifting and spreading to accommodate his touch, you wanted him to touch you more, to give you more of him. Being a rabbit meant you were a bit smaller than others, particularly to large predatory animals, thus Arthur knew if he was to give you more, he had to prepare you first. Although he had to admit the sweet sounds you emitted made it hard for him to go slow.

“Shit Y/N I just wanna eat you all up, ya know that?” You’re responding moan turns to a gasp as he inserts another finger, using them both to pleasure and stretch you so he can finally enter you. You can feel his hand getting faster with urgency and the hard cock that rests on your ass behind you is sure to be the reason so of course you wiggle your hips just to feel him twitch behind you as your ass rubs against him. He gives a low warning growl so you do it again and hear his breath hitch. He finally pulls his fingers from you and moves you to free himself from his pants, leaning over you to his bedside as he grabs a small canister of oil and coats himself to be sure that when he enters all you feel is sheer pleasure. He braces your one thigh on his forearm and, with your assistance, lifts you upward enough as to angle himself so the tip of his cock is teasing at your entrance. And then, he slowly lowers you onto himself. He releases a groan at how tight you feel and you hold your breath until your partially seated, letting out a shaky exhale as you feel the stretch from below. It hurt a bit, but you knew it’d get better eventually and gave no protest when Arthur grabbed your other leg, holding you up and against him as he thrust his hips fully. You cry out when his hips meet your backside, dick fully sheathed inside of you and you hear him curse behind you as he starts a steady pace, holding you up all the while. You don’t really know where to place your hands since he has all the control, so you settle for behind his head on one, the other atop your sex rubbing in time with his thrusts. Arthur growls and grunts into your ear, the sounds only making you more aroused as you cry out his name and a jumble of yesses and pleas for more.

“You’re so…shit, you feel so good. You like that huh? Like how good this wolf makes you feel?” You cry out another yes, begging him to go faster and of course he does. He shifts then, dropping your legs and bending your forward a bit as he prompts you to start bouncing yourself, hands on your hip to help push you up and down. He grabs hold of your fluffy white tail and you moan his name. It feels amazing, to think you’d go from nervous confession to this, with a predator for Gods sake. You don’t even have the capacity to think about that concept, your mind a haze of lust and your ears filled with the sounds of Arthur and you, every thrust. You feel completely stretched out on him, so full and so good, you want more but you can feel your end approaching. Your nerves are alight with so many good sensations you can’t care to hold in your voice as your peak approaches closer and closer, your volume only getting louder. Right as your orgasm hits you Arthur bites down on your shoulder, the shock of the pain mixed with the highest of pleasure has you practically screaming his name, and you feel his shaft pulse inside you not a moment after and you knew he reached his end as well.

You slump in his arms, laying back against his chest again, your own heaving as you try and catch your breath. You feel him lick at the spot he had bitten, knowing it had left some huge mark but you were too tired to care. He laid the both of you down, taking the time to clean you off before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you atop his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and the both of you fall fast asleep.

That next morning you can tell Arthur is proud to see your neck left uncovered, and although you know people are staring just as much as they are talking, you don’t feel nervous at all.

#rdr2 #rdr #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #nsft #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #writing

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frecklefaceb · 4 years

Text

Hide and Seek 4

Genre: Fan Fiction (Jack Reacher AU featuring Charlie) Pairing: Charlie x OFC-Mildred “Millie” Day Warnings: Language, Physical Violence, Verbal, and Death Rating: Mature Theme Disclaimer: This a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line.

*So it’s been a very long time since I’ve posted anything on here. For those that need a refresher the previous chapter is here. I appreciate those that have checked in on me and the unspoken support in this awesome community.*

I hear distant conversations and the passing of vehicles as I slowly gain consciousness. Sleep had come easily, despite my embarrassing behavior and subsequent cold shower of shame. I moaned with my stretch before rolling over onto my side, near the edge of the bed, and the nagging protest from my heavy bladder finally convinced me it was time to get up. Peeling my lids open, I'm startled by the proximity of Charlie's face hovering at the edge of the bed, my legs and arms flailing as I scoot back with yelp.

"Oh, good, you're awake," he announces with a smile. I'm still gasping for breath and clutching my chest when he plops down a bag in my lap. I hesitantly open it to discover a box of hair dye and close the bag before running a hand through my hair.

"Your wakeup call could use some finesse," I grumble, sinking back into the mattress.

"Mmmm," he hums. "Seemed sufficient enough to me," he reaches out, taking the blankets from the bed and I immediately curl upon myself with the chill of air.

"Why are you like this?"

"I just love makeovers," Charlie rebuts with a small smirk as he moves to lean against the dresser. I send him a glare as I stretch. Seeing him smile and make a joke was almost the equivalent of spotting Big Foot or seeing a unicorn, you're not sure if it's real or your imagination, and there's never a camera around to capture it for proof.

"Try fixing your attitude," I sass, pulling the bag with me as I stand from the bed.

"I assume you can handle that?" He pointedly asks, while moving from the dresser to the small table with his laptop.

Feeling slightly insulted, my only reply shutting myself into the bathroom. Outside, the chair scrapes along the floor and I hear Charlie murmur in another language. Shaking my head, I pull down my underwear and sit on the cold toilet seat, leaning forward until my fingers pull out the box of hair dye to read the instructions while taking care of business. My day had just started, but already felt as though it was dragging along, and unfortunately for me, there was no end in sight.

__________

The reality of dying my hair never fully settled in until after I washed the remaining chemical out. The wet limp locks garnering my attention in the mirror, my usual reflection occupied with my replacement. Millie 2.0 was now sporting dark brown hair which was a stark contrast to my opposed to her natural sandy brown. The change was subtle, just enough to fly under the radar. I squeeze my hair over the sink one last time and quickly rub the towel along the ends before discarding it to the floor. I momentarily hesitate over its state of rest, Charlie exhibited a preference for order on numerous occasions and yet I continually leave it on the floor.

I fling open the creaky door with a zealous, “Tah dah!”

Charlie’s eyes lift from the computer screen but he remains silent while studying me. My shoulders slump from the unsatisfactory reaction of my theatrical entrance and his uncomfortable scrutiny.

His arms cross as he leans back, “We need to cut it.”

“Fuck off.” My assertion has him bounding from the chair and bee lining towards me. I hustle to the bed and scamper across, hoping it’s a safe enough distance as his voice growls from behind.

“I wasn’t asking.”

My first reaction is to pitch a pillow, and he casually knocks it aside before it can hit him in the face. Determination sets in and Charlie rolls his eyes as I reach for the second. The warning call of my name reverberating as the pillow leaves my grip to take flight in his direction. This time he bats it away while stepping onto the bed and stalking towards me. I bump into the side table as I take a step back, and smile as I quickly open the drawer with the intention to heave it, but it sticks. The dresser rattles with each of my frantic jerks, and I realize the drawer was probably jammed in its track. The sound of Charlie’s feet meeting the floor feeds my desperation as I desert that drawer and retrieve the Bible that was comfortably tucked away in the next drawer. His hand tightens around my wrist before I can even attempt to toss it at him.

“That’s not the way to spread the good word,” he dryly jests, the hinge of amusement only further rattling my nerves.

“I beg to differ, because it’s pretty apparent you need Jesus,” my voice wavering as he smugly removes the book with his free hand. My mouth opens and closes as I fight back tears of frustration. Why is he so fast? It’s all too much. I feebly try to step away but he easily pulls me over to the desk and nudges me down into the chair, which was still faintly warm from his previous occupancy.

“Braid it,” he orders, ignoring the silent plea of my tear filled eyes. My hands tremble as I comb the damp strands with my fingers before pulling the locks over my shoulder to weave into a braid. I secure the ends with a hair tie before looking up to discover Charlie idly waiting with a knife.

Sensing my panic, Charlie’s fingers play with the banded end before pulling it taut and wielding the blade approximately midway through the braid. My eyes follow the braid as he tosses it in the garbage. It feels like an eternity passes before I can lift up out of the chair and make my way to the bed. To my surprise Charlie never speaks a word of protest nor does he bother to wake me for the rest of the day.

_______

My head hurts, and I’m unsure if the annoying jackhammer sensation was caused by the unpleasantly warm room I’ve woken up to, or from crying but it was hostile. My legs feel like molasses as I slowly peel off of the bed and lumber towards a bottle of water sitting on the desk. I’m fairly certain it belongs to Charlie, but at this point I’m hot and my insides feel like they’re shriveling, not to mention the unpleasant drumming in my head indicating dehydration.

“The air conditioning is busted,” Charlie announces from the doorway. I slowly swallow, contemplating whether the door was open or if he is just that quiet? I shrug in response before downing the remainder of the water and crush the bottle in my hand. Charlie’s jaw tenses, annoyed with my action, and I only further the cause by tossing the plastic towards the trashcan but missing it. I shuffle to the garbage, sweeping it off the floor before he blows a gasket.

“Do we have any ibuprofen,my head is killing me?”

It’s no surprise that my plight has no effect on Charlie, who remains firmly planted in the doorway.

“You need to eat,” he barks and unfortunately for him, my eyes aren’t too distressed to roll in response.

Charlie’s jaw ticks, annoyed with my childish behavior, yet he still manages to deliver a blasé, “Okay, then.”

The robot of a man’s attention is drawn to his phone, and as if on cue my stomach rumbles. These next words were bitter as I spat them out, “You’re probably right. What is there?”

His fingers typing furiously, and being ignored was fueling my irritation as I traveled to hangry town. “Hello! Earth to Charlie!”

“Figure it out yourself. I’ve got to do something.” And just like that I watch Charlie dart to his car then leave.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I scream.

___

"Where's mine?" I question, eyeing the ice cream cone in Charlie's hand. It looked like a rocky road, I didn’t peg him as a chocolate and marshmallow type, but then again, we didn't meet under normal circumstances.

After the earlier frenzied departure, Charlie was gone for nearly 3 hours. I attempted to watch tv but it was too hot to focus, and then there was the fact the door was open. Freedom was openingly mocking me. A few strides and I could vanish, at least I’d like to think so but the reality is Charlie could easily find me. I proceeded to imagine all the various scenarios until he reappeared with an ice cream cone.

"What? This?" He teases as I observe the slow and intentions swipe of his tongue, catching the droplets of melting chocolate. "I wasn't sure if you even liked ice cream," he adds with a shrug, breaking my trance.

"It's ridiculously hot and you didn't bother to ask," I pout, trying to pretend it was just about ice cream. This was premeditated, I was sure of it. Our air conditioner was broken, the pool had already been drained for the season or I'd be in it, and now I had to watch him sensually lick an ice cream cone after making a mockery of me the night before. Both the universe and Charlie were ridiculing me.

As if reading my mind, Charlie replies, "You were pretty hot last night and if I'd taken you up on the offer we'd be having a much different conversation this morning. Which embarrassment do you prefer? Knowing I stopped it from happening, or letting it occur and you being stuck with me after being used?"

I wanted nothing more than to slap the cone away from that smug bastard as he takes another bite, the crunch grating on my already agitated nerves. Unable to bear the sound and his scrutiny any longer, I stand, waiting until I was nearly back into the room before yelling, "Fuck off."

I immediately regret the decision upon entering our room, the open door offering no relief. It feels like an oven but I refuse to go outside and endure more belittling from Charlie. As I settle on the bed, he props himself in the door frame with his arms crossed.

"You're going to make yourself sick."

"I'll take my chances," I grumble, slinking down into the bed and pulling a pillow over my face.

"If you're going to insist on lying about(,) you should at least shed a few layers so you won't overheat."

I uncover my face as I move back to a seated position, "You first." Charlie's brow arches with my sneer before reaching behind his head then yanking his shirt up and over. I catch my mouth as it falls, his abs were something out of a magazine. While his face remained stoic, his eyes were dancing with amusement over my reaction.

"Do you need help?" he teases. I defiantly step off the bed to pull my shirt off, letting it fall to the floor next to my feet as I confidently look down my nose at him with my hands on my hips. Charlie’s gaze falters, trailing down my exposed flesh. There was something equally exciting and unnerving about the way he was looking at me. Enjoying the rush, I drag my thumbs along the top of my shorts, stopping at the button. Charlie licks his lips, as his eyes meet mine with silent encouragement.

Just as I pop the button, I notice the repairman over Charlie's shoulder. "Oh, Jesus, Charlie!" I hiss before scooping up my shirt. Charlie turns, practically running into the man.

"Hey! My names Guy and I'm here to fix your unit?" Charlie steps aside to make room for Guy's passage as I dress.

"Perfect timing," his retort dry, and I can't help but wonder if he meant it or was genuinely upset.

#mine #myfic #jack reacher #charlie #jack reacher fic #au #charlie x ofc millie #jai courtney #jai courtney characters #jai courtney fic #jai courtney fanfiction

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hurt-spock · 4 years

Text

Fic: Everything’s Not Lost 1/?

(Full Chapter One Version)

The first thing he was aware of was a slight acrid smell. And then the realisation that something was very wrong.

Spock's eyes opened quickly and he was aware of how dim the craft was. “Doctor?”

“Mm,” came a mumbled response. Spock unclipped his safety belt. The viewscreen had malfunctioned and instead of showing what was outside the craft, it was blank and black. There were some dim emergency power lights working but they weren't working well. Spock's Vulcan eyesight helped him see things more clearly. McCoy would not have that luxury. The craft had crashed and had ended up tilted on its left side. Spock clambered over to where McCoy was and roused the Doctor carefully.

“Doctor?”

Blue eyes met Spock's own and there was a moment's confusion before he recalled what had happened. “Dammit,” he muttered. “Are you okay?”

“I am. Yourself?”

“Maybe a little sore from the landing.” The huge bump across McCoy's brow bone said otherwise. “We crashed, right?”

“We crashed,” Spock confirmed. “The planet is habitable. We can leave the craft if you wish.”

“I suppose it's better than staying in here,” McCoy stated as he climbed out of his seat and followed Spock to the door. “At least I'll be able to see something.”

Spock grabbed two of the survival kits and handed one to McCoy before attempting to open the door. When it didn't budge, he handed McCoy the other kit so his hands were free and he could dedicate all his strength to it. McCoy pulled out one of the flash-lights so he could see a little better and watched Spock strain so much he thought something might pop. But then he stopped straining and looked at the door. “It is not going to open,” Spock said.

“No shit,” McCoy replied. “So, we'll stay inside then.”

Spock nodded but did not look content.

“What's wrong?” McCoy asked. He knew Spock well enough by now to know that what Spock didn't say was just as important as what he did say.

“Life support will only last for approximately four hours.”

“Only four?”

“It may be slightly more or less. I can not be sure with all the equipment down.”

“So if we don't get out of here before then, we're dead?”

“Not exactly,” Spock replied.

“You've got a plan?” McCoy asked, hopefully.

The look on Spock's face made it clear he did not have a plan.

“Aw, fucking shit!”

“There is a breach somewhere. We are taking in water and I estimate that it will take around two hours for the shuttle to be flooded.”

McCoy stared at Spock. “Are we on fire as well? Maybe some toxic fumes that'll kill us in twenty minutes?”

“Perhaps. But if they are, I can not detect them,” Spock dead-panned back.

“What can we do?”

“I can try and use the phaser to aide an escape, however, if we are completely submerged it will amount to making a larger hole. If we can not get out in time, we will die.”

“Can you tell if we're submerged?” McCoy asked.

Spock considered. “I could make a small hole at the top of the craft.”

“Yes, do that!” McCoy said.

Spock adjusted the phaser and took careful consideration of where to make the hole. It took a while for the beam to penetrate all the way through and when it did nothing but air came in.

“Well that's a relief,” McCoy said.

“Hm,” Spock said, distractedly. He continued with the phaser making the hole bigger when the beam vanished.

“Don't tell me it's run out of juice?”

Spock looked at McCoy and didn't say a word, handing the phaser to him. McCoy studied it, tried it himself before throwing the thing to the floor in frustration. “Goddammit, we're gonna die in here, aren't we?”

“We have more oxygen,” Spock said. “We just have to wait for rescue. The Captain will find us.” It didn't change the fact that they would still drown in the shuttle before they lacked oxygen.

Spock was using the most positivity his neutral tone could muster up. McCoy sighed and nodded in agreement. He sat back in one of the seats. Spock was taking stock of the situation, gathering data. He moved around the shuttle checking for anything they could use.

“Jim's not going to get to us in time,” McCoy stated.

Spock stopped what he was doing and looked to McCoy.

“We weren't due back onboard for six hours when we left the planet. I heard you tell Jim that.”

“True. However, Jim did say that if they completed their own tasks they would meet us. He is aware that the shuttle has limited speed. It would make sense for them to meet us, if they had the time.”

“If.”

“It is all we have to hope for, Doctor. A small hope, but hope nonetheless.”

“Hm,” was all the response he gave. “You don't need the light, do you?”

“No,” Spock replied.

McCoy switched it off and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the water rising.

McCoy hadn't been aware of how exhausted he had been until he woke. It took him a few moments to get some clarity and when he did, he wondered how much time they had left.

He had stretched his legs across to another seat so he was more comfortable and when he sat up, he was shocked at the water he plunged his legs in too. It was cold as well. “Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Where are you?” McCoy asked. He had raised his legs back out of the water but it was only a matter of time before the water reached the seat.

“I am here,” Spock replied. He sounded as though he were at the back of the shuttle. McCoy fumbled for the flash-light and flicked it on before seeking out Spock.

The Vulcan was sat on top of two empty storage crates he had moved closer to the hole.

“Are you okay?” McCoy asked.

“I am,” Spock replied.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Attempting to escape,” Spock informed him. “Stay there, Doctor,” Spock said when McCoy looked to be coming over. “It will be best to stay dry as long as you can.”

“So, how are we escaping?” McCoy asked.

“The phaser made a hole. I have found a piece of the shuttle that we may be able to use to increase the size of the hole.”

“Can't we use it to open the door?” McCoy asked.

“I did attempt it. But the door will not open. I believe we crashed into a rock in some sort of body of water. A lake or river, I assume. I believe escape through the door is impossible. Once this hole is wide enough I should be able to increase it using the piece of the shuttle as a lever.”

“Spock, that's insane,” McCoy protested.

“Insane or not, it is the only chance we have to escape from here.”

McCoy turned the flash-light to the hole. It was a little larger than before but not by much, it was barely the size of a fist. Spock had donned some gloves and he watched in awe as Spock pulled at the metal exterior and increased the size of the hole. Not by much, but he did increase it. Spock was making slow progress. He was gathering all his strength with a complete stillness between attempts, not wasting energy with anything else other than freeing them.

McCoy could only watch the painfully slow process, watch as Spock used all of his strength and energy to slowly increase the gap. He forced himself to ignore the fact that the metal was tearing into Spock's skin and that green drops of blood dripped down into the ever-rising water. He said and did nothing when the water reached the seat, despite how cold it was.

When the hole was finally large enough for the metal lever, McCoy felt a surge of hope. “You're doing great,” he encouraged, wishing he could do more. “Why don't you let me try while you rest?” McCoy offered.

“No offense intended Doctor, but I do not believe you would be able to assist. However, if you have anything that would assist energy levels, I will gladly accept,”

McCoy grabbed his kit and rummaged through it. He had a few items in the kit that would suit Spock's biology but an energy booster wasn't something he would think to bring. Vulcan's had bags of stamina However, he did have an adrenaline boost fit for humans and he hoped it would benefit him. While he continued to ready himself, he threw an energy bar Spock's way. “Okay, we'll try this,” McCoy said.

“I'll come to you,” Spock said.

“No. You're already using your energy to try and get us out of here. You don't need to waste extra energy trying to stay warm as well.” McCoy said and he plunged himself into the water and waded over to Spock. It was just about knee height, although the angle of the shuttle meant it was deeper in some areas than others. McCoy gave Spock two hypos. “The second one is for the pain I know you're in. When we get out of here, I'm checking those hands.” Spock nodded. “I know pain relief is not usually something you like but I've been working on this for months to try and get you something that doesn't make you nauseous. I'm pretty certain I got it right and this isn't the ideal way to test it but there's no way there are any adverse side effects. At the very worst, it won't be a great painkiller.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock said.

McCoy turned and started to make his way back to his seat. He hoped that Spock would get the energy he needed to get them out of here before the water got a lot higher, but looking at the hole when he'd been close to Spock showed him how little progress Spock had really made. McCoy was doubtful that Spock would be able to create a big enough hole for them to get through, but he wouldn't stop supporting his friend in his plight, he only wished he could do more. His wandering mind made him lose track of the awkward footing the shuttle's angle created and he took a misstep and slipped, submerging himself in the water. The water wasn't that deep, but the shock of slipping made his gasp in a breath of water. He struggled to right himself, thinking that if he didn't do so quickly enough Spock would be in after him and he gasped in oxygen as he righted himself, coughing and spluttering as he did so.

“What a clumsy arsehole I am,” he said eventually after he'd caught his breath and clambered back into his chair. The exertion hadn't done him much good and he could see Spock shooting concerned glances his way. He really was fine, if not a little embarrassed.

Whether it was McCoy's slip or the effects the hypos and food had, but Spock worked diligently on widening the hole. It was close to big enough for them to squeeze through when the water had reached just above McCoy's waist as he stood in the water. It looked tight but it might be enough. McCoy had watched Spock's arms tremble with the effort to widen the gap further and if there was a chance he might be able to get out without putting more pressure on Spock, he would do his best.

“Let me try,” McCoy insisted.

“I should go first, to ensure it is safe outside,” Spock said.

“Yeah, but if I get stuck, I don't think I could push you through,” McCoy joked.

Spock looked at the hole he'd created. “Let me just try to widen it a little further. I doubt either of us can fit through it easily,” he said. Spock's fatigued muscles trembled when he picked up the lever, let alone trying to prise the metal further apart. It seemed he made a little more progress.

“Okay, that's enough,” McCoy encouraged. “I'm sure I can fit through that.”

They moved the empty storage boxes Spock had sat on beneath the hole and McCoy clambered up. He had to twist his body into a certain angle to get through. It was bad luck that McCoy's calf caught against the side of the metal and cut his leg open, blood spurting from the wound. “Shit!” he exclaimed as he hauled himself out. “Pass me my bag,” he asked Spock, reaching back down into the hole, vaguely aware of the slight spatter of blood decorating Spock's face. He pulled his trouser leg up and saw the deep cut. It wasn't a big wound and he quickly wiped it down and bandaged it. He quickly looked around himself for signs of danger and saw no one and looked back down at Spock. “I'm okay,” he assured him. Spock nodded and started to pass the emergency kits out. McCoy carefully put them to one side, making sure they wouldn't fall into the water surrounding the crashed shuttle.

Spock barely had the strength left in his arms to haul himself out. He adopted the same shape as McCoy to squeeze through the hole, but once his arms were out, he struggled to pull his remaining bodyweight out. McCoy had to grab and haul him out as best he could. It didn't help that they were both soaked through and it carried extra weight, let alone them being cold as well.

It took Spock a moment to recover once they were free from the shuttle and McCoy noticed Spock's hand rub his midsection. He may have caught it climbing out of the craft, it wouldn't be surprising the way he'd had to do it.

The sky was a ghastly yellow tinge looking sick and ill but the unmistakable storm clouds ahead were somehow worse.

“Over there,” Spock said, point to a slight clearing up ahead where the trees gave some slight shelter.

McCoy nodded and they both clambered over the shuttle and through the shallow water and onto dry land, heading into the trees and the shelter it gave.

They both sat in the shallow shelter breathing heavily. They were soaked, cold, and exhausted.

“Now we can wait for rescue,” McCoy said.

#Star Trek #AOS #TOS #Writing #fanfiction #Spock #McCoy #cold #wet #cold wet boys!#hurt/comfort #hurt!Spock #whump #friendship #survival

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anistarrose · 5 years

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Fateful Detours - Ch. 1 (Gravity Falls x Infinity Train)

Summary: Ford misses his bus to Backupsmore, and tries to catch a ride on a train instead.

Warnings: none for this chapter

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331070/chapters/48205837

(The Middle) (The End)

I’ve been craving a Gravity Falls/Infinity Train crossover for weeks now, so several late-night bursts of inspiration later, here we are! (Expected to be a 3-chapter fic, probably slightly under 10k words. I’m notoriously bad at word count estimates, but I’m pretty confident about the chapter count.)

(Big Infinity Train spoilers, by the way! In case that wasn't obvious.)

***

Ford’s room looked emptier than he could ever remember it being, and he was eager to leave it as soon as he could.

Carefully, he folded one last dress shirt and laid it down in his suitcase, which took some effort to zip closed. Most of his books, and a few bare-bones pieces of furniture, had already been taken to his Backupsmore dorm room, but his mother had insisted that he wait until the day before freshman orientation to move out of the house in Glass Shard Beach. And Ford had obliged, reluctantly.

He took a quick look under the bunk bed to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, but found nothing but dust bunnies. The bunk bed was a big part of why he was in such a rush to leave — sleeping in it every night still stung, a reminder of all the upheavals and betrayals and dashed hopes from last spring that had redirected his whole life and ruined his future.

And there was plenty of time to dwell on all that each night, because Ford still wasn’t used to falling asleep without someone else in the room.

He tried to slip out the front door without anyone noticing, but Caryn caught him.

“Hold it right there, Stanford!” she called. “You’re not seriously about to leave for college without giving your dear old Ma a hug first, are you?”

“Mom, I’m going to miss the bus at this rate,” Ford grumbled, but he gave her a quick hug as she kissed his forehead.

Filbrick watched from the stairs, looking neither proud nor disappointed.

“Did you pack your suit and tie?” he asked.

“Yes, Dad. They’re already in the dorm room.”

“Good. Now, go impress some smart people.”

“In Backupsmore, I’m not sure how many other smart people there’ll be to impress,” Ford muttered under his breath. Then, raising his voice, he added: “Well… goodbye, I guess. I’ll call you when I get there, Mom.”

The bus stop was about halfway across town, and if the last bus of the day was actually running on time for once, Ford suspected he’d be cutting it close, so he walked down the street at a brisk pace.

I’ve got everything I need, right? No more textbooks to bring along, no one else to say goodbye to…

He paused as he passed the sidewalk offshoot that led to the beach. His suitcase kept rolling, its extendable handle jabbing into his back.

Had he left anything on the Stan O’ War? He hadn’t been there since… well, since the argument…

He rubbed his back, took a look at his watch and did some quick mental math, and started to head for the beach.

Just a quick detour. The bus will probably be late anyways.

***

The boat wasn’t quite as much of a wreck as he’d feared, but enough of a wreck that he still couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Splotches of seagull poop dotted the deck, and something reeked like some small animal had gotten stuck under the planks and died. Pools of off-color water from last week’s rainstorms welled up in corners, and worst of all, the flag had evidently been stolen.

Ford shooed away a few gulls as he boarded the boat and examined the contents of the cabin: a cheap compass, a slightly water-damaged vexillology book, and an unopened bag of toffee peanuts.

“What am I doing?” He shook his head. “Why did I think I’d find anything useful here?!”

As he stormed off the boat, he could’ve sworn that the creaking of the planks beneath his feet sounded… disappointed. And lonely.

“No!” he muttered to himself, surely confusing anyone who might’ve been watching. “I’m not going to get guilted into missing my bus by an inanimate object! It is perfectly normal for me to feel nostalgic, against my better judgement, for a project I poured hours of work into, but it is also perfectly logical to leave it behind now. This was an unrealistic dream, and now I’m finally moving on to a more realistic one!”

He checked his watch, and sped up his pace. Assuming the last bus to Backupsmore was running late again, he should’ve still been able to make it…

He rounded the corner just in time to see the bus pulling away — slightly behind schedule, but not nearly as much as usual. Not quite as much as Ford had needed.

“Wait!” he yelled, breaking into a sprint and waving frantically in an attempt to catch the driver’s attention, but the wheels of his suitcase hit a bump in the side walk and he lost his grip on the handle. By the time he’d picked it up again, the bus was long gone.

“Well, fuck my whole life, I guess!” Ford muttered. He had half a mind to just lie down on the sidewalk and stay there until someone decided he was being too much of a nuisance and dragged him away. Why had he thought checking on the boat would be a worthwhile use of his time? Why had he ever thought the boat would be worth anything?

He pulled out his Backupsmore brochure and double-checked the orientation schedule — it didn’t start until ten the next morning. That was more than enough time to take a series of taxis, or hitchhike, or something — because spending another night in his parents’ house just wasn’t an option. Not with Caryn doting on her one remaining son with an enthusiasm meant for two, not with Filbrick constantly grilling Ford on how he planned to first make a good impression and later make a fortune, and certainly not with that empty, empty room and that goddamn bunk bed.

So Ford took a moment to stretch his already-sore arms, and then set off in the general direction of the road to Backupsmore.

***

Hitchhiking wasn’t as easy as Ford had hoped it would be, and the storm brewing overhead didn’t seem to do much to make drivers feel more sympathetic towards his plight.

“At least it’s not actually raining yet,” Ford said to himself, and was immediately met with a droplet of water striking his glasses. “Damn it.”

As he dried them off with his shirt, he heard a ear-grating ringing sound coming from ahead, and looked up to see the arms of the railroad gate closing. “Damn it!”

For a second, he seriously considered making a mad dash for it, trying to duck under the gate and get across the tracks before the train could block them — but that moment of hesitation was all the train needed to speed into view.

And then, as if to to add insult to injury, it ground to a halt, blocking the road and stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction.

“Oh, come on!” Ford groaned as a few more raindrops struck his glasses. “Has the whole universe collectively decided not to cut me a single break today?!”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, calm down. I can probably sneak between the cars and get across…”

He blinked a few times as he approached the tracks, vision blurred by his wet glasses. Strangely, it looked less like the freight trains Ford was used to and more like a passenger train, with windows illuminated by a neon green light that stood out in the stormy August afternoon.

He took a step towards the stairs near the back of a car, and to his surprise, the destination sign lit up to read Backupsmore University.

Which was weird, because this railroad crossing in the middle of nowhere didn’t seem like a train station, but Ford wasn’t about to let his good fortune go to waste. Lifting up his suitcase, he cautiously placed a foot on the first step…

A vortex of shimmering green and gold lit up the staircase, and before Ford could even react, everything went white.

***

Something poked Ford in the face, and he groaned, rolling to the side. “Five more minutes…”

He was met with a hissing noise that absolutely did not belong in his bedroom, and he instinctively swatted at the source of the sound. He opened his eyes just in time to see a bright orange praying mantis the size of his hand go flying.

“Ugh! What kind of dorm room is —”

His voice cut off as his eyes adjusted, and he took in his surroundings. Trees as tall as skyscrapers with leaves colored like bursts of flames surrounded him, and the sky overhead was a deep emerald green.

“Oh,” Ford muttered. “So I’m concussed and hallucinating. Wonderful.”

He heard the hissing sound again, and looked down to see the mantis approaching his foot, almost perfectly camouflaged atop the blanket of orange and crimson leaves that covered the forest floor. The only feature that stood out were its large blue-gray eyes, which showed more emotion than Ford had ever seen in an insect, looking almost… apologetic?

It chirped, and darted off between the trees, doubling back a moment later when it realized Ford wasn’t following it. It waved a scythe-like arm in the air, as if beckoning him.

“Hallucinating, and anthropomorphizing the emotions of a non-sapient insect,” Ford muttered to himself. “Unless I got… transported to another dimension, but how could that possibly —”

He looked down at his hands, expecting to see a clear indicator that he was dreaming like an incorrect number of fingers, but all six — and no more — were present on each hand. But that wasn’t all.

On his right palm was a number, green and glowing and unchanging:

166

“This — this is just some kind of cruel joke! Would I hallucinate this?” He waved his hand in the air, wiped it on his shirt, spat on it and rubbed it with his thumb — but nothing even caused the glow to fade, much less wash off. “What the hell?”

The mantis hissed again, then began to scuttle off, and Ford got the distinct impression that it was getting impatient, and wouldn’t wait around for him another time. So he followed it, weaving between trees and listening to leaves crunch beneath his feet as he stepped over twisted roots and gurgling streams.

It was a genuinely beautiful scene, he had to admit. Under different circumstances, he might’ve stopped to do a sketch — though he struggled to imagine a scenario in which he’d be so unfazed by alien worlds that he’d feel comfortable just sitting down and taking a moment to draw.

As he walked, he checked the contents of his backpack — it contained everything he’d packed in it earlier that afternoon, as far as he could remember — but realized his suitcase was nowhere in sight. Which wasn’t a unfixable, since there hadn’t been anything in it that he couldn’t replace, but sure wasn’t great news either. He didn’t have the money to buy books whenever he felt like it, especially with classes starting in the fall. (Assuming he even had a chance to get out of whatever this place was and back to Backupsmore, that was.)

The mantis came to a halt, and Ford, lost in thought, only barely avoided stepping on it. It faced the largest tree Ford had seen yet, easily fifteen feet in diameter — but strangest of all was the door carved into the trunk, one lone sign of human involvement in what otherwise appeared to be an untouched wilderness.

The mantis turned back to Ford, chirped twice, and then sprung into a nearby bush, disappearing from sight. Not having any better plans, Ford shrugged and twisted the golden handle of the door. It swung open with a metallic creaking noise, but little resistance, to reveal…

Finally, the memory of boarding the train at the railroad crossing returned to Ford as he found himself staring at the bridge between two colossal train cars. As he stepped through the door, a gust of dry air instantly hit him, and he realized the train was speeding through a barren wasteland, devoid of any signs of civilization as far as he could see.

And he was pretty sure of two things: first, that this didn’t resemble any environment in the northeastern United States, and second, that he hadn’t been unconscious long enough for the train to leave that region.

“This is another dimension? Or maybe a series of pocket dimensions? Unless…” He ducked back inside the forest car, and on a hunch, attempted to walk past the door’s tree. Sure enough, his face smacked into a wall, and the hyper-realistic image of the continuing forest path flickered for a moment.

“Not so much pocket dimensions as sophisticated simulations, then,” Ford concluded, readjusting his glasses and rubbing his sore nose. He was probably going to wind up with a bruise. “Assuming the other cars work under the same rules…”

He hurried across the bridge between cars, grimacing as he looked down. Trying to jump down to the wasteland would be a reckless decision even by his standards, given the massive height drop as well as the lack of shelter or resources as far as the eye could see. Besides, it was the train that held so many unanswered mysteries and potentially infinite environments to explore…

Ready to experience the discovery of a lifetime, Ford opened the next door, and found himself facing a classroom of screaming beavers.

There were about two dozen of them, and they made an unbearable racket as they threw themselves across the room, hurling school supplies at each other and gnawing on the wooden legs of their own desks and chairs. None of the students stood any taller than Ford’s knees, but their sheer numbers made it impossible for the teacher to control them. He was the lone anthropomorphic animal out of the bunch, appearing to be a perfectly normal human man except for his beaver head and tail, and he kept trying to smack the unruly students on their heads with a yardstick — only for one of them to snatch it out of his hands, and gnaw it in half in a matter of seconds.

The teacher stared at Ford with wide, pleading beaver eyes. Ford stared back.

“Why the fuck,” he asked, “did you give them desks made of wood?!”

A single tear ran down the beaver teacher’s cheek.

“What else were you expecting to happen?!” Ford shouted.

The teacher crumpled to the floor, curling into the fetal position as he began to softly weep. Ford started to cautiously make his way through the classroom, carefully stepping over beavers while holding his sleeve over his face to avoid inhaling any sawdust.

He nearly lost his balance and toppled to the ground when one beaver sprang past him, grabbing ahold of the handle at the bottom of the pull-down map hanging in the front of the classroom. The map immediately rolled back up, yanking the beaver to the top of the now-exposed blackboard. Grinning as evilly as a beaver could grin, it popped in a pair of earplugs, and then raked its claws across the blackboard’s surface.

Ford clapped his hands over his ears, concerns about sawdust abandoned, and sprinted for the exit. The other beavers charged after him, frothing at the mouth and wailing in agony from the sound, but he slammed the door behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief that their tiny little beaver hands weren’t quite dextrous enough to maneuver the door handle.

“On to the next… car… then,” he panted as he crossed the next bridge. “Let’s see how much more of this… my eardrums can take…”

***

One pizzeria car, one dance battle car (which Ford was initially skeptical about, but ended up absolutely rocking), and one literal train murder mystery car later, Ford found himself exploring an underground cavern.

“Please refrain from touching the stalactites and stalagmites,” the bat tour guide cheerily informed him, “as the oils from your greasy human skin can damage them. But you’ll see that we’re approaching a small lake, and you will need to use the natural rock formations as stepping stones at that point, unless you want to go for a swim — which I wouldn’t recommend, since the water is only about fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Do you get a lot of visitors here?” Ford asked it. “And do any of them prefer actually reasonable temperature systems, like Celsius?”

“Maybe one visitor a week, if I’m lucky,” the bat replied. “The train has plenty of passengers, but also a lot of other attractions besides this humble cave, so they’re spread fairly thin.”

Ford gestured to the number on his hand. “Do all the passengers have numbers like these?”

“Sure do. Not always the same number, though.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Not a clue. I can tell you all about the geology of this place, though! Lots of famous caves are made of limestone, but this one is actually made of dolomite!”

Crossing the lake wasn’t too difficult, though Ford’s shoes were splashed a few times as he stepped between columns of stone that stood about even with the water level and resembled particularly sturdy lily pads. Even with ice-cold feet, he found that he couldn’t help but smile.

Aside from the beaver car, this train really hadn’t been so bad. He’d much rather spend years learning from supernaturally smart animals than from underpaid professors at Backupsmore — not to mention the breathtaking environments he kept finding himself in, like the crimson forest and this massive cave system. The only thing keeping him from wanting to stay forever was the lack of companionship, with all the train’s inhabitants staying behind in their own cars…

“The door is right up ahead,” the bat chirped in his ear. “Can’t miss it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay on the train!”

“Do you know how I get off the train?” Ford asked.

“Well, when you reach your destination, of course! Just don’t ask me what yours is, because I don’t know either.”

“Okay. Thanks for the cave facts, this was fun.”

“Anytime!”

As Ford crossed over to the next car, he happened to glance at his right palm:

163

“Wait, it was 166 before! When did it change?”

He rushed back to the cave car, and poked his head back inside. “Hey! Uh, Batty? I didn’t catch your name — but anyways, did you see when my number changed? It dropped three whole points!”

The bat fluttered back towards him. “Hmm. It was definitely 166 back on the other side of the lake. I’m not sure beyond that.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than nothing. Thanks again.”

Ford sighed, as he began walking towards the next car for the second time. “Why wasn’t I paying more attention? That could’ve been a vital clue, but now I only have a vague time interval to go off of…”

He kept rambling to himself as he opened the next door and entered, hardly even paying attention to the contents of the new car. “Was it a vocal trigger? A physical trigger? Either of those I could’ve tested and tried to replicate, if only I was actually recording what I was doing when —”

“No fucking way,” he heard a familiar voice mutter.

Halfway across the car, leaning up against a jagged cliff face, was Stanley.

***

(Endnotes:

Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always! The cave car Ford visits is highly inspired by Onondaga Cave in Missouri - look up that cave's "Lily Pad Room," and you'll get a good idea of how Ford crossed that lake.

I have a pretty detailed outline for the remaining chapters, so ideally there won't be any long gaps between updates. It's just a matter of how often I have the time available to transform outline into prose.)

#gravity falls #infinity train #infinity train spoilers #stanford pines #stanley pines #filbrick pines #ma pines #fic: fateful detours #rosalia writes fic

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fox-moblin · 5 years

Text

Ruins - Linked Universe FanFic

@linkeduniverse got me fucked up - let’s do this.

(Also: IMPORTANT note at the end. Please read)

Prologue

Pt. 1 - Temple of Time

Prologue

They travel for a good week and a half, stopping only to sleep in tight shifts and eat small meals, before Time gives them even a pinch of mercy.

“We have to keep moving,” he’d kept saying and, though he’d agreed at the time, Twilight is swaying on his feet by the time they make it to the small clearing and Time sets down his gear. There’s a creek babbling somewhere nearby and Wind and Four Sword are sent to find it and fill up the canteens. It’s only when Time starts to set up camp that the rest of them realize what’s going on.

“We’re stopping?” Hyrule asks, hopeful. Time nods, about to say something, but is interrupted by a ‘whoop’ from Legend, who promptly lays out his bedroll and falls face first on top of it. The others look on as he quietly begins to snore. Twilight notes, with a glance upwards, that it is barely past midday.

Beside him, Wild shifts and drops his pack to the ground. He stretches and Twilight can hear his shoulder pop. He’s looking around the clearing, eyes wide. Despite their many days of travel, his protege seems to be the most up and alert out of all of them.

Warriors says as much, grimacing as Wild twists to crack his back.

“I’m used to lots of travel,” Wild says in response.

“Even with your fancy slate?” Warriors retorts, waving his fingers. Twilight shoots him a look, but Wild either doesn’t catch Warriors’ tone or chooses to ignore it. “I had to travel to all the shrines first before I could warp to them.”

“How many shrines are there,” Hyrule pipes up from where he’s sitting and sorting through some potions.

“120,” Wild says, straighten up again. “Well,” he counts on his fingers. “132, if you count…” He trails off, lost in thought, before shaking his head and continuing. “There’s a lot,” he finishes and shrugs. “I had to walk or climb to get to most of them.”

“What about using a horse,” Twilight asks. Wild tilts his head from one side to the other.

“If I wanted one, I usually had to catch one wild. Kind of a hassle. Plus, I’d feel horrible if anything happened to one while I was in a rough area. Lots of monsters about, ya know.”

“True,” Hyrule laughs. “Losing your ride is pretty tough. Not something easily reversible, right.”

Wild makes a sound in the back of his throat that Twilight can’t quite make out. Before he can say anything, Wind and Four Sword return with their water, and even a few fish, and Wild is swept away to begin preparing lunch. Twilight watches him go and then almost jumps when he turns to find Time standing right next to him, quiet. The Old Man raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, which Twilight is mildly grateful for. Instead, he hands Twilight a sword and starts to walk away. He glances back to where Twilight is standing, confused. Time chuckles.

“I was thinking,” he says and hefts his own sword, imitating a swing. He catches Twilight’s eye and smirks. “Unless, of course, you’re too tired…?”

Twilight rolls his shoulders.

“You’re on, Old Man.”

An hour later and Twilight stumbles back to camp, bruised and more than a little humbled, just in time for Wild to shoot him a look of concern and hand him a bowl of… something. Twilight’s not really sure what’s in it, but it smells good and everything Wild has made for them so far has been delicious, so he’s not too concerned. Time is right behind him, taking his own bowl and giving Wild a pat on the shoulder. Wild ducks his head, trying to hide his blush behind long locks of hair. A few feet away, Legend is stirring, woken by the smell of good food.

“Mrrhmmf,” he mumbles and staggers to his feet. Twilight muffles his snort with the back of his hand as he watches Legend sway and stumble over to Wild. Beside him, Time’s shoulders are shaking in a silent laugh, though his face betrays nothing more than a small smile.

When all of them have had their fill, they sit around the fire. It’s still light out, but they are full and warm and, if he’s being honest, Twilight could curl up right where he is and sleep till next morning. Even Time looks content, the most Twilight’s seen him in a while, his eye closed and the shadow of a smile on his lips. He’s leaned against a tree next to Sky, who’s carving something from a stray piece of firewood. Wind, Four Sword, and Legend are sat together, talking quietly. Legend seems to be regaling some sort of epic tale to an enraptured Wind while Four Sword looks on in amusement. Across the clearing, Hyrule and Warriors are exchanging stories of their own.

It’s with a bit of a start that Twilight realizes that Wild is not among them. He sits up, looking around their camp, but his protege is nowhere to be found. Time notices Twilight’s plight and after a moment, seems to come to the same realization. He leans over and says something to Sky, who shrugs and points to surrounding woods. Twilight is already standing. Time looks at him, questioning, but nods when Twilight shakes his head.

Twilight’s protege, Twilight’s problem.

He leaves the camp quickly, following a deer path deeper into the forest. The trees aren’t especially crowded and the undergrowth is all that overgrown, but Twilight still finds himself a little lost. Wild, true to his nature, has left very little trace of himself. Twilight sighs. He could shift. Change. Track Wild by scent. He mulls it over in his head and looks back towards where the camp is. He doubts anybody is going to come bursting out of the trees any time soon. Twilight sighs and again and closes his eyes.

The transformation is quick. Painless. He opens his eyes to find the world sharper, brighter. The sounds around him are clearer than ever and he shakes his head. New scents come flooding in from all directions and he takes a moment to sort through them.

Deer, pigeon, wild hog, hearty truffle, and ah. Yes.

Protege.

Twilight huffs and starts off again in the direction of Wild. He traces him through the trees, and down another small, twisting path until, finally, he comes to the edge of a cliff.

Wild is sitting with his back to the forest, his legs dangling in the air.

Twilight whines, eyeing how close Wild is to the edge. Wild turns and rolls his eyes, patting the ground next to him, offering. Twilight hesitates, but changes back and sits next to his companion, letting his feet hang after a moment. They are high up; high enough that he instinctively places a hand on his Clawshot. Wild gives of huff of laughter at his unease and Twilight nudges him with his shoulder.

“Watch it, cub.”

Wild’s smile disappears as he scowls at the nickname, a blush rising to his cheeks. Twilight grins. The both of them are quiet for a while longer. Twilight looks out over the land beyond the cliff; a great plain lies before them. He can see a structure in the distance, but a storm between them and whatever it is obscures his view.

“So,” Twilight starts. “What are you doing way out here?”

Wild doesn’t answer right away, opting instead to pick a few blades of grass and play with them in his fingers. Twilight watches as Wild weaves the strands together into a loop, braiding them with deft fingers. Wild finishes, a small ring of grass in the palm of his upturned hand. He stares at it for a minute, before letting it slip from his grasp. Twilight feels a twinge of dismay as he watches it disappear beneath them. Finally, Wild speaks.

“We’re on the Great Plateau.”

The way he says it denotes a familiarity with the place that Twilight instantly recognises.

Wild knows this place.

This is Wild’s Hyrule.

Twilight hums in understanding and looks out over the cliff again. Confusion sweeps through him. If this truly is Hyrule, then he should recognise some of it at least. Instead, he finds himself searching for familiar structures that don’t seem to be there.

“Where…?” He questions, sweeping a hand out in front of him and looking to Wild.

“Hyrule Field,” Wild says and Twilight cannot stop the sound of disbelief that escapes him. He turns back and lets his eyes wander the land. It’s… barren. Sure, Hyrule field has always been large and rather empty, but surrounding it was supposed to be towns. Busy roads. People.

In the distance, the storm is clearing and Twilight watches with growing horror as a warped version of Hyrule Castle appears on the horizon. Even from here, he can see that great destruction had befallen it.

Wild must notice his alarm, because he leans into Twilight, concerned. He looks confused.

“Where…” Twilight murmurs. “Where is everyone? The towns and the people?”

Wild points to the West, towards two great peaks. They look like two sides of a mountain that had been split in half.

“Kakariko and Hateno are that way… and Lurelin Village is to the south,” Wild says, but nothing more. Twilight waits, hoping he’ll continue, but Wild only stares at him with worry creeping back onto his face.

Twilight feels lost again.

“Ordon village,” he hears himself say, but Wild doesn’t seem to have an answer. He only shakes his head and motions to the land in front of them.

“There are some ruins over that way,” he says, pointing and Twilight realizes with a start that what he thought had been just a field of boulders was actually the remains of houses. He lets out a shaky breath. The ruins aren’t where Ordon village would be, but the fact that they’re there at all is concerning. Wild doesn’t seem as perturbed by the existence of the ruins as Twilight is though, and it’s making Twilight nervous.

“How… many ruins like that are there…?”

Wild shrugs.

“A bunch.”

Twilight nods absently. He looks back to where Hyrule castle sits lonely in the distance. It looks decrepit, even from here, and he can only imagine the state of Castle Town. Next to him, Wild is quietly watching him. Twilight manages a small smile and stands. He can’t think about this right now… it’s too much. He offers a hand to Wild, who takes it, eyeing him warily. For once it seems like their roles are reversed; Wild is watching Twilight’s every move, as if ready to catch him should he stumble and fall. Twilight doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. He turns back to the forest. Behind it, he can see another cliffside, with a path leading up. He nods towards, trying to change the subject.

“What’s, uh. What’s up that way?”

Wild looks to where he is, but doesn’t answer. He looks away, but Twilight can see the frown he’s hiding.

“Nothing,” he says and Twilight lets it go. He’s not in much of a mood to talk about such things either. Instead, he places an arm around Wild’s shoulders. He can feel his protege tense beneath him, but doesn’t say anything. After a while, Wild relaxes and actually leans into the touch and they stand there.

Twilight gets the distinct feeling it’s the closest Wild’s been to hugging someone since… well, for a while at least. He doesn’t move to walk away or let go, just stands and waits for Wild. Deep down, he thinks, he needs this too.

Finally, Wild shifts and steps away, his head down as to not make eye contact. Twilight smiles softly and pats his shoulder before starting to walk back to the forest.

“C’mon,” he says and looks back to see Wild following him. “Time and the others probably waiting for us.”

Behind Wild, Twilight can see the cliff edge, leading down to the vast nothing of whatever Hyrule was now.

He swallows and keeps moving.

Uh. So, I’m thinking of maybe doing a series of short stories based in the Linked Universe surrounding BOTW Hyrule and how it has changed over, well, 10,000 years (+ the Calamity) and how the other Links react to it.

So if ya’ll have suggestions/requests, please send them in. I have a few planned already, that’ll I’ll list below, so keep a lookout. Also, some more art for sure. Possibly some to go along with the shorts. Idk. Depends on how I feel and how much Time (lol) I have.

Thesis, baby.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #loz #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #twilight princess #tp #botw #link #link loz #hero of twilight #hero of the wild #zelda #fanfic #mobwrites #Can you tell who my favorites are yet?

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mobius-prime · 4 years

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173. Sonic the Hedgehog #105

You Say You Want a Revelation?

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Josh and Aimee Ray

We're finally back to the main series plot! Sonic is disheartened to see Nate's things being moved out of his house, knowing that by leaving Nate behind in Robotropolis they consigned him to the fate of roboticization. However, he's not content to leave him in there without at least trying to rescue him, and so leads Tails and Uncle Chuck to the castle in the hopes of talking to Elias, unaware of his disappearance. In Robotropolis, Hope goes to her step-father along with her grandmother to voice her concerns about the Robians she saw escaping the city, stating her beliefs that her uncle created them. Colin initially refuses to believe her, but Eggman steps out of the next room with Snively, grinning evilly as he informs them that she's totally right. Back in the castle in Knothole, King Max is experiencing true regret for perhaps the first time since we've seen him come back from the Zone of Silence.

Sorry, Alicia, but I have to wholeheartedly disagree. A lot of this is Max's fault - he refused to listen to either his son or daughter, and picked someone who was clearly not cut out to be a leader to put in charge of everything, over his daughter who was trained her whole life to lead a kingdom. In Robotropolis, Eggman airs an announcement over every screen in his city that he's "discovered" that everyone is infected with toxic waste poisoning, and must come to him for treatment immediately lest they succumb and die. Colin is outraged, pointing out that Eggman should be infected as well then, only for Eggman to reveal his true colors - literally - as a robot.

Uncle Chuck and Sonic both explain their plan to use the sword to King Max, who seems somewhat apathetic, upset not only at the loss of his son, but the loss of Nate as well. He's uncertain, as he only knows of two people who can even use the sword's abilities: himself, and –

Max reluctantly agrees to Sally's plan, ordering her to take Sonic with her as an escort. Sonic is pleased, but finally notices Sally's somewhat lackluster responses to everything he says, asking her if he did something to upset her. Before she can respond, Mina suddenly rushes up, hugs Sally while thanking her profusely for saving her mother, and then races off again, leaving her speechless. Meanwhile in Robotropolis, Hope runs for her life through the streets, trying to hide in a back alleyway with Eggman's voice following her the whole way. He finds her through a hidden screen in the alley, and tries to manipulate her into surrendering by saying he'll spare her grandmother. Agnes, of course, yells for her not to listen, and as Hope watches…

Hope is surrounded by shadow-bots, but Sonic suddenly appears, smashing them up and ushering her over to Sally for protection. Eggman is furious to see her being rescued, until he hears Sonic's voice behind him, Sonic of course having run at light speed all the way into his headquarters. Eggman tries to grab hold of him to roboticize him, but Sonic smashes the floor underneath him, sending them both plummeting into the room below. There, Sonic is horrified to find a familiar, frozen face staring back at him.

Eggman gloats that the sword doesn't seem to affect roboticized Overlanders, and then, with the rest of the city's Overlander population gathered within the room, offers them a demonstration. He calls Snively forward, informing him that he, too, is poisoned from the toxic waste, and while Snively is upset, having thought that as his lackey he would have been protected, Eggman offers him a deal - take his hand. You see, apparently Overlanders only become frozen after roboticization if they're unwillingly turned, but if they take the offer of their own free will, they retain their ability to move and act… and with a grin, Snively takes his uncle's hand.

And that is the awful true scope of Eggman's plan. He let everyone live within his city for two months, ensuring that they'd become sick, and then offered them supposedly the one thing that could save them, making sure that they'd have to take his offer willingly and become his slaves. Of course, we just watched this backfire, but Eggman knows that by rejecting his offer and going with Sally and Sonic, all the Overlanders are likely to get even sicker and stretch the already strained resources of Knothole. However, we know that Sally is smarter than that, and there's already a hidden city of Overlanders - or sorry, humans - out there that might have some room…

Before we move on to the conclusion of Myth Taken Identity, we have another character file to peruse - this time, for Snively! Unlike the previous couple, this one actually contains some new information about his life - but first, the technical info. Calculating his real-world height gives us the absurdly-short height of 97 cm, or 3'2". For reference, someone is considered to have dwarfism if they're anywhere below 147 cm or 4'10" tall, so Snively definitely qualifies. (Nate Morgan probably would too, but we're never actually given any information on his measurements, so there's no way to say for certain.) Snively also weighs 38.4 kg or 84.5 lbs, and his birthday is on May 14. Interestingly, his birth year indicates that he's actually only thirty years old! He definitely looks a lot older due to male-pattern baldness, but if you think about it it makes sense - after all, he's Robotnik's nephew, and the original Robotnik was likely in his late forties or early fifties at the time of his death.

What really makes this entry noteworthy, however, is his life history. He was born Colin Kintobor, Jr., which is an ordinary enough name, and his mother died giving birth to him. He was treated terribly by his father Colin Sr., who is actually the one who gave him his nickname. You'd think it would have been Robotnik who stuck him with such a humiliating nickname, but no, his own father called him Snively because of his lack of social skills. He compensated all throughout his childhood by immersing himself in the world of technology, and found a way to take advantage of every friend he made. He was kicked out of the house as a teenager, and with nowhere to go, turned to his uncle Julian, whom he helped seize power over the Kingdom of Knothole. However, he soon found himself being mistreated by his uncle as well, and as we know, eventually grew so resentful that he rigged the Ultimate Annihilator to target only Robotnik so he could be free of him once and for all.

While one could argue that these are the actions of a sociopath, or a narcissist, I'm gonna go ahead and say that Snively would have had a very different personality had he actually grown up with a family who loved him and looked after him. All this poor kid ever knew was bullying and emotional abuse. He's been taught, by life and by the actions of those around him, that the only way to look after himself is to be selfish, and to latch onto those more powerful than him for security. I touched on once before that Snively seemed to be basically in an abusive relationship with Robotnik, and didn't know how to go on after he thought he was dead, but this page confirms that things are only sadder than we originally realized. It was this page, plus some other events further into the comic, that made me realize that I actually liked Snively as a character, and wanted to see him break free of Eggman's control and come into his own. Unfortunately, having just allowed himself to be roboticized, that's not likely to be happening any time soon…

Myth Taken Identity (Part III)

Writer: Mike Gallagher Pencils: Nelson Ribeiro Colors: Frank Gagliardo

Guru Emu, upon discovering the dam from last issue, has found himself with rekindled hope that he can find and save his friends who have been kidnapped by the bunyip. He descends into the dam, discovering that it was originally constructed by Crocbot, who of course used it to power his various weapons and detention camps. It turns out that this dam is behind the strangely dry riverbeds and the disgusting lake, as it's been disrupting the local ecosystem, even more so now that it's abandoned and not being maintained. But what of Walt, Barby, and Bill? Well, as it turns out, they're also inside the dam, protected by an airtight compartment with a window through which they can see the bunyip gazing in at them. Barby, apparently, speaks many languages, including whatever ancient language the bunyip speaks, and convinced it that they're no threat. She gets it to explain its plight, as well as why it's been attacking everybody.

I mean, that hardly seems like a good excuse for just attacking random people on the street who clearly aren't Crocbot, but the Downunda Freedom Fighters want to help anyway. While Barby informs the bunyip that Crocbot was defeated some time ago, Guru races down the hallway toward them, having overheard everything. He has discovered a room full of explosives elsewhere in the complex, and so…

The bunyip is grateful, and leaves to spend its happy days in the clean water, and though the D.F.F. briefly consider inviting it to join their team, they ultimately decide that they'd rather stay as a four-person group from now on, knowing that no one can replace Stu.

And now we have one last character file to look at for the issue, this time for Dimitri! Dimitri is actually the tallest individual so far, at a height of 133 cm or 4'4". That's a full foot taller than Sonic! He weighs 39.9 kg or 87.7 lbs, and his birthday is on September 28. He's 378 years old, finally giving us a clearer idea of exactly how long the Brotherhood has existed, considering earlier issues were very unclear and inconsistent on the matter. Like Sally and Julie-Su, however, his character file doesn't give us any new information, merely recapping the previous events of the comic as well as history we've already been shown. Still, in a way, having such inconsequential information as his height, weight, and birthday really kind of serves to humanize him in a way - or, er, "Mobianize"? Eh, whatever, you know what I mean.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 105 #writer: karl bollers #writer: michael gallagher #pencils: ron lim #pencils: nelson ribeiro #colors: joshua d ray #colors: aimee r ray #colors: frank gagliardo

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