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cozycottagetarot · 3 years

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Pick A Pile: How Can You Take Better Care of Yourself?

I did this reading a bit different from my others. It’s mainly based on impressions as I’m only using the images and any text on the cards at face value along with whatever else comes to me. So feedback would be appreciated. Another thing is the piles all have intertwining messages so if you feel drawn to two piles, then by all means I encourage you to check them both out.

Paid Readings (I’ll be updating them again)

Disclaimer: All readings and tarot/blog games are for fun and entertainment purposes only. It is in no way meant to act as or replace professional advice of any kind. You know yourself and what’s going on in your life best so I asks that you trust yourself above all else. Finally please take only what resonates from the reading which may be some of it, all of it, or none at all.

PILE 1

Tarot Cards: 7 of Cups, 8 of Wands, The Sun

Pile 1, the way you can take better care of yourself is by making a decision. With the 7 of Cups I see that you have all these opportunities being presented in front of you but you have no idea which one to go with. I get the impression from the cards that from postponing making a decision or choice, you’re starting to feel the brightness in other areas of your life dim. With the 8 of Wands and The Sun following however, I feel like once you make a decision, results and positive things will happen quickly, bringing you happiness. The Sun has a faint face depicted in it, so I feel like you don’t have to worry too much about unintended consequences. I see this as a sign you are being protected from unintended or unpleasant consequences as a result of your decision. Also, connecting with your inner child may be a way to help you make this decision.

The next cards that came out are: Protection (Call back your power. Cut the cords. Soul retrieval.) Soul Family (Call in your tribe. You don’t have to do it alone.) Anna, Grandmother of Jesus (Seeding the light, laying foundations. Divine plan.) The Ever-Unfolding Rose (Cracked open. It’s happening for you, not to you.)

With these cards I think some of you could be going through a 'dark night of the soul' (read: a very difficult time in your life). You may be feeling like somewhere along the line you’ve lost yourself or your direction as to where you’re heading next in life or what it is you truly desire (any Lucifer fans here because I hear Tom Ellis’s voice in my head haha). You may be asking yourself questions such as 'Why is this the way life is happening? Why me? Who am I even?' But even though it might seem unfair or lacking sense right now, keep in mind that whatever is going on is helping you in some format. Situations within reason of course, using your discernment here is best. It’s truly all about how you tell your story. Another thing is you don’t have to make these decisions on your own. Turn to your family and your friends for help/advice. If necessary, maybe you can seek professional help. If either or those things isn't really an option, you could always try taking some time to nurture yourself and journey inside to help you remember or figure out what’s important to you. When you make that effort to find/listen to yourself outside of the noise of everything else, I think that’s when you’ll find the information necessary to help make your decision.

Remaining Cards: The Hourglass Dolphin (46) — your achievement is only a matter of time. The Three Rhine Maidens (15) — love is a virtue that endure eternally.

The Hourglass Dolphin is all about finding balance between two aspects of your life, typically work and play. Dividing your time and remembering to put EXTRA care into taking care of your basic needs is another thing that’s going to help you find success. I feel like you are in a transitory phase and it really is only a matter of time before whatever darkness that may be clouding your life right now disappears.

The Three Rhine Mermaids talks about a phase in your life coming full circle, and once that happens your hearts desires are going to start materialising in your physical/the 3D.

The North Witch (23) — This card just kind of confirms or reiterates that with patience this dark phase is going to fade.

The Toad Witch (7) —This card talks about gaining wisdom from adversity. Also a secret admirer as well. There were messages of love laced through out the cards but they weren’t clear until now. Similarly, I think this will reflect in your life that after you’ve found stability once things have cleared up, you will find love as well.. or better yet, love will find you. Do keep in mind it might not be super quick… maybe Spring or Summer (depending on when you're reading this).

Self Care Activities Ideas (Homemade deck): Look good; feel good (put effort into looking the way you want), Believe In Yourself, Have a fruit (incorporate more fruits into your diet).

PILE 2

Hello Pile 2. The way for you to take better care of yourself right now is through doing what makes you happy.

Tarot Cards: Ace of Swords, The Sun, The Devil

I actually pulled the Ace of Swords last. Also before I started focusing on your pile while shuffling, the Four of Swords reversed came out.

Thinking of these two cards together, I think you need to pull back and ask yourself if what you’re doing is really the best thing for you. I feel like you guys could be in a really good place right now— at least at face value. The cards have darker backgrounds, except The Sun. I feel like whatever you are doing isn’t really sparking joy inside. Maybe it’s familial or peer pressure related? The life path you’re on right now seems ideal and fulfilling to everyone else, but somehow I feel like deep down inside it doesn’t feel that way. You may feel chained or held back as shown by The Devil. Looking at The Sun and The Devil, they came out together side by side. I feel like this is more family related meaning parents, parental figures or mentors. They may be trying to look out for you by telling you to study a certain topic or take a certain job because it’s safe, when what you truly want to do may be a little bit more risky. So even though you’re playing it safe right now and have things to celebrate, you may not be able to shake the that unsatisfied feeling inside.

The next cards that came out are: Warrior Woman (Have you answered your deepest calling?) Play (Have fun. Celebrate. Don’t be so serious.) Break The Chain (Ancestral patterns. Healing. Rewriting the future.) Transformation (Things are changing at a cellular level. Deep healing.)

All the figures in these cards look like they’re in their power. It makes me think you may be ignoring or avoiding stepping into the energy of your higher self. I kind of had the though fear of backlash pop into my head, and while it is a valid fear, I don’t feel like it’s something you have to worry about a lot. I feel like you need to schedule more time for yourself in general as well. You can’t ‘fight’ for other people all the time, you also have to ‘fight’ for you.

I’m just noticing something about the placement of the cards. Warrior Woman has a sword and is placed right next the the Ace of Swords. Break The Chain is right next to The Devil, and the sun is shining in Transformation and Play, in the same position as the one in The Sun… As I was saying, I feel like you need to just take a moment to connect with yourself. Ask yourself what is it you truly want and begin rewriting your future*.

*This is the part where I let it be known I need people to practice life coaching with so if you’re interested you can message me. 18 years and up only though.

Remaining Cards: The Siren (14) — In the treasure of a day, light is thrown on what could be tomorrow. The Stripped Dolphin (30) Good news, flowing through the ether waves will answer your prayers.

The Siren Is mostly about observation and not forcing connections. The Stripped Dolphin is about good things happening for you, especially by surprise. It’s also about new beginnings in any area of your life. However there’s also a message about not getting caught up in many opportunities, so if you were drawn to pile 1 as well, I see this as a sign to check out the pile as well.

The Silver Moon Witch (2) has a message of being able to see progress by the next full or new moon. However this card advises you to choose carefully when it’s the right time to go with the flow versus ‘swimming’ against the tide. Relating to above, journey inside yourself to figure out if you are taking the right course if action by choosing to stick with the path you’re on versus yelling plot twist and doing something different.

The Full Moon Witch (18) has two sides to it. On one hand you can expect ‘heartfelt’ plans coming to fruition, but on the other hand emotions may be running high and words that aren’t meant may be said. This another one of the moon phases cards, so you may find during the full moon you may have disagreements with your loved ones but once it starts to wane, disagreements may also reach a resolution. I think this relates to the The Silver Moon Witch card as well, so maybe before or during a full moon may not be the best time to bring up anything that may cause a disagreement?

Self Care Activities Ideas (Homemade deck): Journal, Get Creative, Listen To Music (there may be messages in songs for you)

PILE 3

Pile 3, you guys have been giving me hell from the moment I sat down to pull cards for your reading. From focusing and interpreting to editing. Everything was a mess and I’m assuming you a significant part of your life maybe as well? Or your headspace at least.

Aside from my struggles with your reading, based on the cards, I see you need to focus on yourself.

Tarot Cards: The Chariot, The High Priestess, Queen of Wands reversed.

Starting with your Tarot in no particular order, you have The Chariot, The High Priestess and Queen of Wands reversed. The Queen of Wands is my ideal (you) card. When it’s reversed, I see it as a sign [you] are not embodying the energy of your highest self and/or something in your life is out of balance. Both The Chariot and The High Priestess have black and white polarities, so I see it more as you needing to put yourself back into balance. Something may feel hidden from you, though you’re not really sure what and you want to push forward but it’s just not really happening? On the bottom of the deck is the 9 of Swords which notes to fear, depression, anxiety, etc and is needing to release those emotions. Obviously it can be more complex than it sounds, but I’m hoping you get the idea. Brain-dump came to me. Maybe you need to do a brain-dump and survey/assess your ‘kingdom’ so you can flip that Queen of Wands energy around and allow your chariot to race onward. The next cards that came out are:

The Crumbling (What are you clinging on to?) —> Do you need to release anything? Material items, a goal, a belief, way of life, or maybe just the act of trying to have it all together?

Boundaries (Where do you need to establish better boundaries?) —> Do you need better boundaries with yourself? Habits? People? Enviroment? School/Career?

Share Your Voice (Come out of the cave. Persecution. Expression.) It’s time to step into the limelight, because the world is your stage. Maybe you’ve been hanging back and suppressing who you truly are, but now it’s time to step forward into a new role… a you role. You don’t have to go from stand in actor to lead role over night, but do brainstorm and take baby steps daily to get there.

Keepers Of The Earth (You are not alone. Ancient ancestors stand beside you.) Take the meaning as you will, but I see it as a message to look for support in unexpected places. Maybe it’s an online community of people who can relate to you. Maybe it’s a book, article or video. Who knows, it could even be a friend or family member you didn’t think could relate or help you out. Remaining Cards: The Kraken (38) — Your success and happiness lie within you. The Great Sea Monster (37) — To accomplish you dream plan and believe.

The main theme of The Kraken is release. Good fortune/luck will come to you by delving into your subconscious mind to free the conscious. Returning to nature and the things that bring you inner joy. Good fortune coming in small waves which eventually grow into big ones.

The Great Sea Monster is about taking action and again, freeing your conscious mind by looking into your unconscious mind. Also there is more than one way to solve a dilemma, you just have to search the right way. The Immortal Witch (4) — new beginnings are happening for you, and your desires are on their way to you although it might not appear so currently. (Kind of like planting a seed. It’s growing though we can’t see it until it burst through the soil). The Fairy Ring Witch (9) — mental and physical communication. Connecting with or making friends with similar skills or talents. Self Care Activities Ideas (Homemade deck): Tend to yourself, Slow and steady, Get creative, Read a book (maybe a self help book relevant to what you're going through).

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a picture #tarot reading #pick a pile reading #pac #pac reading #ariesmoontarot

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the-last-kenobi · 3 years

Note

I adore your qui gon and obi wan stuff so can we get a number 8 on the prompt list with obi wan and qui gon?

Absolutely!! I’m so glad you chose that one; I’ve loved every single prompt I’ve gotten but this one breaks the mold a little.

I hope this lives up to your expectations!

From this various prompts list.

When Qui-Gon Jinn set foot on the planet of Melida/Daan for the second time, he had a fixed set of expectations.

He expected to find the same war-torn, shattered homes and abused soil, the same decimated populations, the same stench of death. He expected to find the underground hideouts where the children hid from the wrath of their parents, and where the Melida plotted against the Daan and the Daan against the Melida. He expected to find a bruised and shame-faced former Jedi Padawan, ready to humble himself before the Council.

He expected to have to offer both comfort and stern reprimand to this child who, as much of a delight as he had once been, no longer deserved to be his apprentice.

And he did find some of that.

He also found fields of green grass, and abandoned fields of half-plucked vegetation and fruits.

A memorial garden.

A row of corpses covered neatly in cloths, lining the road, respectfully untouched.

Faded posters announcing committees and treaties and open elections, speeches and remembrance services.

A mural on a stone wall, somewhere between impressionist and abstract, of a line of children and adults, the children in the center. Towards the very middle, almost exactly so, was the image of a young boy with pale russet locks hanging an inch loose, and Qui-Gon paused, observing warily as if the image might come to life and attack him.

But it was only an image, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was only a wayward child.

And none of this is was going as anticipated.

The Jedi Master tried to recall what Yoda had told him before chivvying him out the door, but in truth he had not processed much of it aside from Obi-Wan’s name and the understanding that he had asked to be retrieved from Melida/Daan.

Why?

Clearly things had changed, immensely — and yet, in the background, the continued sound of bombs going off and weapons firing, and not a living being in sight.

Qui-Gon continued deeper into the core of the civilization, skirting the worst of the ruins but avoiding the main road in a passing effort to go unnoticed.

It did not last long.

“Master Jedi!” a voice hissed out suddenly, and Qui-Gon turned sharply to see a young man — maybe nineteen, at most — peering at him around the corner of the nearest building, pressed close to the wall. He gestured shortly and vanished.

Qui-Gon took a moment to cast out his senses. The Force bore no distinct warning, so he crossed the road quickly and ducked around the corner.

The young man was waiting for him. Up close it was clear that he was younger than he had appeared, perhaps seventeen, just emerging from the gangly limbs stage, and he was coated in dirt and grime — some of it oddly strategic, smeared across his cheekbones and the crown of his forehead, darkening and muting them. Dark hazel eyes considered Qui-Gon suspiciously.

“You were expecting me,” Qui-Gon stated.

The boy nodded. “I was. Obi-Wan said you would be arriving today, maybe tomorrow.”

A strange jolt ran through Qui-Gon. He had not said Obi-Wan’s name aloud himself, not since that day almost eight months before, and while he had heard other Jedi mention it, it was off-putting to hear this total stranger use it. So familiarly. Like he knew Kenobi well. Qui-Gon brushed the thoughts aside like so many cobwebs and spoke again: “Well, here I am. Where next?”

He did not say, ‘Where is Obi-Wan?’

For some reason, it would have felt like a confession.

The boy pressed his lips into a flat line, as if the Jedi had failed some sort of test. “…I’ll show you. Stick close to me and don’t do anything reckless. Stealth is our best ally right now. Only ally, really.”

Qui-Gon wondered what he was, then, since he was certainly not included in this mysterious “we.”

It was slightly insulting, and sharply painful, to be lectured on strategic maneuvers by what amounted to a child soldier.

Nevertheless, Qui-Gon followed him.

They wound their way through the settlement, bypassing craters where homes had stood and also far more intact buildings, still crisp and clean and bearing that unmistakable scent of newness.

These, more than any of the others, were painted with images of children and adults standing together, plastered with announcements, and more than one — many — almost all — featuring that flame-haired youth. More often than not he was framed closely by two others. Another boy, this one slightly taller and leaner with dark hair. And a girl, a little smaller, with bold waves and startling green eyes.

The boy with the dirty face turned his head to look at each of them, though he did not slow.

After what felt like a very long time, Qui-Gon found himself entering what seemed to be a cellar. It was dark and musty, but before he could question it, his guide went to a section of the wall and pushed, popping open a panel that sank away and slid to one side.

“This way,” he said unnecessarily.

In they went. It was a tunnel, low and long, and Qui-Gon had to stoop halfway just to move. The boy, several inches shorter, had less trouble.

A few minutes of breathless, blind stumbling later, and they reached a reinforced door.

The boy knocked slowly, then quickly; stopped, and then knocked rapidly again. “It’s me!” he called through the crevice. “He’s here.”

There was a grinding sound, and then the door swung open to reveal bright light. The boy slipped through without hesitation, but the Jedi Master was more wary, blinking and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light before slowly entering the room, still bowed low from the tunnel.

When he rose, he was looking directly into the eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The boy had changed, and yet was exactly the same.

There was no other way to describe it.

He had certainly shot up an inch or so in height. His Jedi tunics were gone; he was wearing a stained white tunic of much poorer cloth and simpler cut, over a pair of patched brown trousers and sturdy boots. His robe was still the one he had worn when he had first arrived all those months ago, but he had sewn the sleeves so that they did not dangle over his wrists or hang wide and loose; instead they were drawn closer, but not so tight that they impeded his movement.

His hair seemed more coppery red than before as it hung loose and untidy, coming to slightly ragged ends halfway between his jawline and his shoulders. Some of the baby fat had melted away, driven off no doubt by stress and hunger and emotion, and his cheekbones stood out a little too much.

But it was his eyes that struck Qui-Gon.

They seemed exactly the same.

Pale blue-green, wide and friendly and innocent, sweet as they had been on the day they met.

Unbearably naive.

Those eyes flickered with shock for a moment, and then the boy stepped forward and offered out his hand. “Master Jinn,” he said.

Qui-Gon blinked. Perhaps if he waited a moment, Obi-Wan would remember that Jedi bowed? But the boy merely stared at him with his hand extended, and so Qui-Gon grasped it and shook briefly before letting go.

The boy did not seem particularly bothered. He turned to the rest of the room. “You’re all ready?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices.

Freed from the strangeness of Obi-Wan and his gaze, Qui-Gon looked around. There were several others present — all humans, all young, all grimy. Maybe a dozen or so in number. The room he was in was spacious, a little low-ceilinged and plain. It had the air of a bunker, with bright lights that aggravated the eyes and dull walls and functional furniture. Most notably, the enormous table in the center.

It was spread with maps, fliers, announcement posters, detailed blueprints for buildings and machinery, tidy sketches outlining strategies and countermeasures. Qui-Gon’s keen eyes caught words like ‘anti-terrorism,’ ‘knowledge is courage,’ ‘long-range missile launcher,’ and ‘riot activity.’ And, half-concealed under a map of Melida/Daan’s entire surface, a flat holo of three people. Obi-Wan. The dark-haired boy. The girl with green eyes.

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan’s voice broke into his observations.

They were all watching him with various degrees of mistrust.

Qui-Gon straightened his spine, and then forced himself to relax a little, trying to radiate comfort and honesty. Even without force sensitivity, they would be eased somewhat.

“Yes, I’m listening,” he assured them.

Kenobi exchanged a quick look with the boy who had guided him here, and the youth shrugged. “He was quick enough and he listened to what I said, but he’s like most adults. Thinking more in his head than paying attention, didn’t even ask my name.”

Qui-Gon started. He hadn’t, had he?

“I—” he began, but the youth cut him off with a dismissive gesture.

“You didn’t ask,” he said. “I’m not sharing now. I’m sure you’ll hear it eventually.”

Obi-Wan nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable. “Master Jinn, are you prepared to take all thirteen of us back to Coruscant?”

“What?” Qui-Gon demanded. He glanced around at the others, who looked even less impressed than before. He felt so unexpectedly out of his depth. What was this place? “I — no, I’m returning you to the Jedi, to the care of the High Council.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said placidly. “You’re not. I’m sure Master Yoda had his reasons for sending you—” the slightest emphasis on the word ‘you’—“but you are here to escort myself and the other twelve to the Core to appear before the Senate. That’s why you were assigned such a large ship. We’re going to make an appeal on behalf of Meldan.”

“Meldan?” Qui-Gon echoed.

“Our planet,” one of the others, a curly-haired, fierce-eyed woman of about twenty-two said. “Obi, are you sure about this? This isn’t at all what you said we could expect.”

“Master Jinn is an exception to many rules,” Obi-Wan told her; as he turned his head to look in her direction, he briefly seemed to change, the tension in his shoulders easing and his face alight with mischief. Then it was gone. He turned back to Qui-Gon, and beneath the veneer of professionalism could be glimpsed a strange aura of… something Qui-Gon couldn’t determine or define.

Their eyes met again, and silence fell for a moment.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan decided. “Yes, this will work. If any Jedi will help ensure you catch the attention of the Senate, it would be Master Jinn. Master Yoda also told me that Master Adi Gallia will be your official patron, which is good; she spends most of her time handling the political side of Jedi affairs.”

“Then we should go now,” said a small boy of no more than nine. “Let’s go!”

“Not just yet, Jocco,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, turning a gentle smile on the child. “We’re not quite ready. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Right,” Jocco said, nodding. “Okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled again. “All right, everyone. We have meals to eat and supplies to pack, so let’s keep together and keep organized. Sarai,” he nodded at the curly-haired woman, “and my friend,” a nod to the bitter-eyed nameless guide, “please bring Master Jinn up to speed. Master Jinn,” he added, glancing up from where the smallest children were flocking to his side and clinging to his hands, “I will see you in an hour.”

He left, surrounded by children both far younger and several years older than him, like adoring chicks following their mother, or maybe more like an honor guard. The contrast was both ludicrous and oddly touching.

“You listen to him,” Qui-Gon commented to his tight-lipped companions. “Even though he no longer carries the authority of a Jedi.”

“I haven’t seen any Jedi authority yet,” snapped back his unnamed guide. “Just three Jedi who came, two who left, and one who stayed.”

“It was not our mission to stay,” Qui-Gon replied calmly, tucking his hands inside his sleeves. “Though I can see what compelled him to.”

“Oh, can you?” said Sarai. She folded her arms tightly and assessed him, her lip curling. “I don’t think you see much past the end of your own nose.”

“Petty insults will get us nowhere,” he replied, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of said nose. “And it won’t help you when you speak for your people before the Senate.”

“Me?” an amused smile curled her lips. She looked as if all her suspicions had just been confirmed. “I won’t be speaking, not primarily anyways. I don’t have any governmental authority behind me, I’m just a secondary representative.”

“Same here,” said the young man.

“Governmental authority…? Then who is your speaker?” Qui-Gon asked, slightly bewildered.

“Are you blind?” said the young man. “Obi-Wan is the leader. Since the other two were assassinated, Obi-Wan is our only head of government.”

The next time Qui-Gon laid eyes on his former apprentice, it was mere minutes before their agreed departure time.

The children — Melida, Daan, none of them older than sixteen, aside from former Melida Sarai and former Daan who still refused to share his name — were all gathered next to a large reinforced bay door next to a small fleet of speeders.

Obi-Wan had one arm draped around the shoulders of a ten-year-old boy, murmuring instructions to him, and carrying the little toddler girl on his hip. She was playing with his hair contentedly, unbothered by the preparations going on around her.

If it had been strange to see Obi-Wan before, with his air of sameness-yet-differentness, it was doubly so now.

Knowing what he now knew.

Knowing that Obi-Wan Kenobi had accomplished what he had set out to do and reunited the Melida and the Daan with the help of a few middle-aged adults from both sides and the constant aid of his two companions, Cerasi and Nield. Knowing that he had been fairly elected alongside Cerasi and Nield as the Triumvers — the three Heads of State — of the newly named Meldan.

Knowing that they had been in the midst of Reconstruction both physical and emotional when a radical had betrayed them, murdering innocents gathered for discussions. How Cerasi had been murdered in her bed. How Nield had begun drumming up a military force, only to be assassinated — by a friend of the peace or a foe, who could say? How Obi-Wan had seen all his allies either killed or turn away, and had gathered all he could and retreated below ground, holding tight to his ideals and the legislative power that now backed him.

Knowing how he had continued to sow the seeds of freedom and diplomacy even as the people left above ground resorted again to violence. How he had nurtured genuine friendships among his people, even after having been betrayed.

And here he stood, not even fifteen, making children laugh and reassuring people older than him as he attempted to carry them to freedom and hope.

A government of war-veteran children, led by a former Jedi Padawan.

Qui-Gon watched as everyone was paired up, older teens with younger children, two to a speeder, until at last there was only one vehicle left and only himself and Kenobi still standing.

“I’m afraid I’ll be piloting,” the boy told him. “I’m familiar with the route.”

Qui-Gon swallowed away a bitter taste and merely nodded.

Obi-Wan swung himself up behind the controls, and Qui-Gon moved to sit behind him, and despite everything, despite knowing Obi-Wan’s history over the past eight months, despite being determined not to regard him as his Padawan ever again, it still felt wrong to sit behind. To let the child lead. To let the child sit behind the controls where any decent sniper would aim.

“Stick close and keep low!” Obi-Wan called out.

“Love you Obi!” the same tiny girl cried out from somewhere behind them on another speeder.

Qui-Gon didn’t know what he expected, if he expected anything at all in this strange parallel universe he had wandered into. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan turning his head to grin at the girl and calling back, “Love you too, Cler!” still surprised him.

And then they were off.

The children were clearly well trained, experienced. They seemed to know this back route by heart, undeterred by the semi-light of dusk, and keeping behind outcroppings of rock and trees as much as possible.

Obi-Wan glanced around periodically to check on the others, and every so often one of the others from the back of the parade would speed up to match his pace and give him the all-clear before falling back again.

The breathlessness of the moment settled somewhere in Qui-Gon’s chest. If he could put aside the emotional toll it was taking to sit behind his former student and see him not as a Jedi but as a war-tried planetary ruler, it was easier to be caught up in the rush. The fate of thousands depended on this race for freedom.

The former Jedi Master and Padawan maintained their lead, a slight gap between them and the others.

This served them all well when a blaster bolt came out of nowhere and struck Obi-Wan in his right shoulder, missing his chest only because he sensed it at the last second and twisted away.

There were screams from the smaller children; the older children reacted immediately, scattering their small fleet and engaging their weapons.

“There!” Qui-Gon cried, pointing to a ridge on their right where glimpses of people moving could be seen. His other hand was holding Obi-Wan upright.

“Are you all right to keep piloting?” he shouted.

“For a little while! Hold on, I have a plan!” Obi-Wan shouted back.

“Is it a good plan?”

“Hard to tell until I’ve done it!”

For a second it felt like it had been a year ago, or even better, both of them on the edge of adrenaline and serenity, grinning.

Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber and deflected two more blaster shots, calling out warnings to the others within earshot.

A speeder went down.

A girl and boy were thrown several meters, crushing in the dust, clinging to one another as they rolled to a stop. On another speeder, Sarai yelled “Here!” and pulled up alongside Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, while Jocco stood up from behind her and leapt.

Qui-Gon’s heart shot to his throat.

But as he extended a hand and caught the child with the Force, Obi-Wan was already doing the same thing, drawing Jocco safely onto their speeder. Sarai, meanwhile, swung her speeder back around and parked it in front of the fallen one, shielding the injured two from view. She stood up on the seat and raised a blaster in each hand, lips twisted in a snarl. “Over here you bastards!” she screamed. “Like shooting at children? Give it your best shot!”

“She’s insane,” said Qui-Gon.

“She’s my second in command!” Obi-Wan laughed. “Now get ready! You’re taking the wheel!”

“What?”

Qui-Gon turned his head just in time to see Obi-Wan launch himself off of the moving speeder with reckless grace, executing a Force-augmented leap to land neatly on the ridge. “Kenobi! What are you doing?” Qui-Gon bellowed.

The boy didn’t respond. He had a blaster in his good hand and dropped out of view, directly onto the heads of the people concealed behind the rocks. There were yells; red light flared as weapons went off in rapid succession. Sarai took advantage of the distraction and urged the other two onto her speeder. “Go!” she said.

As soon as they were off, one of the other speeders erupted from the tree-line and swooped in front of her, slowing down enough to allow her to jump aboard behind two smaller children. “Good job kiddos,” Qui-Gon heard her say. Then she looked up at him. “Come on, we have to go!”

“But—Obi-Wan—” he said helplessly.

As he did, Obi-Wan reappeared at the crest of the ridge, a smoking hole in his trouser leg and a bloody furrow over one eye. He looked directly at Qui-Gon and mouthed, ‘Go! Take the others and run, now!’

Then he was gone again.

A pained look crossed Sarai’s face, but she glanced at Jocco sitting on his lap and smoothed it away at once. “He knows what he’s doing,” she said. “Now come on!”

They sped off, trailing dust and a broken wreck, following in the wake of the other speeders far ahead of them.

In the distance, the ship gleamed in the low light, a beacon for them to follow.

The others were waiting for them when they arrived, arranged defensively around the ship, protecting their only mode of transportation. The nameless boy was standing front and center, an adapted blaster rifle in his arms, looking ready to kill anyone who got too near. Jocco ran straight to him.

Sarai helped the other two down and began loading everyone onto the ship, which opened at Qui-Gon’s command.

He and the boy with the rifle waited.

And waited.

The sun set in earnest, and darkness fell.

And still they waited.

“Can you make your appeal to the Senate without him?” Qui-Gon said suddenly.

The young man whipped his head around to look at him. “What?”

“Can you make your appeal without Obi-Wan?”

He sneered. “In his absence, legal responsibility falls to Sarai and me. But it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.” Qui-Gon agreed.

There was a brief silence.

“Can you pilot this starship?”

“What?”

Qui-Gon did not repeat himself this time, and the young man’s eyes widened, his grip on his rifle slackening. “You… you want to stay. You want to stay and search for him.”

“You need to leave,” said Qui-Gon quietly. “Can you pilot this starship?”

“My name’s Radan,” the young man said brusquely, extending a grimy hand. “And yeah, between me and Kieln we can figure it out pretty quickly.”

“Good,” said Qui-Gon shaking his hand firmly. “As soon as you exit your first hyperspace jump, contact Master Yoda, it’s all programmed into the system. Tell him what happened.”

He looked again to the shadowed horizon, to the dark smudge several kilometers distant that was the stone ridge where he had last seen Obi-Wan.

“Tell him,” he paused. “…Tell him I am going to stay with my Padawan.”

Radan paused halfway up the ramp, turning to look back, a look of concern crossing his young face. “Even if he’s never going back to the Jedi?” he asked.

Qui-Gon hesitated.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? Obi-Wan is capable of making his own decisions.”

Qui-Gon turned back towards the horizon, towards Obi-Wan.

“But I will not leave him again.”

#ugh this boy #someone hug him he’s hurting #sir please your life is in mortal peril sit down #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #master & padawan #jedi apprentice #melida/daan #padawan obi wan #my writing #star wars #star wars fic #tw injury #tw blood #tw reference to child death

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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

Text

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Seven

This one is very nice I think you will like it. I call this the “Scott accidentally makes friends” arc.

Scott had just returned from a boring mining trip. Thankfully it wasn’t netherite duty this time. He was looking forward to sitting down after putting everything away when he looked out the window.

Martyn was perched on top of the walls, he seemed to be writing something. Scott’s interest was piqued. It was just after nightfall and cold out. He wondered what the other man was doing as he quietly opened the door of the Renchanting base. It was one in the morning when he checked the clock. There was time to spare.

The world was silent save for a chorus of crickets. It had stormed the night before and a thin blanket of snow preserved the land in tiny crystals. Scott did his best not to crunch the ice beneath his feet as he approached the ladder strung over the high walls.

Looking up, he saw that the sky was clear and brilliantly lit by the stars. A third quarter Moon hung in the air. Obfuscated by the only bank of clouds in the night sky.

He climbed.

As Scott approached the top, he wondered what he was even planning to do. He was going to talk to Martyn, then what. The whole Red Army was still walking on eggshells around him. Of course he didn’t mind. No, he wasn’t supposed to. He was a spy.

That’s what he told himself to sleep better at night.

Yes, ever since he’d started “intermingling” with the Red Army he had grown to admire their friendship. Not between himself and them so much as between each other. It was refreshing. Scott caught himself smiling along with their jokes, tapping his foot to the beat of whatever song was on the radio.

He didn’t dare laugh, or start a conversation, that would be out of line for him. Not yet. Not right now. When tensions were still so high.

Scott poked his head over the top of the wall. Ever so slightly, glancing at the deserted surroundings. He ducked down just enough so that Martyn wouldn’t be immediately aware of his presence. Still contemplating whether or not he was making a good decision.

“You know, if you’re aiming to be sneaky you should really think about investing in a hat,” Martyn’s voice shook Scott from his thoughts.

It also shook him from his perch on the ladder. He jumped in surprise and threw his hands up, conveniently forgetting about the rung he was holding onto.

“Well, this is it,” Scott’s mind said to him, at least his green life track record wasn’t too shabby.

A hand clasped around his wrist, suspending him in air with his feet braced on the ladder.

Scott stared wide eyed up at Martyn, who looked like he was contemplating letting him go. Then he pulled the other back to the ladder and sat back down.

“Uh, thank you,” Scott almost whispered. Pulling himself up onto the wall.

“Well it would be very hard to explain to Timmy,” Martyn replied.

“Jimmy,” Scott corrected, still looking at his feet.

“Timmy,” Martyn said back immediately.

Scott shut up.

“Major?,” Martyn looked over at him. Scott’s head snapped to attention.

“Jesus! Are you possessed?” He asked.

“No. I’m fine,” Scott assured. He didn’t want to admit to himself that the Hand made him nervous.

Martyn laughed at his expense, “calm yourself Major,” he clapped him on the shoulder.

Against his best interest Scott flinched a bit. Trying to laugh off his discomfort.

“What brings you out here in the middle of the night?” Martyn changed the subject.

“I- uh. I saw you up here,” Scott scooted a bit closer, swinging his legs over so that he was facing the same way as the other man. He looked over to see what Martyn was working on.

A book with plain pages was splayed across his lap, the page open was about halfway through the well loved sketchbook. The first half’s papers were crinkled and discolored from use. On the open canvas was a few disconnected sketches of figures that Scott didn’t recognize. Smudges and erase marks scattered the page.

“What’re you drawing?” Scott asked. Aiming to redo the icebreaker.

Martyn held out his art book so the other could see better, “these are just some sketches of people I used to see on TV. That’s Metal Man. I’m certain he wasn’t actually called that; but I can’t remember his real name,” he explained.

Further down the page was “Scarlet Witch,” then there was a drawing of Ren that neither of them mentioned.

Scott pointed to the last drawing, a bust of a superhero-looking man, “that one looks like you,” he observed.

“Mm, maybe a little?” Martyn replied with a bashful inflection.

“Yeah that’s totally you. He even has the little swirly thing on the chest,” Scott said. Martyn made a dismissive gesture.

“Aw come on. Like you never wanted to be a superhero,” he replied quietly.

Scott giggled. He wasn’t making fun of Martyn. It was just funny, a little, to see the Hand of the King up here doodling cartoons.

“I usually come out here to draw the sky. It’s different every night, always pretty,” Martyn flipped the page back to reveal a drawing of the night sky.

It took up two pages, landscape style, entirely pencil. The scenery even included some landmarks like the very top of Big B’s base. Scott noticed that Martyn’s fingers were covered in excess graphite from blending out the stars.

It was beautiful.

“Helps me umwind,” Martyn flipped a few pages forward to a blank spread, “you should try it,” he suggested as he put the sketchbook in the other’s lap.

Scott sat cluelessly. Staring at the page when he was handed a pencil.

“I’m no artist. Not like you are,” he tried to pass the supplies back but the other refused.

“Whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be the sky, it doesn’t have to be anything recognizable,” Martyn encouraged.

Scott nodded. He adjusted his grip on the pencil and positioned it above the page. It stayed there motionless while he thought.

Martyn had grabbed his hand on that ladder. He let him sit next to him while he was completely vulnerable, trying to get away from reality on top of the wall as long as he could. Martyn showed him pieces of his world. The world the way he saw it, the way he chose to preserve it. Remember it.

He shared it without question and now he was telling Scott to do the same. Show him a bit of his reality so he could understand.

This was a leap. Scott knew it, straight out of his comfort zone; and there would be no turning around, but something in the back of his mind screamed that he couldn’t keep hiding from people.

So a line showed up on the paper, followed by another. Scott pulled the image out of his mind and funneled it through the pencil, the foreground and then the background. A landscape that shaped itself across the whole page. There were mountains fading into blue against the skyline, he remembered, a river with a house on one of its banks.

A floating mass of land in the sky with vines hanging from the bottom, and a building on top.

Martyn didn’t say anything. It was like he wasn’t even there. Scott started drawing a figure to occupy the space. Reaching deep into his mind to see their face. Their faces. Soon instead of one person there was two, then three, then four. He drew every attribute and detail that came back to him.

Twelve people. He didn’t want to forget them.

When Scott finished he put the pencil down next to him. So Martyn knew he was done. He held the page up to study what he’d made, looking for anything he may have forgotten.

“That’s pretty cool,” Martyn complimented him.

“Really?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, I like that dude. The one with the wings,” Martyn pointed to where Scott had drawn a man gliding through the air with huge wings, holding onto his striped hat.

“I don’t remember his name,” Scott admitted. Mostly to himself.

“He had a name?” Martyn asked.

“They all did. I can barely remember their faces,” Scott replied, running his fingers over each of the people he’d drawn. An ugly feeling of guilt made a home in his chest.

“It’s a lovely picture,” Martyn said after a few seconds. He took the book from Scott and ripped a chunk of the pages out, “here,” he held them towards Scott. Including the one he’d been drawing on.

Scott was shocked that the other had desiccated his art book so quickly, but took the pages. He may as well.

“Use em’ however you like. I have plenty more,” Martyn instructed. He clapped Scott on the back again.

Scott flashed him a smile, hoping he didn’t look too much like an idiot, “Thank you,” he said.

“I have to go,” Scott jumped quickly back onto the ladder. He made it a few rungs down before pausing and returning to the top.

“Sorry for kicking you in… You know,” he apologized.

Martyn threw his head back in laughter, “thanks Major,” he replied.

“Bye,” Scott responded. He descended the ladder quickly and jogged to the exit of Dogwarts, fumbling with the doors and then trudging down the hill to make way for his flower forest.

“Remember to get a hat!” Echoed from behind him.

Scott turned around momentarily and nodded to Martyn on the wall, then continued into the trees.

#fwiendship???#i think next chapter is my favorite of the recently written ones #kingslayer au #3rdlife smp #3rdlife #3rd life smp #inthelittlewood #scott smajor #dogwarts

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sanghyukstattoos · 3 years

Text

Long-lasting nights

Summary: Chani works not far from where you live and appears at your door when his bereaved and raging colleague Youngkyun falls into a hallucinatory trap, leaving Chani wounded.

Genre: Fluff-fluff-fluff; mentions of violence

Characters: Chani x Reader (Gender Neutral)

WC: 1.6k

A/N: Thank you anon for this request! Read more here~~

His face was scrunched in an expression of pain and he clutched his leg in an embrace so tight that it could stop the dripping blood. He stumbled across a red brick placed unevenly, staining it with red drops. There was a wall nearby, some sort of dirty marble structure resembling a lion and some other animals, that he took a breath against. His pain grew in inflamed streaks, each clouding his vision that shifted between your house and his wound. It had been such a surprise to see Kyun- his colleague from his part-time job at the supermarket, with blood-stained hands and a gun.

The implication of death by a shot to the forehead toppled his imagination. It made him run callously, not seeing Kyun's reflection in the mirror pick up the gun, an escaped chuckle never so incongruous to the lines of blasted milk and food. His breath was heavier when he pushed himself off the wall, almost falling to his knees when he tapped at your door. Hastily he looked around, a resonant thud shaking his inner system as he banged the door on the way down.

Peeling the door open, you had no questions, except for the worry that he would die. It was almost routine for him to knock at the front door and bring the dirty blood on his clothes in intriguing you to the situation he had encountered. You held him under the arms, hearing his soft whines near to volume zero as you carelessly placed him in the tub. Your arms drastically ached when you had to search for your first aid kit, pupils as big as clocks after looking at the beautiful red tint of the transparent water.

It had been much longer since you had gone out like him, partly in need of a break. The images had too much impact, seeing you to sleep and waking you up in the morning, leaving little to the imagination as you had cut up the last strawberry and tossed it into the bowl. You ruffled his hair, pulling his head back, lingering your lips near his ear, asking him to stay awake. ''For me, no?'' you ended, cleaning him up.

Mindlessly you cleaned him up, draining the plug, watching it clear out. In the silence, you wondered nothing, struggling with his sticky clothes until he bent a knee and you looked up to see his eyes. They were staring straight ahead at the whiteness of the tub in that sense of impartiality, mind indefinitely silent as he reeled into his own numbly-filled cries. And that too, this had been his first time being on the receiving end. You washed away the soap from his pink skin, pausing as a sin of the clock passed, waiting for him to say something.

He looked straight ahead again, a certain glare of your sight on him almost impossible to miss. He chose to lean on your shoulder when you went to pick him up, encouraging him to get out of the tub. Your chuckle elicited one from him too, light-heartedness comforting his fatigued self. His mind was fogged of the clear benefit of leaning on you and not falling yet he chose to hold onto random objects, barely making it to the bed.

You let out a deprived chuckle, collecting your kit to treat his wounds. You fumbled to open it, fingers slipping over the smooth silver clasp, hands sweating. Your eyes glared hard, torso still, as well as your legs that pressed against the carpet, creating a temporary rounding. ''It's okay'' Chani breathed out, trying to reach for your hand. He moved much slower than he was thinking, like in slow motion. You smiled, hummed and then wondered if he knew that your expression was not genuine.

He knew, which paused your movements when he touched your hand. Every fibre of your being stood on edge, in alert and for a second, your heart struck so disgustingly hard against your chest that it hurt. It was like a thud, as if someone had knocked on the front- something that the both of you were fearful of. If he would come knocking and you had not prepared- ''It's okay'' Chani said again, but his voice was fading, like a whisper. You could barely hear him now and even his touch would not calm you.

Your heart picked up its pace and so did your limbs. You began to move with extraordinary force, taking out the equipment and trying to heal him, one moment at a time. For every moment that you paused to breathe, you could hear his breath fading away. It pushed you to the edge, almost on the verge of tears. You bent over backwards when it came to him, you always had a soft spot for him.

You went back and forth between your conflicts, each feeling antagonistic of the other. Looking at him made you stop feeling such conflict. You did not give up, rather, you gave in, understood what you needed. For now, you would try and save him before the actual doctor came over. When you were done, you laid next to his naked body, tucking him into the sheets. With never-ending passion or the fear of being taken away, you kissed him on the temple with a force unrivalled, always repeated in a situation like this.

When you closed your eyes, you could feel the ache come to light. You wanted so badly to ask what happened but you reserved your words for when he would be able to reply back. Although he was guarded, his walls slipped away whenever he knocked at your door. It seemed imperative to save him the first time around and every time after that, the two of you never questioned one another.

The clock had disappeared into the background, it's noise unheard to your ears. The first breath that you inhaled was shaky, it made you take in that you could not do this any longer. You could ask for him to quit but somehow, he had made it his livelihood, out of force. As his boss, you knew that every person who walked through the door lived in a prison. Prison like state or hell of the mind, their only torture was purely psychological. To survive, they knew that they had to bear their chains and over time, they grew familiar with it.

The idea of an alternate reality scared Chani, admittedly characterised by his wide, innocent-looking eyes and shaky hands. He could not grow accustomed to the idea that he could lead a better life, a way out because he had grown used to this prison he had been living in. But no one can suddenly change, you knew that and so you thought that it would be better to see him die with you than without you.

You looked at his peacefully knocked-out state and guarded your feet with light steps when you stepped out of the room. The door would not willingly shut; winds created resistance but with the grit of your teeth, you shut it and the windows, locking the front door with friction's animosity.

When he awoke, he came to find you sitting on the sofa, not missing the way the windows were shut and the door absolutely locked. You were watching tv, absorbed in the movements of the characters on-screen, clutching the blanket that covered you tightly. Running his fingertips across the walls, forcing himself to grip onto something, he fumbled onto the sofa and into your arms.

''You're awake? How are you feeling?'' you lightly asked, kissing the soft, tussled tufts of his hair that stuck out randomly. He smiled, drawing a thumb up, telling you what he could not from the blood that had been drawn out from his body. He felt some sort of numbness stem from within, be it what had just happened or the shot that had some sort of trauma attached to it. He had never properly assessed it and now he was left with this.

He chuckled, kissing your soft lips that satiated an innermost desire before plopping onto your chest with a sigh of relief. He felt no stress as he usually did to pick himself up before his team could, especially in situations like this. You could not contain yourself, softly stroking his cheek before placing what felt like more than one kiss upon it. ''I can see you worrying'' you murmured, catching his attention. ''It was so sudden- I didn't see it coming'' he said, out of breath. He wanted to say more but he stopped short, not finding the state of mind to continue.

The tv was paused, its light illuminating the room, the chirping of the birds had gone ransom now. The house stood silent, waiting to hear what Chani had to say next but he couldn't continue. He sighed and fell limp into your arms, eyes dazed with no particular fixation. You wondered what was going through his mind, having seen this many times but like always, you let him be. In your arms and laying silently, staring into space, you knew that he would come out of it.

''Do you want to eat something?'' you softly asked, clutching his face to shift his concentration onto you. He hummed, a small smile gracing him at the thought but as soon as you got up, he groaned and tried to pull you back. In a matter of seconds, you glanced at him and he had picked up the hem of your shirt and tightly clutched it before falling asleep.

As soon as you heard your phone, you answered the call, whispering, ''Yes, he is right here.''.

#sf9 #chani #sf9 fanfic #sf9 writings #sf9 requests #sf9 imagines #sf9 scenarios #sf9 fluff #sf9 fantasy

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shadowed-dancer · 3 years

Text

My Thoughts on the New MHA Opening and Ending

I have thoughts, and I will share them because oh boy if I don’t get this out I’m gonna explode

Vague Spoilers for the manga (up to chapter 258 and vigilantes) because I discuss the upcoming arcs, but I don’t discuss any major plot points in detail. Still, proceed with caution if you’re anime only

Keep in mind, this OP and ED will cover the Endeavour Agency Arc and the MVA Arc, so I will be judging them accordingly.

First, the OP

This is a good OP... in theory (that’s going to become my catchphrase for this post). It’s nice to look at and flows pretty well, but my biggest problem is that it doesn’t do it’s job. An OP is supposed to be a sort of... summary (?) of the Cour it plays for. That means any cool plot points, emotional beats, and important characters should be featured in some way, shape, or form. We’ll talk about that more later, but first let’s discuss the music.

The song is really good. I have a feeling it will continue to grow on me as I listen to it more often, but yeah my first impression is that the song sounds great. My only complaint about the music itself is that it ends kind of abruptly (I noticed this is the JT opening too). The previous openings used to have a bit of instrumental to “play us out” and lead us to the end card, but this one feels like it ends very suddenly and unnaturally.

As for the visuals...

Yeah alright I’ll admit, the visuals are stunning... in theory. I appreciate the variety in backgrounds and colours, it makes the OP really interesting to look at. This was actually one of my biggest problems with the JT Opening, it all took place on the training grounds, so there was no variety (everything was metal tubes with a blue sky, with only 3 shots set somewhere different). I appreciate the style of this OP.

But like I said, that’s only in theory, as in, through screenshots these are all pleasing to look at. The pacing of this OP is wild, and I truly don’t know who to blame for this.

That sunset shot above? It lasts approximately 12 seconds, zooming in every few to make it seem like something is happening (when in reality it’s still the same poses, angles, etc). While there’s nothing wrong with a nice, drawn out shot, it becomes irritating when compared to the pacing of the rest of this op.

At the 41 second mark, we are given the shot above. It has flowed directly from the previous sunset scene. We still have not moved away from the image of the trio (aside from the opening shot and the title card) yet we’re approaching the halfway mark of the OP.

The next shot is the MLA, which lasts about 5 seconds. Ok, perfect. Not too long, but also not short enough to be confusing. It cuts away a little fast once the dude on the far left appears, but does anyone actually know who that is? No, seriously, I’m asking. I don’t remember his name and he’s not on the wiki, so I can only assume he’s not important. Therefore, it’s not all that bad if the shot cuts away shortly after he comes into frame. The audience is able to take in the scene without having to pause...

... And then the problems start

While this shot is fine in theory, it pans up fast and cuts away quickly. You know how hard it was for me to get this screenshot? Really hard. You want to know why I struggled so much? Because, due to the timing of the cut and the way it pans upwards, it’s almost impossible to pause on Dabi’s face. I literally had to go frame by frame to get it, because he’s in shot for so little time that naturally pausing is guaranteed to miss him.

When watching this in real time (without pausing) the cut away makes you feel as if you missed something because “something was there, I just couldn’t register what because now it’s gone”. Unlike Compress, who wears a very colourful coat you can recognize the entire time, Dabi’s pants are more blended into the background.

It also doesn’t help that this shot is literally composed to draw your attention away from Dabi until the last possible second. Due to framing, your eye is naturally drawn to the brightly coloured Toga in the foreground, making it super easy to miss Dabi in the back (until, of course, his bright face appears and contrasts against the background, drawing your eye just in time for the scene to change, leaving you to wonder who or what you missed).

I know this sounds like nitpicking, but this shot is the only group shot we get of the League, and is also the start of a seriously weird trend for the villains in this OP getting the short end of the stick.

Anyways, then we get what I’ll call “The Carousel Shot” in which every Class 1A kid shows up and poses dramatically, as if they were on a carousel. It’s a lovely sequence and I really enjoy watching it but... why is it in this OP?

Seriously, this is a genuine question. Class 1A barely shows up in the Endeavour Agency Arc, and NONE of the students are in MVA. This sequence (not counting the three boys at the end) lasts 8 seconds. Why is this much time dedicated to characters who are barely in the arc? (Unless Studio Bones extends their work studies into fuller plot lines which oh my gosh please don’t do that, or if they do, do it quick).

We then get what I call the “Oh God I Blinked And Missed Everything” sequence, which lasts 3 seconds (not including the longer, moving shot of Shigaraki at the end) and features NINE INDIVIDUAL IMAGES, none of which are related to each other. Not only is this 3 images per second, but the fact that they are all unrelated means you can’t even use previous information to fill in the blanks.

What do I mean by that? Well, imagine if I show you 9 images of various pro heroes posing. If I play that in 3 seconds you’ll absolutely miss some of them, but as long as you catch some you’ll still get an idea of what I’m trying to show to you. Your brain is able to fill in the gaps that “I recognized 4 pro heroes, therefore the rest must have also been pros” even if you didn’t register every single frame.

That doesn’t work if every frame features a completely different subject. The shots in this sequence vary so widely that it’s impossible to find a through line. Some feature multiple characters, some feature one, some are closeups, some are super far away, some are character’s we know, others are characters we don’t. It’s impossible to get a solid read on what you’re being shown.

Now, again, there’s nothing wrong with these super quick shots... in theory. The problem comes from the fact that these shots are the only indicators for some of the major themes that will be explored during this Cour (like Twice’s growth and young Shigaraki).

That being said, let’s move away from criticism and talk about speculation, because hidden amongst this sequence are two... interesting images.

This All Might one is very reminiscent of the shot in Chapter 257, where Aizawa and All Might have a conversation while staring up at the stars. However, this is technically the start of the “War Arc” (or the “prologue”, if that’s what you want to call it), so this might indicate that we’re going to get farther into the series than a lot of us guessed.

(Many people suspected we’d get to that cliffhanger at the start of the season (if you read the manga you know the one), but after seeing the pacing for JT a lot of us assumed we’d be lucky to even finish Endeavour Agency. It seems we’re back to the cliffhanger now though lol).

This is another really interesting shot because it’s indicative of Shirakumo, meaning we might get to see Aizawa and Mic confront him some time this Cour (this also makes sense, since this confrontation technically happens before that All Might scene I mentioned in the previous paragraph).

But the cat specifically is a really strange addition. That cat is named Sushi and, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Sushi is ever mentioned in the main series. I think he’s only in Vigilantes.

This might just be a little Easter Egg for Vigilante readers, but I’m personally hoping that they’ll add at least a few Vigilante shots in there to really tug at the heart strings. I’d say I want a whole Vigilante episode but I don’t think they have the time (unless they really cram MVA, which I do NOT want).

I don’t have much to say about the last bit of the OP. The action shot between the 3 boys was nice, and it follows the sort of narrative through line they established from the early shot of them sitting at the sunset. I also like the shot of Endeavour fading in to replace All Might, even if it’s very simple.

But I want to talk about an overarching problem I touched upon earlier in that villain shot: the way the villains are handled in this OP.

This is a good OP... in theory. The problem is, it doesn’t represent half the arcs in the cour! Every shot of the League is so rushed that you can barely register that they were on screen before they’re gone.

I have no idea how many Episodes Endeavour Agency will take, but I’d assume 3 (4 if you count the Christmas episode). 12 episodes for this Cour minus 3 for Endeavour Agency = 9 episodes left. If we truly do get the prologue for the War Arc (and if we assume it’s only 1 episode) that leaves us with 8 villains episodes.

8/12 episodes (aka two thirds of the Cour) will likely be about the villains. And yet they’re pushed to the background so hard in this OP.

I want to dream, and I want to believe that this OP is going to magically change when MVA starts. The song fits super well, and I can imagine like an inversion of the OP but from the Villain side! Wouldn’t that be neat? Imagine right after the “it’s alright” part Shigaraki just freaking decays the title card... oh man that would be so cool. But, alas, I highly doubt they’d do that.

Side rant, but you know what was so fun about MVA in the manga? It’s that, for 21 chapters, we leave the kids behind and the villains become our protagonists. Suddenly Shigaraki is the one we’re rooting for, suddenly we’re learning backstories for everyone, and suddenly we find ourselves just as attached to the villains as we are to the kids. It’s an inversion that’s SO RARE to find, and I think many people (myself included) were hoping it would be reflected in the OP.

A big part of being the protagonist means featuring heavily in the OP, and a lot of us just wanted the villains to get that honour, even if only once. As is, the OP still treats them as the antagonists when... really they aren’t. Not right now, at least.

So yeah, final thoughts on the OP are that it’s good, it’s just not very representative of the arcs it’s supposed to cover. If this was just for Endeavour Agency, I’d say it’s actually really cool, but if we assume that this is what will play for the Villain Arc, then it simply doesn’t do it’s job. And it makes me sad to say that because, again, this OP is really well done.

If I had to rate it? Hmmm

If Studio Bones actually grants my wish and creates a different visual for the Villain Arc (while using the same song) and then this version only plays for the Endeavour Agency Arc and the War Prologue? I’d give it an 8/10. It’s really good, but it could use a few more elements that are clearly derived from the Agency Arc (ahem, Todoroki siblings).

But if this is the OP that will play for the entire Cour? a 6.5/10. It’s nice, but it’s not representative of one of the arcs it’s going to cover. And, unlike other arcs like Pro Hero or Summer Exams, the villain Arc is so important and takes up so much time that it honestly feels like a bit of a disservice.

Now for the Ending

I want to say that I appreciate how soft this ending starts. This cour will likely feature a lot of episodes that end on... heavier themes, and I think the sight of peaceful, falling raindrops is the perfect way to let the audience process their emotions before starting the ending in earnest.

The song itself is very nice, and I like that it’s a bit slower than the more recent endings.

(Side note, but the FUNNIEST moment in the entire series is when Sir Nighteye dies because it’s so emotional and everyone is standing around his bed in his heartwrentching silence, only for the ending to come BLARING IN out of no where. If you forgot how jarringly hilarious it was, go listen to the Eri ending and tell me that’s not the funniest thing this series ever did. Anyways yeah I’m glad that’s not gonna happen this Cour).

This ending is a bit all over the place in terms of it’s visuals, but honestly I think it works. Most endings usually have a theme tying them together (all the Class 1A girls, a fantasy AU, old photographs, planning a party, etc) but this ending’s theme is a bit harder to identify.

That being said, I think it’s just supposed to show everyone going about their day. It’s calm, it’s peaceful, and it’s just very sweet to think about

I like this shot. Actually, scratch that, I like this whole sequence. I enjoy anything that allows Class 1A to chill and have fun.

Hawks is featured quite heavily in this ending which, fair. He’s pretty important in this arc.

I really love the shot where Endeavour immediately switches to Hawks, I thought that was a lot of fun, and very good symbolism on how Hawks wants to be like Endeavour. I also love all the shots of Baby Hawks, because it’s adorable.

Something about this shot is just so cute. It’s the little domestic things like waiting for a bus that make this ending feel... idk the word, real? It shows a side of the characters that we’ll never see in the episodes, but we know have to exist.

Like yes, of course the kids have to wait for the bus. We never see it, but of course there are those moments of quiet. Agh, I love it.

The villains also make an appearance and I’m very happy about that (I’d love to see more of the villains just chilling around, I think they deserve it). I kind of wish they weren’t sitting in a dark room for the sake of being edgy, since I think it would be nice to see the villains just... sort of existing, but honestly it’s still a nice shot. I also like how this shot sort of mirrors the first one with Class 1A (someone coming in while everyone else is sitting and waiting for them).

That being said, as much as I love looking at Dabi and his stupid face (affectionate)... why is Dabi the one getting the closeup?

Mind you, endings don’t need to be connected to their Cours (they can be, like the Eri one, but they don’t have to be). But this ending does seem to be connected to the arcs it intends to cover, given all the Hawks appearances, the boys wearing their work study scarves, etc.

So, I ask again, why Dabi? Out of the six League members, we learn the backstory for four of them in this arc (Shigaraki, Toga, Twice, and we very briefly learn about Spinner). The only two left out are Dabi and Compress.

I can only assume they chose Dabi because he’s constantly in contact with Hawks, and therefore that makes him important? If the OP told us anything, it’s that Bones values the Endeavour Agency Arc over the Villain Arc lol...

... Oh my gosh please tell me that’s not actually the reason Dabi is focused on here BONES WAI-

Anyways, the ending comes to a close with Hawks watching over the kids and Endeavour. The relaxing time is done, it’s time for work studies.

Overall impression? It’s great. It’s hard to screw up an ending, so as long as you have something pretty on screen, it’s wonderful.

I’ll give this a 9/10

#bnha #bnha season 5 #dabi #keigo takami #bnha season five #katsuki bakugo #shoto todoroki #mha season 5 #mha season five #bnha op #bnha opinions #izuku midoriya #bnha hawks #ok to reblog #actually yes please do reblog if you found this interesting #I worked hard on it

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pumpkinpiejack · 3 years

Text

A couple days ago I sent this ask to @lobotomycastiel and actually ended up writing it. It’s mainly about Dean, Claire, and baby Jack dealing with some of the pain of losing Cas.

You can also read it on AO3.

Three days.

Three days, Dean had been in charge of Jack. Three days since they found him smoldering the blankets on Kelly’s bed, sheets stained with blood. Three days since Dean had picked him up and refused to put him down.

Three days since Dean put Cas’s body on that pyre and watched it burn to nothing but ash and dust.

It stains everything he touches, streaks against Jack's baby pale skin, fingerprints on Sam’s clothes. The taste coating the back of his tongue. He can't escape it, can't drive fast enough to get rid of it. It lingers in the air around him and mocks him for his loss, but he still can’t seem to bring himself to wash it off.

Jack hasn't stopped crying since they lit the pyre. Dean prepared the body himself. He owed this to Cas after everything, to prepare his body right, to make sure his hands were gentle. He carried him out to the pyre too, a baby strapped to his chest, unnaturally quiet in the fading light of the sun.

Dean hadn't been able to finish it. His entire body stood curled around Jack, his face buried in the baby's soft hair as his hands shook so hard he couldn't light the match. He couldn't pour the salt, he couldn't hold the gas can.

His skin felt too tight for his body, like something was trying to escape, an animal in his chest scratching and clawing at the inside of his ribs and everything hurt.

Jack cries and he cries and he cries and Dean is thrown back into every shitty night on the road with Sam as a baby and he can't breathe. He remembers waking up at night to the same sound and curling up in a playpen that was far too small for both him and Sam. He wanted to make it better. He wanted to be able to help and make the crying stop.

But, the only time Jack stops is when Dean holds him and only when it's in a specific way. His tiny cheek needs to be pressed into Dean’s shoulder, just over Cas’s handprint and doesn't that just fucking hurt.

It aches in a whole new way, like he somehow senses Cas there.

The handprint itself has faded over the years. All the times he’s been healed and rebuilt from the inside out, and it is the only thing that remains. A discolored and slightly raised patch of skin that means more to him than any physical object on earth (besides his baby of course).

Three days. Two days to drive home and one day to prepare himself.

Sam made the call. Dean couldn't get Jack to stop crying long enough to do it himself, not without risking waking him up. Even with a day to prepare himself, it still wasn't nearly enough.

When Claire walks in it's like the floor falls out from underneath Dean’s feet. She’s a mess. Her eyes rimmed red, mascara and eyeliner streaking down her face and she looks like she drove straight through the night. Her hands shake, just like his as he hands Jack to Sam.

He holds him awkwardly, his hands too big, too unaccustomed to holding something so fragile. Dean could count the number of times Sam had held Jack on one hand. He couldn't be away from Dean for long or he would start crying, shrill shrieks that shake the very ground they stood on. Cries that cause the glass to rattle in its pane and nearly makes Dean’s ears bleed on more than one occasion.

“You look like a mess.”

“Says you.”

Touché. Dean hasn't slept either, hasn't showered, hasn't eaten. He drove 1,700 miles in two days, a crying baby strapped into his backseat the entire way. He knows he looks like shit. He still has ash smeared across his face, he can't seem to bring himself to wipe it away.

He can't bring himself to be far from Jack, can't stand him crying. He can't look at Jack, his eyes repeatedly drawn to the blue that is so familiar and so foreign all at once. He can't light a match. He can't think about his mom. He can't admit Cas is….

There's a lot he can't do right now.

Claire’s voice is quiet. It’s calm in all the ways that Dean knows that she isn't. He can see the rage boiling under the surface. The sadness, the grief all tangled into a little ball, locked away so deep inside of her that the only place it was visible was her eyes.

She tries to stay strong, but she still looks around as if she’s missing something, because the truth is, she is. She looks around the room searching for the same figure that he does every time he enters a room and they’ll never find it. Not now and never again.

He turns to tell Cas a joke, and he’s not there. He’ll see a blurry image of tan and black out of the corner of his eye and reach out with Jack, a mumbled thank god under his breath, but there’s never anyone there.

He’s just alone as she is, even with three other people in the room.

And then the dam breaks.

“How could you?” Dean keeps looking at her. He owes her that. He looks her in the eye and listens, because he owes her that. He watches as they fill with tears and, god, hers are the same as Jack’s. So similar but not quite right. Almost everything he could ever want and his chest burns.

Cas never cried, even when he was dying on the floor of that barn, black ooze streaming out of his mouth, skin rotting and flaking up the side of his neck, he didn't cry. He just looked at Dean with those blue eyes and told him he loved him, that he loved all of them.

They never got to talk about it.

“You were supposed to keep him safe!” Her voice breaks as she launches herself at him, her fists smacking against his chest, but he can't really feel it. Over and over and over she drives the side of her fist into his chest. Like a little kid throwing a tantrum. He makes no move to stop her, to grab her hands and still them. He just lets her. I owe her this, I deserve this. “You promised me you would keep him safe,” and all at once her anger is gone, washed away with her tears as she leans her head against his chest and she sobs. “How could you?”

Finally, Dean moves. He places a hand on the back of her head, careful of any indication that she didn't want to be touched, but she just leans in farther, collapses into his chest and sobs harder.

She’s so small, so young despite her fiery disposition, he could tuck her perfectly under his chin. Dean remembers feeling on top of the world at her age. Twenty years old and suddenly he could rule the world, tear it all down from the ground up and rebuild it in his own image if he wanted. But here she is, a perfect mirror of him and all he sees is a scared little kid.

He can hear Jack crying in the background, having reached his limit of being away from Dean.

Eventually, she pulls away, shoving him and turning to where Sam is holding Jack uncomfortably. Claire smears her makeup farther down her face. There is still anger in her eyes and part of it scares him. It was the same anger he had held the first time he laid eyes on Jack.

Part of him wanted to leave him there. Part of him wanted to do what he originally planned when he walked into that house gun in hand, but he knows he never would. Jack wasn't a monster. He wasn't anything more than a baby. He cried and screamed and had the tiniest hands and the bluest eyes and even just looking at him made Dean’s heart soften.

Something like that couldn't be a monster anymore than Sam could, or little Bobby John.

So, instead, he scooped Jack up, the baby's skin burning his own, a tiny handprint searing itself onto the skin of his left forearm.

“He looks like Cas.” Claire laughs, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. Jack seems to quiet as she draws closer, his blue eyes widening as he takes her in. He’s so small in Sam's arms, blinking and whimpering as his crying petered down to nothing.

“Yeah he does.” Dean’s voice is rough as he reaches out to take Jack from Sam’s arms.

Sam is looking at the two of them, his eyes flickering between them as if it was a tennis match, a furrow between his brows. He is probably just as confused as Dean is.

Jack doesn't just stop crying. He either cries so much that he passes out or Dean spends hours with him pressed against the last fading remnants of the handprint, humming and rocking him. To see him just fade off while still awake was damn near a miracle.

Claire collapses in one of the chairs around the radar and holds out her arms expectantly.

“Come on, then.” Dean lets out a huff of laughter, or something as close to it as he's gotten since everything. He moves closer with Jack in his arms and slides him into Claire’s. Jack coos and waves his hands around. It's the uncontrolled movements of a newborn, more of a muscle spasm than anything, and Claire snorts out another little laugh as he accidentally smacks her collarbone.

“He’s so calm.” Sam's voice is awed.

Dean is right there with him, Jack isn't crying, he isn't uncomfortable. For the first time, he seems almost happy. He curls closer to her and lets out the tiniest yawn, his eyes crunching closed. Claire looks mesmerized. She gives Jack her fingers and he wraps his whole hand around them.

“I'm staying.” Claire says suddenly, eyes still locked with Jack’s. She can't seem to look away and neither can he.

“Okay.” And it’s as simple as that.

Three days. 84 hours, with no more sleep than a cat nap here and there and yet he still couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Every time he tries, he manages to get five steps away from Jack’s bassinet before he starts to scream and he couldn't exactly sleep with the baby on him, not when he could wake up from a nightmare fighting.

So he wanders the bunker. Up and down through the levels, crisscrossing through the hallways. Jack is tucked up against his shoulder like always. The thumb of the handprint brushes against his cheek in the mockery of a caress. He’s whimpering slightly, but at the very least he hasn’t completely started crying yet.

Dean reaches the kitchen only to find it already occupied. Claire is perched on the counter, a beer in one hand and the other wiping away another round of tears. Dean debates leaving her there, but finds that he can’t.

He’s been there more than a handful of times and during each one he was constantly torn between wanting to be left the fuck alone and wanting someone to notice. He wanted someone to realize that he wasn’t doing okay, to sit there with him as he broke apart. He never wanted to talk, didn’t want to cry in front of them, but realizing that someone cared enough to notice his downward spiral always seemed to help in its own fucked up way.

So, Dean pulls the bottle from her loose fingertips and puts on a pot of coffee. Claire makes grabby-hands at him until he relents, handing over Jack who just coos and twines his hands into her leather jacket. Well, Dean’s leather jacket. The same one she had snagged from his closet not too long ago, as if he wouldn’t notice. Jack immediately falls more silent than he’s been all day, his eyes sliding shut with another yawn that is far too big for his tiny body.

She’s so good with him already, her hands gentle as they shush him.

Claire thinks her hands are made for violence, for torture, for killing, for hunting. She thinks that’s all they’ll ever really be good for. She’s a predator, a soldier, made for a war that she didn’t know existed until it ruined her life. But those hands are also for protecting, for comforting, for saving.

She is good, at her core. Gentle and loving and all of Dean and Cas and Sam and Jody and Donna’s good traits all mixed into one girl who stands before him. A better person than he’ll ever be.

She’s stolen his bad traits too, the same way she stole that jacket. Put it on as a layer of protection against the world. It’s too big for her, doesn’t fit quite right, because it’s not hers and it’s not Dean’s either. It was too big for Dean too when he first put it on 20 years ago and he doesn’t know if he ever actually grew into it, or just thinks he did.

Together, they sit, shoulder to shoulder and don't say anything and that’s enough for the both of them. They drink their coffee until they can blame their shaking hands on that and listen to Jack’s even breathing.

Dean doesn’t move, even as Claire rests her head against his shoulder, the same shoulder Jack does, and he feels the tears soak in.

Four days. 96 hours and Jack finally manages to fall asleep without crying.

Nine days.

Nine days and he’s barely surviving. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t exist without something tearing at him from the inside out. But, he continues on anyway.

So many things he can’t do. So many contradictions that have slowly become his life.

Claire and him have a system. They work like a machine, two parts of the same person. They don’t look at each other, they can’t. Dean sees all the ways she looks like Cas, all the ways she looks like him, and she sees all the ways he’s failed her.

But they work together, anyway, for Jack.

And that scares him too.

It’s hard to see her with him and not see himself reflected back. He was a lot younger when he first had to learn how to change a diaper or make a bottle but she’s still too young to have that responsibility thrown onto her.

Claire takes to it like she takes to everything else: a fake grin that he can spot from a mile away and a sly joke.

She pours formula into the bottle and he gets his bath ready and at night they sit together on the counter and they watch over Jack. On the nights they manage to sleep he can hear her sneak into his room and pass out in the chair closest to Jack’s bassinet. Four hours later, he guides her into the bed and takes up her spot.

It never fails to make him feel like shit when she steals Jack’s from his hands. Makes him feel like John.

Dean doesn’t tell Sam this, but he somehow knows, the same way he always does.

Sam looks at him as he looks at Claire and marches up to him with a furrow in his brow and Dean knows that he’s not going to like whatever comes out of Sam’s mouth next.

“Can we talk?”

“No.” Sam gives him a harsh look and grabs his arm, dragging him out of the room anyway, down the hall and around the corner so their voices won’t travel.

“Sam, I said no.” Dean doesn’t even have the strength to pull his arm out of Sam’s grip, he’s just so tired.

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.” Sam leans against the wall across from him, his hands open by his side, his shoulders slouched. “Look at me, Dean, you need to let Claire help you.”

“I have.”

“No you haven’t.” Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Dean really wants to take a pair of clippers to it. “She helps you, but you don’t let her.”

“Well, maybe it’s because it’s not her responsibility.” Dean crosses his arms, feet squared, even as he sways slightly.

“And it’s somehow yours? Dean, we were all friends with Cas.”

Were, were, were. Past tense, always past tense because Cas is gone. He’s not coming back, he’s ash and bone on a beach 20 hours away, and Dean took a shower but he can still somehow taste it on the back of his throat. His burns sting when he moves his hands. The handprint of his forearm reminds him of the one on his shoulder and he can’t breathe.

“Yes.” Dean chokes out. “Yes. He’s my responsibility and I’m not going to push that onto someone else just because I want to drink or sleep or go on a hunt.”

Dean watches as Sam’s entire face goes blank. He shuts down for a moment before coming back to life all at once, like a computer rebooting itself after it’s been overloaded.

“Dean.” It’s Sam’s turn to choke out the word. “Dean you're not dad.” Dean bolts upright and suddenly wants to punch something. He wants to scream and yell and feel the crunch of wood and bone under his feet.

He doesn’t even have the excuse of the Mark of Cain this time. Just his own shitty emotions getting the better of him.

“I’m not talking about this.”

“Yes we are.” Sam catches Dean's sleeve and Dean nearly socks him on principle. “Dean letting people help you isn't bad, that’s what new parents do. Claire isn’t four, she can choose whether she wants to help or not and right now she wants to help. So let her.”

Dean knows. He knows for as much as Claire acts like him, she isn’t him, but it’s hard to divorce the two ideas when he looks at her everyday and sees a mirror.

She’s been getting more frustrated over the week because Dean won’t let her help. She has to push her way through him in order to do anything useful. Dean can’t stop her from staying awake but he can make sure that he gets everything done before she does so she doesn’t have to.

Dean doesn’t want Claire to feel like she needs to help just because she can calm Jack down. She deserves to have her own life. To go out and hunt and have fun if she wants to and not have to take care of a newborn that is needier than most. But no matter what he does, she’s still right there next to him, trying to help in any way she can.

Dean rips his arm out of Sam’s grip and marches back to where Claire is holding a whimpering Jack. His eyes glow gold ever so often, but she just shushes him with a kiss on the forehead.

Claire already loves that kid. Loves him enough that she would put his life before hers. And you know what? Dean can’t even bring himself to blame her when he made the same choice at four.

Dean collapses into the chair next to her and reaches out to grab him.

“Do you want to go get his bottle ready while I try to keep him settled?” The smile she sends his way is worth more than anything.

“So I’ve been trying to find out why you two, in particular, calm Jack down so much.” Sam’s voice echoed through the bunker, breaking the suffocating silence they’ve been in for so long. He stares at the two perched in their usual spot on the counter, a single mug of coffee teetering between them, lipstick smears on one side.

They look like shit.

In sync they give him a raised eyebrow. Claire passes Jack over to Dean, the baby snuffling in his sleep, and snatches the coffee cup from his hand. She makes sure to twist it before taking a drink, lining up with the lipstick mark already there.

“Well back when that whole thing happened like four years back, we found out that angels leave a bit of grace behind.”

No.

“And that handprint was a direct tie from soul to grace.”

No.

“I think he’s reacting to Cas’s grace that remains inside of you. He obviously bonded with Cas before he was even born you remember the park as well as I do. It must calm him down, since Cas isn’t-”

Claire bolts up and Dean sees the coffee cup tip in slow motion, spilling down to the floor with a crash. She’s angry.

She’s so fucking angry it’s like looking in a mirror.

Dean can’t even blame her when she leaves. Walks right out of the kitchen and he can hear the front door slam echoing throughout the entire bunker. He’s just as mad. He wants to rage, he wants to throw the mug against the wall, he wants to scream because Cas left.

He left them with a kid and a piece of himself embedded underneath Dean’s skin that he can never get out. And he left.

He’s gone, turned to ash and dust on the wind and never coming back. No begging and pleading and praying will help them this time. It won’t get him back, it won’t get this piece of Cas under his skin out.

All he gets is the shitty consolation prize of a piece of his best friend's soul under his skin and the grief that keeps him on the teetering edge of insanity. All he gets is his family more broken than before and apparently a connection to a twenty year old who would sooner wish him dead than help her.

All he gets is flashes of something familiar out of the corner of his eye that disappears as soon as he turns and a lingering figure standing behind him in the mirror. Dean has stopped reacting to it. He’s stopped spinning wildly at the sight only to find no one there, he finds he can’t take the disappointment, the heartbreak.

But instead, he chases Claire out the front door, because honestly he can’t take another loss. Not right now.

Jack is still in his arms, working himself up into crying as Claire gets further away.

They catch up to her halfway down the road, her shoulders shaking with the force of holding back her sobs.

“Claire, stop.” Dean calls out and she stops walking but doesn’t turn. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” She nearly shouts it, somehow curling in on herself farther. “It’s not okay. It’s always something new and I can’t.”

“Claire-”

“Don’t look at me.” Claire begs and Dean gets it. He does want anyone to see him cry either so he turns around and presses his lips into Jack’s hair.

“I just-” Claire starts and stops like a car sputtering to life and he can hear her growing more frustrated with every breath. “I keep-” Finally she breaks and lunges forward. Dean thinks she’s going to start hitting him again, like the first day she showed up, but she just rests her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“I keep losing everything.” Claire starts. “I lost my dad for a year and then he comes back and I lose him again and this time it’s my fault.” Dean doesn’t interrupt but he wants to tell her it’s okay. That none of this is her fault. That it was his, and Sam’s, and Cas’s but not hers. Never hers. “My dad wanted to protect me so he let Cas in again and now he’s dead and my mom couldn’t even look at me. She blamed me, I could tell. If I had just said no- but, she left too and now she’s dead. And Randy is dead and now Cas is dead too and I keep losing.” She’s sobbing now, her arms tucked up between her chest and Dean’s back. He’s tempted to turn around, but she doesn’t seem to be done.

“Every time I have Jack it’s like suddenly I’m okay, like I’m whole again. I feel like he’s not actually gone, like I’ll turn around and he’ll be there, the stupid look on his face.” She presses closer, and gently knocks her head into his back over and over again. “And now I know it’s not even because of me, I’m not getting better. It’s just this piece of grace still in me that’s making me think that way and I can’t. I just ca-”

“I know.” Dean finally spins and tucks her under his chin. Jack is squished between them, his eyes glowing gold in the fading light of the sun. They’d have to get back inside soon or he’d get cold. But for now, he just holds the two of them close. She tucks herself impossibly closer, her hands gripping the back of his shirt like a lifeline. “Trust me I know. My dad made a deal to protect me and I still haven’t forgiven him to this day, even though I’ve done the same for Sammy more times than I’d like to admit.”

“That guilt never goes away.” He admits, and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. He wishes Charlie where here. She always seemed to know what to do. “You’ll never forget the people who have sacrificed themselves for you. You’ll love them and hate them and want them back and never want to see them again and it’ll always be confusing.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better.” She laughs and it’s one of the best sounds in the world. It makes the knot in Dean’s chest unclench just a fraction so he can laugh back.

“Yeah I am, because we’ll figure it out together. You have us now and if anyone knows about survivors guilt it me and Sam.” Claire let’s out another laugh and Dean presses another kiss to her head before pulling away. “Come on we have to get back inside before it gets too cold for him.” Claire nods and wipes away the majority of her tear tracks before making the same grabby hands she always does.

Dean slides Jack into her arms and pulls her in for another hug.

“Together?” He makes a sweeping gesture back to the bunker and she snorts.

“Together.”

#baby jack truthing #my writing #Dean Winchester #claire novak #sam winchester #widower arc #I had a lot of fun writing this #helped me avoid my micro bio hw lmao #I’ve been thinking of writing the scene where they pick Cas up in this au too but also who knows #I need to write something besides baby jack #I have a problem #my post #ALSO!!!#HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESS!!!#I wish I would have known I could have written or drawn you something special :(

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

The theatre was loud, opposite of its normally hushed nature. People were yelling back and forth, saws and drills screeching as they tore through wood. In the background, sewing machines could be heard, along with the occasional curse as the needle got stuck in the fabric. One person, however, was quiet, focused. The paintbrush in his hand was small. The hairs tightly pressed together in order to create the perfect details on the backdrop. Erik was hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the stage floor as he squinted at the distant forest he was perfecting. Setting your bag down in the second row, you headed up the stage stairs.

“Hey,” you said softly in order not to scare him.

Blinking, he turned around. His glasses were on the very tip of his nose, having slipped from the slight bit of sweat that had conjured on his face from the glaring stage lights. With a green speckled finger, he pushed the frame back up to its proper position. “Hey! I thought you had a project?”

You shrugged. “I did, but… I kind of hit a wall and needed to give my brain a rest. I’m sorry, I guess I should have gotten lunch with you anyway.”

“That’s alright. If you want, I still have half of my sandwich left.”

Smiling, you ruffled his hair. “Thanks, I’m not really hungry.” Minseok’s dismissive response had ruined the idea of food for you. Later you knew you would be starving, but right now food sounded like a great way to churn your stomach and see what it had been brewing all morning. “I’m just going to go hang out in the seats, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “No one will bother you or question it. Not that anyone would notice in the first place.”

“It’s pretty crazy around here, isn’t it?”

“You missed the big explosion when Dorothy couldn’t find the armchair for the second act. Turns out, someone just leaned a piece of wood for the set against it and hid it from view. Still took us half an hour to find it.”

You snorted. “Wow. I’m actually kind of sad I missed that.” You kissed his cheek, careful to avoid a smear that you were sure he had no clue about. That stupid guilt knocked once again.

The seat was only slightly comfortable, the cushion long ago worn down from a thousand performances. You stewed there in the second row. Though it wasn’t appropriate during shows, you didn’t think anyone would care if you set your feet on the seat in front of you. Folding nearly in half, you hid your face from those who might look your way as you cranked the handle to get the gears in your head to turn.

Confusion seemed like too weak a word to describe what was going on in your head. You were angry, frustrated, sad, relieved. There had to be some language in the world that tied those emotions all together. You just didn’t know it. Perhaps that one word could be the pill you needed to no longer feel this way. If you could shove all of that into a single box, you would be fine. But is it ever that simple? When you closed your eyes and tried not to think of anything in particular, Minseok’s face faded into view. You’d shake your head to drive the image away. It came back anyway.

You felt powerless against this unseen pull, this innate desire to see him again, even after what had just happened in the courtyard. Your mind made excuses, told you that if you simply asked him to explain then he would. Looking up at Erik, you sighed.

There was no comparison because they were two different people. Erik was the sensitive artist, the kind who went to coffee shops on Friday nights to hear a mediocre guitar player sing his “poetry” because he believed everyone deserved an audience. Minseok, on the other hand, was a strange combination of math lab nerd and soccer team captain. He was goofy and dorky, easily amused by corny jokes, but also had the physique of someone who ran five miles in the A.M. for the fun of it. What you couldn’t figure out was what drew you to him in the first place. In any normal, not-already-dating-someone situation, you wouldn’t have been interested in his type. Yet, it was almost… effortless, being around him. Even after all these years, you sometimes had to force yourself into conversation with Erik. Comfortable silences didn’t exactly exist in your relationship, but you always chalked that up to your own personality. Now you wondered if those moments would be better with Minseok.

Was this a normal thing? You heard stories of college sweethearts all the time and for the last few years, you thought you and Erik would join that club. You hadn’t thought about marriage, per se, but you hadn’t seen an end either. The idea of coming to a fork in the road had never occurred to you. While logic and third party advice you’d casually picked up over your life told you to stick to the left, you were being drawn to the right. One road you could easily see where it led, signs, clear pastures, and everything. The other way wasn’t as clear, disappearing into thick woods that were both inviting and foreboding. You didn’t know if there was another side for the road to come out to. The only way you would ever find out would be to follow it.

You were able to sit there in that second row seat for a few hours, surprisingly, with your phone and the internet as your companion. Only occasionally would you contemplate that fork again. Left, right, left, right. Easy, hard, easy, hard. In the end, you decided you needed to see Minseok again to really decide.

The stage manager called it quits late in the afternoon. Erik washed up his brushes and came to meet you. “Hungry yet?” You nodded, more for something else to do before you were alone again. “Good. I’m starving.” Taking your bag like the gentleman that he was, he waited for you to stand up and then walked you out of the theatre.

Dinner ended up being a small burger joint that Erik had been craving all day. You gave no complaints as you started salivating at the thought of their fries. Surely they had to have some sort of secret, addictive ingredient to make fried potato sticks so incredibly delicious. The two of you ended up splitting a large basket of the side. It stayed equally in the middle of the table so no one could say that the other was hogging. Yes. Safe. Easy. Seeable.

Erik offered a follow up to dinner, but you feigned exhaustion (though there might not have been any faking truthfully, as your mind was tired from constantly running throughout the day). He walked you all the way to the door of your room. As usual, he told you goodnight and leaned in for a kiss. But unlike your normal anticipation, you flinched back to avoid his lips. He stared at you in confusion. Clearing your throat, you made it up to him by kissing his cheek before running for cover in your dorm. From the light of the hallway, you could see that Erik stood on the other side for a few seconds, hesitating to understand what had just happened, before finally walking away.

Teeth clenched down on your bottom lip, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Thankfully, Willa was still out so you were alone. The glare of your phone burned in the darkness. You squinted as you moved your thumb across the screen, unlocking it before opening the contacts. The number you wanted was easy enough to find. The pad of your thumb hovered over the little green phone. It accepted the slightest touch and switched over to calling mode. You placed the speaker to your ear.

Rrriiinggg. Rrriiinnngggg.

“Hello?”

You sucked in air. He’d answered. You didn’t have a plan for this. You didn’t have any sort of plan after pressing call. You’d hoped that he was one of those people who didn’t have a voicemail set up.

“Hello? (y/n)?”

You hung up.

Minseok watched you stalk off in the exact direction he wished you hadn’t. Anywhere else; he would have been fine with you going anywhere besides the theatre where your boyfriend was. His wolf growled and clawed with jealousy. Why was he so stupid? Since when was keeping his mate a secret more important than being with you? Of course he wanted to eat lunch with you, to see how you got along with his brothers. But the idea of Baekhyun figuring it out had caused him to panic. As obnoxious as Baekhyun could be, he wasn’t stupid. At some point during the meal, Minseok would have done something a little overprotective and Baekhyun would have started to connect the dots. Unfortunately, he’d already picked up on something.

“Oooo, breaking the rules, are we?” The brat even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at the eldest wolf.

Not holding back, Minseok swung, hitting a good target on the upper arm.

“Ow!”

“First, it's not a rule,” Minseok grumbled. “Junmyeon simply suggested that we don’t date. Besides, you’re one to talk. How’s Daisy?”

Baekhyun was hardly phased. He sported a cheeky grin. “She’s great.”

Bored, Sehun asked, “Can we just go eat now? Who cares who Minseok was flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her!” Minseok shouted. He explained in a lower voice, “She’s having trouble in her math class so I’m doing Sungkyu a favor and helping her out so she can pass. That’s it.”

“So why didn’t you want her to eat with us, then?” Jongin asked innocently.

Minseok flinched. Jongin was more observant than anyone would give him credit for. Not that Minseok was subtle in any sense of the word. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want her to eat with us. Knowing you all, you would have let something slip about what we are.”

“Minseok, we all caught that she was willing to join us,” Chanyeol said.

Huffing, Minseok grumbled, “Are we going to go eat or should I just go by myself?”

Shrugging off the odd behavior, Baekhyun turned and headed for the parking lot. Minseok was quick to follow, feeling smaller than normal surrounded by his pack members. In his head, he pictured himself running back towards the theatre, bursting through the doors, and - in true dramatic fashion - declaring you his.

That would be a complete disaster. He should only do that if he wanted you to never talk to him ever again.

Minseok hardly paid attention as Chanyeol drove them to his favorite pizza place. He was in a trance as the others took control of what to order. Physically, he sat in the booth next to Sehun with Baekhyun on the other side. His shoulder was pressed into the chipped wooden guard rail that ran along the wall but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable poke in his skin. His mind was still back at the campus. He was driving himself crazy trying to figure out how he was going to make this up to you, how he was going to explain his bizarre switch up to you. He hardly ate, which was fine since the others were more than happy to devour the three large pizzas with varying toppings. The others weren’t bothered by his quietness since it was nothing new. Minseok was always more of an observer than a participant. In a time like this, it worked to his advantage.

There was no consulting Minseok when the lunch was through. They all simply piled back into the car and headed out of town towards the woods. Vague mentions of going for a run were tossed around. Minseok didn’t voice any sort of agreement. He wasn’t in the mood. Ha. A wolf not in the mood to run wild among the trees? He really was turned upside down because of you. While the younger ones headed straight for the trees, Minseok headed up the porch and through the front living room until he came to the kitchen. Oh, thank god. There were still beers in the fridge. He grabbed one and immediately opened it, still chugging as he walked over to the breakfast booth.

“Did you have fun?”

Junmyeon slid into the booth across from him. Minseok put the can down. “Yeah. At first. We had fun with the project. It was when the others showed up that things… went bad.”

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asked with a frown.

“I… panicked. The others invited her to join us and I….” Minseok shrugged.

“Worried that the others would figure it out?” Junmyeon guessed. The response was a nod.

“Figure what out?”

Shit.

Baekhyun stood in the entryway, looking back and forth between the eldest and the alpha. Minseok gulped. He thought that all four of them had gone out on a run and he hadn’t heard anyone else in the house. Stepping further into the kitchen, Baekhyun asked again, “Figure what out?”

Minseok looked to Junmyeon for help. None was to be found.

“You should probably tell them.”

“I’m not going to tell just Baekhyun so he can go running and tell the others and exaggerate.”

“I can always call a family meeting.”

“I don’t want to make that big of a deal out of it.”

“Too late on that. Besides, that’s the best way to get everyone here. Get it out of the way.”

“Or to get none of them here.”

“I’m still standing here,” Baekhyun scoffed.

Minseok looked at him. “I know.”

Junmyeon sighed. “Baekhyun, will you go get the others? Tell them it's important?”

He nodded. “Sure. Be back in a flash.” He left, already shedding the hoodie over his head.

Slumping down in the booth, Minseok felt defeated. Junmyeon sensed this immediately. “It really won’t be that bad. And they need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“Yes. Once a pack member finds the first mate, the others will slowly start to find their own. It won’t be immediate. It could take years, really. But it’s like a domino effect. They should be aware that it's their turn next.”

It made sense. The pack was always connected, both in mind and in instinct. But it had been just them for so long, the idea of bringing in mates to the fold was odd. Minseok wasn’t sure how the others would react. Fists clenched on the table, he leaned his head down. It took almost half an hour before the rest of the pack came back. Yixing had arrived first, coming back from a lab he was making up from earlier in the week. The rest came into the kitchen ten minutes later. They were knocking into each other as they yanked on shirts and pants.

“Okay, Junmyeon, what’s the emergency?” Jongdae asked, very prepared to be his usual sarcastic, troll self.

But Junmyeon didn’t reply, letting Minseok take the reins instead. Minseok didn't want to do this. He wanted to run, to keep his secret a little while longer while he figured this whole thing out. But Junmyeon was right. It was time.

“(y/n) - the girl that some of you met today… she’s my mate.”

It was pure silence in the kitchen. It was unnatural in this household. The only time it was ever this quiet was when the house was empty.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said. “You said… mate? Right?” Minseok nodded. He growled. “Fantastic.”

“You really found your mate, Minseok?” Yixing was more enthusiastic about the news. He looked elated, even. A small smile was creeping up.

Despite the stunned silence, Minseok found Yixing’s energy infectious. “Yeah. I did.”

“Have you told her yet?” Chanyeol asked.

“She has a boyfriend,” Jongin reminded him.

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m working on it,” Minseok said. “I just-” His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, his eyes widened at the name popping up on the screen. With sixteen eyes on him, he answered, frantic. “Hello?” A gasp on the other end. “Hello? (y/n)?” You didn’t answer. Two seconds ticked by and you ended the call. He stared at his now black screen in shock. Then his brain started again. “I got to go.”

“Was it her?” Junmyeon asked.

“Wait, I have more questions!” Baekhyun whined. Minseok was out of the kitchen in a heartbeat, jumping into his car and flying down the road. He didn’t know if you were hurt or in trouble. Why had you called him? Why didn’t you say anything? He was determined to find out. There was only one problem.

He didn’t know your dorm number.

You’d briefly mentioned the shared campus housing with your best friend, but that was all the information he had. Looks like he would have to find it the old fashion way.

Asking.

As soon as he parked, he headed towards the dorms, thankful at least that the two large housing buildings were close in proximity. He headed for the smaller cafeteria located in the lobby of the first building. The kitchen was closed but there were still students taking advantage of the open seating. Okay. Here it goes.

The first few groups that Minseok asked had never heard of you. He was starting to berate himself on what a stupid idea this was. He should have called you back and asked you to call him when you were ready because it most certainly would have gone to voicemail. But his luck soon turned around. He approached a group of three girls sitting in a corner. One of them had a camera.

“Excuse me?” They looked up. Minseok cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to find (y/n) (l/n)’s room. Do you happen to know her?”

One girl narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Minseok swallowed. “I… I have her notebook. She’d left it behind earlier at study group. She really needs it for class on Monday but I can’t get a hold of her.” Please believe his stupid lie.

The girl who’d spoken made eye contact with her two friends. “She’s in room twenty-three-nineteen. If she doesn’t answer, just slide the notebook under the door.”

He could almost jump from elated joy. “Thank you!”

Taking off, he headed for the stairs. Your dorm room was only on the second floor so it didn’t take long to follow the signs until he was right outside your door. Only now did the possibility that your roommate would be the one to answer cross his mind. What lie would he have to come up with then? He had to take the chance.

After knocking, he waited, shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to release the nervous energy surging through his body. The door swung open.

It was you. Thank goodness.

You were not the same level of relieved. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Crap. He probably should have thought of that. “You called me.”

You looked back over your shoulder before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind you. “So? That doesn’t mean you can just show up here!”

“I need to talk to you.”

You licked your lips. No, please don’t do that. It’s too tempting already to grab your face and kiss you against the door. Without speaking, you went back into your room. Well, that was a bust. But before he could walk away with slumped shoulders, you came back, this time with shoes on and your bag. “Let’s go.”

He gave no protest as you led him out of the dorm and into the dark. He had no idea where the two of you were headed, but he planned on embracing whatever came his way. The two of you were going to talk. His heart was thumping hard against his sternum. He was getting more alone time with you. Who knew what would end up flying out of his mouth in these next few hours. Would this be the night of truths and revelations?

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo supernatural au #exo series #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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nikosomething · 4 years

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Thought it might be fun to share my concepts for my Beautiful Sacrifice Series

My Concepts

The women of The Untamed are so amazing ughhh

This whole series happened thanks to @mdzswomen s event to honour the women of MDZS. When I read about it I noticed I had never tried to draw any of these amazing women and I knew I needed to change something about that.

My idea was to create a tribute to these strong women and their decision to sacrifice everything. My choice of characters was based on the week one prompts: Jiang Yanli, Wen Qing, Mian Mian and A-Qing. There were more prompts and women, but at that time I didn’t even think I’d manage to draw more than two of them let alone a conceptual series.

It all started with Wen Qing, actually, even though she was the prompt for day two. I knew I wanted a really tall format like a banner hanging from a ceiling (as they are often used in an honorary context) and parts of the character to stick out of its boundaries.

As you can see at first I experimented with Wen Qing fiercely staring into the distance. I tried another sketch with her eyes closed and that’s what inspired all other elements, really.

I decided that I wanted to depict one of the saddest, but also most beautiful and strongest aspects of their journey: the end. I’d call it their final moment, but that doesn’t quite cut it. Jiang Yanli saving Wei Wuxian might have been instinctive, but it wasn’t done to her, she chose to push him away, whatever it may cost her. Which is why I want to go for the phrasing of it having been their final decision. It was an action. And a strong one at that. MianMian chose to end her career, unwilling to tolerate those close-minded people. Wen Qing chose to face the Lanling Jin clan, knowing death was a very likely result. A-Qing chose to signal Xue Yang’s position knowing how dangerous he was.

I didn’t want to portray the scene too realistically, but rather in a symbolic way. For the Beautiful Sacrifice Series I wanted to focus on ease/liberation, sadness and beauty. I chose to portray the deceased with closed eyes and a peaceful expression (as they don’t regret their final act), which is why Mian Mian’s eyes are wide open with her determinedly looking ahead. I also included the last sentence we hear each of these women speak in the show before their (old) life ends.

WEN QING

The first character I had a concept for was Wen Qing. I knew immediately that I wanted to include fire as the cause of her death, but I also wanted to simplify it, to turn it more into a symbol than the actual scene of her being burnt alive.

(At least I imagine that that’s what happened, I may be wrong, though. We know they got her ashes. However, she may have been killed first and burnt later. Or they made it a spectacle to watch one of the last Wen die in flames. Very cruel, but perhaps some found it satisfying).

Wen Qing’s hair is floating in the upwind of the fire’s heat. The flames point to the last thing we hear her say. The background is red for the Wen and fades to black to make the fire shine bright.

The colouring process was quite challenging. I spent days on it, it was really giving me a headache hahaha, I just wasn’t satisfied with anything, the colour palette, the shading, the lighting (it’s the first time I tried a more fancy lighting situation). In the end I put some layers on multiply, which actually helped as I now know her robes were coloured too light, which meant there wasn’t enough contrast to the bright flames in the background.

I was really insecure about the whole piece. I am still stunned that Wen Qing is the drawing with the most notes of this entire series. Thank you so much, it gave me a lot of confidence and motivation to keep trying out new stuff!

JIANG YANLI

Immediately after I had scribbled my Wen Qing concept I knew what I wanted Jiang Yanli’s tribute to look like. Soft and tender, like she is. With Wen Qing it’s the powerful flames that make her hair puff up, resembling Wen Qing’s fierce personality. For Jiang Yanli it’s a gentle breeze that lifts a strand of her hair and carries the lotus leaves with it.

Her eyes are closed as she is deceased. A lotus flower is located where she received the lethal wound in her brother's stead. The flower symbolises her sect, family and fond memories (be it playing by the water with her brothers or making lotus root soup).

Jiang Yanli is wearing my favourite outfit of hers and not her mourning robes which she died in, because I think it captures the gentleness of her personality perfectly with the pastel Jiang colour palette (and it’s actually a layer of see-through fabric in the show).

I really enjoyed colouring this piece and while it was the second design it was the first one I did the lineart and colour for.

MIAN MIAN

I wanted to include an element of disillusion since she experiences that moment of humiliation which is followed by the realisation that the Jin clan doesn’t have her back and goes against her morals.

In the caption I wrote: She spoke up, she stood her ground and then she left all these narrow-minded people behind, choosing to walk alone rather than be silenced. She was the true spark amidst plain snow and she had to realise that the white peony she served was rotten. That day she escaped these golden robes, shedding this old skin which had gotten too tight, and stepped into the future that was hers and hers alone.

The white peony is the symbol of the Lanling Jin sect and while it shines brightly on the outside Mian Mian learned to see through the façade, recognising all the rotten parts she didn’t want to tolerate any longer. With her leaving the peony sheds its petals until it vanished from her life.

In my initial sketch Mian Mian is portrayed with the simple robes she wears underneath her Lanling Jin attire. Since I didn’t give Jiang Yanli her mourning robes and didn’t plan on drawing A-Qing in her white robes either it didn’t feel quite right, though.

The phrase “shedding old skin” and the image of a snake came to my mind. First I thought about experimenting with an actual snake or the pattern of its scales. In the end I settled on the Jin robes being that old skin and showed Mian Mian’s personal robes as the shiny new skin underneath. I wanted to show that she may be stepping out of the Jin sect, but that she is starting on a new, meaningful path.

(Drawing the Jin robes was quite bothersome hahaha. I took tons of pictures of me wearing a robe, but it was so slippery that I almost pulled a muscle while trying to make it look right in the photo. I spent an hour or so on it without any satisfying result and ended up drawing it from imagination after all.)

While I loved my sketch the execution was a p-a-i-n. Colouring her personal robes almost drove me mad and the face, the face was such a struggle. I think I redrew it four to five times. I still think I could have done better, but after days of trying to fix it I decided that perhaps I need some more months of practice to get her expression right (so I might re-draw her in the future).

A-QING

I didn’t think I’d enjoy the A-Qing piece as much as I did!! After having drawn three artworks I was worried that I may have exhausted all possibilities / ideas and that it would end up being a repetition of what I had already done.

I rewatched her episodes for inspiration. I watched all significant episodes of all the women I drew for that matter haha. The last thing we hear her say is directed at Song Lan, actually, which in retrospect surprised me. I could have sworn she talked to Xiao Xingchen last. Or Xue Yang (like in the novel). But nope, it’s our poor poor Song Lan.

Given that A-Qing died the youngest (I think?) I wanted to make her look younger than the other women, so I kept her head round and used pastel colours on her face.

I like moths (unless they eat my clothes or settle down in my food). Moths seek the light and in some way Xiao Xingchen was that light in A-Qing’s life. With the glow they symbolise A-Qing’s soul leaving her body through the lethal wound Xue Yang inflicted on her.

I placed one moth on her mouth as she has been muted by Xue Yang. The new moon in the background stands for the eternal darkness Xue Yang cast on her as moonless nights are the darkest.

For A-Qing I wrote in the caption: She couldn’t protect the man who had taken her in and cared for her. But she stayed. She became a lonely guardian, watching out for the remains of her lost brother in the silence and darkness which were forced upon her. Until that fated day when she gave her life so that the culprit who had shattered this tender soul would be brought to justice.

I finished A-Qing’s artwork way quicker than expected. The robes were tricky with all the torn spots and loose thread, but the rest came easy. I had lots of fun with the moths and the moon. And the glow. I love that cool light blue glow.

THANK YOU

All in all I really loved drawing this series and I thank you for your support, for your wonderful tags which make me smile and giggle and for every reblog and like! Whenever I have a hard time I revisit your tags and find strength within them.

#fytheuntamed #mdzsnet #the untamed fanart #mdzs #mdzswomen #cql #my art #my art 2020 #concept art

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kip-loric · 3 years

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Remember - Cagel

Uh, hi. This is my first time posting anything, including a fanfiction, so I hope it's good. This is my contribution to the Lorien Legacies fandom, with a Lorien Legacies Reborn ship. Cagel! I finished reading fugitive six and was in the mood and because... why not? Anyways, hope you guys like it, or at least don't hate it.

Caleb's P.O.V.

I open my eyes to see sunlight streaming into my room through my open curtains. My window is slightly cracked open, a damp breeze blowing in through the screen.

I’m on my back, my thick comforter covering my legs and bare torso. I sink slightly into the warm mattress, my pillow feeling like a cloud. I let my heavy eyelids close before forcing them open again.

Wait… I think slowly. Memories blurred by alcohol fill my mind as I notice a slight pressure on my chest and glance down. A pale arm is draped across me. My breath catches in my throat, I’m fully awake now. I angle my head to my left.

Bleached hair is splayed out next to me on my pillow. Holy shit. I whip my head back forward and stare at the ceiling. I can feel lean legs tangled up with mine. I swallow hard and I urge my brain to remember more of yesterday.

What happened? I ask myself.

A bottle of champagne and a few beers come to mind. Damn, how much did I drink? I squeeze my eyes shut and dredge up more from last night.

There was Taylor and Kopano. They were watching a movie, something with action and cars.

I smile a little at the memory. I don’t mind their relationship so much anymore and have even begun to feel happy for them. Soon after they had gotten together, my childish crush on Taylor had begun to fade.

Ran was there too, along with Isabela, who somehow snuck alcohol from the UN Peacekeepers. We met up in our dorm and hung out, putting on some music. There were cups passed out and we talked for a while.

But...what happened after that? I remember Taylor and Ran stumbling out the door, leaning on each other for support. They said they’ll see us tomorrow, and maybe something about sleeping? I guess I wasn’t paying attention to them. I was paying attention to someone else.

I blink open my eyes, focusing on the ceiling once again.

It happened weeks ago. I didn’t notice it at first, the way my gaze seemed to be drawn to my roommate. When he caught me looking at him and I turned away as quickly as I could, I realized something was off.

I couldn’t place my feelings for a while, and then I tried to deny them. I mean, all my previous attractions had been to girls. Sure, I had eyed male peers now and then, but had ignored those feelings, hiding them away. If my brothers found out…

Damn it, though, when he smiles at me, my family's acceptance is the farthest thing in my mind. It’s like the voices in my head turn into background noise and butterflies take over my stomach. I feel blood rush to my cheeks everytime he laughs and I can’t help but join in.

Nigel.

Even the name has a way of taking my breath away.

He had been the first person to really look out for me, and we quickly became close friends. We started a band together, snuck out of the base with our friends, and partied on the beach. The nice punk helped me open up and discover myself.

I take a deep breath and look out of the corner of my eyes. A face filled with piercings is only a few inches away from mine. I can feel my eyes widen and I shake my head to try and clear it.

Focus, Caleb, I think. What happened last night?

Let’s see… Kopano passed out on the couch after eating almost everything in the fridge. He was snoring louder than I’ve ever heard.

And, Isabela drank way too much and ended up puking? Yeah, that sounds right. She slumped down on the couch next to Kopano, propping her head up with a pillow and immediately falling asleep.

So, that just left Nigel and I. Damn. The memories become clearer and I strain my aching mind. Fuzzy images pop into my head of him and I on opposite sides of the kitchen. I had a glass clasped in my hands, and kept refilling it.

“Woah, mate,” he had said. He hadn’t had nearly as many drinks as the rest of us and his voice was clear. “Let’s tone it down a notch, yeah?” I had reluctantly set down the beverage while he walked up to me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of his hips and the way they moved with each step.

“You alright?” Nigel asked. We had locked eyes and I dumbly nodded.

He has beautiful eyes, I think. And they're often filled with whatever he’s feeling. Compassion, mischief, kindness, sometimes confusion, and tons of other emotions all show themselves there. His eyes have to be my favorite part of him.

You're getting off track, I scold myself.

“C’mon,” he had said. “You look like ya could use some rest.” He had led me to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed with me. A shiver had traveled down my spine as he accidentally brushed his shoulder against mine.

“You gonna be okay, pal?” He asked me. And then…then I did something really stupid.

“Nooooo,” I whisper in my room, dragging a hand across my face as the rest of yesterday comes flooding into my mind.

“No,” I had told him, leaning closer to his handsome face. The alcohol had made me unnaturally brave and I had rested one of my hands on top of his. My worries had begun to melt into nothingness. “I won’t be okay if you leave.” I remember how my words slurred together.

His neck began to turn red and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously. “Caleb…” he whispered, his eyes showing confusion and an odd nervousness. Oh, screw it, I had thought, like an idiot with too much to drink.

I had quickly leaned in the rest of the way and pressed my lips to his. I cupped his face with my hands and I closed my eyes as he made a surprised squeaking sound against my mouth.

No, I groan internally. Why, why, why? Why, you dumbass? I glare at the ceiling in my frustration. No matter how strongly I felt drawn to him, our friendship was more important, but I probably ruined it last night.

But then… I scrunch my eyebrows together in uncertainty.

I remember moving my mouth against his passionately while leaning into him, wanting us to be closer. He had planted a hand on my waist to steady us, then kissed me back. His lips were softer than I had imagined them to be as he tried to match my intensity.

He… kissed me back?

Eventually, I let him overpower me and take the lead. He had brushed his tongue piercing over my lips while running his fingers through my sandy blond hair. I had tried to urge on the brit with a small bite to his bottom lip, but the hand that was in my hair faltered instead.

I moved my hands away from his neck and cheeks, beginning to run them down the sides of his body. My right hand had snaked into his shirt and pressed against the small of his back.

I remember myself breaking our kiss, both of us out of breath and panting slightly. I had kissed his jawline and then his neck, earning a low growl from him.

“Oh god,” I mutter while pinching the bridge of my nose. My face gets hot from the embarrassment of intoxicated me, but I take a deep breath and continue my memory hunt.

I had nibbled and suckled the sensitive skin of his neck, making him let out light moans. I felt myself getting hard as I suddenly bit down on his skin and he gasped with surprise. I tugged up on his shirt, my way of telling him I wanted it off.

A deep sense of longing and want took over me and I crawled onto his lap, my face still buried in the crook of his neck. One of my hands had reached down towards the forming bulge in the front of his pants.

I need you. I need you. I need you. The words had chanted over and over again in my mind like a drunken mantra. Nigel gripped my wrist to stop my hand from moving any farther.

“Wait,” he muttered. His voice had seemed distant and fuzzy at the time. He gripped some of my hair and pulled my head back so I looked him in the eyes. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he kissed me softly.

And… my memories stop after that.

Wait, no! What happened!? My breathing falters as I think of the possibilities. I relax a little as I realize my pants are still on, but my heart continues to hammer against my chest. I wrack my brain, but come up with nothing more and finally bring myself to look at the person next to me.

It's definitely Nigel, no doubt about it. His breathing is slow and steady, making my eyelashes flutter with each exhale. He wears a thin tank top and a pair of sweatpants.

Should I wake him? I desperately want to know what happened, but he also looks so calm. I gaze at him, my heart beat settling. My initial panic is soon replaced with a flood of warmth in my chest.

“Nigel,” I whisper, reaching over and nudging his shoulder slightly. “Nigel.” He groans in his sleep, lips pursing together. I shake him a little and he moves his head closer to me.

I take in a sharp breath and his legs shift around, becoming more entangled with mine. His eyelids open slowly and when he sees me he smiles, a pleasant surprise on my part.

“Hi,” he says groggily.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

“Mm,” he replies, eyes half closed. “What’s the time?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I haven’t checked.” Nigel must hear the slight panic in my voice because his eyes open the rest of the way. He lifts his arm off of me and untangles our legs.

“Do you remember last night?” He asks me, starting to sit up. There’s worry in his words and his looks at me with concern and hopefulness.

“Uh, well, I- I remember some, but- uh,” I stutter, sitting up quickly and crossing my legs. “I mean, I- we didn’t have…? Or di- did we?” I rub one of my arms nervously and Nigel gives me a soft smile. “I can’t remember...”

“Nah,” he says quietly. “I stopped you from going too far. You were way too drunk and I couldn’t take you like that. Besides, I wasn’t sure if that’s what you would have wanted.”

I take a deep breath and return the smile. “Thank you.”

He nods, almost sadly, and glances down at the bed. “I’m… not sure if you want any of this.” He motions to the space where we were just sleeping next to each other.

“Oh.”

That’s all you have to say!? I think. Oh? Tell him how you feel! I look up at Nigel and my throat starts to close up. “I-” I blink rapidly a couple times as he looks at me expectantly. “I do. Want this, I mean.”

“Really?” He asks.

“If you do, then yeah.”

His signature smirk returns and he leans closer to me, giving me plenty of time to pull away or rethink my decision. I meet him halfway and our lips crash together. My senses are heightened compared to last night, and the kiss soon turns heated.

We fall back onto my bed, with Nigel on top. He seems much more confident than yesterday and his tongue finds its way into my mouth. He pins one of my arms next to my head and makes an approving noise in the back of his throat.

We kiss for what feels like an eternity, my imagination running wild. A loud knock on my door makes us both jump. We break the kiss and Nigel flings himself off of me.

“Uh,” I say, but Nigel has already caught his breath and strides to the door. He opens it and leans against the doorway.

“Oi, what’s up?” He asks. Lightly panting, I peer over his shoulder and see Isabela’s dark hair on the other side. I start panicking again as she sees me and I give her a small wave. She rolls her eyes and speaks to Nigel.

“Some of us are a little hungover, so if you could kindly shut your traps, that would be nice. Save it for another time? Or maybe put your legacy to good use.”

“Sorry, love,” Nigel tells her, not flustered at all. “We’ll be quiet.”

“Thank you,” she huffs and leaves us alone. Nigel shuts the door quietly behind her and walks back up to the bed. He sits on the edge and swings his legs over, nestling down into the covers and pillows.

He holds out one of his arms. “Cuddling?” I smile happily and let him wrap me in his arms. I nuzzle into his chest and breath in his scent, not wanting the moment to ever end.

“So, does this make you my boyfriend?” He asks after a minute, twirling a few strands of my hair through his fingers.

“I hope so,” I say.

He chuckles lightly and kisses the top of my head. “Good.”

#cagel #caleb crane #nigel barnaby #loric #lorien legacies reborn #lorien legacies #human garde #garde #generation one #fugative six

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spahhzy · 3 years

Text

"Oh if your here then that must have meant...you failed, oh well I guess we can just start again"

"I can fill you in on the details I guess while we wait for the rest of the group"

"no no! sit down! We are going to be here for awhile! Look I even have it book marked! Now sit, grab a cup of coffee or whatever it is your kind drinks and relax"

"How are they doing?" Asked qrow as he took a swig from his flask. The question given to the eldest schnee, Winter.

"If by 'They' you mean the team of Oscar, Nora, Ren and your niece Ruby physically they are all healed...no long lasting damage after the mission but mentally..." Winter trailed off not looking up from her paperwork.

Qrow sighed before taking another sip from his flask, this was all one big fucked up headache.

"If you insist on drinking could you please do so away from here..." Winter said to him to which qrow just looked at her before capping the flask and walking out of the office without so much a rebuttal.

Once the door closed, Winter let out a frustrated sigh before slamming her fist onto her desk.

-WBY- Vacuo general Hospital.

The room was quiet. all three girls laid on their respective beds both thinking and reflecting on the days that had passed.

It wasn't long until Blake spoke out.

"So...now what do we do?"

Ah yes what do they do indeed.

"I...I don't know" came Weiss as she too didn't know the answer to that question.

"We can't just sit here and do nothing!" Came the frustrated voice of Yang.

"In case you forgot Yang...we got outclassed and outmatched by Salem I'm not sure their is anything we can do right now" Spoke Weiss to which Yang just grabbed her pillow in frustration.

Silence fell over them again.

"How...how is Ruby?" Weiss asked to the older sister.

Yang just looked at Weiss and Blake and just shook her head.

"She's asleep; she was taking it pretty badly"

The fall of Atlas, Ironwood's desperate actions (some would disagree), and now this...

Ruby's hospital room.

Ren, Nora and Oscar all looked like a mess.

All three were sitting in chairs bandaged and bruised but all staring at the sleeping form of one Ruby Rose.

"What changed for things to be like this?" Spoke Ren while voicing his thoughts the question was mainly for Ozpin.

Oscar remained silent.

"He started acting differently back at the Schnee manor when we rescued yiu from the whale" Ren said calmly eyes still on the sleeping Rose.

"Things came to a head in the desert after Cinders defeat" he stopped trying to relive that horrible memory.

"he was ready to carve her up and in his words 'slice her apart so he could expose her rotten innards so she can be judged for what she had become' that's not him, that's would never be him" Ren stated as Nora agreed.

Oscar remained quiet.

"Things blew apart more when I stopped him...I could feel his anger Ozpin, that hatred and when he told me to 'stand aside' that gaze he sent me..sent us?" Ren shivered at the memory.

"We got into a fight, as in fight-fight headmaster but he seemed to stop and freak out a bit before healing us and apologizing profusely" Nora said allowing Ren to follow up

"All that hate and anger...gone. as if it was never there and I realized we had our brother back"

"So if there is anything you need to say tell us now...please"

Oscar remained silent. Just staring at Ruby sleeping.

"Is that all you can do? Be silent!?"

Ren just clutched at the arm rest in anger.

"Ren please calm down maybe even headmaster doesn't know why she did what she did!"

Ren scoffed. A trait not usually found within the young man. He turned his head to face the boy.

"You know something... I can see the gears turning up their but you don't wanna say anything"

Oscar still remains silent.

"Damnit Ozpin tell us something, anything!" Ren all but pleaded to which Oscar said nothing.

Ren sighed before getting up and with Nora in tow left Ruby's room without another word.

Before leaving Nora turned and spoke "he was right not to trust you" and closed the door.

Leaving Oscar to just stare at the still form of Ruby as she slept before shifting his eyes to one object that was laying on her bed with her.

A broken Crocea Mors.

Ren punched the wall in frustration outside of the hospital leaving small cracks.

"Ren!"

" I'm fine Nora just.."

"Your mad...I know I am too, I really...really wanted to break his legs but it's Oscar legs too" Nora said before hugging him from behind.

"We'll get him back Ren" she said as Ren sighed.

"I know Nora...I just can't help-" he was interrupted by a sudden rumble in his scroll and a beep signifying a new message.

Oddly enough Nora's scroll beep as well.

With a sigh he and Nora pulled out their scrolls.

"Did you get a message as well?" Nora asked

Ren nodded.

It was a video from an unknown number.

The video being titled 'Have you heard the good news?'.

"Did you guys get a video message too?" Came the voice of Qrow as he walked towards them with his scroll out as well.

" Yes which if you got it...then I wonder if Weiss, Yang and Blake got it as well" Ren asked and Qrow rubbed his chin thinking.

"If they did then this couldn't be by random coincidence let's go to their room and find out" Qrow said to which Ren and Nora agreed.

The trio headed out to find the other three.

As the footsteps faded from the room Oscar, still looking at the sleeping form of Ruby, sighed.

'Why couldn't you tell Ren anything?'

'What would you want me to say?'

'Something just...something'

'Somethings are better left unsaid'

Oscar rolled his eyes, Ozpin was hiding something that much was clear.

His scroll went off.

He had received a video message from an unknown number.

Oscar opened the message and pressed play.

"Today....today is a wonderful day!" Oscar eyes widened at the voice it was...

"Yes its me Tyrian the ever faithful servant to our goddess!" He said dramatically hands spread out wide in stage like fashion.

"How is all of you by the way...and by you I mean those receiving this video hmm?" He asked tilting his head.

"Ah you must be fine physical wounds heal and such" Oscar just glared at the mad scorpion on the screen mocking him.

"How is Miss Rose? Hopefully not taking it too bad?" Again more mockery. What is the damn point of this video?

"Ahaha, enough I can guess your all pretty upset but why? Why be upset?...haven't you heard the good news?"

What good news can come from a psychopath who blindy follows the devil herself?

"Well before I can give the good news allow me to give you some bad news!" Suddenly a crude drawing of stick figures graced the right side of screen while one gracefully drawn person was on the left. The one on the left was undeniably Salem.

"My goddess has deemed you all , and by that I mean humanity and faunus alike,as disgusting bacteria; a bacteria that only infects and destroys!" Some of the stick figures Oscar noticed had some distinguishing features, 3 had capes, 1 had a yellow arm , 1 had a big gun, alot had animal traits and some had white hair and surrounded by money.

"So it with a heavy heart that I must tell you that you all will be released from this level of existence by the mercy of my mistress!" He said as he put a hand over his heart as if paying respects.

That was before a large crazed grin etched onto his face.

"Now with the bad news gone! It's time for the good news!" He all but squealed as he then held up another two pictures.

The one on the left was again a portrait of Salem her arms spread open, while the picture on the right was of four stick figures.

One figure with blonde hair in front of three others. The other three were on the ground defeated almost. One had black and a pink line in its hair, the other had a hammer and orange hair and the last the one closest to the blonde had a red cape.

"I knew their was a reason I found him so...interesting!" He said which made Oscar shudder.

"But did YOU know this Ozpin hmm?"

Did Ozpin know what?

" is that why you accepted him into Beacon and not the whole 'untapped potential' jargon you preached?" Tyrian question before long his face cam back to the screen.

" I've learned some very crucial information...information that makes me wonder who really is the good side in all of this" Tyrian said acting as if he was putting on his thinking cap before snapping his fingers.

"You really tried to keep him from her...and how far did you go to achieve that I wonder..."

Tyrian was rambling trying to rile Ozpin up, because Oscar could feel a slight tugging on his consciousness.

"But fate works in strange ways...you of all people should have learned that" he said before motioning to a big portrait of Salem.

"She dances and sings in the light, she lurks in the shadows and she always gets her way" the scene changes this time.

"I've berated you enough...I think I'd like a quick chat with those three closest to him"

Oscar looked away from the screen too the sleeping form of Ruby. Then back to the screen. If he got this video then possibly everyone did too.

"Too the Valkyrie, the Calm One, and to Miss Rose especially..." a dark grin marred his face.

"Your words mean nothing to him now!" He stated sinisterly before a series of pictures flashed on screen.

It was of a blonde haired man with striking deep blue eyes , his armour worn out and cracked and his shield discarded as he held a broken sword.

Another photo but this time it was a photo with a women banged up , bruised her cape in tatters and her eyes reflecting despair. She was in the background, on the ground arm outstretched trying to reach the blonde haired man in vain.

"Now he only hears...her truth"

Before finally one more photo appears and this time it makes Oscar's and in extension Ozpin's blood run cold.

It was a photo of the blonde man and a pale woman who had red eyes and black veins.

"No it can't be" this time it was Ozpin who spoke.

It was of Jaune Arc and Salem embracing.

"Now...he's home"

The video ended and remained on that image.

"This isn't right that's too far ahead! No this won't do! Stupid bookmark ugh"

"Well just have to start from the beginning my bad buddy!"

[Here we go, off to a bad start.]

#jaune arc #rwby salem #lie ren #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #oh no

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 37: Martin Prime

It was weird hearing his fiancé arguing with someone who sounded like him but wasn’t, Martin mused idly. Like listening to a tape he didn’t remember recording.

It was also weird, and would probably always be weird, that he could tell the difference between Jon’s voice and Past Jon’s voice, at least when he was paying attention and not overly upset. Theoretically they were the same person. Practically, they were very different, just because of what they’d both been through. Jon’s voice had just the faintest rasp to it, the lightest bit of scarring on his vocal chords from both Daisy’s knife and Jane Prentiss’ worms, and Past Jon’s voice was a tad softer, less hardened by time and circumstance. The distinction in their voices was subtle, but it was enough.

“You knew about the bullet. You should have said something to her,” Jon said, for what was at least the fifteenth time in the last week. Martin could imagine him waving his arms as he did so. “If she gets shot because she didn’t know to avoid it—”

“It wasn’t like I had an opportunity in the conversation,” Past Martin protested. “I did tell her to be careful.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jon demanded.

From the stress on you, Martin guessed he’d turned the argument on someone else, and it was Past Jon who answered. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll come back alive but with a ghost’s bullet in your leg that’s going to make you irrationally angry’? I did the best I could. We were recording.”

“I’ve told you before, the recorders aren’t the Eye—”

“Uh, I need to take this back to the library before it closes for the weekend,” Tim said, but it didn’t seem to make an impression on the argument that Sasha was now chiming in to.

“He’s right, you should have told her. Should have warned her against joining the Institute, too.”

“I can do that when she gets back,” Past Martin pointed out.

“I told Basira what was going on,” Sasha said.

“But not in relation to herself,” Past Jon said. Martin could imagine that being accompanied by an accusing jab of the finger, but he wasn’t going to make assumptions. “Besides, that’s different. Basira is the type to weigh all evidence and theories against her options when making a decision. Melanie’s more the type to give in to emotion, especially anger. It’s impossible to tell which way she’d go if you gave her that kind of information first. It’s very likely to make things worse.”

“Don’t you Know at me, Jonathan Sims.”

Tim made a noise imitative of a supermarket’s tannoy crackling to life. “Manager to Mr. Kettle, manager to Mr. Kettle, there’s a Ms. Pot for you on line two.”

“Would that be the pot calling the kettle back?” Martin asked. He was rewarded with a choked-off laugh from Tim’s direction, but he was pretty sure nobody else in the room heard either one of them. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair. “Want me to come with you to take that book back? This is going to take a while.”

“Sure. We’ll be back, guys.” Tim evidently directed this at the others, but again, no reaction from anyone. He sighed. “Here, give me your arm. Bringing your cane?”

“Better not, just in case we run into someone. Get me to the stairs and I should be okay.”

The sound of the argument faded into the background as they made it to the steps; Martin let go of Tim’s arm and gripped the railing instead. By leaning forward, he could anticipate when they hit a landing. “Thanks. What’s the book on, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s one of the circus books. I—I know I’m obsessing a little about it. I know the circus itself isn’t the important bit, but…I don’t know. Forewarned is forearmed, I guess.” Tim was silent for a moment. “Unless it is something about circuses that are important.”

“No, not really. Just…an excuse, I guess.” Martin tried to put into words what even Jon had never asked his opinion on; there hadn’t been much of a chance before the Unknowing, and after it there hadn’t been much of a point. “I’ve noticed that’s one of the places the Stranger is drawn to, is the entertainment industry. Not just the circus, but the theater. I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not the only one drawn to it. You know as well as I do the damn things overlap, like the bleed on the edge of colors.”

“Mm…hang on, I have a question, but we’re hitting the main floor. I’m gonna throw my arm around your shoulders like I’m telling you a bad joke, okay?”

“Thanks. And thanks for the warning.” Martin braced himself against the railing.

Tim’s arm came down heavily over Martin’s shoulders, and he turned his face towards him, hoping anyone passing them would assume he was engrossed in Tim’s extremely skewed sense of humor. True to his word, Tim picked up in the middle of a joke as they left the stairwell. “…the Brother Superior stands up as usual and sings, ‘Good morning, broooo-theeers.’ And all the brothers sing back, ‘Good moooor-niiiiiiing,’ except for the one little brother who’s rebelling. He sings out—”

“’Night, Martin,” a sweet, young-sounding voice called.

“Night,” Martin called back. It sounded like Manal, but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong name and drawing attention to himself.

“Oh, hey, are you heading upstairs?” The voice got closer, and Martin and Tim drew to a halt. “This came in the mail drop for Mr. Bouchard. I meant to bring it up right away, but we got slammed with students and I forgot. Must be the first paper of the term coming up due. Can you give it to Rosie, please?”

“Sure, no problem.” Martin reached out uncertainly and—fortunately—touched a cardboard packet; he was able to grab it before it became obvious that was luck. He hoped. “Have a good night, Manal.”

“You too.”

Tim got them started walking again, continuing as he did, “Anyway, so the brother who’s rebelling sings, ‘Good eeeeeeve-niiiiiiing.’ A hush falls over the whole refectory. Brother Superior stands up, looks around the room, looks each brother in the eye, and then sings, ‘Someone chanted eveniiiiiiing…’”

Martin let out a long, protracted groan. “God, Tim, how long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Years,” Tim admitted sheepishly. “You’ve got to have the right audience for it, you know? Someone who both appreciate puns and knows enough about music to catch the reference.”

“If I could see you, I would hit you.”

“Must be my lucky day. Mind the steps.”

Martin switched the cardboard packet to his other hand in favor of the railing, and was surprised when someone tugged it away from his fingers. “Hey—”

“Sorry, should’ve warned you I was doing that,” Tim said. “I just figured it’d probably be better if I hand it off to Rosie, since…” He trailed off.

Since Martin couldn’t see her, wouldn’t know where to find her, and the last time he’d been in her office it had been…somewhat different. He tried to push the image of the top of the Panopticon out of his mind. “Yeah, probably for the best. If she’s still there.”

“She will be. Always one of the last ones out the door. Not sure how much of it is Elias keeping her to the last minute and how much of it is she doesn’t want to miss anything.” Tim paused. “Speaking of being unbearably nosy, wonder what Elias is getting from one of the Lukases that can’t be delivered in person?”

“They don’t like doing anything in person if they can help it, Tim. It’s kind of their whole…deal.” That close to Elias’ office, it didn’t feel safe to mention the Lonely out loud, or any of the fears, really. “I very much doubt we’ll find out, though.”

The railing didn’t level out—it just stopped, something Martin discovered when he almost pitched forward from abruptly not having something to lean on. He caught himself against the wall with a rather loud slap and thanked his lucky stars he’d always had a (mostly undeserved, to be honest) reputation as a klutz. Assuming anyone was still around, they’d probably just think oh, Martin tripped over his own two feet again, insofar as they thought about it at all. Rosie was probably watching, though.

That was confirmed—more or less—when Tim said in a bright, jovial voice, “Rosie! Good to see you. Can you give this to Elias? Manal asked us to bring it up.”

“Of course.” Rosie’s voice sounded just like Martin remembered it, and he curled one hand into a fist to stave off the memory of her staring up at them, face perfectly blank except for her eyes, somewhere between dazed and terrified, as she blandly asked if they had an appointment…

Not for the first time, Martin wished there had been any other way of protecting him from the Eye than by destroying his vision. Setting aside the usual, mundane difficulties that came with total blindness—difficulties any person faced with complete loss of sight would have to deal with—there was the simple fact that the last thing Martin had seen, live and in person, had been a post-apocalyptic hellscape. The last time he had seen the Institute, it had been a tower of black glass and twisted steel looming up into the stratosphere; the last time he had seen London, it had been swarming with very interested cameras and monitors and paintings of eyes; the last time he had seen the sky, it had seen him back. He could remember the way things had been before, but those last impressions were awfully powerful, and it hurt.

“Was there anything else, Tim?” Rosie asked. Martin frowned slightly. Under her voice was something eager, something…hungry. She wanted something, and he wondered what it was. He remembered Jon’s unwilling statement, where he’d talked about her constant desire for secrets—she could probably give Sasha a run for her money in terms of snooping, and no wonder Gertrude had always talked to her as if she was in the know. Was that all it was? Was she prying for secrets? Or—Martin bit his lip—was it possible she’d been taken over by the Not-Them, that she was drawn to Tim because of his Stranger mark? She sounded like he remembered, but if she were replaced in this past, would it replace his memories of the future, too?

He bit back a groan. Douglas Adams was wrong about the biggest problem to time-travel being grammatical tenses; clearly, the biggest problem was making sense out of the recursive nature of body-stealing, memory-altering creatures.

“Nope, that ought to do it. Gotta get to the library before they lock it up for the night. Have a good weekend, Rosie.” Tim knocked twice on something wooden, probably her desk, then came over and touched Martin’s arm. “Let’s go, Freckles.”

“Night, Rosie,” Martin called, because he would have before and Past Martin would too and there was no sense in making Rosie—or Elias, if he was still there—suspicious. He could imagine the false, charming smile she flashed in his direction, but there was no audible response and he didn’t expect one. Instead, he simply linked arms with Tim, let him lead him down the corridor, and prayed nobody had left a door open for him to run into.

The sensation of stepping into the library was instantly a familiar one to Martin—the feeling of stepping into a soaring, open space, but an oddly safe one—odd because of the sheer number of truly dangerous and terrifying works contained there. Any book with Jurgen Leitner’s bookplate on it was destroyed long before it got this far, of course, but even before he’d gone to the Archives, Martin had wondered if someone would be able to tell one of Leitner’s books if the bookplate was papered over or removed. Once he’d learned the truth, that Leitner had been a collector rather than the author or even the commissioner, he’d wondered how many books of power were actually in the Institute’s library. On the one hand, it didn’t seem likely that Jonah Magnus would allow any genuinely powerful books to get this far; on the other hand, it would certainly explain the library’s asinine and borderline ludicrous lending procedures.

Martin hung back by the door, sliding his hands into his pockets and hoping he was sufficiently out of the way of everyone bustling to get their assigned tasks completed so they could be out the door on time. Idly, he wondered who was on the desk. He’d usually ended up working it on Friday afternoons; everybody else hated it because, as Rebecca had once complained, there was always one person who came back with an enormous stack to return with ten minutes to go before they were supposed to clock out. Every book had to be checked against three different lists, certain inspections had to be made, and the identity of the person returning the book had to be checked twice. And it all had to be done by hand; every attempt to automate and bring in a computer had been met with catastrophic failure. Martin had actually kind of enjoyed it, especially since it usually meant he was left alone at the end of the week and could take his time, lingering over shelves and experimenting with the acoustics. If he thought he could get away with it, he might creep up here some evening after the Institute was closed and throw a few more songs into the darkness. It was different in the Archives.

“Well, hello there, Martin!”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin and whirled around, his heart pounding. “Jesus!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” The voice was coming from roughly Martin’s height, but that was about all he could tell, that and that it was female. It had no distinctive characteristics, nothing to trigger a name in his mind. And yet, whoever owned it knew his name, which meant it was someone he should know. He’d have to bluff. “Haven’t seen you up here in a while.”

“Yeah, just—been busy,” Martin said lamely. He waved in the direction of the desk. “Kind of figured you’d be glad to see the back of me, to be honest.”

“Oh, now, why would you think that?” The woman, or at least Martin presumed it was the woman, patted him on the cheek with a soft, fleshy hand; he tried not to flinch at the unexpected touch, or the unpleasantly dry feel of her palm. “You’re such a hard worker, and always so cheerful. You’ve been missed, but I’m sure Jon appreciates having you in the Archives.”

If this was a joke, Martin didn’t think it was very funny, but he managed a smile anyway. “Well, we all had a settling-in period, but that’s in the past now. I do miss it up here sometimes, but I like being down there, too.”

“And we’re very glad to have him,” Tim said, suddenly right next to Martin. “C’mon, buddy, we’ve got a weekend to catch before it slips away…have a good one.”

“You, too, Tim. And you, Martin. Don’t be such a stranger—come back and visit us more often. We’d love to see you again.”

“Sure,” Martin said softly. “’Night.”

Tim didn’t say anything the rest of the way back down to the Archives, which Martin appreciated. Going down stairs was a hell of a lot more complicated than going up; he couldn’t lean as safely, and the kick-and-drag method was a bit less effective. It took concentration to keep from pitching forward and tumbling down the entire flight, and if he tried to spare any braincells for conversation, Martin was pretty sure he’d end up missing his footing. Tim’s hand at his elbow helped, especially since the main floor was crowded with people leaving for the day. A few called greetings to Tim, but they all ignored Martin, which was fine by him.

There was a sense, when they re-entered the Archives, of an argument put on hold, something that was confirmed when the first thing Martin heard anyone say was Jon’s voice. “What do you think, Martin?”

“Gender is a social construct, Shakespeare is overrated, and paisley is horrendously tacky no matter what color it is,” Martin replied promptly. Someone hastily turned a snigger into a cough.

“I mean, about whether or not you would have told Melanie more about what to expect in India.”

Martin felt around until he located a chair. “I think my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Past Jon protested.

“Not in this.” Martin met Jon’s hand coming towards him and squeezed it gently. “What I would have done doesn’t have a lot of relevance here. It’s not our story anymore.”

“What?” Past Martin sounded genuinely confused. “Of course it’s—”

“I mean,” Martin said quickly, “that you’re not us and we’re not you. What I was like at this point in things isn’t anywhere near where you are, and vice versa. Same with Jon and your Jon. To be honest, I don’t even know if I would have made the effort to be friends. But at this point, things are different enough that telling you how we would do it isn’t very…efficient, I guess? It’s your story, your lives. You’re the ones shaping it. Trying to do things the way we wish we’d done it…well, if the circumstances aren’t the same, it won’t have the same outcome necessarily. You’ve got to do what you think is best.”

“That’s…a good point, actually,” Jon admitted. He sighed. “I apologize for lecturing.”

“’S all right,” Past Martin said. “Gave me a chance to stand my ground and all.”

“Which you need to do more often,” Tim said cheerfully. “Anything to boost your self-esteem.”

“Ouch, Tim, really?” The effectiveness of Sasha’s reproof was lessened by the obvious smirk in her voice.

“Yeah, okay, I probably shouldn’t have said it like that, but it’s true. I’m not completely oblivious, you know. I can put the pieces together, and from the little you’ve said about working in the library, I got the impression you thought they hated you up there. Especially Diana.”

“They did,” Past Martin protested. “The only one who ever even spoke to me directly was Diana, and even that was just to give me orders. It’s hard not to know someone hates you when their method of asking you for help is to wait until you’re in earshot and then tell someone else to ‘just leave that for Martin, he’ll fumble his way through it eventually’.”

“Did they really do that?” Jon asked quietly.

“Constantly,” Martin affirmed. “Speaking of, Tim, who the hell was that who was talking to me while you were checking that book back in? I didn’t recognize the voice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Tim said with an audible frown.

Martin sighed. “Look. Down here it’s pretty easy to tell who’s talking. You’ve all got pretty distinct voices from one another. It’s hard to tell my Jon and your Jon apart if I’m not concentrating, but there’s enough of a difference and I know you well enough to be able to figure it out, usually. But out there? If it’s not someone with a distinctive pitch or accent or speech pattern or whatever, it’s hard to tell. And something like ninety percent of the people who work here speak with the exact same voice. About all I could tell was that I was talking to a woman.”

“I guess that makes sense. Just figured you’d recognize Diana’s voice when you heard it.”

“Pretty sure I would. So who was that?”

There was a half-second’s pause before Tim said, “Diana.”

“Diana?” Martin repeated incredulously.

“You’re sure you didn’t recognize her?”

“No, and it’s not just the accent. I didn’t think the ladders got that close to where I was standing.” Martin rubbed his forehead. “God, my mental map of the library is all off now.”

Jon wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Tim sounded bewildered. “What do ladders have to do with anything?”

“It sounded like whoever was talking to me was around my height. I mean, that could’ve been the way sound bounces in the library, but—”

“No, that’s—she is around your height. She always intimidated the hell out of me.”

Martin sighed. “Okay, I think we’re talking about two different Dianas here. Which Diana was this I was talking to?”

“Diana—what the hell is her last name? The head librarian?”

“Caxton,” Past Jon supplied.

Something cold trickled down Martin’s spine. “Describe her.”

“Uh—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair that she usually wears piled up on top of her head, looks like a Quentin Blake illustration come to life—?”

“That’s who the artist is! I can never remember his name,” Sasha said, punctuating the remark by—from the sound of it—slamming her open hand against the desk.

“That’s not Diana Caxton,” Past Martin said decidedly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, or why she would have told you she was, but—”

“It’s the Diana Caxton I know,” Past Jon said. “And you should, too. She was there when I took Melanie up the first time, said they missed seeing your smiling face up there.”

“Look, that’s not Diana,” Past Martin insisted. “I should know. I worked there for ten years, Jon. She’s shorter than five feet tall, her hair’s been completely silver for a while now, and she has a Korean accent. I don’t know who this woman is you’re describing, but it’s not Diana Caxton.”

Jon tensed, his arm tightening around Martin’s shoulders. Softly, he said, “I think it is now.”

There was a moment of horrible silence as that sank in. Martin had to admit that the idea of the Not-Them taking over Diana hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d just…assumed that if it was anyone, either it would be someone in Artifact Storage foolish enough to disregard the warnings or it would be Rosie. And, okay, maybe there’d been a foolish little part of him that had hoped it wouldn’t take over anyone. But somehow, the idea of it being Diana Caxton just felt wrong. It was true that she hadn’t liked him all that much when he’d worked for her, but then, he’d been unqualified and incompetent, bluffing his way along, and she’d likely had to pick up a lot of his messes. And he knew for a fact that the twice-widowed bookworm had a flock of grandchildren who adored her—he still remembered the day her youngest had come to visit, just before he’d been transferred to the Archives, and attached herself to Martin with a thousand innocent questions and bragging stories about “my Nana”. It wasn’t fair for anyone to be taken by that thing, but especially not someone like Diana.

There was a banging noise, like the Archives doors had just blown open, and Martin jumped, clutching at Jon’s arm. His first thought was that it was the Not-Diana, having realized they knew, coming to take them out. His second was that it was Elias, the jig would be up, and they would have to try and implement their plan now, and what if Jon wasn’t strong enough to do what had to be done and—

“Basira?” Sasha said, sounding somewhere between shocked and relieved. “What are you doing here?”

Oh. Martin relaxed, but not much. There was absolutely no hiding his or Jon’s presence. Past Jon sounded nervous as he said, “I can explain about—”

“Save it. I don’t care.” There was a thump and a rattle as Basira—her voice was unmistakable, too—dropped something on the desk in front of them. “Here.”

“Are those the tapes?” Past Jon asked.

“As many of them as I could get,” Basira replied.

“What happened, Basira?” Sasha’s voice was gentle, but—surprisingly—there was no static in it, even though Martin could almost feel it building in the room. It hit him, suddenly, that Sasha’s ability from the Eye didn’t enable her to ask for secrets. Only to take them. He decided to keep that particular unpleasant realization to himself for the moment. “I thought you said you were done with the Institute.”

Basira let out one of those frustrated noises Martin, unfortunately, knew all too well. “They’re covering it up. Altman’s death. Saying he was dirty. That he got stabbed in a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Wait, so the operation you went on—” Past Jon began.

“Doesn’t exist. I mean, I didn’t know Leo well, but…it’s not right. And they seemed happy enough to get me out the door.”

Someone poked at the box, if the rattle was any indication; Martin guessed it was Sasha, since she spoke again. “So why bring us the tapes?”

“Well, they’re sure as hell not going to solve Gertrude’s murder,” Basira said. “And from what you said the last time I was here, they’re probably of more use to you anyway, even if her death’s not in here. Before, I guess I had enough police in me not to steal evidence, but…”

“They’ve rather lost your loyalty,” Jon supplied softly. Martin slipped his arm around his waist and pulled him close.

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” Tim asked, actually sounding concerned.

“Don’t think so. Daisy knows I’m bringing them to you. They won’t know they’re missing until they do inventory, and then only if they check the sectioned stuff.”

“Thanks, Basira,” Sasha said. “I owe you a drink or two. Just say the word.”

“Long as you promise not to talk shop,” Basira replied. “If I never hear another thing about this place…that’ll be enough for me.”

Martin heard footsteps starting to retreat across the Archives floor. Impulsively, he called out, “Basira.”

The footsteps stopped. “What?”

Martin looked in what he hoped was the right direction to look her in the eyes. “Keep her close. You’re her tether, and excuses only carry you so far.”

It was the same thing he’d said to her, once upon a time and simultaneously in a nonexistent future, loitering in the hallway of an abattoir outside an instrument room. She hadn’t wanted to listen then, and if he was honest, he hadn’t really taken his own advice all that well. He could only pray she would listen now, and that she would understand what he was talking about—and what he wasn’t saying. Don’t let your partner turn into a monster because it’s easier than saying stop.

After a moment, Basira said, her voice so soft it almost wasn’t audible, “Right.” With that, evidently, she left the Archives.

Jon pulled Martin around and wrapped him in a tight hug; Martin could feel his face pressing into his shoulder as he hugged him back. He, at least, had understood. They held each other for a moment, both hoping—despite what she’d done to them months ago—that Daisy could still be saved.

There was another rattle as someone poked at the tapes. “Where do we start?” Sasha asked.

“We go home,” Tim said firmly. “It’s Friday, and it’s past quitting time. Let’s just—let’s just go home, take the weekend to regroup, and we can come back and look through these on Monday. Maybe, um, maybe you two can go through and pick a few you think we ought to listen to.”

“Or,” Jon suggested, “we can sort them out. Gertrude labeled some but not others. If I set the blank ones aside, that might be good practice for you to sort out the color muddle. If that’s all right.”

“Either way, Tim’s right,” Past Jon said softly. “It’s late and we’re all tired. Especially…now. Let’s just go home. We’ll see you on Monday.”

Everyone wished one another goodnight, and the team departed, leaving Jon and Martin alone in the Archives. Martin waited a moment, then asked, “Do you want to start looking through them now?”

To Martin’s surprise, Jon hesitated for a minute, then said, “No. I think I want to put these in the Archivist’s office, and then I want to take a walk with my fiancé and maybe go out to dinner. What do you think of that?”

Martin smiled. He could feel himself blushing a little, but he didn’t care. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #time travel fix it au #jonmartin #gaslighting tw #canon typical stranger content #arguments tw #terrible puns cw

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enigmatist17 · 4 years

Text

The Mark of a Bullet (Sir Hammerlock x Wainwright Jakobs)

Y’all Y’all

I cannot wait to play their wedding DLC, I am almost there.

But have this in the meantime, because y e s I love them so m u c h my baby Hammerlock deserves happiness

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

Alistair Hammerlock enjoyed a challenge, of course, he did. Leaving his namesake, which had not been as hard as one would have assumed, freed him of some terrible shackles. The world and its infinite treasures and adventures were his for the taking, and Alistair couldn’t be happier. His renown in the hunting community exploded in such a short time, and within 10 years Hammerlock became synonymous with Alistair and his hunting. Pandora became his home after some time, Alistair happy to study and track until the war came. He was never one for shooting people and dissidents, but hunting fell to the background as he helped the small band of people try and defend their home from Handsome Jack. After the liberation of Pandora, Alistair moved on as he always did, and found himself on Eden-6. For most people, paradise did not involve swamp creatures and other horrors, but for Alistair, it was absolutely perfect. He was settled in a small town for close to a month when the head of Jakobs corporation invited him for a hunting trip. Never one to turn down a hunt, nor the rather delicious free food and exquisite ammunition, Alistair took the invite.

Where he came for Montgomery Jakobs, Alistair instead finds himself falling for Wainwright Jakobs.

He arrived two days into the hunt, startling Alistair and receiving a bullet to his shoulder. It wasn’t the greatest of meetings, the two bickering as Alistair expertly tends to the wound in record time.

“Do you go ‘round shootin’ every person ta come near you?” Wainwright snarled, watching the hunter roll his eyes as he pulls out the bullet.

“Do you find it acceptable to come around and brazenly confront a hunter amid the hunt?” Wainwright spluttered at the accusation, ears turning red as his father and associates laughed in the background.

“Here I thought big game hunters knew everythin’ about their surroundings.” It was now Hammerlock’s turn to shoot a look, pulling back to burn the now bloodied bandages.

“I was not aware I had to also lookout for a surprise newcomer, mister?”

“Wainwright Jakobs.” Alistair cocked his head slightly, unaware the heir to Jakobs corporation was even aware of the hunting expedition. “You must be the famous Sir Hammerlock then, hmpf.”

“Indeed I am.” Despite the huff, Alistair was more amused now than irritated, offering a hand to the other. “Do you often hunt with a shotgun?”

“I don’t hunt at all.” Wainwright winced as he carefully stretched out his arm, the injury only letting him about halfway. “I am far more comfortable with a good book by a fire, rather than out in the mud and grog intestines. I am here by request of my father, who is under the impression this is all for business.”

“Oh, dear.” Wainwright raises an eyebrow at the tone, but the hunter says nothing, merely escorting Wainwright to their makeshift camp. The hunt goes on for three days, Alistair hiding back growing irritation as the head of Jakobs and his business partners operated with reckless abandon. The hunter had heard rumors of avoiding any invitation by the CEO, and now he fully understood. The only saving grace was Wainwright, much to Alistair’s surprise.

Despite not enjoying the heat and swamp, Wainwright was learning tricks of the trade rather quickly. Sure, his aim was nonexistent and his brash footing was leaving a lot to be desired, but for the most part, Wainwright was a fast learner. They were up late each night, speaking about music, philosophies, books, any and every topic they could think of. The two end up staying an extra day, Montgomery bidding a hasty farewell after realizing that Hammerlock had no part with his parents’ company, and therefore was effectively not worth his time. Wainwright seemed to almost transform the moment his fathers’ vehicle was out of sight, shoulder’s loosening as he cracks open some brandy.

Hammerlock returns to his humble lodge after bidding Wainwright goodbye and finds his research was rather...lonely without the company. Alistair had never been one to seek out company for his work before, but those short days with Wainwright had been rather lovely. Taking a week-long expedition, that most certainly wasn’t extended because he got slightly lost, Hammerlock is glad to see his abode and pauses when he notices the door is ajar. Readying his pistol, Alistair slowly opens the door and points his gun at the figure standing in the living room.

“Are we going to meet with your gun always between us?” Wainwright sounds amused, but Hammerlock can tell he is nervous after hearing his pistol click.

“Perhaps that would end if you approached me in my sight.” The pistol is holstered, and Wainwright turns with a slightly bashful look.

“Fair point, fair point.” There is a freshly cooked meal on the table, and Alistair can’t help but be grateful at such a sight. “I heard you would be returnin’ soon, and as such thought ta offer a good meal.”

“How very kind of you.” Alistair doesn’t mind the small amount of grime he sullies the couch with, knowing there will always be later to clean. They both slip into a conversation as if they had never parted ways, the late hour slowly turning to early morning as they continued. It should be silly, men in their late forties and early fifties respectively laughing and regaling each other with stories like teenagers. A night turns into a week, Wainwright taking Alistair around for an in-depth tour of Eden-6. It’s late one night when gazing up at the myriad of stars on the roof of Hammerlock’s cabin, that Jakobs leans over and captures the hunter’s lips in a kiss. For just a moment, Alistair freezes at the contact but is soon moving his flesh and bone hand to caress the side of Wainwright’s jaw. They eventually part and Alistair suddenly thinks that coming to Eden-6 had been his wisest choice throughout his career.

It only hits him a few days later, bidding Wainwright a goodbye after escorting him home, what that feeling of utter peace meant. When Alistair arrives at his own abode, his shirt is quickly yet efficiently removed. Just above his left nipple, a patch of skin that had always been barren was finally alight with a symbol. The design, still in the process of solidifying with dark hues of reds, greens, and blacks, appeared to be forming the most ornate shotgun Alistair had ever seen, crossed over his own infamous sniper rifle.

Coincidentally, it looked suspiciously like the personal gun of one Wainwright Jakobs.

Some grogs were momentarily stirred from their slumber by a loud bout of elated laughter.

The symbol solidifies the day before Wainwright offers Hammerlock a permanent place in his own estate. The hunter moves in with no hesitation, the housekeeping staff clustering around the study door that evening. They can see Hammerlock shedding his shirt, saying something and pointing to himself before Wainwright lets out a loud bout of laughter. The symbol on Alistair had now grown to fill the entire upper left side of his chest, Wainwright reaching out and touching it with an expression neither of the staff had ever seen before.

It was pure adoration.

Hammerlock says something to other man, who gives a shrug before shedding his own coat and shirt. It was clear he was slightly shy, a bit soft around the middle from his simple gunsmith work, whereas Hammerlock was built and toned from his occupation. The hunter seems not to mind at all, eyes drawn to Wainwright’s back when he turns around. Alistair’s prized journal, one that only Wainwright had been blessed to see, was seemingly tattooed onto his back. Astonishingly the pictures displayed moved, flickering both from what he had drawn over the years, to images of Eden-6. It was rare for one’s soulmate mark to be so vivid, and even rarer to change its shape at will, or in this case, it’s pages and images. The eldest staffer finally shoos everyone away when Alistair kneels down, spindly fingers tracing over Wainwright’s mark as if he was touching gold.

“This is just astonishing.” Hammerlock can’t help but breathe, the roll of his breath across Wainwright’s back making the shorter man shiver.

“So you’ve said near hundred times I reckon.” Despite feeling a bit inadequate at the moment, the Edenian can’t help but feel his heart flutter. Catching sight of his own mark in the mirror just a day ago had sent a feeling of...peace when he realized just what it was. He had nearly scared some of the staff running to and fro, ordering various rooms to be prepared as if for many guests. Thoughts of personal space and potential unwant had faded the moment Hammerlock had arrived. The hunter and the gunsmith had shared a look that felt like it had lasted years, the world just settling in a way that had never been before.

It felt like they had finally found steady ground, and had taken to privacy almost immediately.

Alistair and Wainwright end up sitting on his bed, the gunsmith on his stomach as Alistair touches and kisses what seemed every inch of his mark.

“A gentleman might get a right jealous of attention like that.” He chuckles, and Alistair sits up with his own amused look.

“Well, I suppose I shall have to rectify this posthaste, shall I not?” Wainwright all but blinks, and Alistair has settled beside him as if they had done this a thousand times.

“I suppose you should.” Wainwright sits up slightly when he notices Hammerlock shift, clearly becoming uncomfortable in his prosthetics. “Do you need some assistance ?”

“I can manage a few hours longer.” Alistair shrugs, finding the slight frown that crosses his partners’ face almost adoring. Mhm, calling him partner so soon? Hammerlock knew that soulmate bonds could be potent, but never before had he ever thought of such a thing happening to himself. He would have laughed, shaking from his thoughts when he feels his prosthetic arm be worked free with its’ quiet pop. “Winny, a heads up if you don’t mind!”

“Winny?” Alistair can’t help the faint blush that flares up, the nickname having slipped without a thought.

“I...you see.” Any excuses that he could have come up with fade when the other starts shaking, clearly holding back some laughter.

“Ain’t never had a nickname before...I like it.” This man and his endless enthusiasm for all things, were most definitely going to be the end of Alistair, absolutely.

“Yes, Wainwright is a fair mouthful, and I find that Winny, well it suits you, my dear.” Wainwright is now the one blushing, Alistair removing his leg prosthesis with practiced ease, setting both it and the arm on the bedside table. Hammerlock barely sits back before he is swept up into Wainwright’s arms. They shuffle a little bit, and soon Hammerlock has his head tucked into the crook of Wainwright’s neck, rather appreciating how soft the other was against his scrawny back. He feels soft and slightly calloused hands brushing along the designs of his mark, hearing a soft chuckle as Wainwright traces his own gun. The hunter doesn’t even feel himself falling asleep, having never felt so unguarded and safe to do so. It’s the first time in years he sleeps without nightmares or pain and knew that hopefully, this would be the beginning of something wonderful.

#borderlands 3 spoilers #borderlands 3 #wainwright jakobs #sir hammerlock #alistair hammerlock #jakobslock #guys #they did so fucking well with them I can't #I love them so much #and I'm so happy Hammerlock gets someone that makes him happy #p l e a s e #I need more of them #pls #Borderlands 4 #can't wait for that DLC

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byunsboyz · 4 years

Text

Jamais Vu - Part Two

Exo Fanfiction

Baekhyun x Female Reader

Warnings: none?

Genre: Fluff/Angst

W/C: 3507

Part One Part Three

_____________________________________________________________

You watch as Baekhyun turns away from your front door and disappears inside the next apartment.

No way.

*Slam*

Shit.

************************************************************************

Later that night you lie wide awake.

Replaying the interaction over and over in your head.

Each time making you want to sink further into a hole of shame.

Guess it’s time to become a recluse?

You groan out loud as you roll over and try to shake all thoughts of Byun Baekhyun from your mind.

You nose fills with the smell of fresh cotton and magnolia that seeps out of your sheets from the movement.

“Byun Baekhyun is that you? It’s y/n from university! Wow, what are the chances….”

All the things you should have said verbalising in your mind when its already too late.

He would have realised and you both would have laughed and reminisced but no!

You knocked him over, stole his groceries and invaded his personal space.

Your chest feels tight with regret and embarrassment.

You can’t even remember the last time you were left speechless, probably because you stopped letting your guard down a long time ago.

You clutch your pillow against your face and let out the frustrated yell that you’ve been holding in all evening.

The next morning you make sure to leave your apartment early.

The main reason being that it’s your first day in a new department and you want to get into work to set up early and talk to the Director of Corporate Accounting, Mr Do regarding the accounts you’ll be managing.

You also want to have a quick check-in with Jaehyun to make sure he has everything he needs in place to start managing your old team.

But NOT because you’re planning on avoiding Baekhyun until your lease runs out.

Because that would be ridiculous...

“You’re being ridiculous!”

You sigh, as you friend Aria scolds you on your lunch break.

“I don’t know what you mean” you huff, stuffing a tuna maki roll into your mouth.

Aria has been your best friend since you joined Kim & Partners almost six years ago.

You often grab lunch at the small ramen restaurant around the corner from your company.

You both started at the same time and hit it off during your induction week.

Aria worked in the IT systems department and helped develop and manage aspects of the different software systems used at the company.

You were utterly clueless and would often be on the phone to the support desk because you’d managed to crash or break something that should be impossible.

Aria knew of Baekhyun, you had drunkenly ranted to her about him a few years back triggered by him leaving you a dry happy birthday message on your SNS page.

You’d told her everything. About how you met, how close you’d been and how you’d felt about him at college.

You remember the tears hitting around the point you explained the last couple of years he had faded away.

“I know that he never could never have known how I felt, but-like” you had paused to down another shot, “...he still should have cared about me in some capacity right?”.

“Then delete him, he’s not worth it” she had soothed, rubbing your back.

You probably sounded so desperate but truthfully you felt abandoned.

You swallow down the uncomfortable memory with a sip of water as you continue to justify yourself.

“It’s not even like we really know each other anymore. Maybe HE’S avoiding ME”. You point your chopsticks at her accusingly.

Aria raises her eyebrow at your words, accompanied by a glare.

“Stop it! You’ll make the ramen taste bad!” you gasp, shielding your bowl.

She scoffs at your dramatics. “You live next to each other, it’s not like you can avoid him forever”.

You look up from your bowl, a glint of determination in your eye.

“Challenged accepted”.

“Stubborn ass”.

“Says the Sagittarius!” you shoot back.

When you get back from lunch, you head straight to see your new manager.

“I’m back Mr Do, are you ready to go over the client files?”.

“Please don’t call me Mr Do, that’s my father’s name,” he sighs, looking up from his Laptop. “I’m not that much older than you, call me Kyungsoo”.

He grabs a stack of papers and files from his desk and walks around to plonk them onto yours opposite.

“Are you sure it’s fine for me to invade your office?” you ask, flipping through the first document.

You were surprised to learn that you were sharing the office with the department director.

The rest of your colleagues were sat open-plan adjacent to the office.

You snort loudly.

“You can tell your background is auditing” you add, admiring the uniform presentation of each set of financial accounts.

“Is it that obvious?”

His voice sounds closer than you expect. He’s still leaning against the edge of your desk as he looks over the file in your hand, a slight smirk on his heart-shaped lips.

It’s not common to come across such a good looking accountant. A far cry from the crusty old white men you’re accustomed to working with.

Well, Jaehyun is handsome but you only see him as a younger colleague.

Kyungsoo, on the other hand. With his deep whiskey brown eyes and short black hair, complimenting to the warm hues of his skin. Is just plain hot.

His shirt sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and you can’t help but take notice of the tone in his forearms that cross over his chest. His voice snaps you out of the slight trance you’ve fallen into.

“...and yes, it’d make sense to share the same space since we’re going to manage the biggest clients together. Did Mr Kim not explain that this is a promotion,”

You nod in understanding and he steps back to his desk, looking up once last time with warm assuring smile. “Let’s work hard together”.

Then his attention is back to his laptop, his expression full of concentration.

The rhythmic tapping of his calculator and keyboard filling the room as soft background noise.

You cant help but smile as you look back down towards the files in front of you, a new feeling of determination ignited.

Working with Kyungsoo for the rest of the day makes you forget about the previous day’s events.

That’s until you step into the lobby of your apartment building and instantly feel anxious at the sight of the elevator.

You don’t fancy another run in with Baekhyun, so you opt for the stairwell.

You trudge up the stairs until you reach the top floor. Catching your breath as you stand on your tiptoes to peek out of the small glass window that looks out towards your hallway.

The coast is clear so you make a stealthy dash past Baekhyun’s apartment into your own.

Aria is right, you this is childish but you don’t want to deal with any awkwardness or confrontation.

You leave early again the next morning, work late into the evening and take the stairs. Doing the same the next day. And the day after that.

Most people don’t talk to their neighbours anyway. You’ve lived plenty of places and hardly interacted with the people in your building.

Maybe this was your new normal.

The weekend is here before you know it.

You open your eyes groggily. The last thing you remember was reading through some files that you brought home with you yesterday to make notes.

You blame your passing out on the two glasses of chardonnay you had to accompany the reading.

There’s an ache in your thighs and knees that you attribute to the number of stairs you’ve climbed recently.

Perhaps this will count towards your yearly cardio.

You snort at the thought as you rub your eyes. Stretching your arms above your head as you try to loosen the stiffness of sleep from your body.

Faint jazz music plays in the distance, drifting through the wall you share with Baekhyun's apartment.

You close your eyes and listen, a soft piano and guitar medley you think? The double bass thumping along like a gentle heartbeat.

A feeling of melancholy washes over you causing you to sigh so you force yourself to get up and take a shower.

Feeling more awake you decide now is the right time to sneak out of your apartment and grab some groceries while it’s still early.

A few hours later than you expected you return to your building, a bag full of groceries clutched in one arm and a couple of extra bags from an impromptu retail binge.

You couldn't help yourself when you walked past your favourite clothing store Privé and spotted this beautiful pastel blue off-shoulder skater dress.

It literally called out for you to purchase and before you knew it you were also picking up a few new makeup and skincare items to indulge in for the rest of the day.

‘I don’t splurge often… I work super hard and I deserve this!” you reason with yourself, grimacing as the total of your purchases flash across the cashier screen.

There's always a pang of slight guilt that accompanies any shopping high. The accountant aspect of you scolding your more impulsive side.

You don’t dwell much on it as you approach the end of the hallway and find yourself contemplating a new dilemma.

Haul everything up the stairs or risk the elevator. Realistically you’re carrying way too much so the only logical option is taking the elevator.

It’ll be fine you assure yourself as you step onto the elevator, pushing the button for the top floor.

Just as the elevator doors are almost closed a hand shoots through the gap and you yelp in surprise.

“Didn’t you hear me calling out to hold the eleva-!” gasps Baekhyun as he shoves his body through the door gap.

His words cut short as his eyes land on you.

Your stomach twists into a knot, tightening your grip on the grocery bags as you step to the side to create more space between you.

“I didn’t hear you...s-sorry” you manage to stutter out, trying your best to keep your voice even and eyes straight ahead.

You catch your image in the mirror of the elevator, your hair looking slightly windswept from the outside.

A sudden conscious sensation of being watched sends a shiver down your spine and you feel your eyes being drawn to the figure reflected next to your own.

Baekhyun is staring, directly at you. His head turned towards you and lips slightly agape.

As if he’s about to say something.

You internally plead with the elevator to move faster and as though it’s heard your thoughts, you feel the soft judder beneath your feet as it comes to a halt.

When the door spring open, you walk straight for your apartment. Not daring to look behind you.

Your hand trembles as you rapidly punch in your lock code and push open the door, stepping into your apartment and using your foot to kick the door shut behind you.

The door thumps, obstructed by something and you place the items on your counter thinking that your umbrella stand has probably fallen over.

Instead, when you turn around Baekhyun is standing in your doorway. His arm stretching out to hold your front door open.

“Are you avoiding me?”.

You freeze, feeling yourself flinch at his words. Caught off guard by the sudden accusation.

“No why would you-”.

“Aw come on Y/N! you can’t even look me in the eye right now.” He cuts you off, his tone exasperated.

“Who are you to suddenly act as if you know me?” You spit back without thinking.

A tinge of heat rises to your cheeks. Annoyed with yourself for biting back so easily.

Baekhyun's expression softens.

He lets his arm drop from the door and shoves both hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Look. I’m sorry.”

“Wha-why?”

“For yelling at you the other day...for the last couple of years?” he winces at his own words.

“In my defence, you knocked me over” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, “and your hair is much longer now.”

He’s apologising?

“I don’t know what to say” your thoughts spilling directly from your mouth.

You feel overwhelmed, unable to pint point exactly how you feel.

Angry. Relieved. Happy?

You hear a half sigh, half laugh from Baekhyun.

“Hi?” He offers.

“Hey...” you reply weakly.

You both stand there, for what feels like a while.

“Can we start ove-,” you begin, words cutting short as Baekhyun blurts out the same.

You laugh this time.

“Please.” he adds.

You note that his hands are now resting at his sides, a sure sign he’s also feeling less on edge.

You feel ridiculous for even remembering that.

“Good...well. I’m glad” you agree.

Not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, me too,” he continues. “So we’re finally neighbours.”

“Uh-huh” you nod.

“Awesome”

You cross your arms over your chest. “So what brought you to move here?” you ask.

“Work, new job!”

“Congrats”

“Thanks…” He rocks back on his heel. One hand returning to his pocket. “What about you?”

“Huh?... Oh, the same”.

You cringe at the dry turn of the conversation.

Is it appropriate to ask him to leave?

“So-uh, yeah. I guess I'll be seeing you around?” You opt for something subtle.

He seems to understand, his eyes widening slightly as he quickly steps back from the threshold.

“Ye-yes of course! Catch up soon?”

You're not sure if he’s asking you or telling you, so you just offer him a weak nod as he closes your door behind him.

You hold your breath, straining your ears for the sound of his door closing.

The moment you’re sure Baekhyun is back inside his apartment you jump straight on the phone to Aria.

Words of confusion spilling from your mouth as you fill her in on what’s happened.

“What does this mean!?” you whisper/shout over the line.

“How am I supposed to know?” she deadpans, always the most sympathetic. “What do you want?”

“What?”

You flop onto your couch dramatically.

“Like, do you want to be his friend again. Address your feelings and issues and rebuild a relationship or just keep things in the past and remain as you are?”.

“I...I don’t know. I’ve spent so much time avoiding him I didn’t even consider anything like that”.

You hear her sigh on the other end. “So think about it carefully, you were really upset last time”

You respond with a groan.“I know”.

“Do you want me to text Key and we can all meet up, get some drinks and debate this further. You know he’s always opinionated on things like that.”

“Tempting, but I have to work on some client files and think this over for myself...” you pause, suddenly realising something. “Wait, Key knows?”.

“Yah, I’ve been texting him this whole time.”

You press two fingers against your temple, feeling a headache coming. “Thanks mate.”

Kim Kibum, Key as he prefers; is your other best friend.

You met at a night school you’d attended a few years back, after sitting next to each other by chance on the first day.

You would meet up at the weekends for joint study sessions, usually followed up with a few drinks and sharing mutual complaints about the difficulties and stress of working and studying at the same time.

You’d introduced him to Aria and the rest was history.

You usually meet up together once a month, sometimes hanging out with his roommates Minho and Taemin.

“Tell Key I’ll text him later, rain check on the drinks. Maybe next weekend...uh-huh, ok. Text you later.”

You end the call, looking up at the ceiling.

Chest feeling heavy as you try to put your thoughts towards Baekhyun into one place.

Was this a friendship worth salvaging. You were close past tense, but also people grew and changed.

He wasn’t the only friend you grew apart from so why did it sting so much when you did?

It’s not like you were still in love with him or anything, or that you were waiting for him all this time.

It’s not a romantic comedy. (Even if you do enjoy watching them).

You feel cursed in the relationship department anyway, the last ending terribly with your ex cheating on you with someone you considered to be a friend.

Remaining single is currently a choice. Aria and Key constantly threaten to drag you to some speed dating event but you refuse.

The rest of the weekend goes by peacefully, you meet Key for coffee Sunday afternoon for a change of pace from looking over client files and cleaning your bathroom.

“I think...,” you start, taking an extra-long sip of your iced latte “It would be nice to be friends again”.

“We were friends?” Key looks up from his phone, a smirk on his lips.

You smack his arm playfully. “You know what I mean!”.

“So you’re not planning any love confessions this time?”.

You grimace, “I was eighteen! It was a crush...now I’m a grown-ass lady who knows she’s going to die alone with seventeen dogs”.

“Hmmm, well if you don’t want him, I’ll have him”

You choke on your coffee.

“How do you know he’s not an ugly ass?”

He holds his phone up to you.

“Because SNS is a wonderful thing darling”.

You gasp, snatching the phone out of Key’s hand. Baekhyun's profile photo staring back at you.

It looks like he’s on a beach somewhere.

His hair a light shade of blonde, wearing a tight fit shirt which only emphasises the broadness of his shoulders.

He’s grinning cheekily at whoever is taking the photo and you feel the corners of your lips tugging upwards in response.

You don’t think it’s the sun that brightens the picture.

A hand suddenly waves in front of your face. “Earth to lover girl!” Key calls out, removing his phone from your hand.

“Stop stalking Baekhyun.” you huff.

“Fine fine fine” he deadpans. “but only if you add him yourself”.

“How do you know we aren’t already friends?”

He looks up at you with a raised brow. Ah yeah he’s already checked.

You chew on the bottom of your lip nervously as you press send on the friendship request.

Pangs of guilt emerging over the fact you had even deleted him in the first place

But you needed to back then, it used to hurt to look at him.

Monday morning as your leaving your apartment your surprised to see Baekhyun leaving his apartment at the same time.

He looks you up and down curiously.

“Morning” He smiles, “this is a bit late for you?” his tone slightly teasing.

He’s not wrong, you’re back to leaving your usual time.

“or maybe you’re early” you respond, mimicking his tone.

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I leave this time every day”.

He falls into step as you head towards the elevator.

“I started working in a new department last week so I went in early to try and adjust faster.”

Wait. Why are you justifying yourself to him?

“So you’re a big fancy accountant now?” he asks, smiling as you wait for him to step onto the elevator before you push the button for the ground floor.

“And you a fancy architect?” you offer, he laughs and nods in agreement.

The rest of the elevator ride is in silence, but this time you're not itching to escape.

Baekhyun hums randomly to himself as he fiddles around on his phone.

*ping*

You reach into your pocket searching for your phone at the sound of the notification tone.

‘Byun Baekhyun has accepted your friend request’.

You look up from your phone but he’s not looking. His expression serious as he continues to look down at his phone.

Does he feel bad that you deleted him?

You step off the elevator and leave the building at the same time.

Keeping a half step ahead as you turn off towards the subway station.

In your peripheral you see that he’s turned in the opposite direction.

Should you say goodbye, is it weird to wish him a good day?

You start wondering as you walk further away from each other.

“Kick some accounting ass!” Baekhyun suddenly calls out, making you spin around in surprise.

You snort at his word choice.

“Architect the shit out of some buildings!” you call back.

You’re rewarded with one of his loud melodic laughs and you catch yourself sighing dreamily.

Ah Shit.

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always-anxious612 · 4 years

Text

Magic in the Air: Chapter 5

Description: Patton offers to help. That’s all he’s really ever wanted to do. Help his friends. But will that eventually lead to a mess that he wasn’t prepared for?

Pairings: roceit, analogical, intruality, platonic DRLAMP

Warnings: food mention, blood mention, slightly gorey image mention (please let me know if I missed anything or if you want something tagged)

Word Count: 1,746

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

“Watch out!”

The yell came from the living room and at the sound, Patton instinctively ducked (quack), biting his lip as a book slammed into the kitchen wall behind him. He had been doing a lot of that recently…ducking that is. With Roman, Virgil, and Dee all working on their magic over the past few weeks, the household had become a bit of a chaotic mess.

“Sorry, Padre.” Roman apologized coming into the kitchen to grab the book. “You ok?”

“Perfectly dandy, Ro.” Patton grinned, standing up and patting Roman on the back. Roman returned the smile and hurried back to the living room when Logan called his name.

“Hello, Patton.” A smooth voice greeted from the front doorway. Dee made his way into the kitchen to stand next to Patton and sighed gazing int the living room. “How is our favorite prince doing today?”

After Roman had gained a little more confidence, he had started having his lessons separate from Dee once again in order to make the best of all of their schedules. Needless to say, their schedules had become a bit hectic ever since everybody started gaining magic all of a sudden. Even Remus and Patton were swamped with trying to help Logan in his experiments, keep up with their own class schedules and being there for the three struggling with controlling their magic.

“I think he’s doing great. Only one book flew in here today, so that’s a bonus!” Patton cheered, smiling at Dee.

“Oh?” Dee purred letting a soft grin inch its way onto his face. “How marvelous.” Patton nodded in agreement, looking toward the living room where Roman had six things hovering in the air.

“That’s the most he’s gotten to, right?” Patton asked as Roman started moving the things in a circle in the air. It looked like he was juggling without actually touching anything. He’d been working really hard to get that part right. Since he had had his magic a bit longer than the others and now knew a bit more about his limits thanks to…what had happened, he had really mastered just floating the objects and had moved on to rotating them, moving them, and adding more objects. It was amazing to see him improving rather fast, even if he sometimes still lost control of an object or two. After he had set the objects down, he glanced into the kitchen and spotted Dee. With a quick word to Logan, he ran over and jumped at his boyfriend. Dee let out a little oomph as he caught Roman and supported his weight while the actor wrapped his legs around Dee’s waist.

“Did you see, Dee?” He gasped, like an excited child. “I got six objects up this time.”

“I saw, my prince. You did amazing!” Dee encouraged, pecking Roman on the nose.

“I’d say you’re actually improving quite quickly Roman.” Logan chimed in from where he’d come to stand at the doorway of the kitchen. Roman smiled gratefully at him as he finally released Dee.

“Thanks, Lo.”

“I’m only speaking the truth.” Logan replied, smirking softly as Roman blushed at the compliment. As Logan opened his mouth to continue, a heavy thumping on the staircase drew all of their attention.

“Logan, we’re gonna be late for class! You said you’d come get me ten minutes before we had to leave.” Virgil panicked as he rushed suddenly downstairs and headed toward the door. Surprised, Logan checked his watch and cursed under his breath.

“Great job today Roman. Don’t forget that you and Dee have tomorrow off because I have to help Virgil make one of the backgrounds for the play.” Logan reminded as he grabbed his bag and quickly followed Virgil to the door. Patton smiled after them, giggling at how obvious it was that they were dating. They hadn’t outright said it yet, but it wasn’t hard to tell. He knew that Dee knew as well from the knowing looks he kept giving the two. It was great that they got to work in at least one of the same classes together. With Logan being in Theater Design and Technology and Virgil being in Stagecraft, they often worked together on projects for the school’s major productions too. In fact, all of the others were also pursuing careers in theatre: Dee in costume designing, Remus in stage makeup, and Roman in acting. However, Patton himself was majoring in Dance. Sometimes he was a bit sad that he was the only one that never got to help in the production of the plays, but he at least got to help Roman when he was auditioning for a musical and needed help with the dances. Plus, Remus often helped him practice his partnered dances since he had always been interested in the subject. Speaking of Remus…

“Has anyone seen Remus? I have something he needs for his makeup class.” Patton remembered.

“I think he was in his room last I saw him.” Roman answered as he began to get the ingredients to make himself a sandwich.

“Would you like a sandwich Pat?” he offered, looking up.

“Aw, thanks kiddo! That’d be great! Could you make one for Remus too? I don’t think he’s come out of his room all day, so he probably hasn’t eaten.”

“Sure, but I am not adding sardines to his ham sandwich this time. He wants those he can get them himself.”

Patton giggled softly before heading upstairs to get the makeup brushes he had for Remus. He had borrowed them to do his makeup for a costumed dance routine he had to do for class last week and kept forgetting to give them back, but Remus could only last so long making up excuses for why he didn’t have his makeup brushes in a makeup class. He was getting ready to knock on Remus’s door when he heard angry muttering from the other side. Slightly worried, he hesitantly knocked on the door anyway.

“Remus? Kiddo? Roman made some sandwiches for lunch if you want to come and eat” he called. The muttering fell silent but there was no answer.

“Um, Are you ok?” Patton asked hesitantly.

“’M fine.” Remus responded, sounding unconvincing. His answer was much quieter than usual and there was a slight waver to his voice.

“I’m coming in, ok?”

When there was no answer, Patton took that as an ok and cautiously opened the door.

Remus was slumped over at his desk, his head resting on a piece of artwork of a girl with half of her face completely covered in tiny cracks that branched out and bled into the rest of her face and down into her neck…like a china doll that had been dropped and shattered, just on the verge of breaking completely. It was haunting but still beautiful, and though it wasn’t Patton’s type of art, he could still admire the talent and work that went into it.

“That’s beautiful, Remus.” He complimented, still gazing at how intricate the cracks were drawn. Remus snapped his head up and stared at Patton then looked back to his drawing.

“You think?” he asked, chewing his lip as he studied the picture.

“Yeah, of course! The cracks in the face are so intricate and you did her hair so nicely and the way the fractures kinda start to bleed into the rest of her face but fade off. It’s really great. You did amazing.”

“It was gonna be my project for my makeup class. I was gonna add some blood seeping from the cracks and not paint her face so it’d look like an actual fractured human face instead of just a cracked doll and everything! I mean, a cracked china doll is so overdone, right? This way, it’ll look much cooler and probably be a lot creepier. And a bit more gory, with the blood and flesh and stuff.” Remus ranted, smiling at the thought. Patton tried not to grimace at the concept. It really was very cool…just not his type of thing.

“What changed? Did you find a better project to do?” Patton asked noticing that Remus’s smile faded at the question.

“My professor said that it wasn’t possible for someone with my skillset to get it perfected in time and recommended I pick an easier design.”

“What? But that doesn’t make any sense. You’re not going to learn new skills if you don’t challenge yourself. I mean you are in the class to improve your skillset.”

Remus was silent for a minute before speaking again.

“So…you don’t think I have the skillset either?” he asked quietly.

“Wh—No, Remus. That’s not what I meant. Not at all. I actually think this is right up your alley. I’m sure you’d do amazing. I’m just saying even if that’s what he believes, he should still let you do the project. So what if its challenging? You’re there to learn aren’t you? And if you want to push yourself so you can grow, I think he should encourage that not turn you away from it.” Patton pointed out. Remus smiled, but it still seemed too sad for Patton’s taste.

“What if you did it anyway?” he suggested. Remus’s grin suddenly turned mischievous as he raised an eyebrow.

“Patton are you suggesting that I disobey authority? I never thought I’d see the day.” He gasped dramatically. Patton flushed bright red as he slapped Remus’s shoulder playfully.

“I-I just think that if you do it and perfect it anyway, then you can prove it to him that he was wrong.” Patton defended “But this isn’t worth a lot of your grade or anything right? Because it might be best if you don’t test your professor when you can fail the whole class because of it.”

“No, of course not. It’s just a little project.” Remus replied, waving it off and looking away. Patton raised an eyebrow at his suspicious reaction but shrugged it off as Remus continued.

“I need a subject to practice it on though. None of my classmates like to be my subject anymore.” He pouted.

“Well, I could be your subject if you like.” Patton offered.

“You—You will? But this—I mean, this isn’t usually your thing.”

“It’s not but it still looks really cool, and you always help me with my dance routines. It’s the least I could do.”

“Ok, then. Thanks Patty Cakes!” Remus grinned. Patton nodded, hiding a blush.

“Anytime. Now let’s go get those sandwiches.”

Taglist: @catolicabuena @look-ma-im-on-tv @its-always-the-witching-hour @sure-i-exist @wellhellothere09 @star-crossed-shipper @cemmy

#food mention #blood mention #gorey image #roceit #analogical #intruality #platonic drlamp #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #ts remus #ts virgil #ts deceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fics #my fics #cait writes #ts magic au #ts human au

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lynnthevirgo · 3 years

Text

Broken (Break Series) - Seokjin

WC: 1.7k

Summary: Seokjin didn’t want to believe you had left. How could he continue on without so much as a word from you?

Warnings: This might make you cry if you’re like me, so big, big, big, angst warning.

A/N: This is a reupload. I had this under a different pen name, under a different account. If you found it then, yes, I will be continuing it on this account. This made me big sad to write, please someone request a part 2 TT-TT

Tags: @dreamescapeswriting

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He sat in your quiet apartment, wondering when everything had started falling apart around him and he never noticed. It was unfair that he was left here surrounded by all your things, all the memories you’d made in the small, quaint apartment you’d shared. Why was he forced to be reminded that you were no longer here? How could you just walk out on him like this?

Seokjin remembered coming with you to pick this place out. The way your hair looked wrapped up in the pink ribbon you only wore when you felt cute. Or how the curtains were drawn up on the large windows to let in the sunlight, making the small apartment feel open, warm and bright. You’d been bouncing around from room to room, just like a little kid, seeing everything brand new. He knew the minute you stepped inside that you had fallen in love with it.

He gets up from the battered armchair that came from your family home and heads to the alcohol cabinet. Almost as if on auto pilot he grabs two glasses and fills them both with ice before realizing his mistake. It takes him everything to swallow down the emotion building inside his throat. Slowly he drops the ice cubes from the second glass back into the small cooler and wipes the glass clean before placing it back in the cabinet. Grabbing the whiskey, he brings it with him to the kitchen island and pours a glass while he stands searching the rooms surrounding him for traces of you.

“My heart is drenched in wine, but you will be on my mind forever.” Your favorite song plays in the background on his phone. Stealing the last of his battery after hours of rereading the same messages over and over again from you. Wondering if what you said was true, how would he learn to get along like he used to? How could he when everywhere he looked was something to remind him of you.

“But I’ll be a bag of bones driving down the road alone.” The singer croons beside him as he drinks his whiskey on the rocks. The liquor burning his throat on the way down, a way to remind him that he is here, this is happening to him. He wonders if you’re alone as she sings, or if you’re with your sister. She’s the only one you let see you this vulnerable, aside from your best friend and him.

He watches the memories of you in the living room move around in flashes and for a moment it’s like you’re really with him. You sit in front of the window seat with a book, the spine falling apart and frayed at the tips from years of you rereading it. The sunlight being the only light in the room and it hitting your face just right, making your usual neutral brown eyes brighten like honey gold. Your hair is up and out of your face, so nothing can disturb you from the world playing out in front of you on the yellowed pages.

Then you’re getting up, your outfit changing from bedtime sweats and an old t-shirt to a pair of jeans that hug your hips and legs with a crop top. Seokjin laughs to himself as he remembers you dancing wildly in the living room, pushing the chairs and furniture aside as you wave a colorful stick around to the beat of the song playing. Your hair falls out of the bun you put it in and you leave it fall round your shoulders, tendrils of your locks curling within each other in a haphazard mess. He laughs louder, the sight of you belting a song in his first language with all the wrong pronunciations and making up words as you go too much for him to hold it in.

He didn’t realize he had drank half the bottle until he stopped laughing long enough to really focus on pouring his glass again. The ice had melted long ago, he had been drinking it straight and it was getting harder to ignore the lump in his throat. He realized he was drinking to get it to go away and all it seemed to do was fuel the memories of you and increase it‘s size. Seokjin had been finding you deeper and deeper in the bottom of this bottle and it was killing him how alone it made him feel that you weren’t here.

Seokjin stares at the memory of you sitting in the armchair he was sitting in hours ago.

“Why, y/n? Knowing how hard it is for me to be alone and you leave me here….why?” He asks you, his voice soft and on the verge of breaking. The emotions and his vision clouding his better judgment for what he’s doing.

“I love you so much, so much it hurts, Jagiya… You were everything and still are. ” Seokjin drops to the floor on his knees, his voice broken along with his pride.

“Every morning I‘d wake to find you in my arms, my own form of sunlight, warm and bright to help the day start off right.” He maintains eye contact with you as he crawls to the armchair slowly, swallowing more emotion as the tears start forming.

“Everything you touched you made better, my coffee, my whiskey, our shared closet and my entire life.” The tears are falling now, but he won’t let them blur the only image he has left of you.

“You were so, so pure and strong…everything I needed you to be when nothing seemed to be falling into place for me last summer.” Seokjin pulls himself back up to sit on his heels when he finds himself in front of you. The memory of you staring down at him with warm, sympathetic eyes and the calmest, happiest look on your face.

He lowers himself down to bow in front of you and everything he’d been holding in until now breaks inside of him, like his heart did when you called him at work to tell him you were leaving. That when he came home he’d find an empty apartment and that it would be like you were never there. His heart had fallen to his stomach by then, but nothing he could’ve told you would’ve changed your mind. He knew that by the tone you were using, and the suitcase clicks in the background signified you were actually packing. You never waited for him to say anything, just said what you had to say and then hung up.

“Tell me why!! Tell me why I wasn‘t enough for what you needed! WHY COULDN‘T YOU TELL ME ANYTHING?!” He screams into the floor, his sobs ebbing through him with every breath he takes.

“I‘m sorry, so sorry that I wasn‘t what you thought I‘d be. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you wanted to hear me say when you called, y/n?” Seokjin asks the floor in between broken cries of the hurt he feels inside his chest.

Why does this hurt so much? Is that what they meant when they said you fall in love? Because that’s what it felt like, he was falling and falling with no landing place to catch him. For the first time he understood what they meant when they said

‘You know it’s real when after it’s over, all you can feel is the hole of the space they used to hold.’ that’s the only reason why he knows you’re real. Why any of this happiness he had was ever real. Now that it’s gone, everything inside him feels hollow and cold, because it no longer holds the warmth and fullness you used to bring him.

He was so mad when he came home and now all he wants is your arms around him, fingers in his hair and your smile to make this hurt go away. Why couldn’t you be there to do that for him? How could something as perfect as what you two had disappear so fast without so much as a blink from him? Seokjin wanted to lay you down on the bed you two shared and kiss every inch of your skin, to remind himself of the way your salty skin tastes. To feel every line your body made, to drown himself in the scent of what had been the only thing he’d known for three years.

But you were gone. You had made it clear that you were leaving and you weren’t sure how long it would be when you came back. It had been made obvious there was a possibility that you might never come back and that felt horrible bouncing around his head. His life without you in it was too much pain for him to deal with.

He chokes back another loud sob and whimpers instead at the hand pulling his heart in every direction known to man. With a handful of sniffles, he grunts and collects himself up off the floor and stares down at the memory of you.

“Tell me why.” He orders, his stance firm and fists clenched so tight he could’ve been breaking skin.

“Why did you leave me?” He asks again, not really expecting an answer but getting one.

When you stand to face him, he almost melts within the scent surrounding you. His lip quivers with the emotion coming right back to torment him again over the ache you left behind.

“I‘m sorry” You tell him, your hand touching his chest so lightly he can’t feel a thing. Your words reaching his ears in a soft but calm whisper.

“You deserve so much better than I can give you.” You continue, this time your words making him sob because that’s what he just said to you moments ago.

“I hope you can be happier without me, but I will always love you like you‘ve taught me to love myself all these years. Please take care of yourself for me, Jinnie, I don‘t want to worry about you. It‘ll hurt enough to think of the memory of you.” Is the last thing you say before you fade away from him and he falls to the floor again.

Except this time he’s holding the phone that was in the kitchen. On the screen is the last messages you sent him and he’s crying like a small child who’s lost his childhood pet. His sense of security and companionship gone, your presence disappearing around him. This was not his home, this was not his life, he didn’t want any of it if he had to go through it without you.

#bts #bts jin #bts seokjin #jin #seokjin #bts fanfction #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts fan fiction #bts fic #bts drabble #bts angst #angst #seokjin fanfic #jin fic #seokjin angst #jin angst

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