#(also anyone who makes THAT particular mistake needs to go back to the drawing board & learn how to look at plants because how do you even-

[dailybotany]

In honor of a bunch of my friends being served iris rhizomes instead of daylily bulbs at a skills event and puking their guts out all night, here is a friendly reminder about wild edibles:

Do not eat any wild edibles that are at all new to you or you are even a little uncertain about without double and triple checking the ID with a trusted, professional resource. ABSOLUTELY DO NOT feed wild edibles to anyone else that you haven't repeatedly IDed and eaten yourself with no problems.

[cryptidmads]

good evening nsr community, i went through the ama from today and came back with an armful or two of lore. there’s a bunch more than last time, and i included bbj as well as the npcs. cozy up, check under the cut, and prepare for a long read. enjoy!

today's ama featured wan hazmer and daim dziauddin again, as well as concept artist ellie and animator ben fong.

BUNK BED JUNCTION (FT. DK WEST)

- mayday and zuke live in the sewers because they're an underground band. it's a pun - there were originally two variations of bbj leaving the sewers - one with mayday hi-fiving gigi (which had a 95% chance of happening), and one with zuke awkwardly fumbling and attempting to hi-five gigi (which had a 5% chance) - one of the inspirations for mayday and zuke were the two main characters of samurai champloo (zuke was jin, mayday was mugen) - someone asked about if the rest of the cast had their own shadow puppets. ben suggested a lemur for mayday, while ellie suggested a zucchini for zuke. she may have been joking. - mayday's guitar solos were done by different people, but zuke's drum solos were all done by bruno valverde. - zuke was the one who implemented the canister thing into mayday's guitar. - someone asked who of the cast are the introverts and who are the extroverts. mayday is an extrovert, zuke is an introvert. - the team does have a bit of lore for mayday and zuke and how they met, but they want to save it in case of a future project. - mayday was inspired by both genevieve from company of thieves and the unbreakable kimmy schmidt. - ben did the animation for mayday swinging the hammer in the workshop. - haz recalls seeing some fanart of mayday being brought up as a rich girl. he doesn't remember the artist, but he does like the idea. - the japanese version has zuke say he has a phd rather than a master's degree. this is apparently a mistake. - the pattern on zuke's pants was inspired by jolyne cujoh and prosciutto from jojo's bizarre adventure. - zuke's toilet seat collection came partially from a story from one of the environmental artists where one of their high school friends pranked another friend with a toilet seat. - zuke does a lot of reading and is naturally inquisitive about things like tech and mechanics. - dk west's shadow puppet abilities might run in the family, and zuke may have it as well. - both zuke and dk west are connected by percussion (zuke with the drums, west with the hand claps) - zuke and west weren't always designed to be related -- west was originally designed as "some guy who comes and goes," but was made into zuke's brother later on in production - dk west is an extrovert.

DJ SUBATOMIC SUPERNOVA

- djss' dj name is obviously a stage name, but the team didn't have a real name for him in the script or anything. - haz joked that his name is bob salad. that's not canon but from what i seen the chat loved it lol - haz brings up the symbolism of djss spinning the planets around himself and how it represents that he thinks of himself as the center of the universe. - ellie helped design the districts, and something she noted about dj's is that it's supposed to look the "slummiest" because he cares more about himself and less about things like blackouts. - dj had some lines cut from his boss fight. those lines? mini lectures towards bbj during every phase. they were cut because the team felt like they were too much for the game, but they want to share them one day. - daim says that dj could be either introverted or extroverted becuase of how much time he spends alone looking at the stars. - dj was never planned to have an approach segment, but funk fiction wasn't told that, so he made him an approach theme anyway. - dodo ice pops are traffic light flavoured, which is a popular ice cream in malaysia. it's strawberry, pineapple, and lime flavored.

SAYU AND THE NERD SQUAD

- three of sayu's creators were based on staff members at metronomik. remi (voiced by ben) was based on one of the programmers and one of the environmental artists (ellie calls him "the lovechild of two dudes"), tila was based on (and voiced by) ellie herself, and dodo was based on danish mak (another environmental artist who also voices him). - sofa wasn't based on anyone in particular, he was more of a "general otaku guy" according to ellie (though haz joked that ellie could just say he was based on him). - dodo is daim's favorite npc -- he also designed him! - sayu was ellie's favorite character to design. she loves drawing mermaids. - the progression in sayu's fight where you go deeper into the "ocean" is supposed to be a metaphor for going deeper into the internet/the deep web. - ellie suggested that if sayu were to have a shadow puppet, it would be a cat. - as for the introvert/extrovert debate, daim says sayu is technically comprised of 4 introverts. sayu herself is the extrovert mask they wear. - sayu's ahoge is a submarine periscope. remi looks through it in one of the cutscenes. - sayu's not a mech. she's remotely controlled by her creators from their computer room. - the backstory between remi and tila is meant to show that artists can come from all sorts of backgrounds.

YINU AND MAMA

- yinu's promotional video was one of the first ones done before they brought in lzbros, so it originally looked different from how it looks in the game now. - yinu's mother's eyes are yellow because she spends most of the fight focusing on yinu (who is mainly yellow). when her eyes go blank white, it represents that she's momentarily forgotten what she loves the most. when her eyes become yellow again after the fight, it means she's remembered yinu and her piano playing. - the way ellie describes natura is that yinu is a plant and her mother is very protective of her, and one of the distinctive features is that there are a lot of domes with plants inside, particularly on the roofs of the houses. - yinu's commercial was not intended to reference little miss fortune. the commercial was shown in 2018, while LMF came out a year later. - yinu's mom turning into a giant tree monster isn't exclusive to her just being angry at bbj. apparently the whole plant thing runs in the yinu family.

1010

- 1010's concept as a boy band had been around since before the team started production, but they were the last to be fully designed -- their designs weren't finalized until way later on. - 1010 were ellie’s least favorite characters to design. she doesn't like drawing guys OR robots. - 1010's early designs had them wearing tuxedos. - 1010 do have memories. - the inspiration for the butt plates came from one of ben's gundam figures from his collection in the metronomik office. thanks ben. - ellie's favorite member of 1010 is purl-hew/blue. - eloni/green is apparently the rapper of the group. - the jingle you hear from the carousel in metro division is a carnival remix of 1010's boss theme. - the numbers underneath 1010's names on the autographs are completely random.

NEON J

- neon j is a dancer. daim explains that in addition to being in the navy, dance has always been his true passion. - in the final phase of 1010's fight, he was originally supposed to control the dance moves of the factory as he was fighting you, but it was cut due to limited resources. - daim designed neon j based on ellie's designs for 1010. - neon j's factory's dance moves were all animated by ben -- no mocap needed. the factory was also his favorite thing to animate. - daim says that "neon j is to tatiana as soundwave is to megatron." basically he is extremely loyal to tatiana. - neon j was one of earliest members of nsr. - neon j seeing 1010 as his sons wasn't planned, but daim loves the concept so much that he could see it being canon. - daim says neon j's brain is "probably" still inside the monitor head. somehow. - neon j is an extrovert. - haz likes the idea of neon j being blind and using his sonar to "see" things. ben joked that the screen worked like giant glasses. - neon j originally had red dots that would pop up on his face when the sonar moved by that were meant to represent acne, and that would've been the reason why he's mostly behind the scenes.

EVE

- in mayday's side of the room when eve splits up bbj, the hands all over the walls are meant to be there to show how eve is angrier at mayday than she is at zuke. - the time signature for the music in mayday's room during the fight is 6/8, whereas in zuke's room it's 4/4. - ellie suggested a platypus shadow puppet for eve. the rest of the team seems to be on board. - eve was ben's least favorite character to animate. he said he struggled with animating her dance moves because it was something he'd never done before, and he still doesn't think he did a good enough job. - eve was born with her split skin tone. - apparently eve's near scrapping had something to do with costs. haz was the one who stopped it from happening. - eve's outfit was partly inspired by beyonce, while her jacket was partly inspired by ariana grande. the team took some inspiration from bjork, as well. - the sleeves on eve's jacket were apparently limbs at one point. - eve is an introvert.

NPCS/OTHER CHARACTERS

- part of tatiana's symbolism is how she used to be a rock star, but her flame/passion slowly burned away, and now she's just a rock, referencing how she was literally on fire as the rock star kul fyra, but now looks burnt out. - daim thinks kliff is older than tatiana, probably over 50. - in addition to the neon j dance lore mentioned above, kayane rambling about neon j after the 1010 fight was supposed to be connected to her watching neon j dance. - ben and haz's favorite npc is mia, and ellie's is dj zam. - dj zam was inspired by one of ellie's college friends, who she says "makes you feel comfortable to be around". - ellie thinks dj zam's neck tattoo says "i love mom". - amal the unicorn was inspired by lady amalthea from the 80's animated film "the last unicorn". he was originally written to be a real talking unicorn, but it was changed partially because his horn wasn't in the right spot on his head. - zed was based on game designer dzaid and has hyperacusis, a hearing disorder that makes it difficult to deal with everyday sounds. - yiruk's name is an anagram of kiryu, the protagonist of the yakuza games. - chef sunshine's design is a homage to julia child. she originally had a bigger physique, but was changed to match lylia's bubbly performance.

[harrywritingsbyme]

So I’m a dark skin girl and I always wonder is Harry gets involved with women that are not white skinny tall blonde model like all his exes. Can u write something about that? Maybe they are friends but reader is into him but keeps us to herself cause she is sure he only date the same type of girls.

Feelings

A/N: I really needed and wanted to write this one. I feel like us chocolate girlies can be a bit left out some times, and it sucks. So I want to do/write more things that are specifically tailored to us black girls because we need to see and read more of it. Also, I don’t want this to be a thing where it’s putting anyone down or being melodramatic towards things that are at the end of the day out of our control. But this is just the way that some people (including myself at times) feel, and everyone should be aware of this. I did made sure that there is something in here that everyone can relate to in some way. So I hope you guys enjoy🙃 

4.5k Words

You rarely opened up. Most of your relationships were surface level, and you never fully expressed yourself the way that one would normally. For the longest time, even since you were a child, you never fully opened up to anyone. You would just go about your normal routine as if everything were fine, and bottle up everything you were feeling. Even when you were going through some of the worst times of your life, you still managed to keep face and put on a display of being okay, even though you were on the verge of dying inside. Still, you were able to get through most of your life like this and you were fine with things being the way they were. That is, until a certain someone fell into your life. 

When you first met Harry, it was like a breath of fresh air. Even though you still had your wall up and didn’t feel the urge to fully express yourself, you still felt like you could come to him with everything if you wanted to. He was just like the other people you’d met in the past who were nice and willing to get close to you. But at the same time, he still managed to be different than anyone you’d met in the past. You felt a sense of closeness to him that you couldn’t readily explain and that was unlike anyone you’d met before. He made you want to express yourself and release all of the emotions you had pent up inside of you for what felt like forever. It was like he was the person that you needed in your life who could draw out these things out of you. And after a period of time, he was in fact able to do this. 

At first, you were beyond anxious to be open and honest to someone about your feelings. But over time, the wall you’d built began to come down and you just allowed yourself to be vulnerable with Harry. And he was able to do the same. You both were able to lower your guards around each other and actually be free. The two of you were able to create a strong and solid friendship that would span across almost 3 years. Whenever something happened in each others lives, you both were each others first call. It was a friendship that neither of you wanted to take for granted. And you both, especially you, made sure to appreciate every moment and each other. 

Your appreciation for Harry went a bit deeper though.  

 You guys’ overall dynamic in the past year hadn’t changed at all. You two still did just about everything together and had a great time in each others company. It was your personal flow that had undergone a drastic change. You began to develop feelings that had gone far beyond the boundary of being platonic. They’d grown to be something beyond the scope of a simple camaraderie. You started to develop romantic feelings for your best friend. It wasn’t uncommon for this to happen, it was normal for someone to develop these feelings towards a person they spent a lot of time with and are close to. It was just that the success rate for transitioning out of a loving, close, and healthy friendship to a loving, romantic, and healthy relationship was slim to none. And for you and particular, you felt like your chances were in the negatives. 

It’s already a rough thing to deal with when you find out that the person you have feelings for doesn’t feel the same way towards you. But these pangs of rejection are on a completely different level when you realize that you’re not even their type. Now you didn’t know for a fact what Harry’s “type” was. You’d asked him on separate occasions and his answer was always the same. He’d simply tell you that “if somethings there, then it’s worth a shot”. And you’d always respond with a “that makes sense”, deciding to not go there all together. Even though he said that he didn’t have a type, you knew that in his subconscious, he did in fact have one. There were things about you that didn’t at all align with his exes as a whole. If you had to be blunt, you weren’t skinny, tall, blonde, and white. You were a thick, average in height, dark haired, dark skinned, black woman. The differences between the two were uncanny and that was perfectly fine. You welcomed and celebrated everyones differences. And so did Harry; when it wasn’t his love life.

He just didn’t venture out into other things when it came to his love and personal life. You could honestly say that this was true because you watched it all from the sidelines. You were a bystander and sounding board to Harry during his most recent relationship, and just in general. You recognized the pattern in the women he’d choose to pursue. You’ve even seen in the magazines and on the internet, the people he’d been involved with in the past. And they all were extremely similar. 

Seeing all of this made you think that something was wrong with you. What made them so special? You just wanted him to look at you the same way he looked at them. Developing all of these newfound feelings caused you to begin to slip back into your old ways. You began holding in and internalizing everything when it came to this. You’d put on a brave face and act as if everything was okay. You were putting all of your energy into making Harry believe that you were fine. And you successfully did that. He had no clue as to what and how you were feeling, and you wanted to keep it that way. The last thing you wanted to do was lose the person who not only you cared deeply about, but the person who cared deeply about you. You couldn’t lose your best friend.

This endless cycle went on for months. You kept these feelings to yourself and you just kept things going. You hated doing this, but it was what you thought was the best for you. You hated the thought of losing Harry over this. But at the end of the day, you could only take but so much. You could relate this entire thing to a sponge. It takes in all the water it possibly can and eventually, little drops will begin to spill out when it’s reached its maximum capacity for water. You were the sponge. You had been internalizing or harboring all of these feelings for such a long period of time that eventually you were going to reach your tipping point. It was going to get to a place where you’d have to release all of it and tell Harry how you truly felt. And you really wanted to do that. In the past, talking about your feelings was something that you tried, and eventually swore you’d never do. You even tried therapy, but it just wouldn’t work for you. But with Harry, you wanted to talk to him and tell him how you felt. So keeping this inside for so long after not holding it all in for a little over two years was a definite struggle. 

In all of this though, you had no idea that the struggle you faced in holding everything inside was nowhere near the level of struggle you faced when you finally let it all out. 

The end of the week had finally came which meant that it was you and Harry’s night to hang out and talk about you guys’ week…even though you two talked just about everyday. This just gave you two an excuse to hang out. After you two made and ate dinner, you two decided to head outside and sit by the pool to enjoy Harry’s view and watch the sunset. The conversation between the two of you seamlessly bounced from subject to subject, and it managed to bounce all the way to relationships. 

“Any hot dates comin’ up?” Harry asks beside you, taking another swig from his glass of wine.

  “No. None that I know of at least. You?” You reply, redirecting the question back to him. 

“Me neither, but I have been talking to someone for the past couple of days.” Harry replies. 

“And you haven’t told me this?! As your best friend, I feel offended.” You joke with him, sitting up from the chair to get a better look at him. 

“Don’t be offended, you’ll always be my number one.” Harry coos with a laugh. “It’s nothing major or serious I guess.” He continues. 

“Got a picture?” You ask. Asking him this was a big mistake. 

“I think so.” Harry replies, pulling his phone out of his pocket. After a few seconds, he hands the phone over to you and there it was. A girl who looked exactly like everyone else he’s dated.

“Oh, she looks just like everyone else you’ve dated.” You hum amusedly, handing the phone back to him. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have said that. But you had a pretty good buzz going from the drinks Harry made, and the glass of wine you were currently working with. So your lips were a little bit looser than normal. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks with a very confused tone.

“No offense, but she looks like most of your exes.” You repeat, thinking back to the picture Harry just showed you.

“No she does not.” Harry says adamantly, brushing off your comment. 

“It’s okay Harry, we all know that you have a type.” You softly laugh. You were only teasing him...right?

“I do not have a type Y/n! Where is this coming from?” You could hear in his voice that he was genuinely confused. 

“This is coming from your best friend who’s seen you in a relationship with someone who not only looks like the girl you just showed me, but also girls before her.” You explain. 

“Well tell me these similarities because I’m still not following.” 

“Tall, skinny, blonde, and-“ You didn’t even think about the last and final one before saying it. “white.” You finish, listing off every last similarity. 

 “No they’re no-“ Harry couldn’t even finish his own sentence. He realized that it was in fact true. He didn’t know why he’d never seen the pattern before. He also couldn’t wrap his head around why you were so up and arms about it. When he looked at you, he could tell that you weren’t feeling the best about this conversation. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or him just being really bad at comprehension. He just wanted to make sense of it all and where it was coming from. 

“Can you honestly say that I, or anyone that looks like me for that matter would have an equal shot at being with you?”

There it was. The crazy thing about it all was that the question you just asked him, wasn’t even the bulk of what you really wanted to tell him. You weren’t even expecting to talk to him about this at all. You thought that you’d have a little bit more time to collect your thoughts, but all of this came completely out of left field. 

Asking Harry that question, along with the entire conversation in general was like stabbing yourself in the heart. It wasn’t even a full conversation and you were already dying inside. Every second of silence from Harry that went by was like a twist to the knife that was already buried inside you. You wanted to blame Harry for the horrible way you were feeling, but you couldn’t. You wanted to blame yourself for even bringing it up, but you couldn’t do that either. All you could do was sit there and try your best to muster up the tiniest bit of strength to pick yourself up and leave. Your body felt extremely heavy and you just wanted to get out of there.

Without uttering a single word to Harry, you finally pick yourself up and you walk away from him and the entire situation. Harry was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that he did in fact have a type, but seeing you walk away from him like that crushed him. He felt like you were not only walking away from him, you were also walking out of his life. He felt absolutely crushed and completely helpless. He was all alone. He had so many thoughts and feelings running around in his head that he couldn’t even chase after you to help him figure them out. And by the time he would finally build up the strength and courage to go after you, you would’ve already been gone. 

When you walked back into the house, you didn’t waste any time gathering your belongings that you’d brought with you before leaving out the front door. Since you were drinking, you decided to just call an Uber and just come back to get your car in the morning. For the next 5 minuets, you just stood outside Harry’s home. Staring blankly at whatever was around, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes, and trying to take your mind off of everything. 

You were so glad that the driver wasn’t trying to engage in a conversation with you because you weren’t in the mood at all. You just wanted complete silence. If you were to talk, you were going to burst into tears. And the last thing you wanted to do was permanently scar your Uber driver, so you decided to just stay silent. 

When you finally got to your building, you rushed out a quick thank you to the driver and you sprinted through the building and up to your apartment. The moment you stepped foot inside was the first time you breathed in the past two hours. As soon as you shut your front door you just collapsed into a heaping pile of tears. You were pretty much sobbing against your front door. This was the worst you’d ever felt in a really long time. You felt a mixture of anger, sadness, and pain. This was one of the sole reasons why you hated letting people in. Bringing those walls down meant that you were exposed and vulnerable. You had no defense what so ever. You tore those walls down just to have someone tear you apart, and leave you to pick up the pieces. You were torn apart by the person you needed the most. 

While you were at home bawling your eyes out, Harry was still wrapping his mind around what you said and what he didn’t say. The buzz he once had going was now gone, and his mind was all over the place. He didn’t even move from where he was sitting. He just sat outside and thought about it all. Harry realized that he not only had a type, but you had feelings for him. He thought that you only considered him to be a close friend and nothing more. But when you said “I, or anyone who looks like me…” he was able to read in between the lines to understand that you were mainly talking about yourself. It crushed Harry even more when he thought about the possibility of you not thinking that you were good enough for him. Simply because of his “preferences”, that were unbeknownst to him from the past. The fact that he made you feel this way was beyond gut wrenching and he just wanted to go back in time and tell you that the only type he has is you. That was one of the reasons that he clung to you the way he did. He looked to you as the model of what he could ever want in a partner. He always looked to you for your opinions and guidance because you were one of the best people that had ever came into his life. But instead of saying all of this, what he truly felt deep down, he didn’t say anything at all. He let you slip out of his grasp, and he didn’t know how to get you back. He didn’t even know if he was going to get you back. In that moment, he realized that his love for you went way beyond the general scope of being best friends. It wasn’t until 2 am that Harry was able to pick himself up from the lounge chair outside and go upstairs to bed. And even then, he still felt horrible. He was numb. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t end up going to bed until 5 am because he couldn’t stop crying and worrying. What made him completely break down was the fact that he couldn’t even call you. He couldn’t talk to the one person that always helped him through his dark times and picked him up. He knew what it was like to hit rock bottom, but this was an all-time low for Harry. 

That night was officially at top of the list for the worst nights of you and Harry’s lives. 

The next day was just as bad, if not worse than the last. You ended up falling asleep on the couch, and Harry couldn’t even get out of bed. The both of you were a mess and you didn’t know what to do. You avoided any type of communication with each other. The only time you and Harry interacted was to tell him that you were using the gate code to get your car from his driveway. After that, there was radio silence. The simple thought of each other could bring you both to tears. This entire ordeal didn’t last for just a day or two. It lasted for almost a week. The both of you were too emotional and broken to even function. You were using the time you saved up on your job to sulk around at home and stay inside your bubble sadness and heartbreak. And Harry was neglecting all of the things that he needed to do so that he could stay in bed and try to take his mind off of you. But after what was going on to be day 5, Harry couldn’t take anymore of this. It wasn’t because he was feeling horrible. It was because Harry knew that he broke your heart. He had the clearest picture of you at home, completely broken up because of him. He could almost feel your pain and he hated it. He needed to tell you his true feelings and beg you to forgive him. He couldn’t sit around anymore and not talk to you. You were not only his best friend, you were also the woman that he loved. In the days of him sitting at home and thinking, he realized that he didn’t give it a shot. He didn’t give you a shot. He was constantly chasing after something that was already his and right in front of him. 

After a long much needed shower, Harry got himself dressed and ready to go over to your place. On the way over, Harry made a stop to the florist that was in your direction and picked up the biggest bouquet of sunflowers he could possibly buy. Not only were they your favorite flower, but you always seemed to gravitate towards the yellows because “they make my skin tone pop.” And they certainly did. Even remembering those little things could make Harry want to just burst into tears. For the rest of the drive to your apartment, Harry practiced all of the points he wanted to make out loud. He made sure that he remembered every last thing he wanted to say…and there was a lot. He was also preparing for the moment where you’d tell him that you didn’t want to talk to him ever again. Even though it may have seemed a bit extreme, he could understand why. He hurt you, and that’s the consequence that he’d have to pay. As he got closer and closer to your building, Harry could feel the butterflies in his stomach intensify and his lunch slowly make it’s way back up. He wasn’t feeling good at all, but he couldn’t turn his back on you and not try at all to redeem himself.

Between the time Harry got out of his car to when he was finally standing at your door was rough. As he got closer, his body got weaker. He was feeling a combination of embarrassment, sadness, anger, and worry. These feelings were so strong that he had to take two minuets before knocking on your door to stop himself from either throwing up or crying. Eventually he was able to get himself somewhat together and finally knock on your door.

When you hear the knock, you were sitting on your couch with your fluffy bathrobe on (that just so happened to be the one Harry brought you during one of his trips to Italy) with a pint of ice cream in hand, watching whatever was on the tv at the moment. You wanted to ignore the knock all together and just focus on your ice cream and the tv but you didn’t want to leave the person at the door hanging. So you reluctantly sit the cup down and you drag yourself to the door. When you look out through the peephole, your anxiety in that moment skyrockets. What in the world was Harry doing at your front door?! Even though you looked like an absolute mess and you didn’t want to talk to him in that moment, you still open the door for him.

When the door swings open and he sees you the waterworks begin all over again. He could see how puffy your face was from crying and how disheveled you looked and he hated it. He could feel the warm tears bubbling up in his eyes, but he was trying to do his best to keep them back. The two of you just stand there before Harry decides to talk. 

“M’so sorry Y/n.” That’s all he could say. He wasn’t just apologizing for what he said or didn’t say. He was also trying to say that he was a sorry person. It took him losing you for what felt like an eternity to really see how amazing you are and how much you contributed to his life.

“Wanna come in?” You ask him, stepping to the side to let him into your apartment. In that moment Harry just wanted to scoop you up into his arms and never let you go. He wanted to feel your warm and happy disposition that was now being clouded because of him. He wanted his Y/n back. When he walks inside, he quickly kicks his shoes off at the door and follows you into the kitchen.

“I got these for you.” He whispers, sitting the large bouquet on the counter and sitting on the other side.

“Thanks.” You whisper back to him, sending a soft smile his way. You wanted to almost to reassure Harry that you weren’t mad at him anymore. You were just sad and heartbroken. You never had feelings like these in such a large magnitude before. And because of this, you weren’t expecting any of what happened.

You silently turn away from him to grab the two vases you had in the cabinet and you sit them down on the counter in front of Harry. 

“I’m sorry if I overreacted on Friday. I just…” you mumble, beginning to unwrap the pretty flowers that were laying on the counter. You were trying to get your thoughts together but it was so hard. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It was all my fault for not saying anything or acknowledging you.” When he says that, your breaths become shakier and a tear slips from your eye. You continue to keep your focus on the flowers as you try to compose your next sentence in your head. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice Harry coming around to your side of the counter. He softly pulls your hands away from the flowers and he pulls you into his body.

 That was the moment you needed. You thought your release was over the past few days but they were only building up to this. Feeling his arms securely wrapped around you was the only thing you wanted or needed from him. Feeling and hearing your cries only made Harry cry too. The both of you just stood there in your kitchen holding each other as you both poured your hearts out to each other through your tears. This time, not saying anything was saying everything. The both of you could feel what the other was feeling and wanted to say. It was like a large weight was lifted off of you both. After a few more moments of crying and being in your arms, Harry needed to get one thing off of his chest. When he pulls away from you he cups both of your cheeks in his hands and he looks right into your eyes. He wanted to make sure that you knew that he meant every last word that was coming out of his mouth. 

“I can’t even explain how sorry I am Y/n. You mean the world to me and I can’t even fathom the idea of not having you in my life. Seeing you completely broken the other night haunts me everyday and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that. After not having your in my life, even if it was only a few days, I realized that I can’t live without you. I’ve spent so much time and energy looking for my match when I didn’t even bother to look right in front of me. The only type that I have is you. You’re absolutely stunning, inside and out. I feel like a proper dick for making you feel like you weren’t good enough for me. It’s me who’s not good enough. I let you down and I’ll never forget that. You’ve never left my side in the past 3 years and I couldn’t even give you a simple answer. I love you so much and I’ll never stop.” When Harry says this, the knife that was once burrowed in your heart was gone and the wound is patched up as if it never happened. Sure it’ll take time for it all to completely go away, but this was a hell of a good start. 

“I love you so much.” You whimper, feeling another heavy round of hot tears cascade down your face. Harry then pulls your head towards his and presses a long, warm kiss right onto your forehead. That, along with his previous words got rid of the clouds. You were happy again. Your once full sponge was now empty. This meant that you could fill it up again, only this time with feelings of love and happiness. You could finally retire from building walls around yourself and continue experiencing the good that came from being vulnerable. 

Masterlist

[a-libra-writes]

Salt & Snow - Chapter 6

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader (?)

Summary: Ned finally returns to his childhood home, to the happiness of his siblings and Y/N ... though she’s also beside herself with nerves. As it turns out, the two of them are awkward teenagers.

Use this chrome extension to replace “Y/N” with a different name :)

“That’s the last of it, milord.” The servant tightened the leather straps on the wooden trunk, ensuring they were secure. Once satisfied, he nodded to the guide that would be taking the young Lord Stark down the mountain. The man was withered, but he expertly steered his mules, or so they said. Ned hadn’t realized how many possessions he’d collected in his years in the Eyrie, and felt bad for making the beasts carry so much.

The old mountain guide said it was fine, and it wouldn’t unbalance them. “You worry about stayin’ on that mule, milord. When’s the last time you descended?”

He thought about it. “Four years, mayhaps more.”

“Aye, it’s much the same. It’s still spring, it will warm quickly as we go down.” The old man guided him to one of the mules, a shaggy, dark brown one with long ears. Ned thought it was cute in an ugly way, and climbed up. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring how the Eyrie hung above them. He remembered the first time he climbed up here, terrified he’d fall the entire way, and then afraid the Eyrie would somehow fall from the sky and plummet to the ground.

I’ll be the one doing the plummeting, if this beast missteps. Ned was mostly, probably confident that wouldn’t happen. He wondered what sort of mule they gave Robert, the beast of a man. He couldn’t imagine his friend sitting quietly for the better part of the day. That thought made him smile a little, and sigh. Robert left a month ago, and now it was his turn. It was a bittersweet goodbye to Robert and then to Lord Arryn. The first month I couldn’t stop thinking about Winterfell, how I wanted to go back. It hurts to leave now.

It hurt, but it was time to go. He wanted to see his family again, to see Winterfell, and the godswood, and Wintertown and the forest surrounding them. He’d smell pines and fresh earth again — gods know the Eyrie sorely lacked in both — and the animals that ran through those woods. He wondered what had changed, what was the same.

Suddenly, Ned recalled a letter where Y/N described the repairs on one of the towers, the old one that was slowly crumbling. That made him remember the last one he sent, and he covered his face with a groan.

“Doing well, milord?” The guide asked, looking back. “Don’t look down.”

Ned merely nodded, glad the guide and the other servants were too busy navigating to notice his stupid face. Why had he written that? Why did he send it? She must be think he was an utter fool. She hadn’t even sent anything back yet.

No, letters are slow to the Eyrie, and I’m leaving, besides — perhaps it was lost.

The thought of Lord Arryn receiving it and sending it back was mortifying, even if the man would never read it. For days Ned’s mind had been racing about Robert’s departure, his own journey, and the stupid words he wrote down. He’d repeated them so many times in his head, hoping he was misremembering.

He groaned and laid his head on the neck of the mule. It smelled awful, but he stayed there. Y/N must have thought him a complete fool, how would he face her once he came home? It would be a long, long journey.

What in the seven hells did he mean by that?

Y/N stared at the words, her eyes running over them, which was a pointless act. She’d memorized these lines in particular, able to recall them in spite of her attempts to keep busy. She hadn’t responded, because how could she? Anytime she sat down and began to dab her quill, the butterflies battered against her stomach. She’d set her quill on the page, watching the ink soak into the paper, but Y/N only managed a few sentences before fumbling, misspelling a word, dripping ink everywhere and just giving up. She’d thrown several pages into the fire already.

I’m being ridiculous, I’m overthinking. Aren’t I? Hasn’t he always said kind things to me? Why is this different?

A week ago, Y/N dug through her box of letters saved over the years, hoping to assure herself. That was a mistake. She read through things she’d forgotten, phrases she remembered, looked over the little drawings he attempted, and her butterflies became relentless. She had to put the letters away and spent the entire day flustered and distracted.

She rubbed at her face and sighed heavily. She put the letter out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t be out of mind for a while. She ought to stop procrastinating, to send something back already; it’d been almost three weeks. Or was it four? She’d been procrastinating with everything imaginable — long boring books, needlework, studying maps, playing music, even riding.

I have to answer eventually. I really am thinking too much. Just write something safe! Something boring!

Instead of doing that, Y/N left her room and looked for something to do. Perhaps if she could talk about her feelings it would help, but she couldn’t. Not even to Lyanna. Her friend had stopped reading the letters, preferring to send her own, and Y/N was sure they weren’t as frequent… That, and she couldn’t imagine letting anyone read what she wrote or drew now.

Is it strange, how often we write? Has anyone noticed?  A little voice nagged at Y/N. She and Ned were well past the age of innocent friendly correspondence. She didn’t speak much about it, secretly worried she’d be told to stop. The idea of getting “caught” wasn’t pleasant, but the idea of stopping was worse. The correspondence had become a comfort, a way to raise her spirits, warmth and confidence in her heart. She understood how some would find that emotion improper.

A servant hurried past Y/N, nearly hitting her and knocking her right out of her thoughts. The boy called an apology and kept running. In the great hall, she saw half a dozen men moving boxes, and one of the elder servants giving them orders. Savory smells came from the kitchen, and peaking inside, Y/N saw the cooks and their girls busy chopping and stewing.

She tried to recall the last time Winterfell was this abuzz. The death of Lady Stark cast a dreary curtain over the castle, and while it was gradually lifting, a feast still felt out of place. Brandon was away again, but there was never a big to-do for his return.

“Found you!” Lyanna called to her, and Y/N jumped. It was absurd how much she’d been lost in her head as of late. She was glad Lyanna didn’t tease her; instead, the girl asked, “Why is everyone so restless today?”

“I was just thinking that. Did you see the kitchens? I can’t imagine why we’d need so much sausage and stew.”

“They’re making dessert, too! I’d ask my father, but I can’t find him anywere.” As they talked, Lyanna and Y/N walked outside to one of the many yards inside Winterfell’s walls. Just like inside, there was a flurry of activity, things being moved and cleaned. Lyanna said half the horses had been taken, perhaps on a hunt for fresh stag. A sudden thought struck her, and she turned on her heels to face Y/N, nearly knocking the girl over in the process. “Y/N, what if… what if my father finally decided—?”

“He didn’t,” Y/N replied instantly. “He would tell you, Lyanna. It won’t be a surprise. Maybe something happened and he’s gathering some bannermen on short notice; maybe it’s about Brandon’s wedding. He has been gone for the better part of a month.”

“That’s all true,” Lyanna said, although she didn’t sound comforted. “Perhaps Father is entertaining some ladies for him. Oh, gods, we’ll have to make smalltalk with them…”

They sat on one of the many carts strewn about the yard, following the activity. Predictably, Y/N’s mind wandered to Ned, and she kept her sigh from escaping. She glanced at Lyanna, half-listening to her friend chatter about a hedge knight that visited months ago. He showed off some jousting in the yard for their amusement, and Lyanna was still enamored. Y/N’s thoughts were wholly preoccupied with the terrifying idea of telling her about the letters, the ones that had gradually become far less proper and more personal.

Suddenly Lyanna asked, “Did you have any plans today?”

“I have a feeling if I did, you’d pull me away.” Y/N said. “Why?”

“Do you still have your old brown cloak?”

Those grey eyes were gleaming with some sort of mischief. Perhaps it was the restlessness of the people around them, or her own anxious thoughts… but rather than steer away from trouble, Y/N turned toward it.

There were small collections of cottages directly outside the walls of Winterfell, mostly farmers and butchers who directly served the castle, and offered board to travelers during the large feasts. But if someone really wanted to find something interesting, they’d go to Wintertown. These were the more prosperous smallfolk, the merchants, innkeeps, blacksmiths, and so on. There was even a small sept, although most Northern townspeople had little use for it. Y/N had come here only a dozen times; to go, she and Lyanna would need an escort, and Brandon wasn’t eager to follow two silly girls around.

As far as they were concerned, the matter of an escort was silly now that they were women. Lyanna had no fear as she put on an old cotton dress and her grey cloak, while Y/N wore her brown and black dress she saved for riding and a deep blue cloak. Y/N tucked her pearl and jewelry away, and Lyanna pulled her own dark brown hair out of its braid until it was all around her shoulders, wild and free. The girls snuck quietly out into the yard, avoiding servants and guards, then drew their hoods up once they reached the gates. They waited, then Y/N pointed. Three sworn guards were distracted with a complaining merchant, and they slipped past the gate.

Once outside, they kept their hoods up, but giggled to one another. After walking a mile, they came across a farmer on the way to Wintertown, and asked if they could ride in his cart. The old man squinted at them, trying to focus his gaze.

“Are ye girls the swineherder’s daughters? Jeyne and … Milly, was it?”

“That’s our names. Can you take us to town?” Lyanna asked, putting on a false voice. When the old man agreed, she grinned so broadly, Y/N had to nudge her and give her a warning look. They hopped into the back of the cart and chatted while it swayed and hobbled along. The last time, it was an hour of walking before a cart passed by.

It’s good to see her like this, happy again. Y/N thought, glancing to her friend as Lyanna chatted. It’s been a dreary six moons. Or has it been longer?

Lyanna hadn’t been herself the whole time. Since her mother died, everything was bleaker. For the first moon, she just wanted to stay inside. After that she’d go out riding for hours at a time, and for once, Lord Stark didn’t scold her for it. Sometimes she’d rage, pick fights with Brandon or a guardman’s boy. Sometimes she’d just stay in bed. Those days were always the bad ones, Y/N knew, and she’d stay with her, writing or drawing or doing needlework while Lyanna laid there.

They’d get far worse than a scolding if they were caught at this game, but she just wanted Lyanna to be happy again. Wintertown was in sight, and they thanked the old man and hopped off his cart, too excited to wait for his mules to take them any farther. Y/N took Lyanna’s arm so they’d at least stay together, and they were off.

Just like the last time they visited, the town was buzzing. Thoughts of Ned’s words and Lyanna’s sadness quickly faded in the back of Y/N’s mind as they followed whatever interested them. A girl half their height was herding a group of sheep through the middle of a wide street, a woman was selling bolts of impossibly colorful fabric and thread, a blacksmith was loudly working on a sword. The girls watched all of it.

“Wait!” Y/N patted Lyanna’s arm excitedly, distracting her from the molten-hot red sword and the hammer that was beating down on it. “Do you see that?” She pointed.

Lyanna squinted. “That stall over there?”

“Yes, let’s hurry! Maybe he still has some!”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna laughed, but followed along. She quickly realized why Y/N was so excited: There was a variety of colorful, fresh vegetables, but more importantly… fruit.

“You buying?” The man asked warily, mistaking them for the lowborn girls they were dressed as. Back in their bedchamber, Y/N had to remind Lyanna to tuck away her direwolf pin. “I’m selling, not giving. You girls got coin?”

Y/N ignored his tone and asked, “Are these from White Harbor? My father worked the docks.”

“That so? He on one of the merman’s ships, or the ray’s?”

“The manta ray, at the Whitetide docks.”

The man grinned, showing some missing teeth. He nodded his head like he was familiar with this mystery sailor. “Aye, with Lord Caspian’s fleet? His ships are good ones. These fruit come all the way from Dorne and the Arbor, but they’re still fresh.”

Y/N could see that. Her heart was racing at the sight of peaches, oranges, limes, figs… of course, Lyanna’s eyes went straight to the lemons. She giggled and shook her head. “They’re better when they’re baked in cakes. Have you had an orange before?”

“Never. Let’s get some. Four, if we could?” Lyanna asked the man, and he handed them over. Four was all he had, and Y/N paid, feeling a little sorry for taking so many. She wondered if the common folk could afford fruits. This cold preserved them well.

They walked around the market idly, more interested in the treats they just acquired. Y/N taught Lyanna how to peel the orange and the wolf-girl was delighted with how sweet and juicy they were. “This is wonderful! Why aren’t we baking these into cakes?”

“I suppose someone tried, and it didn’t work out well,” Y/N mused. “My mother liked to squeeze them into her water, or she’d just drink the juice itself. When you preserve the peels and dry them, you can scatter them amongst your things to make them smell good.” She thought about her mother’s hugs, and her favorite parlor, and the strong smell of citrus and exotic flowers that permeated both. She was a Northern woman, but took to the wonders of Dorne and Essos and the Reach, little treasures brought in on her husband’s ships. It was how her father courted her: With baskets of fruit, tropical flowers, strings of pearls and giant conch shells. Y/N smiled, remembering how her mother lit up when she told her about it.

“I can promise you, my little pearl, one day you will have such kindnesses paid by someone who truly adores you.”

“You know so many things. All I know is passable dancing, and horses.” Lyanna said, breaking Y/N’s reverie, of which she was grateful for. The Stark girl rubbed at her chin where some juices at dribbled, and Y/N handed her a handkerchief.

“You know swords and lances well.”

“Aye, but I’m not allowed to use them.” Lyanna frowned, but it didn’t look like her mood was lowering. She eagerly bit into a second orange instead. Y/N sighed and put the handkerchief back into her reticule.

“Can I have the peels?” She asked.

“Are you going to put them into my riding boots?”

“Gods, I’d need a bushel to mask that scent.”

Lyanna didn’t want to throw her precious orange, so she settled for lunging and chasing Y/N instead. Y/N shrieked and ran, glad for the headstart: Lyanna had to chew and swallow her orange pieces properly before tearing after her. Lyanna’s old dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull up the skirts, but Y/N had the lighter cloak. She shrieked again as Lyanna grasped for it, but missed. “I’ll get you for that!” The girl hollered. “Come back, Y/N!”

They laughed and chased each other around the town like children, and no one cared. Some older women noticed and scowled, and a few children laughed and followed for a while, but no one stopped them. No one grabbed their ears and admonished them for the messy hair, dirty clothes and sticky orange-flavored fingers. They were little girls again, not proper ladies of five and ten, daughters of Stark and Caspian.

Y/N stopped suddenly, then yelped as Lyanna tackled her to the ground. She squirmed and coughed. “Lyanna! You’ll kill me!”

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Lyanna responded. She realized Y/N was still winded and moved off her. “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No,” Y/N sat up and blinked the dust out of her eyes. Satisfied, Lyanna flicked an orange peel at her. Y/N picked it off her lap and ate it. Lyanna made a face, like Y/N just ate the peel of a lemon — then she remembered she saw her friend do that, too.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N asked. It was the entire reason she stopped. Both girls kept still and listened. They were on the edge of Wintertown, their game taking them to the very end of it. Out here was a few modest homes and small gardens, a crumbling wall, and the road leading to Winterfell.

“Horses,” Lyanna said. She listened. “Several of them, moving at once. It’s probably a retinue.”

“Is it Brandon? I can’t recall when he was supposed to come home.”

“It would be bad for Brandon to find us like this and tell father,” Lyanna said, but she laughed. She was like her old self today. Suddenly, she said, “Oh. We should have saved an orange for Ben.”

“But not Brandon?”

“His Lordliness can get fruit whenever he wants. He can ride to the Reach and pick it himself.” Lyanna scoffed. She stood up, pulled Y/N to her feet and they both dusted their dresses and cloaks off. The horses were closer now, easy to hear without them staying quiet. It had to be Brandon, or a nearby lord. It was too much commotion for farmers bringing food.

The girls walked to the crumbling wall and crouched down, eager to peek at the banners. They weren’t foolish enough to openly stare, even if this was Wintertown, they weren’t entirely safe. Y/N had a vague thought that Lyanna might have a dagger in her boot, but that wasn’t real protection. She kicked herself for not bringing something of her own, even if she had no idea how to use it.

“They’re taking their time,” Lyanna muttered. “Has to be a lord. A lordling wouldn’t bring so many wagons, and a merchant wouldn’t be so slow. If it is Brandon, let’s throw rocks.”

“Let’s not.”

“Fine, a single rock. I won’t hit his horse, she deserves better. It could always be Ser Roderick, or the Pooles. Maybe even Cerwyn —”

Y/N pulled her back, lower against the stone wall. “Shh.”

Two horses passed, carrying modestly protected Northern guards. Then four more guards followed, dressed in different leather and armor. Y/N squinted, not recognizing the arms on their surcoats. It wasn’t anyone sworn to House Stark. Then, what they wanted: The banners.

One man held a direwolf, and another one held a blue falcon. Lyanna shot up, and Y/N stumbled, as she was still holding onto her.

Then she looked up, and jumped to her feet just as Lyanna had. They both stared.

It was Brandon, as they guessed, and someone else. They rode ahead, followed by a few more men, one of them a fully-armored knight who wore the crest of a sky-blue and white falcon.

“Ned!!”

Lyanna was gone. She tore across a small field to the road, and the guards stopped all at once, their hands flying to their hips. That action snapped Y/N to attention, but she could only stand and stare. She watched the boy — no, young man — beside Brandon turn in his saddle, and his grey eyes lit up with surprise and happiness.

Y/N thought someone was sitting on her chest, then something was trying to get out of it. She was choked up, the world was spinning, and she could barely hear the words Lyanna, Ned and Brandon were all saying. Lyanna nearly jumped up on the horse, but Ned swiftly dismounted. He only had a moment before he was being strangled in a hug.

Brandon got down from his horse and said something to the guards. The horses shook their heads at the commotion but Lyanna shouted again, and two of the knights laughed, and Y/N was still.

Then Ned looked up over his sister’s head, and met eyes with her. Y/N took a step forward, then another. She forgot she was wearing an old dress, a cloak that was now dirty from running about, that her hair was out of a normally tamed and styled braid. Ned held out his hand, as though she was close and not ten or fifteen feet away.

Y/N shyly walked down the field to the road, trying not to look at the guards, or Brandon. Lyanna pulled away from Ned and grabbed her arm, pulling her the last two feet. “What are you doing, Y/N? Come over here!”

She was pushed in front of him. He was different in some ways, but not many. Brandon towered above him and Lyanna was just a little shorter. Y/N smiled at that, but quickly looked to her hands, which smelled of oranges and still had a little stickiness on them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Y/N could only say. She thought of all the clever and interesting words she sent before, and how they were failing her horribly now. Her mind scrambled for something to say, something she had written before, something good, but it was all jumbled.

She didn’t look at Ned as he replied, “It’s good to see you too, Y/N.”

It was quiet, like they were the only ones, but that was quickly interrupted. Brandon was beside them, loudly teasing, “It’s Lady Y/N, brother. I thought the South was supposed to teach you all those stuffy manners.”

“She’s always been Y/N to us,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “More importantly, were you and father keeping this a secret?”

Her brother replied with a small smile. “Yes, it… it was supposed to be a surprise. I never imagined we’d meet you here.”

“And why are you two here?” Brandon crossed his arms. His good humor quickly left, as if he just took in their location and their clothes. He looked at Lyanna, then Y/N, and kept his attention on the latter. “Did you sneak out without a guard? Do you know how dangerous that can be? And why are you dressed like that?”

Y/N self-consciously pulled at her cloak as he questioned them, remembering the state she was in. Brandon’s words didn’t bother her, it was the realization that Ned hadn’t seen her in years, and this is what he saw as soon as he came back. Didn’t I have silly daydreams of him seeing me in the gown I made, or a new one? Why am I even thinking about that?

She was glad Lyanna and Brandon got into a little spat, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped behind Lyanna, half to shield herself, half to put some distance between her and Ned. She was steadily being overcome with an urge to hug him — wouldn’t that be natural? He was home now, but … it wasn’t that simple. So, she kept at Lyanna’s side, redirecting her attention on calming her friend.

“When I tell father about this, he’ll have words to say, especially since tonight he wants to hold a feast —”

“— If you tell him, I’ll tell about all that extra time you spend at the Rills!”

“It’s my job as heir to visit our bannermen and listen to their grievances!”

“Oh, yes, the pretty Ryswell daughters have much to say, I’m sure —”

Brandon went red and was ready to retort hotly, when Ned cleared his throat. He inclined his head to the men around them, all visibly impatient. Ned himself had some of that energy as he said, “Let’s go home.”

The way he said it, how could anyone continue to argue? Brandon stopped at once, knowing it had been years since his little brother had seen Winterfell properly. He patted him affectionately on the back, and Lyanna beamed. Y/N met eyes with Ned again, and they both turned away.

Brandon took his horse’s bridle. “Whose riding with whomst?”

“I’ll ride with Ned!” Lyanna blurted excitedly, and disappointment shot through Y/N so quickly, she felt a little sick. Don’t be stupid. That’s her brother, and she’ll just quarrel with Brandon, besides.

Brandon offered her a hand and easily swept her up on his horse. He asked if she was comfortable before swinging up himself, settling in like it was as easy as sitting in a chair. The problem is he put her in front, so his arms were loosely around her as he gathered his reins. Nervous as she was around these beasts, Y/N almost preferred riding behind him, although that was not always considered proper for a lady. Y/N had to hold onto him, especially with how far up she was. Brandon had a fine old destrier, once a great warhorse, still mighty and tall in her old age. She was perfect for taking him around the North, but Y/N thought she was entirely too big.

Lyanna happily settled in behind Ned instead of in front of him. Again, Y/N met his eyes. He had expressions that said so much, especially since he himself said little. She couldn’t read this one, though. Brandon called out, “Move on!” and the small escort went on the road. Y/N was thankful for the easy pace, and the steady gait of the destrier.

Her nervousness slowly settled as the four of them made conversation, with the Vale knight occasionally speaking up. Before long, the walls of Winterfell appeared before them, the proud white banners flying above. Ned looked up at the direwolf, and Y/N could swear some fatigue just melted right off him. The gates opened, and the guards keeping their station happily called to the boys, not noticing the state Lord Stark’s daughter and his ward were in. By the time their escort entered the yard, several servants, men-at-arms and children had come to see Ned come home.

Benjen pushed through all of them, eagerly running at his older brother. There was no shortage of hugs as Lyanna, Benjen and Ned reunited, while Brandon helped Y/N off the horse. Unlike his oldest brother, Benjen hadn’t developed an avoidance to his sister and her companion. He was only two years younger than them, and looked hurt as he said, “You all met him without me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ned said again. “I crossed Brandon on the road by chance, and then these two—”

“Isn’t it a wonderful coincidence?” Lyanna grinned. She was still standing close to Ned, all but hanging off him. Y/N allowed Benjen to squeeze past her to get to Ned.

While the three chattered, Y/N asked Brandon, “You truly didn’t know? Where were you coming from?”

“Returning from the Karstarks. Father didn’t tell me a thing.”

Lyanna and Benjen began dragging Ned to the great hall, and now servants and guards started gathering, having realized who he was and all were eager to see him. Y/N smiled, pleased he was so missed… and only slightly glad he was moving further from her. She was anxious of what would happen if they were in a small group again, or worse, alone. She almost wanted to stay behind, but Brandon called to her, lingering back so she could catch up.

Being alone happened far sooner than Y/N anticipated.

The next morning, she stepped carefully through the snow, watching for roots just slightly sticking out. The sun was beginning to peak over the stone walls, helping her navigate the quiet yard. This route wasn’t yet familiar to her. She’d only made it recently, and often without Lyanna. Her friend wanted to mourn in quiet.

Y/N descended into the crypts. She shuddered instantly, feeling a far stronger cold take hold of her. Her footsteps echoed off the stone and she walked steadily toward her destination, passing statues of long dead Lord Starks and their sons.

Lady Lyarra did not have a sculpted sepulcher, but she had a beautiful tomb and marker for her bones. Y/N held her reticule close, bringing it to her nose so she could smell the crisp, dried oranges and give herself peace of mind. She hadn’t even visited her own family’s crypt.

She gasped as the shadows shuddered, nearly dropping the dried peels. The torches were scattered about, some not lit, making the shadows grow and recede with every second. She heard something just a few feet away.

Y/N bit down a curse as Ned came into view, the shadows circling around him. He blinked at her, his grey eyes almost looking black in the limited light.

“Y/N?”

“Y-You scared me,” She shuddered. “I didn’t — I didn’t think there would be anyone here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Y/N paused. She couldn’t seem to steady her heart, not with Ned looking directly at her. He was so much taller than before. She turned away. “I wanted to pay my respects. To give a gift.”

He didn’t respond right away. Y/N thought of the letters, of the reassurances, the kindnesses she sent him when he finally heard the news of his mother’s passing.

Why was it failing her now? She squeezed the fabric bag between her fingers.

“You brought something for her?” Ned asked quietly. “Could I see?”

Y/N nodded. She stepped closer, but not enough to feel any warmth from him. The cold of the crypt was cooling her nerves. “Orange peels. I dried them. They… they smell nice.”

She felt foolish, but he smiled. It was slight, but it was there.

“This way.” He said. He took a torch off the wall and led her deeper in. Y/N forgot how far it truly was. The Starks had been dying for centuries, and soon they would have to dig deeper into the cave to make space for the future generations. Lyarra was buried next to her parents, neither of who had a statue either.

There were fresh blue roses on the grave, and older, smaller blossoms that had begun to dry and decay. Y/N recalled Benjen brought those. She arranged the orange peels neatly, happy with the fragrance they gave off in addition to the roses. Ned must have brought those.

She quietly prayed, and Ned kept quiet beside her, perhaps joining her, perhaps not. When she finished, her hands fell to her side. Her cold, bare fingers brushed with Ned’s, and she felt the soft wool of his gloves. His finger hooked around one of her’s, and she curled it.

“Ned, I don’t presume to know your feelings, but I can only imagine how much you must hurt. If I could only help — if you were only right here, instead of far away —”

“When I home come, I want to see you, and do all the things we said we would do. I want to watch you paint, and dance, and maybe ride a horse — because I know Lyanna will make us — but most of all, I want to hear your voice.”

Y/N felt her throat was dry, but she stayed put, wondering if her heartbeat could be heard bouncing off the walls. She knew if she looked at him, even with a glance, she’d lose all composure and just run away.

She almost did that, when a loud noise made them both jump nearly two feet apart. Ned instantly took her hand back to push her behind him, then touched his sword. He grasped the hilt and lifted it just an inch out of the scabbard.

“Gods!” Y/N let out a hard breath. The skinny orange cat that knocked the unlit brazier over. It didn’t have coal in it, but it still made a terrible racket. The cat hissed and ran back into the shadows.

“I see he’s still here,” Ned mumbled. He set his sword back, and his shoulders were still tight. “Damned creature.”

“He gets lost down here so often. If he were kinder, I’d carry him out.”

“If it’s the same orange cat from when I was a boy, he’d rather freeze to death than be touched for even a moment.”

Silly smiles graced their faces, in spite of where they were, in spite of why they came in the first place. Ned nervously touched the hilt of his sword. “Shall we return?”

As they stepped out of the crypt, Y/N had to lift her skirts to climb the stairs easier. Ned offered his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He didn’t immediately let go, and she didn’t comment on it. Instead she asked, “Did they make you learn those manners in the South?”

“There’s all sorts of manners and noble bearing they expect. It’s exhausting,” Ned admitted with a shy expression, and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine him trying some sort of silly, formal dance she’d heard about.

“Give me an example.”

He stared at their connected hands, his ears and cheeks slowly growing redder. Y/N didn’t pull away, even if her own body was threatening to explode with nerves and heat.

She expected him to kiss her hand, like she’d hear the other girls gossip about. She felt his warm lips against her fingers, through her thin gloves, and it made her jolt. Some of his brown hair brushed against her arm. I might well and truly die now.

Ned coughed and hastily turned away from her, utterly embarrassed at his own behavior. “Th-that’s what Lord Arryn… what Lord Arryn said to do when … when meeting a lady…”

“Are you kissing other ladies?” She couldn’t help it. She giggled, the warmth in her chest bubbling up to her lips. Her hand felt like it was on fire. “Should I be jealous, Ned?”

Ned covered his face with his hands, and she laughed. She covered her own face to settle her silly, foolish giddiness. “Of course not,” He grumbled. “You’re the only one I ever spoke to, besides.”

“Oh, you must have talked to some in the Eyrie.”

“Some.” Ned’s grey eyes glanced to her. She met his gaze, and they held it as he continued, “Though I kept wishing you were there.”

Y/N had to look away again. She couldn’t giggle, her throat was stuck, her chest hurt and she hated how tongue-tied she was. She never imagined it would be this hard — whatever this was —

“What in the seven hells are you both doing?”

Looking through her fingers, Y/N watched Brandon saunter up to them. The older Stark tilted his head to his brother.

Ned could only manage to suspiciously avoid looking at him. Brandon glanced between them, and Y/N felt like she had done something wrong. She quickly said, “We were visiting the crypt to pay our respects.”

Brandon’s face fell, and he said little else. Y/N understood it would be time for breakfast soon, and the morning sun had long broken over the tall stone walls. The three of them walked back to the keep together, Brandon pointedly putting himself between Y/N and Ned.

[quidfree]

can you Please write the scene with bakugou's piercing SGDHEFEH the concept is too funny to me !!!

anon you’re lucky 報復性熬夜 is a concept i am firmly attached to so here i am at 1 am rattling this off instead of getting my beauty sleep. please excuse the standard of writing as a result

by the second day, katsuki is seriously considering agreeing to todoroki’s earlier and ambiguously sincere proposal that they play i spy.

he doesn’t know what it is about this particular job that’s so unbearable. no, scratch that- of course he knows what’s unbearable; it’s sat right next to him on a too-small chair in their too-small room staring impassively out of a too-small window. but he’s been thrown into so much shit with icyhot you’d think he’d developed some kind of immunity by now, the way vaccines microdose you on viruses so you can resist the real thing. call katsuki an antivaxxer, he guesses, because he has overdosed on todoroki ever since he met the asshole and he’s still not ready for how far up the wall he’s driving him when they’re stuck together for two straight days without a breather or any contact with the outside world.

cards on the table: stake-outs aren’t his thing. he does them just fine, fuck you very much, but he doesn’t like ‘em. why would he? they’re some ungodly blend of extremely boring and extremely tense, where nothing happens right up until way too long into it and then everything goes to shit unprompted. it’s rare he ever gets called in on jobs like this- people tend to assume he lacks the temperament for it, for one, and for another he’s too useful to lock away for days on end. it’s only because their suspected target is so insanely volatile and dangerous that it’s the two of them waiting for her to show her ugly face- no one else is even allowed in the perimeter. which is fucking fine, but he just wishes the cops would get their shit together for once and actually have the proof ready by the time they call the pros in so he doesn’t have to wait before he goes in guns blazing. instead they talked some bullshit about how critical of a stage this was and blah blah fifteen years of (obviously mediocre) work had gone into setting this trap, etc etc. the point is that it’s led to katsuki stuck in the world’s most disgusting little apartment, staring out of a splintered window for two-going-on-three days with no one but the world’s most annoying prodigy to keep him company. the place is such a dump they’re sleeping on mats in sleeping bags. it’s like fucking UA summer camp, and at this point he’d take the kidnapping over the waiting.

day one wasn’t so bad, right up until he realized there would be a day two. day two is bad from start to finish. they’re supposed to take turns on watch but there’s fuck all else to do except sit on their phones, and katsuki can only quote tweet so much dumb shit before he gets bored. he can’t talk to anyone outside because of confidentiality bullshit, and there’s no point checking work shit when he can’t do anything from where they are. so it’s either silently watching the warehouse or talking to todoroki, and todoroki is a fucking terrible conversationalist.

the thing with icyhot is this: katsuki doesn’t hate him, okay. like, he hates him, but also not really. they’re, at a push, maybe, sort of, friends. verging on close ones. not that he’d say so, but after the amount of dramatic self-sacrifices and final stands against a joint enemy they’ve endured he can’t really muster the energy to argue otherwise. todoroki’s tolerable, sort of maybe. usually katsuki borderline likes working with him, because if nothing else he’s good at what he does, and they know each other too well to be anything but in sync in the field. if they were doing almost anything else he’d be relieved at the choice of pairing.

they are not, however, doing anything else, and todoroki still fucking sucks at talking like a normal person. when he’d woken katsuki up for his shift of night-watch he’d loomed over him ominously like a fucking ghoul and said, voice belying no humor: “do you think plants can feel pain?”

there’s fucking nothing to talk about. anything interesting is essentially vetoed because it’d inevitably distract them from the whole intent observation thing, and katsuki hates small talk on a normal day but especially when todoroki’s doing his ‘alien attempting earth dialect’ bit and asking him about weather or the tokyo transportation system or whatever. so they just sit in semi-silence and occasionally go on very stupid tangents katsuki is glad no one can witness and remain overall bored out of their fucking skulls.

by day three they’ve already exhausted i spy and also the alphabet game and hangman, and katsuki draws the line at tic-tac-toe. todoroki looks implacable as always but his eye has started twitching a little. katsuki tries to think of literally anything that could plausibly take up their time and not take their eyes off the window, comes up short. twister is not a good idea even ignoring their lack of a board. shop talk is so very tempting, but he’s not losing this villain and wasting two days’ suffering because they get carried away on some long-winded discussion, so that’s not an option either.

“how’s your ear?” todoroki says, and at first katsuki thinks he’s really fucking lost it if he’s started asking after the wellbeing of his individual body parts, but then he remembers the last time they saw each other katsuki was throwing himself into the path of some jackass with a trumpeting quirk who nearly blew out his eardrum, so he guesses half ‘n half’s not entirely insane yet. he shrugs, shifts in his chair.

“fine. couldn’t hear shit from it for like three straight days, though. and my balance was fucked.”

“it hasn’t scarred at all.”

“yeah. lame place for a scar,” katsuki says, flexing his fingers absently. they’re all of them more roughed up than they were at UA, but talent and good healers have kept him mostly intact, give or take a few big nasties like the time he got gutted in first year or his near loss of an eye around graduation. privately he suspects genetics have dealt him a good hand, what with his gene donor’s perfect skin, but then todoroki doesn’t have that excuse and he’s not scarred anywhere ugly except the obvious, though katsuki could point blind to most of the nasties he’s accumulated under his suit.

not that he thinks about what’s under todoroki’s suit. god, he needs to get out of here.

“i don’t know,” todoroki is saying now, thoughtful. “a lot of people have ear-scars, no? from piercings.”

“that’s different,” katsuki says, immediately contrarian, even as he thinks about it. by the warehouse a truck stalls, but then moves on, lessening his momentary excitement. “most people don’t let that shit heal. unless you’re a moron there’s no point getting a hole jabbed through your ear if you’re not sure you want it.”

“would you?” todoroki asks, mildly curious, and taps his ear where katsuki can see him in the window’s reflection. “get a piercing, i mean.”

“what’s it to you?”

todoroki rolls his eyes at him like he’s being pointlessly difficult, which he maybe is a little. “i don’t know. i think it would suit you.”

“yeah?” katsuki sniffs, mollified and trying not to show it. it’s always a mistake to let icyhot know when his obvious ploys are working. “been thinking about it?”

“i can hardly sleep at night for thinking about it,” todoroki deadpans, which makes katsuki scowl and stomp down on the extremely unwarranted flush crawling up his neck in response.

“fuck off. i guess i’d do like one or two.”

“really? you always say no to tattoos.”

“that’s different. i don’t trust some asshole to draw a fucking infinity sign on my knee or whatever. sticking a hole through an ear is hard to fuck up, and you barely register it after. if you get a shitty tattoo you have to think about it all the time.”

“if it’s easy then why don’t you have any?” todoroki asks, but he sounds genuinely curious more than like he’s trying to catch him out, so katsuki thinks about it honestly.

“don’t have the time. ‘s not like i can really afford to pencil in an afternoon to the nearest parlor or whatever just for that.”

“i read you can pierce your ears with a needle.”

“i guess i haven’t fucking thought about it that much, then,” katsuki grumbles, forever irked by todoroki’s smart mouth. problem solver his ass. the guy goes around making problems for everyone.

they sit in silence for a beat, watching the breeze rattle the wooden planks barricading a window opposite them, and then he thinks needle, and does some very quick mental arithmetics to reach the conclusion that todoroki is probably also landing on, judging by the way he blinks when katsuki briefly glances his way. 

he thinks about the job, and how close he’d come to throttling todoroki during i spy, and the great dawning nothingness ahead of them for fuck knows how long still. at the very worst, they have to start moving with a needle in his ear. 

“pass me your medikit.”

todoroki does, but when katsuki unzips the pack he shifts. “it’d be easier if i did it.”

“it’s not rocket science,” katsuki mutters, considering the needle critically before glancing back out of the window. “'s not like i give a shit about precise location.”

“i’m just saying i wouldn’t have to go in blind. and you can keep watch while i do it.”

“or you can keep watch while i do. same shit.”

todoroki only shakes his head, because unlike some people who shall not be named he is not so incredibly psychosexually attached to offering help where it isn’t wanted. “fine.”

katsuki eyes the window, squints at his ear. tissue’s the best bet- he thinks he could probably manage cartilage fine, but on the off chance they have to drop everything and run he doesn’t want to accidentally snap a bone and start the fight inconvenienced. lobe it is.

“wait,” todoroki says, just when he’s focused, and then reaches over without removing his gaze from the window to press two fingers to the needle, tip going blisteringly red-hot before he releases it. cauterised. their kit’s sterilised anyway, but katsuki grunts his begrudging thanks, repositions himself. 

“wait,” todoroki says again, and this time katsuki can’t help but turn to glare at him where he’s still watchfully staring outside.

“fucking what, icyhot?”

“two seconds,” todoroki promises, gaze flickering his way for half a second with something like self-effacing amusement before he turns his eyes dutifully away and reaches his other arm around to pinch his ear, which flares cold so quickly katsuki hisses even as his cheeks heat. fucking weirdo.

“could’ve just said,” he mutters, ignoring his not at all jumpy pulse to refocus on the task at hand as todoroki does that obnoxious lip-twitch thing that means he’s smiling internally. 

physics dictates that he keep his wrist at an angle if he wants the needle to come out right, so he does, braces and jabs. it goes so easy he almost doubts his own success, not even the slightest twinge of pain ensuing. he twists for good measure, removes the needle, watches tiny beads of blood emerge from the piercing. 

well, that was anticlimactic, katsuki thinks, retrieving an anti-bacterial wipe for the needle, and then pauses, staring at the window.

“motherfucker.”

“what?”

“what the fuck am i supposed to put through this?”

todoroki’s mismatched eyes go gratifyingly wide in the window, and for one spectacularly braindead moment two of the world’s most outstanding pro-heroes stare at one another in a shitty broken window with equal amounts of retroactive dismay. 

“um,” todoroki says, or as close to ‘um’ as todoroki will ever say. katsuki wishes dearly he was still of an age where he could throw him through a wall. then his eyes focus elsewhere, sharpening with what could pass as professional focus but is mostly naked relief. “um.”

um in-fucking-deed. by the warehouse, a door has just opened a sliver.

“you owe me a fucking earring,” katsuki declares, but so fast it lacks any aggression, already halfway out the window by the time he finishes speaking, atrophied limbs reviving with an ecstatic chemical burn as fresh air hits their faces. 

god. if he ever gets stuck on stake-out duty again he’s sleeping by himself under a parked car or some shit. 

they make disgustingly quick work of the fight, in the end, days of pent-up frustration and skull-numbing boredom leaving them so bursting with power that it’s almost embarrassing for the villain, but when the first kow-towing police officer reaches them full of praise and suggestion that they handle another job he has queued up they chorus a ‘no’ so violent the guy actually jumps. 

todoroki’s not so bad, katsuki thinks fondly, watching his face slide into frigid blankness with absolutely no idea of how shitless he’s scaring the officers around them. it’s almost enough to make him forget to kick his ass for the enormously shitty banter he’d had to endure vis-a-vis his still-bleeding ear throughout the entire tragically short fight.

almost. not quite. who even knew there was a ‘gay ear’?

[anemonenemerosa]

The Spare - Chapter 4

Hello fellow people, here comes the fourth chapter of my fic. As always, this is a spinn-off of @lumosinlove Sweater-Weather, so the universe belongs to her, while the Harry Potter characters beling to JKR.

Please be careful if you feel triggered by past abuse topics.

Chapter 4

With an exasperated huff, Regulus chucked The Hobbit into a corner of his room.

After realising that no one even seemed to know of the existence of the light fiction in the library, he began to keep all relevant books he found in his room. By now, the stack on the floor was reaching his hip. But whatever he did, he could not distract himself from the impending game against the Lions this evening. He had neither seen nor heard from Sirius since the draft, he did not expect a call, and was rather indecisive on how to react to his brother.

It was the first time the brothers played against each other in an actual game, in the NHL no less. Of course, everyone supplied their unrequested suggestions, or rather demands. The Death Eaters wanted him to rile Sirius up, taking his focus off the game. His parents insisted that he had to outshine his brother, presenting himself as the genuine heir of Orion Black.

God forbid anyone considering to ask me about that, Regulus mused.

It was not his very first game in the NHL but surely the most sensational so far. The media was all but hyped about the game but the 'Brother Rivalry' overshadowed by the 'Captain Rivalry' and Sirius' broken ankle. He was relieved that Severus took up so much media presence but he did not fool himself. A lot of eyes were going to be on him. Hence his indetermination.

Following the Death Eaters lead to distract Sirius with chirping and slurs was not a viable option. He would probably rise in their graces but also draw public attention for gamesmanship, without doubt overshadowing his actual hockey performance, which he wanted to be noticed for. Of course, his parents would not appreciate Regulus taunting Sirius either. They wanted him put Sirius to shame by performance, not immature behaviour.

They expected Regulus to outrank the Captain of the rivalling team with six years of NHL experience is his sixth-ever game. Personal relations be damned, this is a hideous demand, Regulus scoffed, finally giving up on distracting himself from his brother and stepping into the shower.

Regardless of how hard he tried, he would always be seen in relation to Sirius. Thank you, brother. You just have to fart to overshadow my life. Merde... connard stupide!

  _________________________________________________________

It hadn’t always been like that, Regulus had to acknowledge. As small boy he looked up to his bigger brother. He cared for him in a different way than their parents. While they clothed, fed and trained him, Sirius was the one who hugged and comforted Regulus when their father scolded him for being shy and introverted.

“A hockey player does not hide in corners!”, Orion used to spit, his patience always on the meagre side.

Sirius loved him in a different way than Walburga and Orion, cheering him up instead of punishing him when he messed up.

“You need to toughen up, boy” his father explained one day, “You have been pampered too much. Crying and asking for cuddles is for girls.”  

But his older brother would hear nothing of it. Sirius instructed Regulus to sneak into Sirius' bed after nightmares and during stormy nights. Thinking of it now, Regulus realised that he must have been as much of a comfort for Sirius as the other way around.

From the beginning of Regulus life, Sirius was famous for his talent but it did not affect their relationship until he was getting prepared for a professional career as soon as he turned twelve; spending the summers in training camps and receiving additional private lessons at the rink in their basement. They saw each other infrequently and Sirius was mostly too tired for playing with Regulus if he got a bit of spare time. That did not stop them from secretly snuggling up in bed.

However, their dynamics began to shift as the rising success of his brother took up all attention from their parents. Whatever concerned Sirius was more important and Regulus began to feel a constant sting of jealousy souring his mood. Then puberty hit Sirius hard, causing him to rebel against his tight schedule. Regulus was eight when he began asking Sirius to obey just to make their parents stop beating him and nine when Sirius gave in.

Daft fool, Regulus thought while scrubbing his hair with a bar of soap. If he had just kept his head down... but that wasn't Sirius.

Well, Regulus was able to learn from other people’s mistakes, kept quiet and secured himself a comparingly unbothered time. At least for a while.

Sirius draft to no other team than the Gryffindor Lions had had a severe impact, not only on Sirius' life. He remembers his brothers’ conflict after the call: The excitement from being picked first over all from a strong team mingled with the dread from their parent’s wrath concerning the particular team. Back then, Regulus did not understand the uproar. He was twelve, hadn't learned about the end of his father’s career and wanted his brother to be happy for living his dream. God, he even sneaked in a Lions hat for Sirius. Mrs. Kreacher, albeit reluctantly, bought the item during her weekly errands. Their ancient house-maid always had a soft spot for calm little Regulus that did not extend to his boisterous older brother, but making Regulus happy seemed to outweigh her reservations.

Once Sirius had left to live with the Dumais family, Regulus suddenly became the sole focus of their parent’s energy. As he was twelve, he was subjected to the same extensive training as Sirius and while he was absolutely able to hold a candle to his older brother, it was nothing to knock their parents' socks off. Sirius had already been there and Regulus keeping up was just expected, business as usual, not a big deal.

Eventually, learned what ended Orion’s hockey career. A centre of the Lions had sent him crashing into the boards, causing irreparable damage to his father’s spine. And while his father had to leave the rink forever, the other player wasn't even penalised. This put the drama about Sirius draft into perspective. Still, Regulus missed his brother immensely but after two years of dwindling visits, he got annoyed. Sirius rare calls more and more turned into chorus of praise for his team and especially the Dumais'. He was more and more badmouthing their upbringing and telling Regulus off for defending their parents. "Tu ne comprends pas, Reg." You don't understand. Of course, he never understood, did he? Little naive Reg did not just see how his brother went and found himself a better family, preferring to spend his time with them instead of his actual family, with him. No, Reg was not left-behind, he did just not understand!

_____________________________________________________________

“Je serai toujours ton frère, Reg!” Oh, fuck you!

It has been several weeks since he allowed all the memories and feelings concerning his brother to surface and it always hurt him but for now, he would channel the feelings of abandonment, anger and disappointment into determination. He would at least try and make his parents proud, would treat Sirius as much as any other player as he could, brother or not.

“Hockey is about winning, not fun, not comradery!”, his father used to stress constantly.

Regulus took that to heart. He stepped out of the shower, very wrinkly but ready to let his performance speak for him.

Soo that was chapter 4 for you, I hope you enjoyed it. Stay save and channel your inner Hufflepuff

[littlebitoffanfic]

Celebration

Fandom: The Collector/The Collection Character: Asa Emory – the collector Relationship: Asa Emory/reader Request: Since I have seen you do some slashers, can I request Asa from The Collector? Something sweet where the reader works with him and is an alibi and then saves him when Arkin comes for him in the collection?

  You knew him from your work although you didn’t know him well. Asa was a private man, reserved to his office and displays for the museum. You were tour guide with a hand in some of the office work. After all, the museum didn’t get an awful amount of funding to be able to employee more office workers. Today, you were happy. It was a sunny day, which meant people were less likely to come to the museum for an indoor activity. Your tours still ran ever 2 hours, but a smaller group had less questions and you could normally be done within an hour, leaving an hour free. You all but skipped down the halls like a school girl, your project held tightly in your arms as you stopped outside Dr Emory office. knocking three time, you waited for him. He towered over you, and had such a demanding presences that made you weak at the knees. Your crush on his was not unnoticed by your co-workers. 

“Good morning.” You smile, trying your best to work through the flutters in your chest. “Its 1.30.” he stated, his eyes unreadable. “Oh, well, good afternoon. Could I steal a few minutes of your time?” You ask, nearly slapping yourself in the face for your mistake. His eyes darted to the folder in your arms and he stepped aside, allowing you to enter. This was a privilege in itself. Barely anyone was allowed within his office. But Asa seemed to tolerate you more than the others. Perhaps because you were his neighbour. Now that had truly been a happy accident. His previous neighbour was selling and you were looking for somewhere when you moved here. It just so happened that your neighbour to your left was also a co-worker. Entering his office was like entering a new world. The walls were decorated with various bugs throughout different ages in their lives. Butterfly’s, beetles and roaches but the most prominent member of his displays were spiders. Your attention was drawn to a particular specimen. Pinned in a shadow box was a blue spider. The sign under called it a Cobalt Blue Tarantula. “Wow, those markings are fascinating.” You mumble aloud, more to yourself that to the mans whos office you were in. “Truly. The Cyriopagopus lividum.. native to the borders of Thailand.” Asa speaks so fondly of the dead creature that it makes you smile slightly. There was no denying his love for his work. “Are they venomous?” You ask, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, but the venom not strong enough to kill an adult human. Although its not pleasant.” Asa walks past you to his desk and drawing you from your thoughts. “Now, you wanted something?” “Yes, I was wondering if you might help me with an exhibition.” You hold out the folder to him as you sit at the other side of his desk. He takes it and opens it, showing a sort of mood board you had put together ranging from other exhibitions to enclosures to photo life-spans of certain creatures. “an exhibition?” His eyes flick up to meet your own with curiosity. In truth, you hated how under appreciated he was at the museum and his knowledge should be put to good use. “Yes, for insects. Of course, I’d do most of the work, but I’d really apricate someone who I can fact check with and can offer some insight.” You smile sweetly, and the small smile that pulled at Asa’s lips told you that he was in.

-------------time skip ------------------

Your time spend with the entomologist was one of the most pleasant and interesting interactions you had had in a while. Walking to his office, you held your papers in your hands. You were about to knock when you heard voices inside. Pressing your ear against the door, you listened. “Dr Emory, unless you can provide an alibi for your whereabouts on Saturday evening, we will have enough to arrest you under suspicious of connection with the collector killings.” A voice spoke with authority. Your heart stopped. The collector killings had fascinated you ever since they had come to light. And Asa, well, he was a private man. If they were threatening such a thing, there must be something behind it. And you wanted to know. The two men that seemed to cloud your thoughts could be one. Your mind thought quickly as you came up with a plan. Knocking on the door, you walked in without waiting – something you never really did. Once inside, you acted like a deer in headlights. Two men sat opposite Asa’s desk  in suits. “oh, sorry. Are you from the board?” You asked sincerely but you didn’t let them answer before quickly adding. “Look, Dr Emory and I are neighbours. Its perfectly reasonable for us to spend our evenings and weekends in each others company. Besides, if Tiffany told you about us, she has been having an affair with the janitor.” You could tell Asa was just as stunned as you were. One of the men smiled and stood. “You don’t need to be alarmed, miss. We are from the investigations team.” He then presented his ID badge to you. “Oh, gosh. I am so sorry.” You looked stunned, despite already knowing. “Its okay. But I am interested in what you said. Do you know where Dr Emory was on Saturday evening between 5pm and 11pm?” The man leaned back on Asa’s desk while the other twisted to fully look at you. “He was with me.” You said, talking to the two detectives. “At my house.” “with you? He said he was home alone.” The one with the strong jaw line narrowed his eyes at you. “Yes, well, its not against any policies, our director has been known to fire people for having… interpersonal relationships with colleagues. We’d agreed to keep it a secret. He would have been trying to protect me, in case this got out to the others.” You explain to them, not daring to look at Asa. You knew you were playing with fire here. But what you said wasn’t a stretch. The director had fired a member of the geology department… for sleeping with his wife in astrology. He really cared what staff did as long as they did their job. And didn’t fuck his wife.   “Is this true?” He asked Asa, who gave a single nod. “And is there anyone who can corroborate this?” The detective asked you, more kindly than the others. “Not really. As I said, it was a secret so I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. Although, you can ask half the staff in this building and they’ll tell you that ive had a crush on the man since I moved here, and they know we have been spending more time together. They are so fond of teasing me for it anyway.” You manage to draw a chuckle from one as he jabbed the other detective in the shoulder which earned a smile. Apparently, there was a similar situation going on where they were. “Right, well, we’d better be on our way. We’ll be back in touch soon.” The one sitting rose to his feet, nodding to both you and Asa before he and his partner left. They left and the door had closed for a brief moment before you felt someone grab your arm and you were twisted to meet Asa. He didn’t say anything and his cheeks were slightly red, but his ears were bright red. “So, you are the collector?” You breathe, looking up at him with a small smile tugging on your lips. “What do you want?” He growled, his voice low and menacing. Oh, he wasn’t happy. “I want to know.” You breath, stepping closer to him. “You take parts, right? What do you do with them? Keep mementos? Are you making something?” His nostrils flares out, obviously angry. You understood. You had let yourself into his world, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He couldn’t kill you because it would point the fingers back to him. No, it was smart to keep you close. He let out an exasperated sigh, reaching up and pinching his brow. “look, once this has blown over for you, I wont say a word. I don’t expect anything for it. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.” You reassured him. “Why?” His eyes narrow at you, but you shrug. “honestly, you fascinate me.” You confess to the man, even more intrigued than before. You saw the smirk that twitched at the side of his mouth.

----------------- time skip ------------

The world of the collector was one you never dreamed you would see inside, and you loved it. It took trust to get him to let you see. First you saw the inside of the hotels lobby, then some traps, then some of the beautiful creations he made, then his prize possession. you never participated, but you provided a bit more support for him, offering help from the side lines in exchange for information and his time. If he was suspicious of you, he couldn’t deny the genuine interest in your eyes as he spoke, or how you hung on every word of his. He seemed to love how you marvelled at everything with a child-like innocents. Wide eyes and a curious mind. He kept you very close, at work and in your personal lives. It took 5 months in total for the cops to ease up off of Asa, but they still occasionally found their way to his house, watching it. He would come to yours in those situations, still keeping the façade up that you were in some kind of relationship.   Not that you cared. You found that the two of you had a lot in common which made the time easily spent. Of course, his dogs loved you. When you came round to his, they were pawing at the floor to get to you but waited for their master to give them the signal to move. They really were puppies at heart. Also, sometimes you thought Asa just said they were there to spend time with you. Either way, you didn’t mind. Tonight, you were buried in a book when a harsh knock at your door made you jump but you hurried to answer it, finding a slightly wet Asa. You smiled, stepping aside and allowing him to step in. “You’d think the police budget within the millions by how much they come around.” You giggle, helping his jacket off his shoulders to hang up to dry. He hummed in response, wiping his face with a hand to try get the stray rain droplet off. “So, how was your recent game?” you asked as he followed you into the living room, where you had been reading. You collapsed back into the couch and held your book on your lap. “Uneventful. No one worthy to take.” He mused as he walked over to your book shelf and pulled out the book he had been reading last time. As he returned to your sofa to sit beside you – a show for the police outside – the book fell open to the page he had been reading. But instead of the paperclip he had been using to keep his place, it was a book mark. A novelty bookmark that you had swiped from the gift shop. It was one of those fake 3D ones, with spiders moving on green leaf’s. You raised your book over your mouth to hide your grin. “very amusing.” He soft chuckle left his lips as he placed it to the side. You giggled, moving to reposition yourself. Your sofa faced the TV which was to the right of the window. Meaning anyone who walked by outside could see in. but it was a quiet neighbourhood. Apart from the undercover police. You lay on the sofa, your legs draped over Asa’ lap which you rested your head on some pillows propped up against the arm rest. Asa rose the book without tearing his eyes away from it to allow your legs to move before lowering to rest his forearms on your knee and thighs. Despite being a bit of a play for the police, it began to feel a little more real. You would engage him in conversation through out the evening, and he would tear his attention away from the book to ask you about your day. In fact, you had started to think that Asa had missed this. With the police’s interest dwindling, so had his trips. Even your encounters in work were now limited as you had finished your exhibition. Or many it was just the part of you that had fallen so madly in love with the man that wished he wanted your company. Your eyes left the page to glance at his face. mature features with intelligent eyes. You hated how he could make your heart stop. Maybe this was fake to him, but it was so real to you. Turning your attention back to your book, you didn’t look up until the sun had fully set. Glancing at the clock, you were surprised to see it was nearly 10pm. “Gosh, I swear I’ll never get use to these changing sunsets. Every year it takes me by surprise.” You sit up, stretching as Asa chuckles. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek before lifting your legs off his lap to stand up. Asa followed, and you smiled when he marked his page with the bookmark you had gotten him. “You’re nearly finished. I told you it’s a page turner.” You nodded to the book, which he was nearly finished save for 50 pages. “Yes, all the more reason to come back.” He shot a look over his shoulder that made you smirk. Playful teasing had become something you adored in the man. It was another reason that made you doubt this was fake. They couldn’t hear what was happening, so why play around. Sliding the book back into the slot, he picked up the remote which had been forgotten on the sofa to go to the window and place it on the stand. A ploy for him to see if they were still watching the house. “I think you’re right. They get far too much funding. It could be going to the museum.” He mused as he turned back to you. Maybe they needed to see more. Or maybe you wanted more. Just to test the waters. Walking up to him, you reach up and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me?” You whisper to him, pressing your body against his own. Wide eyes met your own and you couldn’t help but giggle. “They can see through the window.” That was enough to encourage the man to duck down, pressing a kiss to your lips. he could have lightly kissed your lips and pulled away after a few moment, but he didn’t. In fact, you were sure he had forgotten all about the car outside. His arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled tight against his strong chest as his lips fought your own for dominance which you quickly surrendered. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, making you moan as reach up and place your hand on the back of his head near his neck to keep his mouth to your own. Not like he was pulling away any time soon. you felt him push you backwards and you allowed him to push you till your back hit the wall and he pinned you to it. they couldn’t see you anymore, but you didn’t care. Raising your right leg, you hooked it around his hip as his hand trailed down your side and followed the curve to your thigh, holding you in that position. He was driving you crazy, his touch was like fire as you cling to him. When he does pull back, you are left a panting mess with rosy cheek. But his tell was his red ears despite the smirk on his lips. “So, tell me, where does the line between fake and real stop?” he asks, keeping his face close to your own. “With a kiss like that.” You bite your lower lip, completely aware of how his hand had kept your leg hooked on his hip. “The police aren’t outside. They left over an hour ago.” Asa’s voice was low, barely about a whisper. “They did?” You raise your eye brows at him. A nod answers your question and you were left pondering your next move. “Good.” As leans down, sealing his lips over your own.

 -----time skip ------

 You were sitting in your living room, half heartedly flicking through the channel when you notice Asa’ car drive past your window. Smiling, you turn off the TV and grab your small bag. It was a Friday, which meant that Asa worked late. But it also meant you would be staying over with him. A few weeks ago, shit had really hit the fan. You really didn’t know what happened, expect that the hotel was burned to the ground, and Asa only just escaped with his life. He was badly hurt, and you were thankful that he had taken a week off for holidays. It had been holidays he was going to spend with you in his cabin up north, but plans changed. You stayed by his side during his recovery. Asa had lost nearly everything that night. His creations, his sanctuary, his dogs, his prizes. But he had been thankful to come home to you. He had extended his own holiday but you returned to work the next week. He said he had fallen while on a hike so no one questioned his cuts and bruising when he did go back. You took your bag and left your home for the evening, locking it up as you set to go to Asa. He had regained most of his energy and health back, which you were hoping he might be up for something a little more… activity related tonight. The lingerie in your bag certainly hoped so. he was already out the car and into the house as you walked up. But something caught your eye. In his living room, there was someone hiding in the corner. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognised the man. His name was Arkin. He had been the one who had escaped Asa, the one who caused his injuries. You only recognised him because Asa had pointed him out when the new came on one evening. And you highly doubted that he was here to say a friendly hello. Running around the back, you ducked under the window so as not to be seen. You ditched your bag in a bush as you made your way to the back door just as you heard heavy metal music blare through the house. You wanted to scream to Asa, but the glint you had seen in Arkins hands wasn’t enough to tell you if it was a gun or a knife. Slipping into his kitchen, you heard the music being turned off and then silence. You took a large knife from the knife block on the counter and held it as if to stab. And you were willing to. Then you slowly opened the bottom draw, which had some duct tape in it. You round the edge, only slightly pulling it off. If you were going to hurt someone, they cant make a lot of sound. You moved into the hallway which connected to the living room and dinning room. “All those insects. You’re quite the collector.” A voice, Arkins voice spoke, making you pause as you made sure no one knew you were here. “In a 200 mile radios from where we last saw each other, there are 14 licensed entomologists. You were number 12.” As Arkin spoke, you moved slowly down the hallway, looking behind you ever second in case someone else was here. “Your daddy ran a museum, didn’t he? Fucked you up real good.” His words made you feel sick. Asa never spoke of his father. His mother was held with high regard, and he said he wanted you to meet her when she was next in town. But he had shut off when you asked about his father. Arkin was right. “Turn around.” You pressed your back against the wall as you inched closer to the doorway. Tape in your left hand, the edge taped to your finger, and the knife in the other. You could see from the glass display cabinet that Asa and Arkin were standing face to face near the entrance to the dinning room. Arking had his back to you. And a gun raised at Asa’ face. Fear rushed through you as the analogy of ‘don’t bring a knife to a gun fight’ flooded your mind. “Are you here to kill me?” Asa spoke with a calmness you couldn’t fathom. “No. that would be too nice. First im gonna make sure feel everything that I felt. Then im gonna kill you.” You could hear the smugness in his voice. “So that you can never hurt anyone-“ He was cut off as Asa lunged at him. But Arkin gave a swift jab to the face, causing him to tumble back. Into a red box. Your gasp was covered as Arkin flipped the box and started slamming the lid shut again and again, growling “fuck you.”  Before the lack closed. he stepped back, gasping for air. He thought he was alone. Darting into the room, you raise the knie and bought it down into his right shoulder and an angle. He instantly dropped the gun. Letting go of the knife for a moment, you grabbed the roll of tape and started wrapping it round and round his mouth. He had only just managed to let out a cry of pain as his legs gave way under him. He reached up, struggling so you grabbed the knife and pulled it from the flesh. Using the sharp, bloodstained blade, you cut the tape and he collapsed to the ground moaning. You gave him a quick kick in the face before kicked the gun that had fallen out of reach. The last thing you needed was neighbours calling the police for gunfire at the house. You raced over to the box. “Asa, its me.” You reassured him through the small walls in case he tried to attack whoever opened the box. When you pulled the lid open, he scrambled to his feet, the anger in his eyes blazing as he found his attacker on the floor. Arkin was groaning, unable to move just yet but you were sure he’d be up and about soon enough. “Your hands.” You whispered, reaching out and taking his right hand which was covered in blood from Arkin slamming the box down. Your heart broke. He had not long healed. Arkin began to come around, his eyes darting between the two of you as he realized what had happened. He looked at you with an unimaginable about of rage and anger in his eyes as he tried to scream. Asa darted forward, twisting him around and pinning him to the ground, a knee in his back and his hand pressing on the new wound. “The tape.” He commanded of you, and you immediately grabbed the duct tape which had rolled away slightly. Finding the end, you saw Asa grabbing Arkins left hand and you mirrored with his right. Bringing them forcefully behind his back, you taped them in place, then went to tape his ankles together. Once satisfied, Asa hauled the man off the ground and threw him into the box, the lid closing over with the force. Asa flipped the latch. Looking him inside. You didn’t realise you were panting and shaking until Asa was looking at you. Racing forward, you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his chest. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He ask, holding him as tightly as you could. A bloody hand stroked your cheek as another rubbed your back to sooth you. “No, you got here right on time.” There was a softness to his voice that made you melt as you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m too late to be a guard dog. Ludwig or Vivaldi wouldn’t have let him get close enough to hurt you.” You shake your head as you pull back, taking his hands in your own once again to inspect the damage. But he turned his hands over and took your own. “How about we go up to the cabin this weekend?” Asa askes, his question not very well fitted for the currant moment. “huh?” Your eyes glanced to the box which was moving slightly as Arkin struggled. “Oh, we’ll take him. And, since I am out of commission right now, perhaps I can show you some tricks.” Asa smirked as your eyes light up at his words. “Yes!” You bounce on the balls of your feet. You went up on your tiptoes to kiss him, resisting every urge not to pull him upstairs to his bedroom right now. Pulling back, you dart down and pick up the gun, offering it to Asa. “I’ll go get some stuff to see to your hands. And I’ll run back and pack a quick bag and then come and pack your things. I think I should drive, though. You’ll have to give me instructions.” You rattle off, the excitement obvious in your voice. “Oh, you’ll get use to taking instruction this weekend.” Asa whispered in your ear, making you blush and bite your lip with a smirk. Arkin seemed to get a burst of energy and started flaying around in the box, which only moved slightly. “He truly is annoying, isn’t he?” you huffed, hating the moment was ruined by him. Asa simply chuckled and walked up to the box, sitting on it and stopping it from shifting. As you flitted around, gathering supplies and seeing to his hands and then packing his things, Asa watched with a soft eyes. He would be lying if he said he trusted you from the start. And even more so if he admitted there had still been a small part of him that thought you were with the police. but that doubt was well gone. And this weekend, he wanted to celebrate this strange relationship. And oh, what a celebration it would be.

[itsclydebitches]

I know you say that the Adam stuff in v3 was a good example of visual storytelling in rwby, do you think there is anything else, in your opinion

Yes! Let’s praise poor RWBY for once lol 

I’m sure there’s a lot that I could choose from but that would require me combing back through old content to jog those memories. So let’s stick to Volume 7. Overall, I quite enjoyed the JNOR vs. Neo fight. There are plot convenience issues (the stupidity of having the group carry the relic around instead of putting it in the vault) and choreography issues (I’ve heard a number of complaints about the slow-mo and how Jaune and Oscar don’t integrate well with Ren and Nora), but the fight does a good job of conveying a lot of information visually. It’s one of the few moments in the volume where I felt like RT was successfully a) using the medium to its advantage and b) achieving more than one thing in a single scene. 

Warning: Here be lots of screenshots. 

First, I want to acknowledge that lately RT has been demonstrating a talent for horror-esque writing. RWBY obviously isn’t in the horror genre, but via the Apathy we saw that RT can crank up the creep factor when they choose to. This scene does something similar (though admittedly much more subtly) and it starts with the opening shot of the destroyed guards. 

It’s a simple thing, but note how dark the room is, especially compared to the hallway outside. This is supposed to be a terrifying moment. The team has just arrived looking for Oscar and have instead found a disaster zone. There are scorch marks on the walls. The guards aren’t just lying powered down, they’ve been hacked to pieces. Though AIs without aura or souls, they’re designed to look like people and at first glance it definitely seems like we’ve got three bodies decorating the bedroom. Nora’s panicked cries tell us how bad the situation is, but we get that loud and clear from these visuals first. Also note how, despite being lighter, the hallway is dominated by a very deep red. I’d actually say to a certain extent this is a mistake - the pink/reds of the environment make it easy for Neo and Nora, with their predominantly pink costumes, to blend in too well during the fight - but in regards to color associations we get some nice shots throughout that convey danger and high emotions. 

When “Oscar” comes on the scene we know, instantaneously, that it’s not Oscar. Not just because we as the audience know that Neo is off doing something nefarious, but because via the language of film/television that’s not how you re-introduce an established character. You don’t hide their face like that unless you’re about to reveal something - like the fact that that’s not really them. This is also the first of a number of medium closeups on the relic, putting emphasis on it first because someone currently holds it who should not have it, and then as a means of reminding the viewer what this fight is about. 

Via some great attention to detail, we see again the clear wrongness about this “Oscar.” That’s not how Oscar stands. That’s not how Oscar smiles. More than just animating him differently, this shot pulls from those subtle horror tropes. He has the dead-eyed look of a doll or a supernatural being that immediately makes the viewer (if not Nora) go, “Wait...” It helps that Oscar is a short boy with dark hair. Put him in different clothes and he could play any number of possessed kids. 

With Neo’s deception revealed, we get what the fandom knows is not good visual storytelling. AKA, Oscar charging down the whole length of the hallway while Neo just stands there and lets herself get hit. I don’t need to re-hash how stupid that was. What I like a lot more is the subtleties in how she communicates given that, obviously, Neo can’t rely on any dialogue. Coming out of the hit she immediately has her umbrella leveled at the group and pulls out the blade to communicate, “Yes. I’m taking you on.” The neat choice though is that she brings the umbrella down to do it. She takes her weapon off the group, if only for a moment. Jaune has just gotten done insisting that she should give up because it’s four to one. The blade says, “I’m taking you on” but lowering her umbrella likewise says, “I’m so confident about taking you on I’ll even make myself vulnerable for a second.” 

Which retroactively makes her getting hit like that even stupider but it’s fine we’re moving on. 

During this time we also get a lot of insight into Oscar. Check out how utterly bedraggled he is, showing us how tough the initial fight with Neo was and how lucky he is to have escaped. He clutches the relic close to his chest and stares, scared, at the rest of the team. Oscar hasn’t reached a point yet where he instinctively draws his weapon and prepares to defend himself (indeed, he didn’t even have his weapon out during that initial encounter. That’s one hell of a rookie mistake). He’s still a terrified kid who hopes he won’t have to fight at all, literally hiding behind more powerful friends. This is all great characterization, the only problem is consistency. Nothing about Oscar has been consistent. One moment he’s holding his own against Lionheart and insisting he fight Hazel. The next he’s getting his ass kicked by Neo and cowering at the prospect of more. One moment he’s positively done in by these fights, horrified, scared, unsure of himself. The next he’s confronting the general of a kingdom with all the wisdom of Ozpin. This guy: 

and this guy: 

Exist about fifteen minutes apart. Because though RWBY is great at visual storytelling within each scene, they don’t keep it consistent from one scene to the next. Which is why Oscar is (accurately, imo) animated as an inexperienced kid in Scene #1 and then inexplicably becomes a wise old mentor in Scene #2. Not because anything occurred between Scene #1 and Scene #2 to create that change (let alone such an extreme change), but only because the show suddenly wanted Ironwood to look like an unhinged character. How do you achieve that? Not by having the guy he’s talking to act as winded, wild, and emotional as him, but by having Oscar speak calmly, rationally, softly, sounding oh-so-persuasive so you don’t listen to the actual words he says and how nonsensical they are (you’re as bad as Salem). Instead, you pay attention only to the visuals (Ironwood looks crazier than Oscar so he must be wrong). Ironwood is a great example of how RT sometimes tries to get visual storytelling to outweigh basic logic/what’s been said on screen. 

Anyway, I’m getting off track. The fight begins and I do still love how Oscar is depicted here, even if it doesn’t align with what we get later. The moment that umbrella and cane cross was great because who doesn’t love visual symmetry? Oscar grabbing Neo is wonderfully in character because he’s barely trained! He’s a kid! He’s flying by the seat of his pants and going with whatever vaguely successful act pops into his head. The absurdity of, “I’m just going to grab her” is tempered by Oscar’s furiously determined expression as well as Neo’s brief look of shock. It works up until they realize what Oscar grabbed was just a copy. 

I mentioned early that JNOR often doesn’t work well as a team, unless it’s specifically in the context of Jaune giving orders and the others executing them. Oscar and his lack of integration is obviously exempt from this, being the newbie both to fighting and this particular team’s dynamics, but Ren, Nora, and Jaune have no excuse. The first half of this fight is a good example of what I mean. We see Nora attack. She’s tossed aside. Then Ren attacks. He’s slammed into the wall. Oscar attacks (umbrella vs. cane) and it’s only at the last second that Jaune arrives with his shield to stave off a blow that would fell him too. Why is everyone taking turns here? They know none of them can beat Neo one-on-one and Jaune just said that their victory lies in it being four-to-one. So why separate out all the attacks? Arguably we can read this as a major flaw of JNOR’s and visual setup for something they’ll have to overcome later. In reality though I highly doubt this was deliberate on RT’s part, leaving this as bad visual storytelling (in that it makes the characters look stupid) as opposed to good visual storytelling (JNOR will realize this flaw and work to correct it). 

After Neo disappears we get a chase through the hallway that does a great job of showing us precisely how weaker Oscar is compared to his teammates. He doesn’t have their stamina, breathing heavily and falling further and further behind. At one point (screenshot #2) he arrives just in time to find the team turning back in the direction he’s just come, showing not only how he can’t physically keep up, but also his place in this team/the group. He’s literally not with them. Anyone who has followed my blog knows my thoughts on how the group has treated Oscar and if (again) I were inclined to think that RT was aware of that treatment and working to integrate it into the show with the intent to resolve it, this would be another great detail. As it is, I think Oscar as a character is just continually going to get the short end of the stick. In particular, the crane shot shows us exactly how far behind Oscar is. The others charge ahead without him, not caring where he is or if he can keep up. Which leads to this. 

Oscar rounds another corner and they’re gone. Nowhere to be seen. If anyone had the thought, “He’s not that far behind. It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Ren, Nora, and Jaune were clearly moving fast enough to round another corner and leave Oscar stranded. Here those subtle horror elements come back into play, particularly the maze-like design of the corridors. The only unique marker we get is the info board, otherwise it’s all identical hallways, housing a killer, with Oscar now left alone in it. The long shot makes him look small and emphasizes his isolation. 

Then he’s attacked and it’s suitably scary. The hand over his mouth. The dark room again. We only get the briefest glimpse of Neo-as-Nora before she attacks, but that one second is another excellent moment of animation. Nora has never sauntered away like that. Even the quickest look in an action-driven scene is enough for the viewer to go, “Nope. Not Nora.” 

The attack itself is the one moment where I think the slow-mo serves a good purpose. We might know (via that quick shot, how characters act (Nora is unlikely to pull Oscar aside like that) and expectations for how a story functions) that that’s not Nora, but Oscar doesn’t know that. The slow-mo gives us - and him - the chance to focus on Neo’s eyes changing, that stomach-dropping moment of realization, and we see Oscar’s horrified shock in the close up on his own eyes. Though RWBY doesn’t always grapple with the emotional implications of every encounter, I think it’s worth noting that this can really mess someone up. Oscar thought he was safe with an ally and had the rug pulled out from under him. He will now forever have the image of Nora attacking him, regardless of the fact that it was really “Nora.” Jaune likewise exclaims in horrified surprise when “Nora” charges him down the hallway. The ability to turn into someone else is an advantage that Neo knows how to use to its fullest. Not just in regards to spying, but how to unsettle your opponent too. 

Waiting for the day she turns into Pyrrha ngl. 

We see that same work when she encounters Ren. Admittedly, I’m torn on this one. If only because I agree with others when they ask, “Doesn’t Ren spar with Nora all the time? He should be able to hit her.” The context of “Barely trained kid thought he was with a friend and then watches said ‘friend’ attack him” is not the same thing as, “Much more experienced fighter realizes the moment ‘Nora’ rounds the corner with an umbrella that that’s not her, has no doubt hit her numerous times in the past during training, yet for some reason can’t bring himself to hit her now.” It... doesn’t quite work. Here, I think RT does a good job of showing us Ren’s distress, it’s just that this is paired with a very bad job of establishing what that distress is and why it exists. This is what we needed to hear about during the party conversation. If Ren and Nora had actually talked rather than just kissing, we might have understood why Ren is suddenly incapacitated here when “Nora” looks at him sadly. 

As said though, the emotion of the scene is great even if we don’t quite know where it came from. Neo’s pitiful look, Ren freezing in shock (check out the red there too), his dumbfounded expression as he just sits in the middle of a battle, and when we come back to him we see the tear tracks. Overall, this scene does a great job of incorporating lots of information beyond “Team JNOR is fighting Neo for the relic.” We just need to connect that information better to what came before this scene (Ren) and what comes after (Oscar). 

Finally, Neo slams into the other guards and transforms again. I love this final shot of her, both for how she moves and the implications of the transformation itself. Meaning, Neo is a professional. She had a job and she did it. Once the relic was in her possession and she had an escape route, she took it. Neo doesn’t get distracted by taking revenge - these are some of the people we fought against when Roman died - or trying to take them out to please Cinder, or even just going after them because she’s Evil. Neo is focused, no unnecessary actions taken, and that, just as much as her semblance and skill, is what makes her dangerous. 

[raineydaywrites]

Nesting Chapter 11

Chapter Summary: We're getting closer to canon, y'all. So have a surprise Barry appearance! Things are starting to move fast around here.

Okay. Maybe they should have waited a little longer to buy some of this stuff. Taako's room was hard to navigate now with all the baby stuff all over the place. Besides which, all of it was a constant reminder of his situation- one that was proving to be quite unwelcome.

Taako hadn't expected that. It wasn't like he could forget what was going on, whether or not there was a bunch of visual reminders all over the place. But it seemed that he'd managed to block it out at least sometimes, given how much more aware of it he was now.

The fact that he was showing probably didn't help with that either. No matter what Lup said, Taako could tell that he was showing. And it was only getting more and more obvious as time went on. Maybe not enough for any stranger on the street to tell, but it was getting there.

His clothes didn't fit like they were supposed to anymore. It was incredibly frustrating, because Taako liked to look good, and he'd collected his stash of clothing because it looked good, and now, suddenly, it didn't look good anymore.

Some of it was still fine, obviously, but his wardrobe felt like it had suddenly shrunk down to a fraction of its previous size, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was only going to get worse over the next several months.

The nausea was starting to pass- fucking finally- but it hadn't disappeared completely, and it was hardly the only annoying thing about this whole experience. He felt like he was constantly starving or exhausted, and his body hurt, and sometimes he couldn't seem to think at all.

One day after class, a professor asked to speak with him, and he knew it was about the sudden decline in the quality of his work. He had been forgetting stuff a lot recently, making dumb, careless mistakes, and it was costing him, especially considering that he was too tired to catch those mistakes a lot of the time.

She did surprise him with how she asked it though.

"Mr. Taako, is there anything going on in your personal life that may be impacting your ability to keep up with the work? I am very open to making arrangements and accommodations to help my students in these situations," she said, voice soft and careful.

Taako figured that it wouldn't hurt anything to tell her. He'd be unable to hide it soon enough anyway, and if it could buy him some pity points so he could have an easier time with his classwork, then he wasn't afraid to play on her sympathy.

"Yeah, so, I'm pregnant," he said, the words coming out with more difficulty than he'd anticipated, but whatever. It was said. "The whole thing has been rough and I'm having trouble with some things I wasn't before."

The professor began to make sympathetic noises as soon as Taako started explaining, a look on her face that suggested that she wasn't all that surprised, and Taako added another tally to his mental "told you so, Lup" checklist.

"I understand. I had two difficult pregnancies myself," she said. "We do have resources for our student parents, if you need them. Accommodations can be made to ensure you can keep up with your work and your learning. And I for one, am very willing to meet with you to help ensure that you are able to complete my course."

"Yeah, chill, that'd be great," Taako nodded.

"Why don't you come by my office hours sometime this week, and I'll help connect you with the office that handles these things, and we can work out a plan for this course. In the meantime, and for your other classes, is there anyone in your life who can help with these things? A friend or family that could look over your work for simple errors and such would be a boon in itself. Pregnancy brain is no joke," she laughed despite the words.

"Got a sister, yeah. And a friend," Taako shrugged, because he couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of that before. Of course Lup would help with this shit.

He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought about all the sympathy points he could get from this pregnancy situation before now. He was doing something fucking hard, and he deserved those sympathy points. Lup wasn't going to begrudge him lazing around on the couch like this, and it was plain common courtesy to offer pregnant people stuff like seats on public transit and whatever the fuck, he didn't usually pay that much attention.

Yeah, no, he was cashing in on that for sure.

-

When Taako and Lup entered their magic theory classroom, there was someone other than their professor standing behind the podium.

"Creesh, who's that?" Lup hissed, leaning forward to whisper the question to Lucretia.

"Dr. Bluejeans," she whispered back.

"Okay, and why is he here?" Taako asked.

"I don't know. I know nothing about him," Lucretia shrugged.

"You knew his name, though," Taako pointed out.

Lucretia turned to face them at that, specifically so that they could watch as she raised her eyebrows at them incredulously.

"It's written on the board," she said.

Oh. Yeah, sure enough, "Guest Speaker Dr. Bluejeans" was written in the prof's handwriting on the board. Taako was just glad Lup didn't notice either, so that he wasn't alone in that bit of obliviousness.

Though, really, if Lup had noticed, he could have just chalked it up to pregnancy brain. That was an excuse that he already knew he was going to miss when he couldn't use it anymore. Instant understanding was less forthcoming when your excuse was "I have ADHD" or "I'm just a dumbass," the other primary excuses he had on the table for these situations.

Dr. Bluejeans looked a tiny bit uncomfortable standing in front of the crowd of students, fidgeting with his papers and rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited for class to officially begin.

Lup craned her head, trying to get a look at- yep, he was in fact, wearing blue jeans, and she grinned to herself. God, she couldn't decide which was better: if he had been born with that name, meaning there was a whole Bluejeans clan out there in the world somehow, or if he had, like, full out changed his name because of his love for this particular sartorial choice.

The minute the clock ticked over to the start of class, their prof began to speak, moving from one of the front row seats to stand beside the guest speaker.

"Class, this is my colleague, Dr. Barry Bluejeans," he introduced.

God, the full name was even better. Lup fought to not let her face split into a ridiculous grin, but upon exchanging a look of amusement with Taako, knew that she was failing. She shouldn't have let herself look at Taako, because shit was always funnier when she was sharing it with him.

She shoved the grin down and tried to focus.

"I have asked him to speak with you today as he is this Institute's premiere expert on bond magic, a pioneering field that you should all expect to hear much more about in the upcoming years. I expect you all to treat him with the same respect you would show me."

"Not exactly difficult to clear that bar," Taako whispered to Lup, and she snorted, before elbowing him in the side.

"Shush! Poor nerd already looks terrified," she said, tilting her head toward the guest lecturer.

He must not teach many classes, or at least, not big lectures if he was this awkward and nervous about speaking with all of them. But if his field was so new and specialized, as prof had implied, that might make sense. Probably he was more used to doing his research and maybe teaching some smaller, high-level classes.

"Hello, everyone," Dr. Bluejeans greeted, offering them a sweet smile. "As Professor Dillon said-"

"Okay, I like him," Taako said to her, gesturing to where their prof was making a sour face at the title Bluejeans had used for him.

Bluejeans seemed oblivious to it, but Lup knew exactly what the face was for. Professor Dillweed had gone on a rant a time or two before about the fact that "doctor" was his preferred title over "professor" and how it was 'disrespectful' to not use it.

Nobody really listened to that, with even some of the fresh-out-of-high-school and suck-up students switching it out occasionally. Lup and Taako only ever used "professor", if they were even that nice about it.

The lecture was actually really fascinating, and Lup found herself leaning forward in excitement as Bluejeans talked about his work.

Lucretia was rapidly taking notes, and Lup for sure planned to ask her to look it over later, because she wanted a record of this stuff. It was really interesting.

Even Taako was pulled out of his 'too cool' attitude by the lecture a bit, and Lup saw some of the nerdier facets of her brother's personality peek out a bit. He never liked to admit to that, but Taako was a total nerd for cool magic shit, and Lup could see how much the new topic was drawing him in.

It helped that Bluejeans was so obviously invested in his work himself. He clearly loved the topic, and it made it a whole lot more interesting to listen to than Dillon's droning on about the different types and properties of magic.

"If you would like to learn more about bond magic, I teach a specialized course on the subject- MAS 375- which will be offered next semester. We'll be discussing the properties of bond magic and its usage in everything from everyday spellwork to advanced technology. There's actually a very fascinating project ongoing to utilize bond magic to power an engine- I can't speak too much on the matter now, but it's very exciting," Bluejeans explained. "Oh! And I also teach in the necromancy department!"

He seemed like he was about to go off on another tangent about that, when he noticed the clock tick over to end the class.

"Looks like we're out of time, everybody. Thanks for your time!" Bluejeans said, waving cheerily at everyone as he began to pack up his bag.

A number of students had started moving to the front of the class to speak to the guy, and Taako watched as Lup's eyes flickered over to him curiously as well.

"I gotta talk to Dillon about some shit," Taako said. "Go ahead and bother the nerd."

"I'd like to thank Dr. Bluejeans for the lecture. We can talk to him together," Lucretia offered, turning to Lup and smiling nervously.

Taako fought the urge to roll his eyes, gathering his stuff as Lup and Lucretia headed off to do that.

The classroom emptied out pretty quickly, which Taako appreciated. He didn't love the idea of talking about this where anyone could overhear, but he had to do it, and he didn't want to spend any more time around Dillon than he needed, which meant not making an appointment or anything.

By the time Taako made his way over to Dillon, Lup and Lucretia were speaking with Bluejeans, and most everyone else had left. There were a few students lingering to add in to whatever conversation was happening over there, but most everyone, especially the non-majors had left.

"Hey, Professor Dillon?" Taako asked, trying to keep it relatively professional without actually being respectful, since he was about to ask this guy to do something for him and all.

"Yes, Mr. Taako?" Dillon asked, and Taako did not love the way that he looked at him, all condescending-like.

"I'm pregnant. Got some accommodations for it. Here's the info," Taako said, reaching into his bag to pull out the very official looking and very crumbled form he'd been given to share with his professors.

Dillon took it, wrinkling his nose, and Taako could just tell that the guy was judging him, and he would say something if the dude wasn't, like, in charge of his grades and shit.

"I see. Well, I'm not exactly sure what you expect me to do for you, but-"

Bluejeans walked over at that moment, interrupting Dillon to say, "Oh, Wyatt, if you'd like, I can provide some of my notes on how to alter a lesson plan for accommodations like these! It can be a little complicated, I know, but I'm happy to help. The Office for Student Health has some great resources too. It's really awesome how committed the Institute is to supporting our students, isn't it?"

Taako glanced back toward Lup and Lucretia, wondering if they'd caught all that too, only to find them watching Bluejeans with surprised and pleased expressions. From how they were standing, it kind of looked like Bluejeans had walked over in the middle of the conversation to say that, and Taako tried to keep his expression neutral, instead of the smug look he wanted to give.

"Yes, you're right, of course. I would be so glad to receive those notes, Barry," Dillon said, through somewhat gritted teeth and a forced smile. Taako was pretty sure the usage of the guy's name was intended to sound disrespectful, knowing dickheads as well as he did, but it was pretty weak considering that Bluejeans had used Dillon's name first.

"Wonderful. I'll send them over right away. We'll set up a meeting to talk it over, yeah?" Bluejeans said, smiling and looking for all the world like a friendly colleague instead of the asshole he clearly was.

Not like Taako minded though. He was being an asshole on his behalf, after all, and Taako's favorite people all tended to be assholes, so he was mostly just amused.

"So, we're done here, yeah?" Taako asked Dillon, because if he didn't get out of this conversation, he was going to laugh in the guy's face, and that wasn't gonna earn him any favors, he knew.

"Yes, I do believe so," Dillon said, turning away and picking up his own bags to walk out of the lecture hall.

"I, uh, hope you don't mind me interrupting like that," Bluejeans said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking a bit nervous.

"Nah, dude, that was great," Taako said, waving off the apology before the guy could even finish saying it.

"Nice! Dillon's such an ass, amiright?" Lup said, throwing one hand up for a high five, which Bluejeans quickly but nervously reciprocated.

"Listen, I don't want to pry, but if he's being a dick or anything about all this, you can contact the department and they'll sort it out. Dillon is an old-fashioned sort, but he has tenure, so he feels comfortable being shitty. But there's still lines he can't cross," Bluejeans explained, before digging in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. "In fact, here's my card. Got my number, my office, all that good shit. If he does anything, tell me and we can figure it out."

Taako took the card, because like hell was he gonna turn down free help. The guy seemed pretty genuine in his desire to help too, and Taako appreciated the offer, even if he wasn't sure if he'd ever feel a need to take it.

"Thanks, man," Taako said, before turning back to Lup. "So we good to go now, or?"

"I think so, yeah." Lup agreed, turning to Lucretia, "See ya, Luce!" She also offered a beaming smile and a wave at Bluejeans as they left. "You're great! We'll talk later, yeah?"

Bluejeans didn't seem to know quite what to say to that, just nodding and waving as Taako and Lup made their escape.

[keepcalm-and-beyou]

Machine Gun Kelly(Colson Baker)

Bad At Love:

🎶 I Believe That We’re Meant To Be, But Jealousy Gets The Best Of Me, I Don’t Mean To Frusterate But I Always Make The Same Mistakes🎶

We were good, heck we were great before I fucked things up to many times.. I was just BAD AT LOVE.

I loved her, I still do. But my jealousy it was something constant. I loved her which made me not be able to stand the near thought or sight of some fucking dude touching MY girl. Y/N she is beautiful the kind of beauty like she stepped out a magazine yet also had that natural beauty inside and out. She had perfect curves in all the right places, She was smart, she loved to read and learn new things on the daily. She was amazing at every thing. Her drawings, her writing, her singing, her acting, Y/N was talented in every way. Her biggest talent was making others fall in love with her even without trying. That particular talent didn’t help my Jealousy. I always watched guys look like they were love struck or horny dogs looking at my girl. Every overly friendly thing someone did would irritate me. I always made the same mistakes taking my jealousy over board which would end in a fuck load of fights. After one to many fights there was no more as there was no more us.

Our last fight I’ll always remember it. I regret everything from hurtful words, to hurtful actions. all the things I should of said to keep from blowing us up.

*FLASHBACK*

Me and Y/N were having one of those days bickering at every little thing. We have plans to go to a friends house party. We’re going with my boys Slimm, rook, and Pete. All the Guys get along well with Y/N but Pete he got along with her sometimes TOO well. Pete has always been a Friendly guy and Y/N is the same so fun and friendly.

I watched Y/N get ready for going to the party. She tried on a few short dresses with heels. Damn my girl looked smoking hot in everything she wore. It almost made me so annoyed how hot she was it just meant more trouble when it comes to guys hitting on her. She slips on a hot pink very short dress and looks at her self in the long body mirror. “That looks kinda slutty” I spoke without realizing I was speaking until she gave me that Glare of hers and making a huffing sound. “I need a drink” I say while walking away. I’m so agitated these days I’m annoying myself.

I decide to down a couple of drinks before we leave to clam ass down. Y/N came downstairs in a black sparkle short dress fitting her frame so perfect and matching heels.

“Hey gorgeous, hey man” Pete had appeared into view greeting us both. Y/N smiled at Pete saying a sweet “hello” “hey dude” I reply greeting my pal back.

I took a sip from my drink wishing this night was already over. “So we ready to go or what peeps?” Pete asks patting me on the back. “Yeah let’s go, Hey fuckers let’s go!” I yell out for slimm and rook to hear. We all heard them running towards us as we look at them play fighting. “Alright fellas behave” Y/N says in a joking hey flirty manner making my eyes roll and head for the door. If anyone is paying attention I hope they follow me so we can leave. Well everyone took notice and now we all sat in the vehicle. I sat beside Y/N as Pete seemed to have to sit beside Y/N too.

“Y/N you look very nice” Pete says smiling at her. I let out a small quite bitter chuckle that Y/N noticed while glancing at me. “Pete you don’t think it’s slutty?” She asked him mocking my earlier statement to her. “God no! You can never look that way in anything you wear, it’s always just perfect” he reply’s making me glance his way. What the actual fuck is he doing Trynna hit on my girl while I’m right here too.

The car ride finally ended we arrived at the party. Pete has helped Y/N out of the vehicle causing another eye roll from me and a huff. I head for the door but turn around quickly seeing my girl and Pete chumming it up laughing. “Hey you gonna come in with your boyfriend or what??” I speak loudly to her. She mumbles something to Pete and makes her way to me.

The party was like most loud music, dancing bodies, weed smoke, and blow on flat surfaces around the house. I sat smoking a blunt with slimm and some randoms on the couch. Y/N had disappeared to grab a drink. I was taking shots and smoking a lot of weed that I had just realized Y/N hasn’t been around for sometime. I sit up straight scanning the room for her. I’m pretty fucking hammered by now. And getting pissed off. I thought the worst like she’s somewhere with a dude cheating on me. Walking around I finally spot her with Pete .. of course.

They are leaning against a wall drinking and laughing, while standing way to close to each other. Pete looks like a love sick puppy starring at her. Who the hell wouldn’t love her though. His eyes look full of lust. Lust for MY girl! I clench my jaw still watching as Pete leans in to speak to her and she puts her hand on his chest laughing so hard at whatever he had said. He leans in closer so close speaking to her again. She’s smiling of course and wraps her arms around his neck.

I can’t even believe the rage I feel as I storm over to them ripping my best friend from my girlfriends arms and pushing him into the wall they were previously leaning on. “Get your fucking hands off each other” I yell at them. “What are you doing?!” Y/N speaks loudly at me anger in those beautiful y/e/c eyes. “Dude what the hell” Pete says unsure what’s going on. “Outside right now” Y/N speaks in a danger warning tone.

Once outside Y/N speaks up “seriously colson you can’t go causing fights with your best friend because what your jealous as usual!?” “I can do whatever the fuck I want when your out here being a hoe” I say angrily. “Your fucking ridiculous colson get over your self! I wasn’t doing anything wrong I was Not cheating only hanging with my friend who is Your friend as well” I got in her face yelling out “Liar” she pushes me backwards away from being so close to her while I aggressively push her arm away from touching me. She looses her balance almost falling over in her heels.

Y/N stood straightening her self out and slowly looking at me eyes now filling with tears. She opens her mouth then closes it. I watch closely as she wipes her tears away fast and starts shaking her head. “I can’t.. I-I can’t do this, i-I’m done Kells, we keep having the same fights and you don’t trust me, your physically fighting your best friend now..I’m sorry”

All those words hurt me, but I deserved the hurt, I didn’t deserve her, why can’t I just get over this jealousy, why can’t I trust a female to be true to me and love me. Not want something from being with me, just who wants me. Y/N is that girl the one I should be able to trust who shows me and my daughter crazy amounts of love and true kindness. All I do is stand here still and numb with my head down as she walks away to the street, to leave the party and to leave Me.

*END OF FLAHBACK*

The break up was 3 fucking months ago and it kills me still just how bad at love I am.

❤️

(Gifs & images not mine)

[lynne-monstr]

@thorndykechristopher replied to your post “afincf-tirwer replied to your post “Tka!shadowhunters au or...”

Share more of this prequel of urs ;) But omg. Wenzhou knows that he doesn’t get their best but at least they’re competent. Shaotian seemed less so until he proves wenzhou totally wrong, making the poor warlock bemused and interested because: shaotian is Amazing. What. Why would they let him go? What is ye xiu doing?? (Except it wasnt yx who approved of the transfer and wenzhou is suspicious but he isn’t letting go of shaotian so suck it) WAIT WHAT ABOUT WEI CHEN???

the contract details minimum skill requirements and yu wenzhou is used to working with people who meet but don’t exceed them. but huang shaotian proves to be a baffling exception. beneath the mindless talking and the bright, un-shadowhunter like clothes is one of the best fighters yu wenzhou has ever seen, someone whose mind is as quick as his fists, someone able to take advantage of the smallest weaknesses in their opponent.

near the beginning of their partnership, when huang shaotian was still resentful of his posting, he marched himself around yu wenzhou’s home and pointed out the obvious flaws in every single one of his security measures. it was meant to be a scathing indictment and an insult, something to piss yu wenzhou off enough to send him back (he ranted for so long he was nearly out of breath by the end). 

that particular strategy was a tried and true method that almost never failed. early on in his training, huang shaotian learned from a master of verbal sparring that words were as effective a weapon as his blade when wielded correctly. but instead of firing him, yu wenzhou asked how he’d fix it, and then to huang shaotian’s utter shock, took every one of his suggestions on board. 

it was a turning point for them both. 

they still weren’t friends, not yet, but there was a mutual respect that didn’t exist before. yu wenzhou stopped thinking about sending huang shaotian back and started thinking about whether he trusted him enough to put him in charge of his entire personal security operations. for huang shaotian, who was used to his fast talking being dismissed (ye xiu was a rare exception and one of the reasons huang shaotian was so loyal to him), yu wenzhou had just tentatively been placed on a very short list of people that huang shaotian could rely on to actually listen when he spoke.

and oops i got off track again, i was supposed to be talking about wei chen!

(i feel like the obvious move would be to make wei chen the previous high warlock. which is why we’re not going there. )

WEI CHEN IS A GRUMPY SEELIE.

a grumpy seelie who prefers the mortal realm to the seelie realm, who likes to drink and smoke and test the limits of his magic and see how it works in an urban center far from the forests he grew up in. a grumpy seelie who can’t lie and doesn’t need to, because he fights dirtier with his words than most people do with their weapons. (make no mistake, he *also* fights dirty with weapons, as anyone who’s ever crossed blades with him has found to their detriment)

he's an old mentor of yu wenzhou's from back when yu wenzhou was a very young warlock seeking assistance in understanding his damaged magic. it was a rough mentorship for them both, since their approaches to magic were so vastly different, but but both of them were too stubborn to quit. ultimately, wei chen's  assessment was that yu wenzhou would never recover his abilities and that he should stop trying, and live a normal, mundane life.

in all their years of joint study he’d never seen yu wenzhou mad, but there was something decidedly far too still and controlled about the way he bowed and said, “thank you for your guidance,” and left the room. it was a response that would make any seelie proud but it made wei chen feel like a failure.

that evening, he was recalled to the seelie realm and left without a word. it was better that way; yu wenzhou probably didn't want to look at him, anyway. 

he hasn't seen or spoken to yu wenzhou since. 

despite it all, he keeps tabs on his old student and has never been happier to be wrong when he finds that yu wenzhou has not only managed to draw out and control his magic by basically inventing a new branch of magic, but that he's developed his powers to such an extent and risen to such prominence that he is eventually named high warlock.

funnily enough, wei chen has also met huang shaotian. it was many centuries later, once he’d freed himself from his obligations in the seelie realm, but that’s a whole different story.

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

Thoughts on Outlander season 4

Disclaimer: I’ve never read the books, so all of my opinions are based solely on what I know from watching the show. 

Warning: This will contain spoilers for season 4 and it will not be Roger or Brianna/Roger friendly.

There’s a lot of disappointed and/or frustrated fans with Outlander’s fourth season and I understand why. Overall the season has been underwhelming, inconsistent and lacking any cohesive, engaging plot. In addition, season 4 has had the least amount of on-screen interactions between Claire and Jamie than any of the seasons before it. However, there were memorable moments in the season which were beautiful to watch - Jamie and Brianna’s first meeting, Jamie and Claire finally finding a home at Fraser’s Ridge and experiencing some form of normalcy and domestic bliss (even if it was short-lived), Jamie and Claire’s reunion with Murtagh and every episode/scene with John Grey in it (because who doesn’t love John?). The season also highlighted prominent social and historical issues regarding race, colonialism and slavery (although the show didn’t quite go far enough or give these topics as much focus as they deserved).

The main issue with season 4 is that there was a complete lack of direction or clarity (which may be the fault of the books as the source material, but I wouldn’t know since I haven’t read them). Putting aside Brianna’s arc with Roger, there was very little of anything that happened and on reflection, looking back over the season 4 episodes I’m struggling to articulate what the story for this season was at all. I strongly believe this lack of clarity comes from the shift away from Jamie and Claire as the central focus of the show. It’s the only season that has pushed Jamie and Claire into the background and allowed other characters (mainly Brianna) to take centre stage. Although it was nice to learn more about Brianna, unfortunately, her character and arc (and particularly her relationship with Roger, which I’ll discuss in more detail later) does not hold the same weight as Jamie and Claire’s. Claire and Jamie are the heart and soul of the show, and Caitriona and Sam’s on-screen chemistry is the foundation upon which Outlander is built. A majority of the fans of the books and/or the show are primarily invested in Jamie and Claire’s individual characters and their relationship. To take such a huge step back from that, in my opinion, was a mistake. Without Jamie and Claire it felt the Outlander universe was spinning through infinity with no gravity to keep it grounded. 

Unfortunately, I feel that the same thing has happened on Outlander that happens in many stories (whether in books, television or film), whereby the child of the main couple has dramatically changed the tone of the story and stolen the spotlight from their parents. This is no affront to Sophie Skelton, who I think is a wonderful actress and has done an amazing job in her portrayal of Brianna, but generally, Brianna’s season 4 arc has been atrocious and done no justice to her character. To an extent, it’s hard to criticise the show too much on this front because I assume the show is following the books, but for the entirety of the season Brianna has been reduced to a fragile, pregnant woman and rape victim whose whole arc is entangled in men. There’s been no room to explore any facet of her character outside her “relationship” (I use inverted commas, because I’m using the term loosely) with Roger. Despite her meeting with Jamie being one of the most highly anticipated moments of the entire series, she was barely given a chance to get to know her father and bond with him before the pregnancy/Roger drama exploded. Although we met Brianna in season 3, we still know very little about her. We know she’s a student, that she studied history but changed her mind and was uncertain about her future, that she has the same fiery attitude as Claire does and she had a close relationship with Frank. But what else do we really know about her? Even after an entire season focused on her, I feel like Brianna is a stranger. There was a lot of potential in switching the focus from Jamie and Claire to the next generation (meaning Brianna), but it would’ve been so much better if her character had been explored in more meaningful ways and her arc had been better written and not been so focused on Roger and Bonnet. In particular, I think season 4 and Brianna’s arc would’ve been a thousand times better if Roger had been removed from the equation. 

I’ll put this out there - I do not like Roger.  In season 3, I didn’t have much of an opinion on him, but his actions this season have transformed him into a very unlikable and unsympathetic character, who I find, quite frankly, abhorrent. Not only has he treated Brianna as a prize to be won, he has behaved like a petulant child consistently, giving no regard or consideration to anyone but himself. At this point it’s hard to understand why Brianna loves him. That made their reunion at the end of season 4 with the classic running hug and swelling romantic music feel completely unearned. In fact, that scene left a bitter taste in my mouth and didn’t feel like a good pay-off at all. When Roger and Brianna were friends, they were cute, but everything that has developed between them since, in a romantic sense, has felt completely forced and inorganic. Roger’s proposal to Brianna was awful and the moment I realised I couldn’t get on-board with Roger and Brianna as a ship. For starters, Roger and Brianna barely knew each other when he proposed to her. They lived half way across the world from one another, had spent a long time apart and had only been friends and his out-of-the-blue proposal not only was completely rushed and inappropriate, but his reaction to Brianna’s rejection of his proposal revealed him to be a royal twat. Instead of understanding Brianna’s shock and her reasons for rejecting him, he lashed out selfishly and insulted her honour and character. I could walk you all through the rest of their “relationship” in season 4, but that would be boring and a waste of time, and I’m sure none of us want to relive that. The point is that Roger’s relationship with Brianna was supposed to be some epic love story on par with Jamie and Claire’s, but it has fallen short of that on every count. Roger seemed more obsessed with the idea of Brianna than in love with her, and Roger’s actions mean that there is no logical reason why Brianna should love him at all. They were barely together for 5 minutes, they argued multiple times and spent most of the season apart and yet we’re supposed to buy into them as a romantic couple? The over-investment in this relationship (and Roger and Bree generally) was very detrimental to season 4 as a whole and I strongly believe that removing Roger from the season would’ve greatly improved it and allowed the characters we know and love (primarily Jamie and Claire) to have the screen-time they deserved. 

Putting aside the Roger and Brianna/Roger arc, the season had a lot of great moments (some of which I’ve mentioned above). Jamie and Claire had some lovely on-screen moments (even if there weren’t as many as we’re accustomed to) and this was probably the only season where they didn’t come up against any disastrous hurdles that separated them from one another. Although we didn’t get to see as much of their domestic bliss as some fans had hoped, at least their relationship was secure this season for the first time ever. It was also invaluable to see Jamie, Claire and Brianna together as a family. Even just to see the three of them sitting together at the table eating dinner was such a beautiful moment and those subtle scenes were more of a pay-off than the over-blown reunion between Bree and Roger. Jocasta was a wonderful addition to the show and ‘Do No Harm’ (4x02) was by far the episode that touched me the most emotionally. Murtagh returning to the show as a recurring character evoked a sense of nostalgia and was very enjoyable. Everything that was done with John Grey was wonderful, the complexities of that character draw me in every time and it was fascinating to see his interactions with Bree. Young Ian was a delight, and his joining the Mohawk in the final episode was truly the highlight of the finale for me. He provided comedic relief on numerous occasions, but that moment showed the true courage and bravery and the love he had for his family. The scenes between Jamie and Brianna were touching and much needed (although my only complaint again is that there wasn’t enough). Honestly, Brianna finding her parents, finally meeting Jamie and Jamie’s reaction to that alone makes this season enjoyable to me. Brianna is such a huge part of Jamie and to see him go through that process of meeting her as a fully grown woman, grieving the loss of the baby he envisioned and missed out on raising, getting to know Bree as an adult, trying to understand and respect Frank as her father whilst also establishing his own bond with her and all of the complications that come from the nature of his and Bree’s relationship was lovely to watch. The season really felt like one that was about the parent-child relationship, and Jamie and Brianna were the epitome of that. 

Overall, I don’t believe season 4 was a terrible season, but there was a lot of room for improvement and some poor decisions made. However, it was rather in-keeping with its predecessor - season 3 - which I felt was also weak and inconsistent in comparison to the first two seasons. In fact, I preferred watching season 4 week to week than I did season 3. Personally, I believe that adult Brianna transformed the entire vibe/direction of the show (whether that was for the better or worse is up to interpretation) and that even if season 5 gives fans what they want and shifts the focus back to Jamie and Claire, it will continue down its changed path that has Brianna at its centre, with new additions of Roger and her son to boot. 

[fiidelis]

— ✧ TOM HARDY ?? that looks like ADRIAN STEPHANOS TREVOR !! they’re the THIRTY SIX year old son of DIANA PRINCE & STEVE TREVOR. they are also an INDEPENDENT JOURNALIST and STARBUCKS BARISTA at paragon. i hear that they're RIGHT-MINDED & MUNIFICENT, but tends to be IDIOSYNCRATIC & SELF DESTRUCTIVE. his file says that his powers are an ENHANCED CONDITION & OMNILINGUISM. you can check out his stats HERE & his pinterest board HERE.

      be CAREFUL with that one, love,                   he will do what it takes to survive.

SECTION ONE OF THREE: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warning for talk of gang activities ( including gbh ), prisons, the army ( including bombs, trauma sustained while serving, consequences - mentally & physically OF serving ), more gang talk... a lot of 

ah , here he is . this motherfucker. what a tool.

meet adrian stephanos trevor. he’s thirty six years old, a twin, an older brother, a disappointment son. these days, he works as a starbucks barista and writes just enough articles in a year to be able to continue calling himself an “”independent journalist”” - but once upon a midnight dreary, ya boy was an army brat, and a little more recently, he was a member of one of london’s east end gangs. 

diana prince and steve trevor were good parents. they WERE. when steve came back to life, he was done with fighting, and diana never could be. they found a middle ground, in their happiness, with steve staying in london where he ultimately raised the kids they had together, and diana continuing her hero work - the official term “co parenting”, though at times, her absence was felt. but not enough to be an excuse. adrian never doubted for one moment of his life that he was loved, and that his parents were ALWAYS going to be there for him. the path that adrian ultimately went down is thanks to nothing more than the environment that he grew up in, and the inherited need to do right by the people he cared about.

it wasn’t hard for him to fall in with the wrong crowd of people, when he was younger. the east end has always been home to a whole variety of types, but if you were the sort of teen that adrian was - hot headed, quicker to throw a punch than he was talk it out, pretty bright, but never willing to apply himself - you were destined to draw the wrong sort of attention. he was rebelling, for no particular reason, and in afterschool detention, he met the people that would shape his early life. they weren’t the gang. they liked to THINK of themselves as such, but they were just kids playing pretend - they walked the walk and they talked big but they weren’t quite there, but there enough that adrian got himself in to quite a bit of trouble. 

he thought the world of them. this small squad of kids all around his age became like family, and he was willing to do anything, or go anywhere, if it meant keeping them in his eyes on them and maybe, keeping them out of trouble. to this day, he’ll say that’s how it started - he just wanted to keep his FRIENDS out of trouble. they were already in so much of it. how that led to destruction of property, petty vandalism, the grevious bodily harm that got them all arrested, no one really knows. likewise, to this day, no one from that gang of schoolkids has ever broken their silence on who exactly did the damage to that guy that pressed charges after being beaten half to death. it had to be one of them, but the police thought it was all of ‘em. when no one would reveal the truth, adrian and his “friends” all faced the same punishment. two years, in her majesty’s prison woodhill - a young offenders institution willing to accept kids younger than eighteen, where adrian was to spend the latter half of his fifteenth year, his full sixteenth, and three months of his seventeenth. 

loyalty to his troubled friends, all the better off for being locked behind bars, had gotten adrian stuck in the same situation. but loyalty, he learned in his time at woodhill, was currency. it was the difference between life or death. 

it made sense, then - at least in his eyes - to join the british army. before his fall from grace, he had been seriously discussing the army cadets with steve. he’d kept in shape, had learnt some control over himself, and felt like that was where he belonged, upon release. before he knew it, he was EIGHTEEN years old and shipping out - and maybe it’s not right to say, but the army was probably the best place for him. for the next eight years, he did tours on and off, spending minimal time back home. sometimes, the only reason he even came back was for theora. and it was good for him. it kept him off the streets. it kept him away from his old friends, and kept him from making new, worse ones. he had the routine that the young offenders institution had taught him. he had a place. a role. a reason, to keep getting up. by the time he was twenty seven, he was on the fast track to being someone better - 

his career came to a sudden end when the jeep that he and his team were driving in ran over a mine. he was one of an unlucky few - without his inherited enhanced condition, he would have joined the rest in the AFTERLIFE. he survived, but muscle and nerve damage meant that he lost the full use of his right leg, and maybe they would have given him a chance to try and improve, but no doctor was going to clear him for service again, thanks to the additional traumatic brain injury sustained. he was in a coma for five days. when he woke up... his general cognitive function was sure never to return to where it once was. he improved. he worked on it, in vain, hoping that he could still go back. but his memory was always going to be impaired. his brain was always going to be shot. 

he was honorably discharged and he returned to the east end, a self professed failure. 

and in the coming months, he would fall farther from grace. 

he wasn’t getting out of the house. he wasn’t taking visitors. steve and diana could only do so much - and when he started to go down to the local, again, they thought that it was good, that he was starting to come back to himself a bit. the truth was, he was back in contact with old friends. members of that kid gang he had left behind before, who had graduated to the legit gang.

to anyone else, his thinking would have been ludicrous. but to adrian, at the time, it made perfect sense. he couldn’t do his part in the army anymore. he had never gone to college, so he didn’t have anything to stand on now, and nothing he could give in any sort of legitimate way. but he could do good through the gang - somehow - he was sure of it. he could keep the community safe. provide a level head, and voice. keep people in check. it was the same sort of thinking that had gotten him into a mess, previously, and he hadn’t learnt from his mistakes. the east end gang welcomed him with open arms. 

it was another slippery slope, from there. and no one could help him. adrian got himself into that mess - and he was damned well set on not dragging anyone else into it, too. no matter how bad things got - no matter what he did, with them, or what was done to him - he never really opened up. the family had to know. he didn’t get up off his ass one day and begin working as a bartender in the local because he’d decided to start making a living, honestly. it was a front for the gang. he got deeper and deeper involved with them as the months went by and turned into years, and during that time, he did things that he WASN’T proud of. a lot of them, actually. 

he wanted to try and do good. he thought he could do that, in the unlikeliest of places. he didn’t realize until it was too late that he was just another pawn, with them - and there was nothing that could be done, by then. he was in too deep. they had too much on him. and in a way, he had too much on them, too.

he couldn’t leave. he never did, not officially - but a light at the end of the tunnel appeared, when the news came of the baby. his. the product of a brief liaison with a sharp tongued lady that had swept him off HIS feet - he was an afterthought, the text from a forgotten number that told him about their son told him that much. but he would have done more, if he’d known. he told himself that, over and over, as he tried to work out what to do - and after a lot of uhmng and ahing, he decided that the right thing to do, the only thing, was to leave for america hot on her heels. he was to become a us contact. someone in touch with their american brothers and sisters. it wasn’t ideal. but being in a new country, trying to put himself onto some sort of straight and narrow so that he could be a dad... it gave him hope that at the end of the day, maybe he could dig himself out of the mess that he had made. 

he got a job. he’d already started working as an independent journalist in england, another way to pay the bills, but he got another - and he got CLEAN. no more drugs, even if he was still as much of an alcoholic as ever. he tried to be better, for his kid, the accident that he loved, before he even met him - and because if he could do it, if he could make himself better, then maybe he could still get out. maybe he could create a safety net to fall into, if he finally cut ties. 

SECTION TWO OF THREE: HEADCANONS

how to tell that underneath all his bad decisions he’s still actually a good guy? his love of dogs. that’s it. he’s had a cool dozen over his entire life, but right now, he has THREE. paddy, his nine year old staffie x, dingle, his five year old irish wolfhound, and nessie, his six month old aussiedoodle. they’re all rescues, and they’re all.. so loved. he’s lowkey using them as therapy dogs without any sort of official therapy dog training cos why the fuck not.

he can't concentrate as well as he used to be able to. he struggles to see how some actions he makes will have consequences. he speaks too low. he doesn't always understand what's being said to him, or what he's saying. he doesn't perceive things the same anymore, like certain tastes. he doesn't catch the gist of certain patterns and things and struggles to interpret certain data correctly, sometimes. he doesn't have great depth perception. he's more susceptible to bouts of severe depression and irritability, he suffers from a severe sleep disorder, he's not great with loud noises, he still walks with a incredibly pronounced limp, and he suffers chronic pain. he didn't leave the army unscathed.

i cant believe thats all i got but its all i got. 

SECTION THREE OF THREE: WANTED CONNECTIONS

friends from london.

friends he’s made since moving here.

someone please fucking hire him he’s a good gd bartender i dont even rmbr why i made him a barista but someone ,,pls,, get him out of that gd job

also SOMEONE please give his ass a platform... read his writing..he’s good.....hire him

ENEMIES ! from anywhere. for any reason. mayb they fought once. maybe he wrote the wrong name on their starbucks cup. go wild , the world is your oyster 

justice league kids ... literally any kids he could have grown up w like i dont think he was ALWAYS in england so ... give him those #connections

gang connections ! if ur character is in a us based gang its always a possibility that they have a sort of .. brotherhood.. whatever u call that with the east end one that adrian is stuck in , so , hmu

also , army ppl. they could have served together. maybe.

army ppl he def didnt serve with but who he.. is..jealous of 

or who he wants to help if theyve got it #rough cos yeah he’s been there

lit just.......plot..w.him

[seperis]

The Once and Future King

For Down to Agincourt fans, an early Christmas present.

Notes: consider this something like an apology.  To be fair, I didn’t see my mental health deciding to rapidly degrade over the summer and become a thing, but seriously, two chapters to edit, it’s gotta be frustrating, and I am so sorry for that.

So.  I offer repentance in fictional form.  Consider this a prequel to In the Hall of the Mountain King.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931455

*****

The Pit argues every fucking hour of what passes for a day here and he's getting pretty goddamn tired of it.  Especially since it shouldn't be able to argue.

"Not yet," he grates out, ignoring the seared landscape and occasional corrupted soul at the very edge of the Pit's domain, borderlands made of the tortured dead too crazy even for Hell, and he's one of them.  He's been running forever, barely ahead of the shits sent to make him kneel for the fucker they call master.  Not happening: in a straight fight, he knows right now he could win, but not yet.

He just wishes he could remember why. Why he's running, why he's waiting, why he can't take it all.  Not yet. There's something else he's got to do first, and it would sure fucking help if he could remember what.

The Pit hides him.  At least, he thinks it does, grinding its displeasure like the sound of gravel in a blender, but it's doing something, that much is clear.  Not that he's risked it anywhere near the rack or where the fucker sits in state since he got away.  The Pit's resentment of the fucker's becoming a problem, or would be if he noticed: not too bright.  He could--not yet.

It's also not entirely happy about where he's going, but it's not fighting him, either, and that's enough.  Enough to keep control of himself: he's got plans, and he can't afford to indulge the rage and betrayal yet for making him wait, but--but that's for after.  After, he's gonna teach his recalcitrant buddy a lesson in loyalty, and he'll start by chopping it up and let it spend the next millennia with its pieces buried all over the goddamn Pit in solid--

Not yet

--stop.  Plan. First, get it, fix it (at least enough to do its goddamn job), and go from there.  The rest--it'll wait. He's patient.  Fuck knows he's learned that much.

Coming around the curve of a shaved cliff he doesn't recognize, he stops short, fighting down the desire to rip apart the figure slumped against bare, rust-red rock, stone of the same color spread out beneath him.  There's a long moment where he's not sure it noticed him yet, but the dark head turns, exhausted, red-rimmed blue eyes meeting his.  There's a dangerous moment where he thinks it just might run--and no way can he control himself if it does that, fuck--before it slumps back against the cliff.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says pleasantly; this is gonna be done with a pair of pliers, shredding, barely enough to even bury, he can already feel them in his hand and hear it screaming.  "Got lost?"

"Alistair," it says, and the Pit surges forward eagerly--no, not yet--though he can't remember why he's waiting, he knows he has to.  It stares at him for a long time before it frowns, blue eyes widening. "Dean?"

He staggers, grabbing for the cliff: Dean.  That'd be it. That's what he was waiting for.

Swallowing in a dry mouth, he feel the thrum spread through him and hopes the Pit's hiding him because no way would even that fucker could miss this.  Breathing through the shock, he pulls himself together again piece by piece before he loses it again, what they took: Dean.

"It worked," he breathes.  Dean: that's his name, and that's everything.

"Dean?" it--no, he says again, and Dean takes a deep breath and smiles at him, ignoring the flinch; it's fine, whatever, everything's back on track.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking Cas over: filthy and exhausted and hurt, his first impulse now is to track down everything that fucking touched him and introduce them to the once and future Master of the Pit.  It's gonna happen, soon; he'll let Cas watch.

Crossing over to him, Dean drops in a crouch, relieved that Cas doesn't flinch again when he reaches out to tilt his head up, fighting back rage: soon, he tells himself and feels the Pit hum in anticipation. On a guess, whoever's been after him is in a lot worse shape; he'll have to ask about that.

"What have you been doing to yourself?" he asks, turning Cas's head carefully, reading his condition by touch and liking nothing he's picking up.  Running on empty and even that's almost out: nowhere in Hell to hide and no one to protect him, with a price on his head the highest ever offered.  He remembers laughing on the rack when he heard about it, choking on his own shredded lungs and unable to stop: best joke he ever heard, catch Cas?  Tell the mountain to bow, shithead: tell the moon to fall and the sun to rise and end the universe with a big bang all your own, your chances are better doing all three.  The only time anyone catches Cas is when he wants to be caught.

"Dean?" Cas breathes in disbelief, then shakes his head, belatedly trying to pull away.  Dean tightens his grip but doesn't make the mistake of turning this into a competition. Cas may escape with a broken jaw, but he will escape, and he can't risk that, not now that he's here. "No. You're not--"

"I am," he says, testing it; pretty much, give or take, but that shit he didn't need anyway, not here.  "It worked, Cas.  I told you it would."

Cas shuts his eyes.  "I'm sorry--"

"I'm not."  Though he wouldn't say it was fun; he got someone who couldn't break a goddamn serial killer and it got assigned him?  Bullshit: they're gonna learn about standards and soon. He'll get Cas to teach 'em.  "Cas, look at me."

"Stop it!"

"You're being stupid," Dean says fondly; Cas doesn't get it, that's fine, he'll learn, they got time now.  All of it, come to think.  "Can't run forever, you know that. You came here, didn't you?"

He really wishes Cas would look at him.  "I didn't know where I was going."

"Funny," Dean says, mouth quirking.  "All of Hell, and you come to the one place in the Pit I'm hiding after I get off the rack."  Cas's mouth tightens, and letting him go, Dean shifts to sit beside him. "It's hiding me, anyway. What a coincidence, huh?"

Drawing up his legs, Cas drops his head onto his knees, and Dean waits, easy; he planned for this, after all.  Moving slowly--he doesn't pretend Cas can't do some serious damage to him even now--he reaches to tug up Cas's sleeve, hissing at the open sores, rings of bruises, scrapes marring all that skin; he's taking payment for all of it in full, soon.  Cas doesn't lift his head but doesn't fight him either, shivering when Dean traces the binding cut that survived even death; his own shivers in sympathy, relieved not to be stretched so far anymore.  That means something, and Cas knows it as well as he does.  

"I'm tired." Dean holds himself perfectly still.  "I felt you break.  I wasn't--I couldn't get to you in time.  Again."

Which might explain the incompetence of his particular torturer; everyone else was guarding the Pit and never coming back. Not an excuse, but he gives them credit for knowing how dangerous Cas was, at least.  "How many did you take out?"

The blue eyes flicker up, and Dean catches the cold blue rage, unhealed, unhealing: he likes it.  Can use it, too.  "Not enough."

"It's okay--"

"How?" Cas looks at him, eyes wet, tears drawing pale lines down filthy his cheeks, and Dean reaches out without thinking, wiping them away with his thumb.  "I don't understand, how can you be so much like Dean---"

"I am Dean," he interrupts; okay, he got this. "How long has it been?"

"One hundred and eight years, three months, one week, five days, sixteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds." Cas's voice breaks.  "Five years, one month, six days, twenty-eight hours, two minutes and forty-one seconds since you broke."

Felt like longer, but when you have to do half the work for your goddamn torturer, time gets weird.  "It was supposed to be this way," he says, hushing Cas when he starts to protest. "It had to be, Cas."

"It's over," Cas says. "We failed."

Distantly, Dean feels his recruits circling closer and sends a warn-off with prejudice; from the agonized response, he thinks they got the 'not the fucking time'.  "No we haven't," he says.  "We haven't even started. We're gonna win, Cas.  Here."

Cas stiffens, but the instant rejection is absent; he's tired, yeah, and probably stopped thinking around the time Dean broke on the rack. Which is pretty much what he hoped for; he couldn't plan this part, but sometimes, things just work out.

"Hey."  Carefully, he draws a finger down Cas's arm, following the open wounds (can't wait to find out who did that and where to find them). "Gonna fix this up?"

Cas snorts softly.  "You know I can't."

He can, he just doesn't know it yet; Dean's got so much to teach him.  "I can."  Cas stiffens belatedly and Dean adds another check to his side--their side--of the board. He was never gonna do this without Cas, that was a given, whatever happened; he told Cas they were in this together and that's never changed. "Come on, let me help.  You wanna run, fine but at least let me fix you up so you can."

Cas turns his head against his knee, and the incredulous look almost makes Dean laugh; fuck, he missed him.  "You'll let me leave?"

"I'll never let you go," he answers honestly. "But it'll give you a fighting chance, at least."

The cracked lips part in a soft laugh: check. "You sound like him--"

"I am him," Dean interrupts.  "You can feel it, Cas, come on."  

Watching Cas carefully, he calls in the knife, blade sharp enough to cut air, and lets go of Cas's arm to draw a short cut near the elbow of his left forearm.  Cas's expression is a few novels, all contradictory--revulsion, rejection, horror, disgust, terror, and the only one that counts--hunger. Check.

"No," Cas says, but the blue eyes never leave that cut, blood welling suggestively.  There's power in blood given freely, but here, at least, there's just as much in accepting it; he wonders if Cas realizes that.  "I won't--"

"You want to run, you're gonna have to." Cas flickers a look at him, and he knows he won. "It's me, Cas. Come on, it doesn't have to be this hard."

He can make it easy, though; shifting closer, he holds out his arm and watches Cas bend closer as if drawn, waiting, and finally, the sweep of Cas's tongue against his skin before his lips part around the cut and he starts to suck.

He expected everything but the sheer rush; catching his breath, Dean just manages not to tumble over like an idiot, and he realizes he's got a hand in Cas's hair, holding him there with no memory of actually moving.

Fuck: here he thought Ruby was just getting off fucking up Sam.  He just didn't know.

"That's it," he breathes as Cas fastens a dirty hand around his wrist before doing what Dean almost did; he's ready for it, though, bracing himself when Cas collapses against him.  It takes a long moment to remember what else he's supposed to be doing, but check it out; he doesn't need to do anything but let it happen. Like it's supposed to: of course it is, what was he thinking, this is him and Cas, this is them.  "There we go.  Take all you want."

If he had the Pit behind him, this might be faster, but Alistair couldn't do this any more than Lucifer could or anyone else; the only one who can corrupt Castiel is Dean.  That's why he needed his name first; names are powerful, wrong one and you just might become them.  He may have to use Alistair's name, but he'll keep his own when he does.  

Already, he can feel it working into Cas; all those subtle cracks everyone has, widening them slowly and carefully, but those wouldn't be enough, not with Cas.  This is about him; him, working his way into Cas, lighting up all the places in Cas that are his, have been since this started. Infinite mind of an angel: might scare anyone else, but not Dean, never has, and he needs to know if he's right about how this is gonna work. No margin for error: this is Cas, and he's gotta get everything right the first try.

Then Cas jerks back--tries to jerk back, but he doesn't get any farther than leaning against Dean's chest, lips smeared red. That wasn't enough--not nearly enough--but Dean seals the cut for now; might be better this way, let it work in him, offer more.  Cas won't ask this time, or the next, but he will after that, and then he won't need to ask ever again. He'll figure it out.

"I'm so tired," Cas whispers, and Dean gathers him closer, resting his chin in the dark hair and feeling Cas's body shake. "When you broke, I thought--nothing I did mattered."

Dean nods, but he's got to know.  "What'd you do with the fucker's minions?  None ever came back."

"I put them to good use," Cas says in a different voice, and Dean pulls back to look down and sees a faint smile. "It took time to decide on the shape, however.  Their screaming was distracting, so I stopped it."

Now that he's thinking about it, it's quiet over here. The rest of Hell is a cacophony of noise, but here.... "Where are they?"

"Beneath and behind us."  Cas looks up, and bewildered, Dean follows his gaze to the cliff, then the stone floor.  "Ah, I forgot." Raising a hand, he snaps his fingers, and Dean gets a secondhand rush from Cas using his blood-borne power; they're doing that again like, yesterday.  "What do you think?"

Like turning up the volume on the radio, the screaming starts, and it takes Dean a second to work out where it's coming from: everywhere.  The cliff behind them, the rock beneath them--Dean presses a hand against the ground and the screaming intensifies; it's beautiful.  He can feel the Pit hum approval--not a surprise, this is fucking art--and from the way Cas stills, he feels it, too: perfect.  He's gonna be incredible when Dean's done with him; Cas'll be the best he's ever made, he know it.

"Amazing." He kisses Cas and tastes blood; with it comes the memories, a breathtaking flow of images of five years when nothing mattered: only Cas would create a monument to it.  Five years....  He jerks back, startled by the edge of something else.  "You were waiting for me.  Here."  

He waits for Cas to deny it, but he just looks back. "My death was not my own," he answers.  "Like my life, it belongs to you."

A monument to his once and future death at Dean's hand. Christ. "That was never gonna happen," he says fiercely; how could Cas think he'd ever--

"Maybe I hoped it would." Before Dean feel anything but horror, he shrugs.  "At least, I thought I did.  As it turns out, that's not what I wanted after all."

Dean realizes he's clutching Cas hard enough to break bone and with an effort loosens his grip. It never occurred to him that Cas might not--that he....  "Do you even know what you want?"

"The only thing I ever wanted." The blue eyes meeting his.  "You."

Dean breathes out, relief so strong it feels like pain.  "You have me, Cas.  Always."

There's a long moment of silence.  "Convince me."  

"What?"

"Convince me."  Turning his face against Dean's chest, he makes a broken sound, and it's all Dean can do not to claim the Pit now so he can take care of everything that made Cas sound like that.  "I don't care what it is, just convince me to do it."

That, he can do. "I have a plan."

Shifting them back so he can lean against the cliff, Dean gathers him closer and tells him everything.

*****

Just before they start, Cas says,  "Don't stop until it's done."

Dean nods.  It's not like he doesn't know the risks here; he just doesn't care.  Cas is worth anything.  "I know."

"If you can't break me--"

"I will," Dean says; he won't believe anything else.  "Don't worry about it."

"--I don't leave this room," he continues like Dean didn't say anything.  "Not ever."

"I can do this," he says, checking the restraints again; he designed this room a thousand times in his mind just for Cas, and it's everything he imagined.  Smooth volcanic rock that reflects as clearly as a mirror, so he can see Cas from any angle, and just as importantly, Cas can always see him.  He shaped the rack to Cas alone, everything in it everything that Dean knows about him, and Cas made the restraints himself, designed to bind an angel.  Not really required here, though; nothing and no one can hold Cas when he doesn't want to be.  It's gonna take both of them to do this; he doesn't doubt Cas at all and he can't, won't doubt himself.  They can do this.

"One more thing," Cas says, and Dean looks up and drowns in blue eyes.  "Promise me I won't hate you."

"You won't," he says, picking up the first knife.  The only way to break Cas is to make him want it, and the only person that can make him want it is Dean. He can do this.  Pressing the tip into the hollow of his throat, he kisses him one more time.  They have forever now.  "You'll love me.  I promise."

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Lena Luthor x reader (Yesterday, our history; today, for now)

Request:  Lena x reader : lena gets jealous after seeing someone kiss you at one of her gala 

a/n: guess which garbage monster decided to make a little childhood friends to present time drabble. THIS garbage monster decided to make a childhood friends fic, because I want it and I think it kinda fit this particular scenario. You’re a little bit of a big time fairtrade coffee mogul, it’s obscure and I’m craving coffee currently, so naturally this is what I come up with. Forgive me if it seems like I’m just spouting out terms... it is most definitely because that’s exactly what I’m doing LOL

For SOME reason I was in some grand mood to write something a little angsty and piney... for what reason? I truly could not tell you. Apparently I’m due for one of those again. Thanks for reading y’all!! :D

- - - - -

If you were to be candid and outright, you would readily admit that you resented the business world. You’re self-aware enough to understand the privilege of working hard and watching it pay off, and living comfortably is something that’s never been foreign to you.

You weren’t born into all the wealth you had now - you were proud to say you toiled for what you could call your own. In spite of the leg up you knew you got from certain family members, it humbled you and you never took your gains for granted.

As you found yourself standing in a giant room among the people who you should consider your peers, it went without saying you were jaded and unimpressed.

Where you could, you tried to withhold judgement; after all, not everybody was insufferable and irritating with their prestige, though you also knew a lot of them believed they were destined for it.

Self-worth is a subjective commodity, and where one person draws motivation could be quite strikingly different from the next. Still, you had enough interactions (far too many, you concede) with these kinds of people to be intimately aware of a certain unspoken but commonly held truth: if they’d lost all their money and power in an instant, it would be more than their net worth that’s lost.

Even so, you didn’t necessarily loathe the wealthy elite so much as you just can’t find many people worth respecting despite the all-encompassing competitiveness to have the unwarranted abundance of it.

Life, you know, is saturated with this mentality in general, and it only aggravated you now because you knew you were intended to befriend these people and maintain good rapport.

You wish it wasn’t so easy to give in to the sentiment of othering yourself whenever you contemplated your fortunate circumstances, yet you could count on your one hand the number of true allies you could rely on and vouch for personally.

When you glanced at the L-Corp gala invitation that you found in your mail, it was not your first thought to dread another night of reluctant obligation, but rather of one old friend you were much too aware of not having seen in years.

You wouldn’t say you were avoiding her - not entirely, anyway. You were simply distracted with the course of your life and needing to better it for yourself. You had a never-settling unease about not being good enough, and though this was a noble insecurity to have, it proved relentless and omnipresent.

Throughout your boarding school experience, Lena Luthor was as unassuming as she was brilliant. Though now, you surmise, she entertains the facade of grandeur, and you’ve still yet to put together how to reconcile what you know of a young Lena and what you’ve seen of her now.

You’ve always admired her from afar; that much wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise, however, was the inexplicable draw that possessed the two of you and created an otherwise unlikely alliance of mutual understanding.

You were the new kid of freshman year, having missed three months of the beginning of school to relocating with your aunt and her family from Central City. Lena was the youngest acquisition of the Luthor family, and that particular news followed her like a shadow.

Still, you watched as she prospered in spite of it and just as you felt yourself falling into her gravity, you also somehow caught her in your orbit.

The two of you were an anomalous pair, you in your modest willingness to remain indeterminate and ordinary and her with the effortless dancing on the precipice of obscurity and greatness.

Even then at that young age, you had the distinct notion of not wanting to hinder her in any way you possibly could - even then, she would scoff at your foolishness. For as much as a friend could love you, she did. And for as much as you were pining for her successes and happiness, you did.

You dreamed often and you played often together, and as much as you did you also studied and philosophized and aspired. The adventure of youth was indeed a journey, and you would never change the reality of having Lena in your corner for those formative years if you were faced with the decision to start over.

You hadn’t thought much of it then, but the only time you ever stood up against anyone or anything was when someone by the likes of Veronica Sinclair gave Lena trouble; and there is much that could be said about that now in retrospect.

Lena gave you loyalty as fierce as your own, and though it often went unspoken, you knew you’d both felt it.

It was only with little sadness that you watched awe-struck and proud as she walked to the podium to receive her diploma, and you knew she would be heading off to MIT.

As for yourself, you would charter the route that just like any other wide-eyed, hopeful teen your age imagined for themselves would most benefit from in the long run. Your aunt, with her modest conglomerate of companies in a wide array of sectors, only asked of you to do what you could do best.

You’d graduate from an Honours International Development Studies program and sought after your pipe dream to not change the world, but to merely help it.

For years, you would hear stories from the wind of the Luthor scion and Jack Spheer trying to find the ever elusive cure to cancer, and you’d heard that they were making breakthroughs with their nanotechnology.

Even then, you’d felt rather inadequate, and much to your displeasure you found that in a room full off big business moguls and politicians you still felt just as small as you always had.

It was with great bemusement that you remember you’d finally accepted an invitation from L-Corp as you looked around you at the filling ballroom, and you’re usually not so absent of mind.

You begin to realize just how out of place you feel as you watch pairs of people filing through the entrance, all figures of prominence and varying levels of affluence trying to take up the most space in the room. You feel so very unprepared and not at all in your element and you almost regret your decision to go about this event alone.

It’s only for a few hours, you concede, and you’ll take your leave the very second it’s socially acceptable to do so. You wonder if you can even evade Lena again, though it’s becoming more and more evident how unlikely that will be. You don’t have the excuse of being in another country altogether to justify your absences.

Perhaps you’ve made a big mistake by coming here tonight.

You don’t have the time to ponder it further, however, when you feel a presence sidle up beside you.

“Now, I don’t usually act so brash and forward, but I must simply know why exactly it is you are without company this evening.”

You don’t recognize the woman when you turn to face her. At first glance you see she is conventionally beautiful with her dark brown eyes and an angular face.

She’s wearing a deep green gown and she seems the epitome of refinement. She seems rather young, perhaps only a few years older than you, and somehow much more... everything.

“That is, unless it’s only a matter of time before she makes her appearance and I learn yet another lesson regarding my presumptuous inclinations,” she adds.

You smile politely and already feel yourself get reluctantly pulled forward into the game of social obligation. Still, you are curious.

“Well, Miss... you would be correct in your observations. I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, and if I ought to then I apologize-”

“Beckett, and it’s absolutely divine to make your acquaintance.”

You have exactly milliseconds to both process and react to her moving in close to kiss you just near the corner of your mouth, and if there’s any look of astonishment and utter confusion on your face, she’s ignorant to the display.

You’re left stuttering and stumbling on words, and you’re vexed at just how out of touch you are with how to behave in these events and how to deal with such forwardness in general.

“Miss-”

“Oh, please, call me Alona, we can allow ourselves to be on a first name basis.”

“Right, yeah- okay-”

“I confess, I know quite a lot about you, (Y/N). You’re making rather significant waves that are crossing into my circles. I am most curious about your story.”

You’re still silent, standing before a woman and her force of nature as she glides easily from thought to thought, almost taunting you in a way to keep up.

“It’s the most inspirational anecdote. Your aunt, Theresa Everett, she’s such a character too. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing her while she was still active and the most prominent in 2013. And now, you’re an entrepreneur! You’ve really separated yourself from all that, haven’t you?”

You inhale shakily as you scramble to recollect your thoughts - there’s very little reference points you can bounce off of, but you force yourself to believe it’s enough. Having to talk about your work, at least, is something you enjoy and you don’t have to think too hard about that.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily word it like that. It’s not so much of a rebranding as it is just really focusing and cutting back the excess of resources at my disposal. I’ll take what I need and no more or less, and it’s proven to have worked out if the exponential growth of the farms I’ve overseen is any indication.”

For her part, Alona looks attentively at you, and if you weren’t so overwhelmed by her larger than life introduction you would perhaps be more than willing to indulge her conversation and speak in depth of your work.

You think there’s a hint of impudence to her when she smiles at you, but the observation is moot by the time you’ve detected it.

“I’ve always thought so highly of you, and it is so refreshing to see I’m not wrong in my high regards. What is it now, you have locations in Peru, Guatemala, Colombia if I recall correctly?

“I truly, truly commend you for your upholding the ethical crusade. It’s apparent that every single one present in this room has something similar in common with another, and perhaps this is what you and Ms. Luthor share; the unfailing resilience to chase a simple dream.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in contemplation and you regard the woman carefully. There’s an agenda hidden somewhere - there always is, and you’re just about close to scratching the surface of it. You’re suspicious, and part of this game is to do everything you can to make sure you don’t show it. You consider your next words as carefully as you can, but you’re just steps over the edge.

“And still I wholeheartedly believe a simple dream is the one distinctive catalyst that provides solutions where there might be questions, and curates possibilities where there are only hypotheticals.”

You inhale sharply and feel the broiling of your intensity and mild agitation. You think to try to reel yourself in - you’re well aware of the flurry you become when you get going about correcting people who are just so very wrong.

“But respectfully, I decline your belief in my upholding some crusade of ethics - as far as I’m concerned it’s pretty rudimentary that we treat every individual involved in our business relationships with the same amount of respect as we are given by default as the ones with the monetary resources. Business is a mutual give and take. It’s our responsibility to foster all aspects of the whole to benefit from the sum of all the little parts.”

Alona smiles at you again, and you’ve no doubt now it’s positively devilish in its scheming.

“I am so awed by your passion, how remarkably you guard your tenets. That tenacity should be harnessed. If you need any assistance in the form of governmental influence, which I’m sure you will no doubt encounter if you haven’t already, I will personally see to it that I have some sway in your favour.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Beckett, I can assure you we are quite self-sustaining at this time and it’s actually beneficial that we’re on the fringes of politics-”

Suddenly, you think you feel the air escape your lungs and your eyes widen almost comically. There’s a far off part of your brain that’s mostly shut off currently, but you can hear a distant echo of this is some bullshit movie moment, come from the depths of your mind when you finally see her.

You begin to think just how wrong you were to ever have stayed away from her. You think you should be rewarded for your ability to have ever done so at all.

Lena is so much more than you ever remembered of her. You’re only minutely aware of being cut off mid-sentence before you realize it was you who stopped talking altogether. You think you feel your jaw go slack, and Alona at least takes note when she acknowledges the new presence.

“Lena, you’ve outdone yourself as always.”

“Alona, your attendance always pleases me,” she says in greeting.

You can feel the distinct tension of various things left unsaid in your little trio, and when neither woman broaches the physical boundary tethering you all together, it’s Lena who decides to start severing the tie.

“How is Mr. Conroy? I’m sure Johnathan is doing well?”

“Yes, quite. He almost didn’t want to make it today, I’m sure you can understand, what with the last L-Corp event being quite the target for trouble.”

Alona smirks mischievously in delight and you can only watch in slight horror at the show you’ve inadvertently become an audience for.

“Of course, that’s justifiable. I almost thought it’d been best if we all just stayed home,” Lena says cuttingly.

“Oh, but here we are. Your bravery has always impressed me, Lena.”

Lena just smiles sweetly and she’s a considerable distance away from you - at least, as much as what you perceive suggests. You can just feel the tug of her and not a single part of her body is touching yours, and yet you feel the fire of your skin ablaze by her presence alone. She might as well have been playing matches on your being.

Somehow, and this has always amused you, watching people recognize the notion that they’re not wanted anymore becomes potent enough to become an entirely new entity, and you love watching how they react.

Alona decides to take her leave, but not before she kisses you on the cheek in departure and bids you a good evening, and you really wish you’d learned to expect the unexpected as if you hadn’t experience this same conundrum just several minutes ago.

You barely register that Lena’s sweet smile falls into a scowl. You’re not quite sure why exactly it is she has such a disapproving glare. You refuse to indulge the possible reasons why it would be there.

Even after Alona is gone, you and Lena don’t share a word for the next few moments.

When she finally looks up at you, she’s no longer glowering at some inconsequential woman you happened to have encountered, and you can see the imperceptible widening of her eyes as if she’s really taking you in.

You wonder if you should assure her that your presence isn’t a trick of reality - you can hardly believe it yourself, but Lena breaks the silence.

“You’re a lot taller than I remember,” she mutters teasingly.

“And you’re more radiant than ever.”

In spite of the long years absent from each other’s lives, the familiarity of Lena makes you feel both parts nostalgic and something akin to a return - like a conversation that picks up where you’ve left it as if it never ceased at all, and in a way, that’s exactly what you two are.

“It’s good to see you’re just as much of a kiss-ass as you’ve always been.”

You smile at her remark, and it’s decisively more than you can ever say you’ve had as of late; this alone should be cause for alarm.

“Naturally,” you grin. “To what do I owe this pleasure of your exclusive attention?”

“Don’t you know I only ever host these events to draw you out of whatever cave it is you’ve hidden in all these years? I should be asking you that same question.”

You see a flash of something like hurt and hesitance in Lena’s eyes. You know it because you felt it yourself. You think perhaps she can see it in you too.

There’s a compulsion in you to apologize, but for what, you couldn’t even begin to articulate.

There’s just too much and all the same, there’s very little to answer for at all. You wouldn’t change the way your life has turned out. Though, you can’t speak for Lena.

“I’ve been away,” is all you supply, and you marvel at your uselessness.

Lena smiles at you in a way that you can very much tell says, well no shit, but the fondness that’s there regardless has distracted you.

“Of course,” she says, and then, “how’s Theresa doing? She’s well, I take it?”

You’re thankful for the cop out and you take it.

“Yeah, she’s thriving as always. She asks about you often still.”

You barely register what you’ve said before you can even think to take it back.

Lena looks rueful when she replies, “I’d almost be shocked if she hasn’t kept up with the news as everyone else has.”

It takes everything of your being to will yourself not to hug her.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, I do.”

You begin to realize the depths of your struggle, and the profoundly evident lack of knowledge you once had of your best friend’s life makes itself ever present all in one booming crash in your chest.

You grapple for something, anything to reach out to her.

“So... how’s Jack?”

Lena inhales sharply and her lips purse slightly, “he passed away.”

You feel it more than you hear it - the fall of something in your gut hanging in suspension in your lower torso.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-”

“It was either him or Supergirl,” she states softly.

You fiddle with your hands awkwardly. You’re becoming painfully aware of just how invasive your entire body feels in relation to Lena, and you wish you could just disappear or at least transport your being to some other timeline that has nothing to do with the current one.

You think to blame yourself entirely, of course when you concede that Lena has finally found someone worthy of her, the universe decides to muddle it up eventually.

You worry about just what that could mean for you.

“That must have been almost half a year ago. Often I wonder just how much more I can be put through the wringer before I snap. It feels like it’s simply a matter of time before I become everything I’ve always feared.”

You snap out of your reverie of contrite at Lena’s admission.

“You know you’ve always been above that. Plenty of times, you could have done just that, but you never have. And I think it’s because you’re just not capable of it. I’ve never once seen something you weren’t capable of handling.”

Lena sighs deeply, “I don’t think I want to find that breaking point.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to,” you say affirmatively.

You’re both silent in contemplation. Lena looks softer, and you wonder about it as you parse through the memories of the Lena you once knew and what you’re getting now.

Even if you didn’t know her as you did, you still believe entirely that she looks absolutely magnificent. She can fill an entire room without a single word, and you realize then with sneaking suspicion this is just how she’s managed to infiltrate every corner of your life you thought you’d abandoned.

The familiar sensation of pride swells in you again, and a sort of daze falls on you as you smile at the contentedness it gives you. It’s almost enough to distract you from the sad exhaustion you can see hiding just barely veiled within her eyes.

“So, coffee is it?” she asks.

“What?” you think you feel your entire body snap into another awakening as you hurl back into the conversation.

You see the slight uptick of her lips form into a smirk, and you don’t bother to resist thinking about how much you’ve missed it.

“Your business? Fairtrade coffee now, I suppose you never really intended to succeed your aunt?” she prompts, slightly teasingly.

You think you can smack yourself for your misgivings.

“Yeah, that- yeah. Right. I mean, I wasn’t always so deeply taken by what she had her companies’ shares in. It could be said that I’ve rebuilt, but really I’ve just tried to involve myself in areas that interest me and I can invest entirely in; not just monetarily either. My whole heart’s in it, and it’s much easier that way.”

Lena looks contemplative as she deliberates your words, and then, “it seems if it becomes personal that the stakes are so much more higher and there’s so much more at risk, do you find that to be the case?”

You tilt your head in consideration, you try to not give credence to the inexplicable longing you suddenly feel at having Lena so close, yet so very far.

“Arguably, maybe people’s expectations of me have deviated. The risks are only as substantial as the reward. The company’s interests may be refocused, but mine, at least, remain unchanged.”

Lena studies you meaningfully and you feel your body come alive under the weight of her gaze.

“I have always admired your determination to chase after your aspirations. I’ve also always envied your freedom to do so,” she says wryly.

You give her a small smile, “it took me a while to get where I am now. I haven’t always gone after what I really desired.”

Lena glances at you, and when you catch her eyes you hurry to distract yourself with more words, anything to keep you from falling apart for just a little bit longer.

“It takes a lot of trial and error, and without a doubt it’s taken its time... though it goes without saying that the answer sometimes has been right in front of you all along.”

At some point, you think your words have stopped having a singular meaning and you think they’ve become latent with more complex, underlying feelings you feel the least bit prepared to address.

You add hastily, knowing you ought to say it if it weren’t already evident, “for what it’s worth, Lena, it seems as though you’re doing great for yourself.”

Perhaps, you believe, she’s always appreciated your uncanny ability to understand what she needs to hear, to listen to what goes unsaid for her. Even now, you think you’re not just imagining it anymore and you can see the vulnerable adoration in her eyes.

Lena smiles at you, muted with the quiet tones of a lament for time lost and of time yet to lose. Still, you see the endless gratitude that goes unuttered but entirely indisputable.

“When will you be flying off again?” she asks.

“Not for another few weeks.”

I missed you, goes unsaid.

“If it weren’t already plain, it should be mentioned just how much my evening has been made now that I got to see you.”

I’m proud of you, goes unsaid.

“Well, rest assured I feel exactly the same way,” you say earnestly.

I thought I’d lost you, goes unsaid.

There’s a tension palpable enough to cut through, and you feel it stifling you quickly, filling you like concrete.

You’re tired of the feeling of having unfinished business with Lena - for as long as you can remember, your story has never felt quite finished, and you don’t suspect either of you are willing to let it get to that.

“(Y/N), this doesn’t have to be farewell.”

The sentiment doesn’t help in maintaining your pretense of composure.

“No, I don’t want it to be.”

Not again, goes unsaid.

“Then why waste any more time? We may not know the future, but at least we have now.”

I won’t give in to the fear of having lost you wilfully again, goes unsaid.

Lena’s eyes make a slow descent from your eyes to your lips, and you can feel the slow drag of them trail to your bowtie. She lifts her hands and fixes it, taking gentle care in lingering more than a stranger would.

Lena’s not a stranger though, not entirely.

She’s grinning fondly at some secret joke.

“You always refused to wear just a regular tie. You thought it was too conventional.”

You grin at her observation, “I was a pretty pretentious kid.”

“Well, that’s quite alright, you looked much better in these anyway,” she smirks.

You feel the rising warmth of a blush rushing to your cheeks. Somehow, you think you’ve experienced equal parts death and renewal all at once. Somehow, you know you’ll both do better this time.

[phoebonicawrites]

12 Days of Winter Whumperland, day 4 - all I want for Christmas is you (given as gift/gifts from whumper)

This one - kind of fits the prompt? It’s the return of creepy sadistic Orange (Uron) and less-creepy-but-still-a-hardened-killer Cyan (Skla) and yes, I did just name the orange guy ‘orange’ in Welsh. My explanation is he picked the colour that sounded like his real name because it amused him. Found out after writing this that Oren, as well as being Welsh for ‘orange’, is also an actual name of Hebrew origin which means ‘Jerusalem pine’, and he’s enough of a bastard that I didn’t want any real people to have to share a name with him. So he’s Uron now, which is not appearing on any baby name sites. Cyan’s name doesn’t mean anything, I just wanted it to sound alien and hard to pronounce.

Does it count as whump if the character getting whumped is kind of an asshole? Because Red’s kind of an asshole. Uron would absolutely have done this even if he wasn’t, though.

Warnings: whumper POV, sadistic whumper, mentions of torture and murder but not explicitly described for once! ableism, false accusations, character death.

~~~

Red walks into Navigation, alone, and heads straight for the data download. Hidden in the vent, Uron shivers with anticipation. Perfect.

He slips through to Weapons – no one there, good, having to kill anyone else right now would complicate things – and strolls back down to Nav. As expected, Red’s still standing by the wall panel, intently watching the screen of his tablet to make sure the download goes through.

“Hey, Red.” Uron pulls open the panel just by the door and starts to work on the wiring, pulling apart most of the repairs that the last crewmate to fix this section made, and slashing through a few more wires for good measure.

Red grunts a perfunctory greeting in response. He doesn’t look round. Uron severs one last wire, and slips the knife back into its hidden sheath, even as both his mouths water with the thought of how easy it would be to drive it into Red’s back instead. Funny how the guy who prides himself on his observational skills doesn’t realise he’s leaving himself wide open.

But killing Red is a bad move right now. That’s not the plan. No matter how tempting it is.

There’s the cheerful bleep of a download finishing. Red turns away from the wall, and Uron closes the wiring panel and steps into his path, just casually, as if it’s a spontaneous decision. “Hey, man, can I ask you about something?”

“Yeah?” Red’s brow furrows suspiciously. “What is it?”

“What’s your problem with Cyan?” Uron asks, all innocent confusion. “You keep calling meetings over her and –”

“She was not clearing the garbage chute in Storage that time,” Red interrupts, finger pointing emphatically into Uron’s chest. “I know what I saw.”

Uron shrugs. “I dunno, man, it sounded like what you saw was nothing. Green seemed pretty sure that you wouldn’t have seen the trash go out unless you were standing directly by the lever…”

“Ok, then explain why she was right by the reactor when it almost blew!”

“Dumb luck?” Uron suggests. It had actually been pretty bad luck, considering he was the one who’d committed that particular sabotage, aiming to draw attention away from what he’d just done to Lime down in Shields. “I mean, why would she do it just to fix it? And you might as well say it was Pink, they took the other side…”

Indignation’s flaring off Red now, at his supposed crewmate disputing his supposed evidence yet again. Damn, but he’d be easy to break. An ego like that’s always so brittle. Put the pressure in the right place, and he’d shatter like glass.

It’d be so simple to just lock the doors and tear him open, mind and body.

Uron doesn’t like having to restrain himself.

But sometimes it’s important.

“I just don’t trust her, okay?” Red snaps, throwing his hands up in frustration. “There’s something off about her. She’s either an imp or she’s…” He twirls a finger against the side of his helmet. “You know?”

Uron lets his expression harden – easygoing everyone’s-buddy Orange wouldn’t be on board with whatever intra-species prejudices Red’s got going on, after all. “And you think –” he mimics the twirling gesture “– is reason enough to space her?”

“Why are you trying so hard to defend her?” Red glowers. “What, are you the other one or something?”

Uron blinks. He supposes he ought to have seen that one coming, but the irony’s still pretty hilarious. Blowhard Red actually getting it right for all the wrong reasons, not once but twice. And he’ll never live to prove it.

He lets his upper mouth curve into a slow smile. “Pretty bold of you to say that if I am. What with us being all alone in here.”

The blood drains from Red’s face. He takes a step back, icy terror spiking through his mind. “You…”

Uron savours the moment, moving forward as Red retreats, letting him realise that he’s cornered. “I’m just saying. If I was an impostor here to kill you. And you went and accused me to my face like that, no backup or anything, well – you’d just be begging for a knife in your gut, wouldn’t you?”

“Y – you…” Red’s breathing harsh and shallow, realisation of his mistake crashing down on him. Uron lets the tension hold for just a little longer – then shifts tack, instantly replacing the predatory smirk with a glare of appalled, righteous fury.

“But you don’t need to worry about that, right?” he demands, letting his voice rise and break as he jabs his own accusing finger downwards, to the dark space beneath the navigation console. Red’s gaze follows it, and Uron hears the man’s breath stutter as he finally spots Black’s mangled body, jammed into the gap. “Did you really think I wasn’t gonna notice?!”

“Tha- wha- the fu-” Red stammers, but he’s cut off by the alert sounding all throughout the ship.

Dead body reported.

“…thanks,” Skla says, quietly, after everyone else has left the cafeteria, and they’ve both watched Red’s frozen body spiral off into the distance.

Uron grins. “I wasn’t about to let that loudmouth get my best friend ejected.”

He’s still looking out at the stars, but he can feel the spike of emotion as Skla flinches, before she locks her mind down tight again. “We’re not friends. I don’t even like working with you.”

“Sure, but I like you.” Uron turns to face her, surprising even himself a little with how sincere the words are. “I admire the hell out of you. If anyone ever gets to kill you, it’ll be me, or I’ll make them pay for it.”

Skla slaps a cyan-gloved hand against the front of her helmet in a borrowed gesture of frustration. “Do you realise how disturbing it is that you think that’s a compliment?”

Uron shrugs, tendrils rippling under the imitation of a spacesuit. “As disturbing as the fact that you took it as one?”

Skla takes a breath to speak, pauses, then lets it out in a sigh. “Whatever.” She turns away from the window, pulling up the list of fake tasks on her tablet. “Let’s just get back to work.”