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dickwheelie · 3 years

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Uhm, I don't know if you're still taking requests, of course you can just, not do it, but I was thinking, maybe jon touching star!Martins face littered with stars for the first time? 👉👈

this is based on @flamingfinch's and @tired-dummy's star!Martin au which you can find more of on their blogs :) I loooove writing about this dude so this was a great request to get, thank you Teo and I hope you enjoy!

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Most of the time, Martin looks at least passably human. Perhaps he takes up a little more space in a room than he should, perhaps the air around him glows with a barely perceptible aura, and perhaps his skin is just a little too hot to the touch. Most people overlook these things, choosing not to question them or simply unable to notice them at all.

Jon is different. From the moment they met, Jon knew Martin was something otherworldly, though he wasn't yet sure what. When Martin told him he was an ancient being who crafted stars and arranged galaxies, Jon wasn't even necessarily surprised. It explained Martin's strange amber glow, his perfectly white eyes, and how impossibly large he seemed, even when he was at his six-foot human height.

Neither of them know, even after months of being together, why Jon can perceive Martin so clearly, as he does. Jon is grateful for it, because it was what brought the two of them together. He doesn't like to think about a world in which Jon had just let Martin pass him on the street, completely unaware of his otherworldly beauty, and the magnificent heart that lay underneath.

Jon thought he had seen all that there was to see of Martin's true form, until today.

They're sitting out on the back porch of Jon's tiny cottage, stargazing, as they always do on clear nights. Jon loves listening to Martin talk about the stars; he points each of them out and tells Jon their true name, and a story about them. Martin remembers them all, even the smallest, most distant ones. Some of the furthest stars have already died, their light reaching earth millions of years late, and when Martin speaks about them it is as though he is looking at a photograph of an old friend. He has moved Jon to tears more than once.

That night is more joyful. Martin is telling Jon about two stars in Orion's belt, young troublemakers who were best friends and completely incorrigible. "I kept trying to separate them," he says, "but they'd have none of it. They loved each other too much."

"What did you do?" Jon asks.

Martin shrugs. "In the end, I let them be. They orbit each other now. They're a little older, a little wiser. They've stopped causing so much trouble, but they love each other just as much."

Together they stare up at the stars in silence. Out here, in the countryside, there's not an inch of sky that isn't full of them.

"Do you miss them?" Jon says after a few moments. "The ones that are still up there, I mean. Do you wish you could be up there with them again, all the time?"

Martin looks at him, sensing the unspoken question in Jon's words. "I like being down here with you, Jon. You're as precious to me as any star. I'd never trade this life for that one." He smiles at him. "And I know you'd never ask me to."

That much, at least, was true. Whenever Martin had to leave to complete his starbound duties, Jon missed him, yes, but never resented it. He'd often use his telescope at night to try to see if he could spot Martin making new stars, but Martin had the whole universe to travel through, and he was so rarely working anywhere near the Milky Way.

He always came back, though. Jon is no longer as surprised by this as he was in the beginning, but sometimes his heart still leaps in his chest when he sees Martin's amber glow pouring through the gap under his front door.

"That's very sweet, Martin," Jon says coyly. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you ever miss them?"

Martin stares up at the endless expanse of stars. Jon can see they're reflected in his eyes, their usual white glow replaced with an inky black pool of tiny lights.

"All the time," he says.

As Martin stares up at the night sky, something in his face changes. Not his expression; his face itself. Jon blinks, thinking it might be an optical illusion, but no--there are tiny, glowing silver lights appearing across Martin's face, dotting it like freckles.

Jon sits up, leaning across the bench they share to get a closer look, and when Martin turns his head to look at him, the pattern of the lights on his face changes, mirroring the pattern of the stars behind Jon, a perfect projection of the sky. Jon gasps, and Martin gives him a puzzled look. "What is it?"

"Martin," Jon says breathlessly, reaching out towards his face but not touching it, "your face is covered with stars."

It's one of the most beautiful things Jon's ever seen. Martin's face, already lovely, is incandescent as it glows with pinpricks of starlight, peppering his cheeks and nose and forehead and lips, and Jon has been privileged to see Martin as he truly is, but he's never seen anything like this. Never before has Martin appeared so entirely other, so completely, obviously inhuman. Jon can't look away. He never wants to, ever again. He wants to reach out and touch, to run his fingers through the stars mapped out on Martin's cheeks, to kiss them from his lips, but he doesn't move forward.

"Oh," Martin says, realizing what Jon is seeing, "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was doing that. I can make them go away, give me a moment--"

"No," Jon says, his hand darting out to hold Martin's, as though that might stop him, "no, Martin, they're--you look--"

Jon stutters, not knowing how to describe to Martin how little he wants him to hide his stars away again. Martin quirks an eyebrow at him, perhaps a little confused, but thankfully the stars remain.

"Please don't get rid of them. Just . . . let me just . . ." Jon leans in close to Martin's face, examining the stars as they wink and move, ever so slightly, across it, as though alive. Which, Jon supposes, in a way they sort of are. Looking closely, he thinks he can see galaxies slowly turning at the corners of Martin's eyes, in the divot of his lips. Tentatively, as though they were fish in a pond that might dart away, Jon reaches out and places his fingertips on Martin's cheek. The stars don't move under his touch, but Martin shivers slightly, causing the projection to wobble. Jon quickly moves his hand away and glances up into Martin's eyes. "Is this alright? I'm sorry, I should have asked before."

"I . . . yes. Yes, it's alright," Martin says, quietly, staring down at him with wide, starry eyes.

Jon places his fingers once again on Martin's cheek, then traces a line down to his chin. Martin's face is warm, but the stars are just slightly hotter, sparking under Jon's fingertips. He places his other hand gently on Martin's other cheek, swipes a thumb across his nose, as though to scatter stars across it, though of course they don't move. Jon traces the patterns of stars that have gathered on the hills of Martin's lips, and then slowly, giving Martin the chance to pull away, he leans in to kiss them.

Martin does not pull away, and in the moment before he deepens the kiss Jon can feel every pinprick of every star that adorns Martin's lips, as though he is kissing each one in turn. Jon closes his eyes against the divine beauty of it all, the wonder that lies across his lover's face that Jon is able to touch, however briefly or distantly. Some of the stars under his hands and lips are gone, will never exist again except in memory, and some have only just been born a millennia ago, and all are important, and have been loved.

Then, as though strings have been cut, Martin surges forward and captures Jon in a searing embrace, kissing him so deeply that for a moment Jon half-believes he might walk away from this with stars of his own dancing over his lips. Jon does not let go of Martin's face, his palms against his jaw and thumbs stroking across his cheeks and under his closed eyes, feeling the stars dance across his skin as the two of them push and pull against one another. Behind Jon's eyelids there is the silver glow of a million stars less than a breath away.

When they part, breathless and clinging, Jon still does not open his eyes. He just presses his cheek to Martin's, feels the stars moving beneath it in time with his breaths. He turns and presses a kiss to it, then another, and another. Martin holds him so closely, a hand gently running through his hair.

"I love you," Martin says, softly. "As much as any star."

Jon laughs a watery laugh. "I know." When he finally opens his eyes again, he can see that Martin's face has dimmed back to its usual form, though his eyes are still dark and full of stars. Jon knows he could look up and see the same image in the night sky above, but he gazes into Martin's eyes instead. "I love you, too, Martin." He pauses, then smiles into those boundless, reflected depths. "As much as any star."

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes #i have 3 more of these which i will get to!#sorry it's taking so long lol

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twsttheory · 3 years

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⚠️Chapter 5 spoilers⚠️ Chapter Recaps and Predictions for Future Dormitory Chapters.

Pardon me for being a little slow but I have just realized a trend? Aside from the fact that Twisted Wonderland seems to be a very “Screw society” game, the take-away of every Twisted Wonderland arc reflects the morals the of their respective Disney classic, except the villains are the ones experiencing it.

Heartslabyul:

Just like Alice in Wonderland, the first plot of the first Chapter centres around the idea that rules are not always meant to be followed. However, as I have mentioned in a previous post, many have theorized that the story of Alice in Wonderland is the journey of a child towards adulthood, during which they begin to realize their individual personalities. The Queen of Heart’s tyranny thus represents societal rules and expectations. In the first chapter, this is not illustrated by Riddle’s strictness. Instead, it is illustrated by the expectations and rules that Riddle’s mother has imposed on him. Riddle will then learn that not everything his mother said is correct, and will grow to have his own opinions. We even see him screwing up the mont-blanc. His mistake is very... um... him though.

Savanaclaw:

Following the Heartslabyul arc is the Savanaclaw arc. Again, the plot is similar to that of The Lion King. Both Leona and Scar are the second-born, and the fact that their brothers have a son makes it impossible for them to become kings. This has lead to Leona’s somewhat inferiority complex. The lazy lion proceeds to come up with a plan to overthrow the more powerful Malleus in the Magift competition, but fails because of the Heartslabyul gang. No matter what he does, not everything goes according to plan. This is where “Hakuna Matata” becomes important. In the Lion King, it is taught to Simba, the protagonist, but in Twisted Wonderland, it has become a lesson that Leona has learnt. Life is not fair, but instead of choosing to dwell on that concept and suffer, you could choose to be happy instead. Despite not being able to become King, Leona is still very intelligent and very much capable, earning the respect of his dorm members and many more people.

Octavinelle:

Fish arc covers the topic of bullying, which many of us have experienced. In this chapter, Azul strives to become more powerful as a result of bullying, and has thus grown to become a very talented mage. His collection of contracts is similar to both Ariel’s collection of human objects and Ursula’s collections of those who failed to pay their debt. All these collections are but material collections, and in Azul’s eyes, his collection is a measure of his worth, as seen from when he declares that he will be useless if Leona were to destroy the contracts. What both Ariel and Azul were missing was as a matter of fact not their material collection. Instead, it was love for Ariel, and friendship for Azul. Jade and Floyd gave him friendship, which he did not have as a victim of bullying, and I’m pretty sure that he realizes that both their presences are more valuable than mere material contracts. I am also certain that Jade and Floyd think so too, although they say otherwise.

Scarabia:

Scarabia arc’s overblot goes to Jamil, you poor boy. Because of his position as the Asim family’s servant, he believes that as long as he is in the presence of Kalim, he will never be able to be who he really is. Aladdin also thinks that he cannot be with Jasmine if he isn’t royalty. However, we all know that Jamil has more to offer as an individual. He is intelligent and powerful, and will remain intelligent and powerful despite his position as a servant. Aladdin is loved by Jasmine despite being a non-royal. Scarabia’s chapter centres around the idea that an individual’s potential and worth is not defined or limited by their status or position, as Jamil has surely proven to us.

Pomefiore:

The recent Pomefiore arc is also very relatable and nothing less than outstanding, highlighting the importance of “beauty” in more than one way. This chapter straight up tells us that ballet is not restricted to girls, and it has already earned my respect. What’s more outstanding is its emphasis of effort. Vil is shown to be frustrated because of being in Neige’s shadow. GIVE HIM THE LICENSE TO BE FRUSTRATED HE WORKED SO HARD! Despite his hard work, he is less popular than the cheery and pretty Neige. In the VDC, Neige’s cover of a children song grabbed more attention than the song he poured his sweat, blood and tears over. No one cares about the effort behind the scenes, and all the praise goes to the final product. In Snow White, the Evil Queen will never be the most beautiful, because she is ugly inside. This could apply to this chapter. Despite being more successful, Neige, unless stated otherwise, lacks the diligence and hard work that Vil has put into his craft.

Ignihyde:

All right folks this is where the predictions starts. The recurring theme of this game is conflict against society. From this, I will predict that Idia and Hercules will share a common theme. People call them monsters. Hercules is called a monster because of his inhuman strength, while Idia’s case will most likely be because of Ortho. Idia is undoubtedly a genius engineer, and since Ortho is a cyborg, there are chances that he was once a human but died, and is turned into a cyborg by his brother. Idia creating him from scratch is not likely because he already mentioned a “previous Ortho”. Because of this, Idia is feared by many people as well. However, if this theory were to be correct, it would mean that the story will follow the moral in Hercules that underlines the importance of staying true to oneself and that people will love you for who you are. Hercules definitely stayed true to himself, and in the end, instead of being labelled a monster, he became loved by many. I’m sure that it will be the same way with Idia, although I am not sure about the situation that will help incite this.

From how he encouraged Riddle to break away from his mother’s rules in the first chapter,, it is highly possible that Ace would play a role in helping Idia express his mad scientist vibes. If Ace does not help Idia, he will probably still play a big role alongside Ortho, as they are both younger siblings. From ghost marriage, we can also see Ortho’s ability to call Ace out on his bullshit. Ace is a child full of lies, and his true personality may also not be what he displays every day. With Ortho’s advance “Your body sayin you lyin boy” technology, I think that we could finally see a change in our dumb ginger boy’s personality, as well as gain some juicy insight into the Trappola household. Epel is also a plausible factor, seeing that he has embraced his cute and wild side in Chapter 5. However, if the story were to follow the same pattern as in Chapter 3 with Jack and Octavinelle, Epel will most likely only help the main character, and Vil would help with the dorm leader in question. But we’ll see about that.

Diasomnia

Sleeping beauty is a story where love is a powerful force. In the dorm that is very family orientated, there is no doubt that love will be a common theme in this story arc. However, just like Pomefiore, the first year also has to play an important role in the story. Sebek, unlike waka sama, is probably mortal. Another theme in sleeping beauty is that growing up presents all sorts of existential crisis. I am pretty certain that Sebek’s existential crisis would come in the form of fey vs human. Power vs mortality. How will Malleus overblot then? Following the pattern, it would likely be because of a problem that contrasts to their first year. As Sebek gets to know the idiot combo, he will gain more friends, and Malleus might find his most loyal guard taken away from him, or it may come in the form of Sebek or Silver, or both, objecting him in some way. If both happen to be proven wrong, it is still likely that he will overblot because of something that involves his loneliness or lack of understanding of mortality. It could even be caused by seeing Sebek and Silver grow up, and suddenly be hit with the realization that they both may one day leave his side or pass away, and that the main character, who does not fear him at all, will also one day return to their world or die, leaving him behind once again.

The conflict will probably then be resolved by the understanding that despite all this, he has friends. Lilia, Sebek, Silver, the main character, and perhaps even Ace and Deuce, and Idia and Ortho for good measure, are people precious to him, and it is important for him to treasure the time that he has with them.

That’s all for today! These are probably not accurate, and I’m sure that Yana Toboso is at least 10 dimensions away from me when playing chess, but it is fun to compare the storyline with their respective classic film. Either ways, only time will tell how the story progresses. So I’ll keep an eye out for any previews! Thank you for reading!

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graysmiles-world · 3 years

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Depths of Insanity

so i was feeling pretty angsty, but i’m too tired to come up with something new, so here’s a oneshot i wrote based on a previous tumblr post of mine.

find the ao3 link here, and the tumblr post here

TW: major char death, suicidal ideation, and blood

Summary: In a fit of strength, Percy was able to pull up Annabeth while she was dangling over the edge, her feet reaching down into Tarturas. However, Percy then slipped, falling alone into the darkness.

Answering the question: What if Percy fell into Tartuaras alone?

Your memory is a monster. It summons with will of its own. You think you have a memory, but it has you."- John IrvinsIt

It was so sudden, so quick, that Annabeth didn't even have time to call out before her chin hit the stone.

Her feet were dangling over the edge, the web that was wrapped around her foot pulling her into the abyss. It was if as if the darkness itself was creeping forward, slowly consuming Annabeth as she hung on.

Percy was holding her hand, keeping her tethered to the sunlight, to him. But he was grunting and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

“Percy," she breathed. "It's okay." Tears dotted her eyes. Her fingers were slipping, falling away from his.

Sacrifices, beautiful sacrifices. The voice from the pit mused. Annabeth knew that she was crying, tears now flowing down her cheeks.

She didn’t think she would die like this, she had been so happy when Percy had appeared above her. Was that only moments ago? It felt like hours.

Seconds felt like minutes as if her mind knew that her life was ending soon and was trying to make it last as long as possible.

”No!" Percy said, his voice raw. "No!"

Annabeth desperately wanted to assure him that it’s okay. That everything will be okay. But the words got caught in her throat, blocking her ability to breathe as well as speak.

With a cry and a final bout of strength, Percy swung her up and over the edge, the web on her ankle-breaking. But the momentum made him slip, the stone cracking under him.

Annabeth felt her body hit the ground and her throat cleared. She was alive and safe. But when a strangled cry came from behind her, she knew something was wrong.

Percy fell before Annabeth could even move. His figure disappeared in the darkness. It wasn’t like how the darkness pulled her, slow and painfully. His fall was quick, only with a flash of a tanned hand reaching up before he disappeared from her view. It was as if he was never there.

The sound that Annabeth made was inhumane, it came out of the deep crevices of her gut, bursting out of her chest.

"Percy!" She screamed, falling to her knees. Her hands grasped the edge that she was just dangling off of.

Kneeling in the same place that Percy just was. He wasn't even there long enough to warm the stone, it as cold and inhumane as it was when she was laying on the ground, thinking of how to trick Arachne. But now, Arachne was in the pit, with Percy.

She screamed so loud that her voice left her, so loud that Percy must have heard it, no matter how deep in the earth he was.

Annabeth was restrained before she could jump in herself. Every single one of the other demigods had to pull her, still kicking and scratching and trying to get back to where Percy had just fallen.

"He'll die!" She cried. "He'll die!"

She had to go back, she had to go and save him. She had to go and tell him that she was sorry and that she loved him.

We’re together. Percy had said. Oh, how Annabeth wished that to be true.

She stood at the railing of the ship. Was it only that morning when she and Percy went around Rome?

Her fingernails have been bitten to the buds, now digging into the wood so hard that blood smeared when she moved.

The Athena Parthenos was supposed to protect them.

What complete and utter bullshit.

Piper appeared a little while later, holding a mug of hot chocolate.

“Here,” she said. Her voice was soft, and she looked at Annabeth as if she was made of glass. Annabeth wanted to scream at her, to tell her to stop with the pitying looks and soft voices.

She wanted noise. She wanted someone to make a joke and everyone to laugh. She wanted to pretend that Percy was still there. That if she didn’t turn around, he would be there - laughing. That if she didn’t turn around, he’d be fighting a monster or smiling with that stupid crooked grin.

When Annabeth did nothing but stare at her with an ugly frown, Piper left the hot chocolate on the railing next to her. On top of the smeared blood.

The last time she drank hot chocolate, it had been in New Rome.

It felt like dust was rolling atop her tongue, so she spit it out, and for good measure, chucked the mug overboard too.

It splashed and fell under the waves. Another pang hit her as she was reminded of Charleston. Of when she threw her dagger into the harbor and Percy appeared as if he’d been summoned.

Annabeth stared at the rolling waves for another hour before she knew for certain that Percy wasn’t going to appear.

The days continued in silence. Whenever Annabeth left her room, she was met with empty smiles and pitied gazes. Nico told her regularly that he felt Percy's life force, but with it came the same unsaid warning.

Don't get your hopes up, they were all saying. He may not survive.

But she knew he was lying. She had overheard him whispering to Hazel about they needed to keep her hopes up so she’d be more likely to help

The only thing he hasn’t lied about was Percy was one of the most powerful demigods, and if anyone could make it - it was him. He said it carefully, thinking that if said too fast - Annabeth would suddenly break down.

Annabeth did break down, she cried all that night from the comfort of her room. The next morning, everyone saw the eyebags that hung from her eyes, dragging them down.

The team slowly fell apart. Annabeth was the glue that had dried up. She just didn’t find the strength to care, let them take the mantle for once. She did her work quietly and efficiently, no one dared defy her.

When they finally did arrive at the House of Hades, Annabeth was forced to wait until Hazel could clear up the passage.

So she fought, and holy gods, she fought with everything she had. She clawed, she bit, she fought with every bit of anger that had been building up inside her since the pit grabbed a hold of Percy and pulled him down.

When the battle was done, she was tired and bleeding. Her arm was definitely broken and she had to limp to the others. But, when she caught sight of Percy - all her energy was repaired.

He was bleeding and bruised, dirt-covered him from head to toe. A groan escaped him every few moments, and she didn’t like the wheezing that accompanied it. But she just waited for him to wake, pushing his hair away from his face. When he opened his eyes, Annabeth felt her breath catch in her throat.

She was only able to see her own broken reflection in his gaze, his eyes darkening from seafoam to a hurricane. But when he whispered: "Annabeth?" in a scratchy voice and smiled, a weight lifted off her chest.

There he was, there was her Seaweed Brain.

She had sobbed and he had too. But that was okay because he was okay. Everything was okay.

They were together.

When they got back to the ship and things started returning back to how it was before, Annabeth noticed little things that began to pile up.

Whenever Percy struck down a monster, watching it crumble to dust, his eyes were a little too bright, smile a little too gleeful. His anger reigned unchecked. Sewage water ran through the hallways constantly. If he was alone, more often than not, his eyes would flash and the others would scramble to leave.

When Annabeth was with him, she would touch him slowly, like water lapping his skin. First a few fingers, then a palm, then after a moment - a hug. Percy would unravel slowly and carefully only when he knew that Annabeth was there to catch him.

Every friendship that he had formed slowly crumbled, his anger overtaking everything else. But sometimes, he would crack a joke and the broken pieces of her heart would start to be pieced back together.

Annabeth still prayed to the gods for him to be okay, to get better. Because her Percy was still there, in between the fits of madness, he was there. He made jokes and smiled in his lopsided smile and would wrap her up in his arms like he never wanted to let her go.

It wasn't until a few days later that Annabeth realized that Percy wasn't okay, and may never be again.

A flock of harpies had appeared on one of the nights that Percy was patrolling. (He had insisted that he was better and needed some normalcy back in his life, so Annabeth let him with a rueful smile and a nod. His grin at that had been worth it.)

When Annabeth had walked upon the deck that early morning, she was met with the convulsing bodies of a flock of harpies, slowly crumbling to dust. Percy was standing above them, just watching and listening to their anguished cries. It was like a broken piece of the wood railing came up and stabbed her in the gut. Her hands went to her stomach, where she was sure the wound was, where the cries of the monsters dug deep into her skin. Percy just stood there, the hurricanes in his eyes swirling with a vengeance, staring at the harpies as they cried for death.It wasn't until Annabeth looked at him with tears in her eyes and a broken " Percy," that he let them die. Annabeth cleared her throat and just stared at him, wondering if this was just imposter in his clothing.

They didn't tell the others about that morning.

Annabeth started sneaking into Percy's room at night. They'd sit his cot, heads resting against each other.

He'd tell her about what happened, how he fell into the Cocytus. How he thought of her, of their life together. He spoke about Achlys, how he poisoned her so badly she turned into a shadow of herself. How he convinced Bob and Damsaen to help him at the heart of Tarturas. How he didn't want to die.

Annabeth would be terrified and scared when he spoke. But the way that his head was nestled between her shoulder and neck, and how he clasped her hand as if he was afraid she would leave made the guilt curl around her heart and stay there.So she would sit and listen quietly, trying desperately to understand the boy next to her. To find pieces that she remembered and attach them to him. They would get through this, together.

Percy would slowly fall asleep, drool collected at the corner of his mouth. And Annabeth would just get an overwhelming feeling of love for the sleeping boy in front of her. She would press a kiss to his hair and then wet it with her own tears.

Annabeth fell, the wound on her leg bleeding red, it bubbling to gold as it hit the dirt. Before she rose to go back to her mother, to go back to help with the fight, she caught sight of Percy. He and Poseidon were fighting Thoon.

Percy turned towards her, she saw him - her Percy - for a moment in the madness. But it was gone in an instant, he raised his sword - pointing at something behind her. Annabeth turned and saw Periboia lumbering towards her. She stood and grabbed her dagger from where it laid a few feet away.She was able to dart around Periboia trunk legs even with her cut leg. She grabbed a stray piece of clothing and pulled herself up, grasping at anything and everything that could give her leverage. She climbed the giant like a spider, pulling herself onto Periboia's shoulder. Percy called out again and Annabeth was met with the giant's hand. She was swatted off like a nat.

Annabeth hit the ground with a thud. When her vision cleared, she was met with the sight of Thoon swinging his cleaver towards Percy. Percy rose Riptide to block it, but something happened and it flew from his grasp, hitting the dirt. Ares' curse. Annabeth knew immediately.

His weapon will fail when he needs it most.

Thoon sliced Percy's face. Thankfully, it wasn't deep enough to seriously hurt him, due to Percy's fast reflexes, but Annabeth was able to see his teeth through his cheek when he cried out in pain.

Annabeth let out a scream so close to the one on that cold stone floor, struggling to her feet.

Thoon hit away Percy like a fly, causing him to crash into the wall and fall with a pitiful thump. Her throat closed up when he didn’t move. But the ground began to shake and the sides of the stone walls to crumble. Dust rained down.

He rose, severely favoring his left, but no less powerful than he was moments before. Despite what the giants had claimed earlier, Percy was creating an extremely large earthquake right where Gaea was to be sacrificed to.

He glared at Thoon, his hurricane eyes becoming reality. The cut on his face missed his eye by a centimeter, sliding up his forehead before meeting his hairline. His teeth were gleaming, seen through the hole in his cheek. Blood dripped down his face and fell from his chin. The giant fell, the added weight of a falling giant only amplifying the already terrifying earthquake.

”The Earth goddess it awake!” Eurymedon cried out.

Percy gently touched his cut, the pain probably setting in. When he realized what had happened, his rage only grew.

Annabeth grabbed at the dirt, digging her hands into the mud underneath to stop herself from rolling around. Poetic really, clinging onto the very thing she was fighting against while trying to protect herself from the person she loved most.

All around, the giants were falling and failing about, but Percy was still focused on Thoon. With a yell of rage, he held up his hand as if grabbing something from the air, and then threw it down. Thoon let out a scream of agony, dust and ichor pouring from his ears, nose, mouth, eyes. The giant cried out in pain.The sight was too similar to the morning on the deck, so Annabeth turned away. When Periboia was finally only dust before her, she looked over.Poseidon was standing over where Thoon previously laid. He looked up to his son and even though Annabeth couldn’t hear what he was saying, his expression was one of heartbreak.

Annabeth knew that expression. She saw it every time she looked at her reflection.

When the battle was over and the gods and demigods were gathered, Percy was left alone. His gaze was on the wall behind them. Piper silently handed him some ambrosia that he chewed quietly. But Annabeth saw the way his jaw clenched, it didn't taste like his mother's cookies anymore.

His wound slowly healed, his skin melding together before their very eyes, but it still glimmered pink in the light. Dried blood surrounded it.

His aura had changed too, soured. Couch Hedge would look at Percy and then look away. His father just stared with a sad expression.

Zeus was the only one who met his gaze. His eyes holding flashing lightning. It was obvious he wanted Percy killed, but when Percy finally met Zeus’ gaze, Zeus looked away.

It didn't happen for a while. But one day, after Gaea's demise, Annabeth woke up and she knew.

Percy had left.

She didn’t blame him. But she knew, she knew deep in her heart that when he returned they will be on opposite sides. The moments between the madness have faded, becoming shorter and shorter with each day. The day they met again, the insane would have clawed into his skin and clung there. And he would accept it, let it burrow deep in his skin and mind.

An itch started at the back of her mind, whisperings of a situation that went this exact way - years earlier. She just didn't know if it would end the same way.She didn't know if he would show up with gold or hurricane eyes. She didn't know which one she would prefer.

She did not see him for a long time, but her memories of him never faded. Her gaze would wander suddenly and without warning when a memory from the deep abyss of her mind came forward. Those memories were terrible because whenever she thought of him, she thought of what he had become. She thought of the yell of rage and the earthquake. She thought of that morning on the deck.

Others started to leave her alone, seeing that she staring off into nothing more often than not. It was worst than when Hera stole him all those months ago because Annabeth knew that she could find him then. If Annabeth went off and searched for Percy, she would never find him. Not even if she scoured the earth for the rest of her life, he was gone. And that made her have to blink away the tears from her eyes.

But when she was alone at night, sitting on his bunk in the Poseidon cabin, she would call forward the sweet ones. The ones from before he was taken. Before each thought was lined with sadness. She would cradle the sweet memories in her hands, refusing to cry in case she tainted them.

She’d only relive them in the confines of his cabin when she could look around and see things exactly how he left them. When she could look under his bunk and see old coke cans. When she could open his drawers and rock back t-shirts would be staring up at her. She could look over to fountain’s constant bubbling.

Sometimes she would fall asleep, her nose pressed against his pillow. Sea salt and lemon. Him and her.

She once passed the Hypnos cabin and thought about wandering inside. Of falling on a bed and never waking up, of reliving the sweet memories until her mind and body withered to nothing. But a breeze moved her hair and the moment had passed.

They heard whispers, of a new threat on the horizon. And once more - Annabeth knew.

Despite the ache in her gut telling her that it's not true, that the 12-year-old boy who smiled at her so hopefully before that first capture the flag wouldn't do that. That the boy who whispered comforts to her in the back of that old trunk that smelled of hay with Oreos in his teeth couldn't do that.

But just like before, Annabeth knew.

Months, maybe even a year later, time was up. She couldn't ignore the whispers any longer.

There was a battle approaching. Wide eyes and fearful words made up camp as they heard who was leading it. More looked at her with pity, like how the other seven had looked the days and weeks after he fell.

And then finally, the day came.

It was bloody and terrible and the entire time she was fighting, there was a phantom ache in her heart. There was an empty space next to her, the air still despite the incessant screams and cries because there was no witty comment to cover them up. No kiss at the beginning. No laughter with at her refute.

But in the end, she saw him.

Annabeth loved him. She never stopped loving him. And seeing him for the first time in what felt like forever, almost broke her.

Percy stood in front of her, close enough to touch. But she knew that she couldn't run up to him and threaten him. She knew he wouldn't bubble up with laughter when she did it. Those days were gone.

She stared into his broken eyes, praying for them to return to the original happiness. He still loved her, she knew for sure, because of the way he cried.

”Please, Annabeth," he pleaded. "Come with me."

Tears leaked from his eyes, the eyes that were still too dark. The eyes that were still shattered beyond repair.

His scar on his face was stark white, contrasting deeply with his tanned skin. Ares had given him that scar.

And at that moment, more than ever before, Annabeth loathed the gods.The gods had done this.

They had taken the loveable idiot who collapsed on the Big House porch all those years ago and turned him into this monster.They had done this to him. They ruined his life and hers.

And Annabeth wanted to say "yes." She wanted to take his hand and go away. To go with him and try to change the world for the better. Because she knew that that's what he thought he was doing. He honestly thought that the gods would destroy them, and he was trying to save them - to save her in his own twisted way. Because that is what the gods did, they took his mind and heart and twisted them into something so unidentifiable that she couldn't see the boy she fell in love with. She couldn't see the boy she would say yes to. When she blinked, she saw golden eyes and a scar so similar to Percy's.

Annabeth was 16 again. Luke was on the floor in front of Percy, begging for the dagger. But now it was Percy before her, staring at her with his sad, broken eyes, and white scar, begging for her to come with him. She could kill him. He would let her. Because he still loved her.

And Annabeth did. She thrust the dagger that killed Luke all those years ago into Percy's chest. She killed him with snot and tears running down her face, but she killed him. She couldn’t help but think of the boy she met with the crooked smile and seafoam eyes. She thought of the boy with the bubbly laughter and fierce loyalty.

She had tried to help him so much, her own pride stopping her from seeing that she couldn't save him. She had lost that chance when he disappeared into nothingness all that time ago.

This was the second boy she loved, the second boy she killed. The second boy who laid dying in her arms.

And while Percy's eyes cleared for the first time in such a long time, Annabeth sobbed. For she had just seen the boy she fell in love with for the first and last time.

She cried and sniffled, wiping her stray tears away from his face. And as he laid dying in her lap, she ran her fingers through his hair. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

The blood pooled in her lap, staining her hands, her clothes. Her fingers smeared blood against his cheekbones, his eyelids. Along his scar.

She wished that he didn't bleed blood but rather sand. That he was just another monster that she killed and that the cracks in her palms were filling up with dust.

She wished that he bled rivers. That the Lethe or even the Styx was running through his veins. That the liquid that was pooling around them would take away her memories, would burn her into dust herself.

But the blood was blood, it was human. He was human. It dripped from her blade and Annabeth stared at her blood-stained, distorted reflection before she threw it as hard as she could.

He never wanted to die, she remembered. He had never wanted to die like a monster.

With the dead boy in her arms, Annabeth mourned. She mourned for the boy with the gleaming eyes and the warm hugs. She mourned for the boy she loved. For the little kid, she met when she was 12 with the crooked armor and smile.

And she thought of Luke. More specifically, his mother. Annabeth used to wonder if May Castellan still burnt the cookies and made the sandwiches even though they molded. Now she had her answer. Yes, May Castellan kept making the sandwiches and the cookies because she believed that one day, her little loveable boy would return home.

Because Annabeth would have never stopped waiting too, and she knew that.

Slowly, the others came. Bloody and bruised, cuts littering their body and limbs in casts, they came. All cried when seeing the boy in her arms.

Even those who have lost someone. Especially those who had lost someone.

They mourned the boy they all knew before he was forced into the darkness alone, and afraid.

Piper sat by Annabeth as they moved the body, not caring that the blood, Percy's blood would be stained to her just like it was to Annabeth.

Thalia wiped the tears from Annabeth's cheeks. She pressed her lips against Annabeth's skuall and didn't mention how they lost another piece of their family, she didn't have to.

Hazel sat on the other side of Annabeth, her cinnamon hair barely reaching Annabeth's ear. They didn't care that they didn't know him long, that the man who came to mind when they thought of Percy, was not Percy.

Because the boy with the broken eyes and crazy smile was not Percy. The boy who watched monsters wither in pain before killing them was not Percy.

She wanted to tell everyone that, that Percy wasn't the boy that he died as.

"I hate them," she cried. "I hate them, I hate them, I hate them."

She didn't care if Mr. D or Chiron heard. She didn't care if Zeus came down at that moment and smited her on the spot.

”I hate you!" She screamed to the sky. "You did this! You did this to him!" Tears streamed down her face.

No one else was talking, everyone just standing around with stained cheeks. Zeus didn't even dare turn the clear day stormy. The gods knew she was speaking the truth. Perhaps they even felt guilty. But guilt didn't Percy back. It didn't change the monster back to the boy with the seafoam eyes.

And Annabeth sat, surrounded by friends, crying over a dead boy for the second time in her life.

Every one of the seven that were left came up to her.

They left her stories, little moments when they first fell in love with Percy.

Annabeth didn't talk, but she listened. She sat and she listened and she cried.

But everyone left, one by one, leaving her alone once more.

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ohwoopsiescafe · 3 years

Text

Jealousy Time—I Mean Coffee Time

It was a lovely Thursday morning. You and your boyfriend were walking along the college campus heading towards a Starbucks near the centre in order to buy a coffee to get you going and help you pull through your arduous studying session planned for that day. You were wearing a beautiful white dress with daisies on it, a pastel pink cardigan, white sneakers and your hair arranged in two pretty braids. You looked so cute. Yoongi thought the same. He couldn’t stop looking at you and smiling in consequence. You were his everything. He was really cute as well. His outfit consisted of black jeans, a big hoodie and some converse boots. It suited him. It reflected his personality. Calm, tranquil, cozy… everything. He was your everything too.

The weather was perfect. The golden sun rays hit your face softly, giving it a glow. Cherry blossoms were falling from trees making a beautiful petal shower. It was a gorgeous summer day. Both Yoongi and you wanted something cold to refresh yourselves, so when you reached the coffee shop, you played a round of “rock-paper-scissors” to decide which one of you would order. Unfortunately, and like it was most of the time, you lost and had to go lineup in an ever eternal queue that was extending even outside the little shop while Yoongi looked for a place to seat and wait until you returned with your drinks.

You wrote down your boyfriend’s order in your phone’s memos so you didn’t forget it. You swear Yoongi only asks for the most complicated drinks to make you have a hard time. You know damn well he prefers a simple Americano but always ends up with a super long order just to make you suffer. Next time you win that “rock-paper-scissors-thingy” he’ll know what’s good! You frowned like an angry kitten and balled up your fists cutely. Yoongi was watching you from afar and his heart melted at your sight. However, he wasn’t the only one looking. He noticed the barista eyeing you with a flirty smile. How could he not? You were so pretty. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little upset about it.

It was your turn to order so you approached the counter with a smile.

—Hello, what are you going to have today?

—Mm… I’ll have a tall iced caramel macchiato, please

—What type of milk do you drink?

—Almond’s good.

—Almond? Okay—the chestnut hair boy wrote it down on your cup.

—And… could you put a little more caramel drizzle on it?

—Sure—he gave you a handsome smile—could you help me giving me your name, miss?

—Oh, yeah, sorry—you chuckled a little embarrassed—. My name’s y/n.

—You come here often, don’t you?

—Yes, I do—you tilted your head slightly to the left—how do you know though?

—I’m a psychic—he laughed—I’m kidding. I just noticed how frequently you come and find it a little funny and cute how you always ask for the same thing with an extra drizzle so I wanted to take your order today to know your name.

—Ah haha—you laughed nervously and played with your hair—now you know who is the annoying girl asking for extras. Sorry.

—No, no, it’s fine, y/n… if I can call you that.

—Yeah, I have no problem…—you looked for the barista’s name tag—Taehyung, if I can call you that.

—Go ahead, it sounds good when you say it—he winked.

Yoongi had heard it all and to say he was mad is an understatement. He had half moons in the palm of his hands due to the pressure he was applying. Why was that Taehyung guy flirting with you so shamelessly? And more importantly, why were you allowing it? It always happened, people flirted with you and you never seem to be aware of it. You were nice to everyone, a total cutie. He didn’t even noticed when you walked up to him and bumped his shoulder with the cup of the beverage he ordered.

—You ready, Yoongs?

—Mhm.

—Okay! Next stop: the library to study—you interlocked your arm with his and started marching childishly. You stopped abruptly when you noticed your boyfriend wasn’t following along with your little antics and you pouted—. Are you mad, babe?

—No—he lied and turned his head to give his drink a sip.

—Liar.

—Come on, y/n, let’s get to the library.

You didn’t want to push it so you kept in silence for the rest of the walk. When you finally reached your destination, you went to the second floor of the library, where your “secret spot” was. This was in between some large bookshelves at the far left corner of the building, the exact opposite to the stairs. No one ever approached there so it was perfect. You sat on the floor, with your legs crossed in front of you, got your backpack off your shoulders and took out the inhumane amount of books you had to read to prepare for your exam. Yoongi did exactly the same, except that he did it more aggressively and in silence. You were taken aback.

—Yoongi, honey, is something wrong?

—I’ve told you I’m fine, y/n. It’s nothing.

—Babe, if there’s something making you mad, is better that you tell me what it is. We can find a solution together—you placed down your cup on the floor and surrounded his hands with yours.

—It’s just that I saw you with that barista and…

—Taehyung?—Yoongi huffed.

—Awww, babe, it’s fine. Taehyung was just being friendly.

—Extremely flirty, I’d say.

—Oh he was not!

—Of course he was! You should’ve seen how he looked at you! He was totally hitting on you, don’t try to tell me he wasn’t.

—Okay, maybe he was being a little overly chummy. But it is because it’s his job. Almost everyone working at Starbucks is kind and amiable.

—And does their job include winking and smirking to customers?

—He wasn’t flirting with me, Yoongi.

—Whatever. Let’s study—he said dryly, opening his textbook.

—No, hold on, I don’t want to leave it like this. Look at me—you cupped his face in your hands and looked at him warmly in the eyes—. Yoongi, honey, even if Taehyung were flirting with me, I wouldn’t care. You’re my boyfriend and I love you more than you could imagine. There’s no one else. So stop it ‘cause I ain’t looking at no one else. I only have eyes for you. And if you don’t believe it, I’ll smack your head with this thick ass book until it sinks in—you frowned and grabbed your biggest textbook, threatening him. He laughed.

—Oh come here, baby—he took your hands and made you sit in his lap.

He grabbed your chin and kissed you slowly. The kiss was warm and tasted like coffee, you loved it. His hands caressed your cheek and brushed your hair. It was so sweet and mellow.

—If you kiss me like this and tell me such nice things every time I get jealous, I’ll make sure to do it more often—he laughed making his adorable gummy smile visible.

—God, you’re such a dummy—you rolled your eyes and giggled.

—You know I love you and fear losing you, right?

—I do—you ran your hand through his hair and looked at him fondly—. And you know I love you too and will never go away from your side, right?

—I do—his voice was almost a whisper. He kissed you one more time—. Let’s get to study, come on, I don’t want to fail the exam.

—Ugh, do we really have to?—you said putting your head on his shoulder defeated.

—If you don’t want to fail the whole semester, yes.

—Can’t you give me a better motivation?

—Mmm… if you pass your exam, I promise to take you on a date to the new botanical garden that opened last week.

—Ooh are you for real? Start planning it, I’m gonna crush that mother effing exam!—you both laughed and someone shushed you—. I promised I’ll pass it—you remarked whispering.

—Yeah, yeah, start reading, we still need to study a lot.

—Yessir!

—But first…—he gave you a quick peck—I needed a little motivation too—he shrugged with a smirk.

—Idiot.

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linkspooky · 4 years

Text

Hi, I’m Link and it’s time to talk about my terrible / horrible / amazing taste in men. If you are a bastard who is planning to destroy the world because of your unresolved trauma, please call me. Kiss kiss.

Also I’m tagging @thyandrawrites and @inumaqi who by law have to do this with me.

Shigaraki Tomura - MY HERO ACADEMIA

“What I really despise is everything. Everything that breathes pisses me off.”

I like how Shigaraki is severely mentally ill. He’s one of the most raw portrayals of an abuse victim. He murders his abusive father, and the story takes his side. He develops violent tendencies, he refuses to grow up, he can’t forgive. He’s just holding all of his negative feelings inside of him as he slowly rots inside out, and that’s just great.

Shigaraki is so shaped and moulded by his abuse, but he still chooses who he wants to be. He was literally raised in a basement to be a carbon copy of AFO, and yet he’s so different from AFO it’s obvious he could never live up to his Sensei. He’s too bad of a person to ever be a hero, but he’s also too good of a person to ever be the king of evil and what you get is this really chaotic mess in between.

It’s interested to see who Shigaraki chooses to be, in spite of how much he has been indoctrinated towards a cause and how many choices are taken away from him. Despite being a character with supposedly little agency you can see he always tries to fight for his own agency. Don’t deny me. He can’t be with his family even though he loves them, because they’ll never accept him for who he is. Tenko was a kind boy who played with the bullied kids. Shigaraki fights for the people who would never be saved by hero society because he wasn’t saved. He gives them what he doesn’t have, freedom and a place to belong. It’s an interesting character to see how much of him has become the unpredictable ball of trauma that Shigaraki is, while the core of him Tenko still remains in his humanizing moments of how he interacts with the league. Shigaraki who has so many choices taken from him, chooses to reach out and sympathize with the feelings of others, especially those who have been ostracized the same way he has.

Shigaraki is introduced to us as an inhuman monster, and we see him slowly work his way back from the edge. We see him regain his humanity by coming to care about the people under his wing. It gives you the message that there’s no such thing as a point of no return.

All of the heroes are good people in mha but that feels more like an informed character trait. We’re supposed to root for them because… they’re the heroes, they’re good. They have to look good because they’re the good guys. Shigaraki is allowed to be ugly and unlikable, he gets worse. But then he still always chooses to fight for ugly victims like him. I like both sides of him, I like the volatile explosive bomb that just wants to blow up and destroy others, and the gentle way he interacts with the rest of the league.

Kumagawa Misogi - MEDAKA BOX

“I want to beat them. Even though I’m not cool, or strong, or just, or beautiful, or cute, or pretty, I want to beat the cool strong just beautiful cute and pretty people.”

Kumagawa is aggressively mediocre. He’s a good for nothing. He’s like the embodiment of a bad victim, he blames everyone else, he lashes out. He has nothing but flaws but he still strives to be better than what he is. That’s what so inspiring about his character. Even if you’re miserable it doesn’t mean you have to be having a miserable time about it. Kumagawa will push back against anything, even if the whole world is pushing down on his shoulders.

He has a vibe with his character that even if you’re the worst person in the world don’t run away from who you are. You have to accept yourself exactly as you are without lies or artifice before you can start to improve. That’s why kumagawa tries to accept the ugliness of people.

He’s very sympathetic with other people, but that isn’t there to make him look like a good person. If anything he always sympathizes with the victim too much and encourages their worst qualities. At the beginning of the series hes so desperate to heal the wounds of these traumatized, people he’s taken in he just encourages them to lash out because that’s something. Kumagawa is just this very nihilistic, and fatalist character who is somehow at the same time one of the most optimistic characters ever written. He’s a lazy good for nothing, but he tries hard. He’s fickle and childish, but he never gives up. He might never get better, he might always lose in the end, but he still thinks the struggle to win is always inherently worth it. He gives all of himself in everything he does, and to the people around him. And he always gets hurt because of it, but that pain is just living.

He’s completely insane but he’s also living his life the best way he can. There’s just such a manic, insane, and positive energy to his character. Kumagawa will accept you at your worst, and yet he’ll still encourage you to be better. I also like characters written to represent the ugliness in people, and striving to find beauty in that ugliness rather than characters who are just happy all the time because they’re good people.

Natsuki Subaru - RE ZERO

“You think I’m getting drunk on my own tragedy just so I can shut everyone up?”

like how Subaru is a shitty person but not in a really interesting way, but in a really petty, self absorbed and weak way. I like it because the world doesn’t tolerate his bs, he is continually punished and kicked in the teeth for it. He doesn’t have a tragic backstory before the story begins. His tragic backstory is that he did nothing, made nothing of his life, but he still feels entitled and expects to be rewarded. There’s nothing special about him, but he wants to be treated like he’s special.

I’m usually protagonist-phobic because most stories center around the main character so a lot of the time the world bends to their whims in unnatural ways. Subaru is the main character, but hes not the protagonist, and not even particularly important which is why he’s valid.

Subaru is continually punished for his mistakes and I love the way we see how trauma changes him and shapes him. His narrative reads to me as a metaphor for a mentally ill person with the absolute worst habits constantly struggling to be better despite constant backtracking. That’s why with the constant resets in his narrative, none of his actions ever seem to matter. Even when he makes progress he loses it just as quickly, and the world seems indifferent to his suffering. Because the stroy isn’t actually about the world, it’s about Subaru’s personal journey to learn to be a less shitty person.

Subaru is confronted with the fact that hes a very self important and entitled person and he chooses to grow from that rather than run away. He’s so self aware by this point he knows hes the most annoying human on earth and he owns it.

Doma - KIMETSU NO YAIBA

“From a young age I was kind and clever. I always helped people and made them happy, because that was my mission.”

Doma’s story is hard to empathize with because it doesn’t really look tragic. It’s more like a comedy. He’s smiling the whole way through.

Doma feels like an inhuman monster and he chooses to act that way. Literally everything in this story just tells you he was basically born that way. Doma tells you himself. But like, if you look into his background he was raised in a literal cult. Doma despises the cult, because he could see through it. He could see the adults were using him even as a child. But at the same time Doma’s heart has never really left the cult either. Doma, like everybody else, unintentionally reflects the environment he grew up in.

Doma’s just never been shown real tears or a real smile, so he doesn’t know it. He sees his parents kill each other in front of them, and feels nothing, because they literally never acted like parents to him once. He sees life as empty because to him, it is. And then.

By the time he encounters the real thing it’s too late for him. I just like this part of Doma that’s like, emptily trying to imitate all the other humans around him, and feel the things they feel, and always falling short because of his jacked up sense of empathy. It’s adorable. Doma doesn’t feel human at all. He couldn’t possibly understand what a normal human being feels because he’s never lived that life. He’s a total human failure. Rather than try to be something he feels like he’s not, he decides to embrace his inhumanity.

Iichan - ZAREGOTO

“Nonsense.”

Iichan is a character who doesn’t want to choose, but wants to be chosen regardless. In other words Iichan has a paradoxical way of thinking about his life. He’s not the main character. He’s not important. So therefore, whatever happens around him he’s not at fault. However, he is the centerpiece of a tragedy. He’s still important in the sense that all of this tragic suffering is being unleashed upon him. Being the main character of the tragedy means his suffering is important and meaningful, but none of it is ever his fault, and he can’t help it.

That way he avoids ever having to take responsiblity for his actions, or do the hard work of trying to change as a person. He’s a narcicisst, but he hates himself, and he tries to balance out his total egoism by constantly playing up his own suffering and how much he loathes himself. That’s where the main character of the tragedy complex comes in.

What’s interesting about Iichan is that for all the tricks and avoidance he goes through, he’s very self aware as a character. He knows how deficient he is in comparison to others and how his problems really aren’t as important in the grand scheme of things. That’s why it’s interesting to watch all the mental gymnastics he goes through.

Knowing that the author also knows that Iichan is a tool, and clearly frames him as such, I can appreciate the more positive parts of his character. I can know that deep down, despite everything he does want to become a person that’s capable of making the other people in his life happy. He just doesn’t know how.

Hitoshiki Zerozaki - NINGEN

“What a riot.”

Iichan’s equal and opposite force. His boy on the other side of the mirror. What if your reflection in the mirror could talk, and what if it was laughing at you? That’s basically Zerozaki’s character in a nutshell.

Iichan is a character who dwells on his intense mediocrity and desires to be special because of it. Zerozaki is the opposite, he’s been special all of his life and has no idea what a normal life is even like.

Zerozaki is a murderer from a family of murderers and yet he doesn’t enjoy murder. He doesn’t feel its evil or feel a lot of remorse. He feels nothing at all about killing, he thinks people who kill for pleasure are weird, and kills at random.

What I like about Zerozaki is that he’s way more human and down to earth than his perfect foil iichan even though he’s a murderer. Despite being a psycho killer he makes connections with other killers, his little sister, and ninoumiya. A human failure who’s way too human, and that somehow makes him even more of a failure.

Emiya Shirou / Heroic Spirit Emiya - FATE / STAY NIGHT.

“So as I pray. Unlimited Blade Works.”

Counterfeit. Hypocrite. Holy shit. A fake who knows that his desire to save people doesn’t come from the goodness of his heart, but his own selfish desire to be a hero. Shirou emiya is the only valid protagonist, because he’s an extremely traumatized deconstruction of every protagonist before him. Shirou’s not a good person. Shirou’s barely even a person. He has friends but he doesn’t really feel like he deserves to have them. He smiles, but he doesn’t mean it.

I love how Shirou is so terrible at handling his own trauma that he thinks having a strong sense of justice is a personality. I love how Shirous need to sacrifice himself makes him an idiot and is something his narrative continually gruesomely punishes. He has one of the most brutal narratives ever, and the writing behind his character serves to highlight how Shirou’s bad decision making not only hurts himself, but literally everybody around him.

I love how Shirou has completely emptied out as a person and feels unable to feel basic emotions because its totally relatable. He just copes so poorly, but at the same time there’s something beautiful in Shirous struggle to be a good person. Shirou has completely given up on himself as a person, but he still wants to help other people, and so he keeps trying.

Getou Suguru - JUJUTSU KAISEN

“I hate monkeys.”

Some villains just want to destroy everything for reasons deeply rooted to emotional trauma. I feel like I’m repeating myself here.

I like characters where empathy is a dangerous quality to have. Getou is driven to villainy because he cares, overwhelmingly so. He cares about people’s individual agency and freedom and rights to be happy and sees the world stomp on it. His breaking point was that he wanted a girl who had been raised as a literal human sacrifice for the system her entire life to be able to live out the rest of her life free as a person, and being completely powerless and unable to help her as she was killed. Getou was struck in that moment by the inherent unfairness in the world and it broke him.

Empathy is such a debilitating flaw for Getou that he literally has to decide certain people are human and disqualify others from being human so his brain doesn’t completely break. Being a decent caring guy in Getous world breaks you.

Getou tries so hard not to care, to be the maniacal laughing villain he claims to be, but his empathy is the one part of his brain he can never shut off. Even as the most hated man in the world he protects weak and exploited people and takes them in as a family. He does everything he does to make a better world for the people he cares about, and that’s why he’s so broken because the ones he doesn’t care about he’s completely fine with sacrificing en masse.

Akechi Goro - PERSONA 5

“JUSTICE?! RIGHTEOUS?! KEEP THAT SHIT TO YOURSELVES! YOU AND YOUR TEAMMATES PISS ME OFF!!”

I like Goro way more for his potential rather than what we see in canon, but there’s a lot of strong ideas his character is written with. I love the idea that Goro wants to be a good person, wants to be connected to others, but is far too dmaged and because of that

He can only pretend to be a good person and play people pleaser to others. he’s someone who desires at the core of his being to be righteous, and failing that he becomes self-righteous instead. I just love how thoroughly fake he is as a person, and how that makes him covet the real thing.

I also love the insane, twisted and obsessive part of Akechi. I love how much he hates the world for rejecting him, and how much of his actions are just petty revenge on the world, his father, every single person who rejected him. I love him when he’s at his most desperate, when he’s screaming at the people he’s trying to kill asking them why nobody wants him around even though he’s famous and popular.

Ogata Hyakunosuke - GOLDEN KAMUY

Walk your own wild path. Straight and true.

Ogata is a character that is somehow incredibly complex and nuanced character with tons of carefully written development in story, and also a character you have no fucking clue what’s going on in his head. Basically, Ogata is a masterpiece.

Ogata feels like the other half of the story. Sugimoto acts, Ogata reacts. Sugimoto chases, Ogata evades. We are uncomfortably deep in Sugimotos head, but we only catch brief glimpses of Ogatas moments of Frank honesty. The entire story is about Sugimoto and Ogata chaisng after each other and everything else seems incidental sometime. Ogata’s not the main character, but he’s the other half of the heart of the narrative that’s about these really, really bad murderous men who are deeply broken trying to find a way to live in a world without war.

Its not that Ogata is unfeeling it’s that he never allows himself to feel. What other characters lost during the war, Ogata never had in the first place. He sees himself as deformed and malnourished compared to everybody else. Ogatas always been noticing the difference between - himself and others.Even if he wanted to love his brother he kept comparing himself to his father’s beloved son, and realizing how much he lacked. He just kept being reminded over and over again what a child who was loved could have turned out as. Eventually Ogata convinced himself he was unfeeling. Because somehow that’s easier. He can process everything that happened in his life if he’s detached from it all watching from a tree somewhere. He’s so repressed he doesn’t allow himself to feel guilt about his brothers death because he doesn’t view himself as a person capable of loving another. However, just like Sugis desire is to be saved from the hell of war deep down theres a kid in Ogata who wanted to be a good son

Ogata is basically my main point of investment in Golden Kamuy, I just want to see him unravel like a big ball of yarn.

#shigaraki tomura #kumagawa misogi #subaru natsuki #iichan #hitoshiki zerozaki #shirou emiya #doma #akechi goro #ogata hyakunosuke #suguru getou #spooky speaks #top ten favorite characters

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child-of-the-nighttime-stars · 3 years

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The Things I’ve Carried

Before I could even properly grasp my mother’s finger, thrust upon my shoulders was the ideology of being a miracle. It was something that lifted me up yet weighed me down all at once. It was something that I didn’t even realize I carried until much later in my life. But since I was too young and couldn’t know about this, I carried the weight of dreams filled with great ambition and the perfect life. A goal to go to college like my father before me and like my mother had dreamed to.

As I arrived at my first day of elementary school, the weight of these dreams only grew. Along with my sparkling backpack that carried my crayons, pencils, books, and toys for show and tell, I also carried a small bag that looked like a briefcase. It was heavy to me, despite only weighing five pounds, yet I carried it with pride. For within it rested a small and very primitive laptop. To be honest, it was a little more than a lighter, digitized typewriter, but to me it was everything. This is because within that small screen and my ever-growing knowledge of how things were spelled laid the key to my self-expression. This laid down the pavement for me to travel down a digital road. A long and winding one that wore my heavy and stumbled steps down the older I got, yet to me it was natural, what I thought every child does since I still did not understand that my body wasn’t natural like all of my peers and their families.

But as I grew, the differences began getting clearer and the weight of them began getting heavier and heavier. I shook too much and far too often. My steps were stumbled. My speech was slurred and sloshy. A lot of the kids were quick to point it out. But none of it was in my control, What bothered me the most was how these kids would ask all these questions about the bulky braces casting my legs. They were lovingly called my robot legs when I was younger and when I was asked brief questions about them. They helped me walk so I had begun to think of them as my cybernetic enhancements that were just another part of me. Even though they were carved from plaster and screws rather than breaking edge technology that went to my brain. But as my classmates began to twist their questions from marvelous curiosity to cruel mocking, the light weight of two and a half pounds on each leg began to weigh on my entire body. That uplifting load of being considered a miracle began crashing down as I began carrying the burden of knowing that I was a burden all because of my missteps on the things I could never control.

I tried to hide it. I tried to fit in. I was desperate for the relief that normalcy seemed to bring. But even when I threw away the robot legs for the constricting nature of skinny jeans, the title of outcast and burden was still thrust upon my shoulders and slashed at my heart like a dagger to the back. Only now, these titles were not only thrown mindlessly by children who don’t know the weight words can have. Many adults outside of my family cemented those titles into my brain. I could see now that their praise about me being a miracle, an inspiration, wasn’t because they saw my intelligence or my creativity to work around my problems. It was all because they thought that I was incapable of doing anything in the face of them and would never amount to anything besides simply existing. But I was furious! I wanted them to see that I was capable, that I am competent. But the weight of my lungs burning, gasping for breath that would only be wasted on the willfully ignorant, became too much.

So I gave up. I began hiding behind a screen. The digital world was where I could hide my flaws. It was where I could hide behind a mask of normalcy, just like everyone else. But putting on this mask was not the relief I hoped it’d be. Every time I put it on, it didn’t blend with my skin, with who I was. It made me feel like a liar and those lies crushed me as the craving for acceptance and true validation became an addiction that left me unable to stand before it.

So within this digital world, I became a storyteller. I wrote short stories and poems about my feelings, about the adventures and romances I’d have with characters I felt connected to. I mean, if I could love them when no one else around them did, then maybe I was worthy of that love from someone as well? Yet still crumpled by a load of cynicism that my condition and other unsavory circumstances life had thrown on to me, my stories, although well-written for my age, were dark, bitter, and dare I say, a bit edgy. They granted temporary relief. A cathartic release of my emotions that someone could read and know how I felt. Although, in the end, I was left feeling hollow. That hollowness led to a sensation of stagnation. That stagnation is a sensation that ground my soul into ashes and didn’t have any decency to spread those ashes anywhere but the trash. At least there, I was where I belonged both in the eyes of those around me and in my own eyes as well.

But one positive thing I see now about this dark time in my life is that physically I couldn’t stay stagnant. My family was homeless and that meant I couldn’t stay in one place for too long nor could I carry much with me every time I moved. The only thing I had made sure to always have was my laptop. An upgraded one from my little digital typewriter, at a weight of seven to ten pounds, compared to the now measly five that used to be so heavy to me.

Within these transfers of homes and schools, it was the last school I was transferred to where I finally made some friends. The first one was a quiet girl named Sydney, her acceptance of my circumstances and patience with them planted the seed in reality that I was worthy of love despite them. We bonded over arts, both her visual and my written works. But what I still remember what really connected us was a hatred for P.E. class. I got hit on the head with enough volleyballs that weigh half a pound to leave a pounding weight in my head. Not only that but we also liked the same song, one that I carry within my heart to this day. The next friend I made was a year later and who I thought hated me like the rest at first, despite myself really admiring his bold style. His name is Chris. We bonded over Halloween since Sydney was the one who brought us together. That night they both helped me carry my candy bag and the beautiful gown I wore as a costume, making sure I was never left behind. I don’t think they even know that they also lifted one of the crushing weights on my back of slowing everyone down and troubling them with my stumbling steps and slowly helped me grow into a genuinely more positive person.

The third and final friend of this group that Sydney and I made through Chris was another girl named Elisa. Our first meeting was rocky since I had invited them to see me perform because I had finally grown confident enough to get back to singing and acting publicly. I was even the opening act for this show! But due to traffic, they had missed it. I was heartbroken, The anxiety of being forgotten and replaced gnawed at my bones and the weight of a heavy broken heart crumbled me to the floor when I saw them finally arrive. I was worried that I was in the wrong for being upset and that Chris and Sydney would leave me soon after this night. As for Elisa, we hadn’t met before in person, and seeing someone sob hysterically wasn’t a great first impression. Even at that moment, the fear that she wouldn’t want to be my friend mangled the confidence I had carried minutes prior.

But they didn’t leave. Not then, not soon after, and not even all the times they could’ve. Elisa and I grew to be really close as well. She allowed me to do things that everyone before her and my other two friends forbid me from doing since they viewed me as too incompetent. I enjoyed every bit of our excursions! Even if one of them ended up with me jumping out of a treehouse and having to carry my right arm in a cast and all the soreness of doing so for several weeks after…

During this time I still continued writing on my trusty laptop, which fluctuated in upgrades, sizes, and weight. But now my writing began to reflect my true feelings and perspectives. My stories had dark moments but were not drenched in it. My poetry had begun to blossom with hopeful beauty rather than wither with the venom within my words. The weight I carried of being unworthy, unlovable, incompetent, and being a burden began to slowly fall away as I settled into a happy home and friends that truly cared about me. With the final weight being ground into ash and thrown in the trash when I realized that regardless of what ails me I am not inhuman and I’m no longer alone. Now I am strong enough to not hide away but to carry who I am and the companions I’ve made with love and pride once more...

#writing #writing prompt #writing inspiration #narrative #short story #i write things #beauty inside #hope #Your past doesn't define you

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riviae · 4 years

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There it is again, Geralt thinks. That damn smile.

It should terrify him—the echoes of safety and warmth that drift into his mind at the sight of too-sharp teeth. How the reminder of Regis’ inhumanness softens his gaze, slows his heart rate, relaxes the tension from his muscles. The enormity of emotion he felt whenever the vampire showed his fangs, all laughter and mirth, dark eyes twinkling at him with something akin to adoration.

(Not that Geralt knew much about being adored—he knew what hatred looked like, what it meant when someone spat at him, called him a mutated freak with the stench of beer and bile on their breath. But love? The witcher did not know much about love except that it did not suit him; it couldn’t, even if he desperately wanted it to.)

But nothing about Regis scared him anymore. Never had, really, if he was being honest with himself.

“Is something the matter, my friend?” Regis asks, smile dissipating slowly until there is only the suggestion of a grin on his face, lips pulled into a thin line. It is a minuscule shift, but Geralt feels it in the way the vampire curls away, makes a wall out of his bended knees, pressing them close to his chest as he clasped his hands together.

It was like Regis had closed a door between them. There had been a brief moment where the door had been left ajar, where Geralt had been given a glimpse into the sanctuary of Regis’ mind, a place where his monstrous features simply existed, no expectations or fears pressed upon them. His fangs were just fangs, a natural extension of himself, as benign as the crooked shape of his nose or the onyx color of his eyes. It was Regis allowing himself to be seen for who—and what—he was, no more self-imposed barriers between himself and the world. And then, just as suddenly as the door had been opened, the vampire had slammed it shut.

Shit, Geralt curses to himself. How do I keep fucking this up? “Sorry. Just got lost in my head.”

“Hmm… I do wonder what kind of profound thoughts plague the famed witcher Geralt of Rivia. Perhaps something about what our company will be having for dinner?” Regis smiled, but his teeth remained hidden even as he continued to speak, tone light. “I, for one, could most certainly go for soup. Perhaps fish again?”

The witcher resists the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious teasing. Instead, he offers a small, crooked grin in return. He feels some of the tension slacken in his chest. Maybe he hadn’t scared Regis away—at least not completely. “It shouldn’t be a problem for a higher vampire to catch some fish, right? Something tells me that you’d probably be able to breathe just fine underwater.”

At his words, Regis’ features twist into a decidedly unpleased expression. “Please, Geralt, you know better than that. I can’t breathe underwater—I’m no siren or mermaid. Rather, you know that I have no physiological need to breathe, except to, of course, talk, sing, or admonish our group whenever they needlessly put their lives at risk.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, vampire. Don’t get your fangs caught in a twist.”

“That’s rather rich coming from a man who can see clearly in complete darkness.”

“Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Regis,” Geralt drawls. “Huh, I don’t know how I never noticed before, but your eyes really do glow in the dark.”

The vampire’s face brightened and Geralt immediately knew he was in for an impromptu lecture. “Ah, they actually glow due to the addition of a thin membrane that lies just behind the retina. The tapetum lucidum acts as a light reflector, allowing light to reenter the retina, thereby activating photoreceptors and relaying these external signals to the occipital lobe. This ultimately improves one’s ability to see in low light environments and it is why diurnal species, like humans for example, do not usually have the membrane because they are neither nocturnal nor crepuscular and would not benefit as much. Also, the color an animal’s eye shine differs from species to species, but interestingly, all vampires regardless of classification possess a silver to grey shine.”

“That’s a long, fancy way of saying that some species evolved specialized membranes to see in the dark so they can hunt better at night.”

“Why yes, I suppose that is a rather fitting summary…” Regis trails, his curious gaze drifting to Geralt’s face. “Do you know that you, as a witcher, have an eye shine as well—a color that can be seen without the aid of a reflective light source?”

The witcher blinks. “No… are you serious?”

He hadn’t been too rigorous with his readings when it came to all the ways the trials had mutated his body. By the time he had left Kaer Morhen and its monopoly of scientific artifacts, Geralt had wanted nothing more to do with anything that reminded him of how truly inhuman he was. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious now, his years on the Path softening the trauma of the Trial of Grasses to a degree where he no longer woke up from nightmares where the overwhelming scent of sweat, blood, and tears seemed all too real. It was a trauma that weighed on the edge of his mind, quiet and sated with time, but existed all the same.

“Yes. Your eyes glow a rather beautiful gold—quite fitting, given your eye color. It’s likely imperceptible to humans or even witchers, but it may explain why you seem to more readily cause people to keep their distance at night. There’s something about you that seems dangerous, but they’d be unable to name it as anything other than, perhaps, that you give off a threatening aura.”

“And here I thought it was my ugly mug and charming personality that was driving people away.”

“Geralt,” Regis begins, “While I’m usually quite a fan of your sarcastic wit, you are often entirely too harsh on yourself. There’s nothing about you that is ugly—neither in physical features nor personality. I mean it. You are so much more than a man who hunts monsters.” His serious tone brokered no argument.

The witcher rubs at his neck, purposefully avoiding Regis’ stalwart gaze. What could he say? Self-loathing came as naturally to him as holding a sword. But, it was actually rather pleasant to hear someone speak otherwise. To find merit in him as a person rather than in his capacity as a witcher.

“Thanks,” he eventually said, letting the dull hum of cicadas fill the night air. He heard Regis shift, the scent of herbs growing stronger, and then, suddenly, there was a hand at his shoulder. The vampire squeezed his shoulder gently, his nails only giving the briefest indication of their sharpness as they ghosted over the thin white fabric of his shirt.

“You’re welcome, Geralt. I’ll always be at your side to remind you of your better nature—of who you really are.”

The witcher did something he had wanted to do ever since he saw the lone arrow pierce through the vampire’s chest. When he had thought for a horrifying few moments that Regis had been seriously injured, only to see the man sit up later, the wound closing almost immediately after the arrow was pulled out. When Geralt had felt the swell of genuine relief in the midst of the battle, he wished he could have hugged the vampire.

When he pulls Regis into a hug, he feels the vampire stiffen for a brief second, his analytical mind likely rattled with surprise at the sudden gesture of affection, before he hugs back, wisps of grey-black hair tickling Geralt’s cheek. He leans into Geralt’s touch easily, a pleased chuckle leaving his lips, his hot breath fanning at the witcher’s neck. Regis closes his eyes in contentment, silent, letting his actions speak for him. Trust, Geralt realizes. Regis trusts me. A vampire trusts a witcher who, at one time, pointed a sword against his throat. The thought warms his chest in a way that he can’t quite explain, at least not now, not with the weight of Regis resting against him. But above all, he was pleased to have a vampire pressed against him even though he was unarmed and without his usual wolf-school armor.

Geralt eventually clears his throat, arms still wrapped around the vampire. “Also… you don’t have to hide your smile, Regis. Not around me. Sorry if I made you think otherwise.” He wanted to say more, to be as open and honest as he should be, but the words wouldn’t leave his tongue. Not yet. But he thought them all the same.

And because we’re friends, because I care about you, I want to know you—all of you. Not the walls you hide behind. I trust you, Regis. Nothing will change that.

In return, the vampire pulls away and smiles, showing off his sharp, pointed teeth. It made something in Geralt’s slow-beating heart flutter, but the witcher didn’t feel panicked or anxious. Instead, he leaned into the feeling—a feeling that he was not afraid to call love.

#geralt of rivia #emiel regis #geralt x regis #this is set sometime after baptism of fire btw #can't help but reference book events bc it's fun! & i love their relationship in the books #sorry if this is like... real bad lol. i have had a major writer's block lately ;v; but i'm trying

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trackmag · 4 years

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Turtle Doves And Pigeon Shit

Romanticism And James Blake`s Can`t Believe The Way We Flow

Romanticism could be argued to be outdated, but once we look beyond the clichés and grasp the ideas behind it, we become aware of its relevance today; In how we live, in what we believe in and argue about.

James Blake released the album Assume Form in 2019. He so far has released 5 Music Videos alongside it, one of which is the video for “Can`t Believe The Way We Flow” directed by none other than Frank Lebon. Frank`s approach to his videos and work so far has been a lush and somewhat wild mixture of techniques and media, leaving him with a massive pot of footage and tools for the hours he spends editing. To some degree even this approach of mixed media is in a sense very true to the fashion, believe and tradition of romanticism. This and many other aspects of the video, is what I hope to discuss and further investigate in the following TRCKMG entry.

Still 01, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

A Short Introduction To Romanticism

Romanticism. I am not referring to roses, boxes of chocolates and the numerous red silk bows we see on valentine`s day. I hereby am referring to an epoch also known as the romantic period. Speaking roughly of romanticism we think of a time between the end of the 18th towards the end of the 19th century. This slice of our history is marked by many very major political and cultural events across Europe and the globe. Some worth mentioning here would be the French revolution (which is often believed to be a starting point of the French romanticist movement) and the industrialization, marked by heavy machinery, steam engines, factories and therefore factory labour. We do, however, believe that the origin of romanticism as a term and way of thinking lies in Germany. Friedrich Schlegel, a German philosopher, author and poet first used the term “romantisch” believed to be in reference to the word “Roman” which is German for novel. Romantic therefore being “novel-like”.

From there on romanticism spread fast across Europe supported by the events described earlier. More than just a fashion moment, romanticism describes a different way of thinking in direct contrast (and perhaps in protest) to the inhumane labour happening in factories caused by the industrial revolution. People needed to believe in something, in more relevant things, in nature, in purity, in emotion and in beauty. So not surprisingly romanticism manoeuvred like a wave, spreading across fine art, literature, poetry and even medicine. What we can see in many paintings of that time, are vast and lush landscapes. Nature at its most triumphant, often alongside a tiny human figurine, humbled by mother nature, reminding the human of his place and scale in this world. This emphasized by the Lyrics in the song: “I`m finding I`m a smaller piece than I thought. Oh no I really am”. Even back then, the immediate threat facing the natural world was carefully depicted in William Wordsworth`s poetry with the arrival of factory buildings and nearby compounds of living quarters for the workers.

Painting by Hans Gude, “Fra Hardanger”, 1847.

With this surface level introduction to romanticism, we now can take a closer look at the actual Music Video for “Can`t Believe The Way We Flow”:

Act One: Red Lit Couples

Still 02, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

The Video starts off with a zoom into a mirror. The reflective image reveals James sitting on a bench. The continuation of the zoom is made with invisible cuts while dark silhouettes pass by, covering James for a mere flash of a blacked out frame. He appears closer and closer after each such black-out. Meanwhile you can hear the pigeons take flight, signalling a start to the song and video - take off. And with the first pigeon shit landing on James` cheek, it`s clear the video with its main plot now begins and the subjects appear.

The 2nd time we hear Can`t Believe The Way We Flow in the Lyrics, the lips of the red lit couples meet. The images flashing by are fragments of their lives in relationships. We aren`t meant to immediately understand who they are, where they`re coming from and maybe more importantly what exactly they`re up to. We only see aspects that should be familiar to anyone who`s ever been in a relationship. For instance, being the most intimate during breakfast where spontaneous conversations can leave you happy as ever or absolutely gutted and devastated, maybe also depending on what occured the night before.

Another place where we find a kind of intimacy where the shared space really gets noticeable to us as lovers, is the bathroom. Apart from the hints of breakfast scattered throughout the video there`s also the toilet. Waste. The toilet which stereotypically always seems to spark arguments. Flush the damn thing, put the seat down, put it up and then down. But it`s also the same space in which we share our toothpaste, standing in front of the mirror before bed. Leading conversations whilst getting ready to go out together. The point being, these images are highly familiar and highly emotional to us. The small window in which Frank lets these images flash across our screens is enough for us to recognize and connect. These are couples in their banalities. We aren`t meant to understand how they got there and where they`re going. We`re supposed to draw from our own experiences, our own relationships when seeing these fragments and glimpses into their lives. It`s a reflection. We still are looking into that same mirror from the first shot of the video, remember?

Still 03, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

Cut between the kisses is a 2D animated kiss, in the same style as the quick drawing we saw flash by on a table earlier. It might be a glimpse into the Storyboard for the video, adding another layer and texture to the visuals. This approach alone can also be read as a nod to romanticism as there was a high exchange between different media and artists. Poets and painters, novelists and sculptor. All echoing and responding to eachother`s work.

Throughout all of this we see James remain seated on that same bench, from the very first frame of the video. An observer. In romanticism, as a response to the capitalist mentality, the flâneur describes a person seen wandering around with nowhere to be or go. Observant, most likely unemployed, playful and sensitive to his surroundings. James is very likely maintaining this role in the video. The careful bystander, observing the beauty around him. Beauty that lies hidden for most others in their hectic lives.

Act Two: Pigeons, Cupid and a Gun

Still 04, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

A culmination of shots of pigeons (and some seagulls) in flight. Close-up of a pigeon`s face, slowly revealed to be sitting on someone`s head. This someone is Frank Lebon`s dad, photographer Mark Lebon. Here he`s also cupid. A cupid who has aged and traded his bow and arrow off for a knotted sniper gun.

Cupid is often described as a winged, nude, young boy armed with bow and arrow. He`s usually depicted as somewhat cruel and mischievous, very aware of what emotional turmoil he can cause in people. Cupid as a figure derives from roman mythology and is considered to be the god of love, or rather the god of being in love. The roman cupid is also understood to be somewhat based on the Greek god Eros, who some believe was a son to the goddess Venus. Eros and Cupid can`t be defeated, any- and everyone falls victim to them and their power. In the following painting, artist Julius Kronberg captured Cupid in his full demeanour in 1885, so towards the end of classic romanticism:

Painting by Julius Kronberg, Cupid, 1885.

Now in comparison to Frank`s take on Cupid we immediately notice the age difference. The world in many ways has become what romanticists had feared; Industrial, concrete, consumerist. Perhaps Cupid had to adjust to survive? Lose his wings and grow up. Wrapped in what seems to be a pvc jacket, not unlike the medical protective suits we currently see a lot. His outfit also contains sketches and scribbles of genitalia. Colours white and red, famously used in the medical field, also symbolizing purity, lust, sin and romance. He`s also wearing red earrings and cufflinks decorated with a more traditional depiction of cupid.

The gun on the other hand, knotted, could also be a nod to the Non-Violance sculpture by Carl Fredrik Reuterswärd, which is in New York. Perhaps a rather twisted musical reference, as that sculpture was made in remembrance of John Lennon. The seemingly unusable gun however, does hold a heart shaped scope through which the absent minded and complacent looking Cupid is aiming to find his next victims.

Enrolling the pigeons to take over the flying and firing arrows part, they soon after take flight once again and a montage of numerous pigeon shit landings are shown, including another drawn Animation of the pigeons` droppings turning into a falling human figurine. Perhaps falling, as in falling in Love, falling for you. Cupid bringing or rather dropping this person into your life. This sequence is concluded by acts of violence followed by tenderness. A slap, a hit, like when love “hits” you. Shortly followed by a gentle caress of the cheek, as though nothing ever happened. So in love that you`re not aware of the violence and force it potentially holds. Another short Animation, single flower turns into a tree, which transforms into a couple in love, a heart in the middle.

Act Three:

Cut to seagulls instead of doves above James. Perhaps accentuating him to be different from all others around him, once again emphasizing his role as flâneur? Or maybe it`s just a subtle teaser for his following music video for I`ll Come Too, which was the next release, featuring a penguin and an albatross.

The couples, still lit in red are holding hands, and then facing the camera. Every individual on their own, staring into the lens, or at their partner. Keeping the mirror in mind from the beginning, this is another very common way for cinema, film and video to become reflexive (film with self-awareness) challenging the viewer in their passiveness and voyeurism.

Still 05, Can`t Believe The Way We Flow, 2019.

The doves once again present by appearing as illustrations on the cushions of one couple. All the people involved appear in lettering over the faces of the couples, including a cameo by the director. Another beautifully added layer to this multimedia approach that lends it`s charm and texture to the entire complex romantic experience.

There`s so much more to see and discover in the video than what I have tried to contain in this analysis. I do hope you`ll go on a search yourselves. The video for James Blake`s song Cant Believe The Way We Flow is linked below:

youtube

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years

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Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 1

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Kidnapping

Word Count: 1.6k

AO3

0828 EST, January 9th, 2014

It should have been a straightforward op.

Relocate the Kartal family from their house in the Hamptons to a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house. Simple. You had run the scenario a hundred times with other members of your team.

It should have been simple. That’s what you told yourself as you hid Mrs. Kartal and her son behind a rusted tractor, wiping Mr. Kartal’s blood out of your eyes and checking to see how much ammo was left in your P226. You had already run out of magazines for the Glock, spent in vain to try and stop the man who had attacked your convoy.

Not a squad. Not an enemy raid. Your entire team had been killed and the primary escort target had had his brains blown out inches away from your face.

All because of one man.

“Keep low and move fast,” you ordered them in a hushed whisper, the woman and boy huddled together. Mrs. Kartal gave you a quick nod of understanding. “Stay close.”

Your goal was an old wood-paneled station wagon you had spotted earlier in one of the storage sheds. The escort route was isolated and along back roads of rural New York, and it was fortunate the attack had occurred near a storage yard for farm equipment.

At least, you prayed it was fortuitous. Considering how effectively the assassin had exploded the front and back vehicles, wiped out your team, and murdered your mission objective, you doubted he left very much to chance.

You were proven correct when a single shot rang out, and something with the force of a truck slammed into your arm. You bit down a cry as you stumbled, and then shouted, “Keep going!” as you clasped your left hand down onto the blood spurting from the wound in your bicep. It wasn’t fatal, but it would make it a bitch to aim anything, which was probably the point.

Why doesn’t he just kill me? you wondered, the abandoned station wagon drawing nearer as you ran as fast as your legs would carry you. Heart hammering in your chest, you shouted at them to get inside while you opened the driver’s side door and searched for keys. There were none, but you could hotwire the old biddy without a problem. Your SO had taught you well.

Why am I not dead? you questioned again as your bloodstained fingers stripped and twisted the wires together. The assassin was clearly an expert marksman, so why hadn’t he gone for a kill shot?

A surge of adrenaline coursed through your chest as the car roared to life. Somehow the battery wasn’t dead, and there was enough gas to turn the engine. Feeling hopeful you might actually survive the day, you got into the driver’s seat—

—and immediately ducked when the windshield exploded. Bullets ricocheted off the metal chassis of the car, and you yelled for the surviving members of the Kartal family to lie down across the seats.

You looked over your shoulder and caught the sight of silver metal reflecting in the sunlight. You aimed your weapon on the reflection and fired several rounds, forcing the assassin to retreat into the nearby warehouse. You turned back to Mrs. Kartal, knowing there was only one chance for them to escape.

You looked her firm in the eye and ordered, “Take the car, and you keep driving down the road. S.H.I.E.L.D. will find you and take you to a safe house.”

But Mrs. Kartal was shaking her head, her eyes wide with fear. But not at what you had suspected.

“Not S.H.I.E.L.D.! I will not go to them!”

Another bullet bounced off the hull of the car. Either the assassin was going to hit the engine block or a tire, and that would really fuck your exit strategy.

“Missus Kartal, we are not the bad guys! We’re trying to help you!”

The woman shook her head again, somehow still arguing with you even though she was bleeding and covered with glass from the broken windshield. Her headscarf was flecked with blood, painting the orange fabric with a gruesome tapestry.

“You don’t understand!” she shouted back at you. “My husband is a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!”

You took a moment to return fire on the assassin, blocking your body from his line of sight with the car door, which was beginning to be pockmarked with bullet holes.

“What are you talking about?” you shouted over your shoulder. “Ma’am, your husband isn’t one of ours! He works for the Russians!”

This woman was really starting to piss you off, but her next words brought you up short.

“Your superiors lied to you! S.H.I.E.L.D. is not what you think it is! Why do you think we contacted the FBI and not you?”

That had struck you as odd. Orders had come down to the STRIKE team to escort the Kartal family, but only after the feds had handed the Kartal case over to S.H.I.E.L.D. Some kind of jurisdictional dispute you didn’t understand. All you knew was Rumlow had been pretty pissed the FBI had been involved to begin with.

A bullet sparking off the edge of the door next to your head brought you back to reality, and you yelled to her, “Then drive to the White House for all I care, just get the hell out of here!”

And with that, you rolled from the protection of the car and fired what was left of your handgun at the assassin’s hiding place. You were relieved to hear the squeal of tires behind you, followed by a spray of gravel as Mrs. Kartal, hopefully, got her and her son to safety.

About fucking time, you thought as you crouched on one knee in the dirt, continuing to shoot at the opening where the assassin was hiding, your bullets knocking pieces out of the metal siding. You weren’t going to stop firing and let the assassin get his shot at the retreating vehicle.

You pulled the trigger, again and again, until there was no sound but an empty clicking. You tried a few more times simply out of habit, but you knew it was over. You were out of ammo, and most likely the bastard knew it. But you were determined to die on your feet, with what little dignity you had left, so you rose to a standing position.

As if mirroring your movements, the assassin did the same, stepping out of the shadows and into the bright afternoon light. He braced his rifle against his shoulder and strode toward you as if he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. His stride, the broad set of his shoulders, the way he swaggered that was almost graceful—it was a powerful sort of confidence that shook you like nothing had before.

There had been fear, sure. You had put your life on the line dozens of times. But this… this was existential dread. This was watching your demise approaching in leather boots and a dark mask. His metal-plated left arm reflected the sunlight with a deadly sort of beauty, like the gleam of light on a knife.

He was Death personified. And you were frozen, helpless, with an empty gun.

The pistol dropped from your numb fingers, your hand going back up to staunch the wound in your upper arm. And still he approached, his dark goggles giving him the impression of some kind of insectoid alien bearing down on you, inhuman and merciless.

You shut your eyes. You couldn’t bear to look at him a moment longer. Nothing but the crunch of his boots and your breath, ragged, in your ears.

All of your years at the Academy, followed by countless hours of the most brutal training available for field agents. And yet, here you were, shutting your eyes like a child waiting for the monster under the bed to vanish.

But this monster was very real, and he would most definitely not vanish. Except… you could no longer hear his footsteps. And you were still alive.

Against your wishes, you slowly opened your eyes—and flinched. The assassin was standing right in front of you, so close that you were looking directly at the muzzle of his mask, a few inches from your nose. Your gaze involuntarily trailed upward, and your breathing stopped. Even with the black goggles obscuring his eyes, you knew he was staring at you with such overwhelming intensity that it literally made the blood rush from your head.

You half-wondered if you were going to faint.

Why aren’t you killing me? The question was distant, panicked in the back of your mind. Why am I not dead?

With one swift motion, the assassin swung the strap of the rifle across his shoulder and put it across his back. And then he grabbed you by the shoulder, spun you around and wrapped his metal arm around your neck as his other hand held your head immobile.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even swallow with the hard plates against your neck. He wasn’t killing you; it was much worse than that. He was choking you out. He was trying to render you unconscious.

No! your mind screamed as you dug your fingers into his metal arm, scrabbling against the smooth bits of surface. No! No!

But your struggles were futile as soon as they began. He held you hard against his chest, pinning you with very little effort. Your heart was thunderous in your ears, greedy for oxygen that would not come.

The edges of your vision receded. And the world went quiet.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #my fanfiction #devil's backbone

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rakyats-archive · 4 years

Text

i am just another fool for the earth to swallow written to: this song characters: sotiris & i words: 1,918 notes: "You are pouring of love and light and pleading innards. What do they give you? Like false prophets, they have you swallow spoonfuls of lies. Even in the sad and broken lies pride. Do you believe your beauty unsuitable? Unfitting? Are they soiling your bright eyes of rusted sun and smile of secret dreaming?" || heavy angst and, altogether, familial comfort.

The ground is cold and hot all at once. The feel of it is as if laying on a sheet of ice, yet still it sears my skin.

I don't remember when I got there, but I feel like I have been frozen in place for many minutes or many years. I find I have to peel myself from the floor in order to keep the flesh on my bones. This body of mine is not a sacrifice I am yet willing to give to the heaving lungs of whatever lies further beyond the concrete under me. Pushing myself up with the dry palms of my hands is something akin to pulling myself out of a dream and getting stuck between a view of colorful television static and a vivid reality. The dizziness in my head is slow and flowing and I can sense myself swaying in place. No one is around to experience the pitiful me. I only think that I would like to take my hands off of the floor of fire.

I believe I must have had a dream of the waking life from high above. I was there moments ago, but the concept of time escapes me, and now I am much further down where none can reach me. When I can see the monochrome color of the ceiling finally, a sadness washes over me that stills once it hits the caricature of my heart. It is a feeling that may have overcome and undone me before, but now it sits in me like alcoholized poison on an empty stomach. The thought that anything could happen and I must deserve it, that it might as well be a curse that comes to me in the form of a fever, plants itself in my psyche. A million other dead trees surround it, yet to grow, but sure to meet the same fate as all the others before it.

Most of me doesn't remember why I am here, or why the delicate web in the chest of my feelings has so many reckless holes in it now. Something must have tried to plow through, stuck stubby fingers inside and clawed away at me. Something must have set me off when I had eyes that could see and ears that could listen and hear all, even the secret thoughts behind words, even those not even spoken to me. It is a curse to be able to feel and know, and a bigger curse to be sworn to oneself to hide it all. If I cannot speak, if I am scorned by all to shrivel up into a little child shamed away, unwanted, a pleasantry with which to make small talk and laugh at as I walk away, I do not want to exist there. I return home to the claustrophobic tunnels of warm blooded walls and icy air which has thus far failed to suffocate me.

There are many writhing pulsations of meat down here with no semblance of humanity left to them, but I wonder to myself if they see me as I see them, and if so, how many of us are lost? At least where I have awoken, I am alone. The space I occupy is no longer fluid, instead painfully organic in its simplicity. I am alone, but alive, I believe. That hurts me. My back is a shockwave of prickles as memories flow back. I know why it hurts. They call it a stab in the back, but it feels more like a knife in the gut. One sentence is on repeat in my mind. "My life is a game and everyone is trying so hard to lose."

"Child. One small and lowly."

The way he speaks to me is unnervingly slow and inhuman. This voice that rings through my head instead of my ears is a virus so brutal it must not often be heard by man. But when he is there, when he calls to me, my ribcage opens like a blooming flower. There is oxygen where there were once fumes. I am home.

"Father..."

He is a statue carved of unearthly stone from innumerable years in the past, innumerable lives away. He is not beautiful, not a work of art meant to reflect the serenity of humankind. He is monstrous and wrong. He is simply Sotiris. I know him like my very own heartbeat. He does not move as I lay my gaze on him, but his one glowing eye stays fixed on my pathetic frame. I wish I could apologize for making him look upon something so unworthy. So I turn my back to him, and train my dark eyes on the unrelenting floor.

"What have they done to you?" His voice cannot be any closer, as it has made a home in my mind, but I can feel him just behind me. I am too numb. I am not right. I shake my head.

"It's me. There's nobody to blame. I'm all wrong. That's why it's so easy to..." I freeze as if some realization has hit me yet again. My ribcage implodes on itself. I cannot breathe.

I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't -

"They have cut into your very skin. Is it not they who are wrong?"

"I can't do this! I'm so scared of words, of actions! Of things I can't see, and things I can... What am I," Tears don't come to me and I don't understand why, "What am I supposed to do? I can't cope. I'm a joke, father. Everyone I love is laughing and when I don't wake up... When I don't... W-when I don't..."

My eyes are bulging in their sockets. Things unknown are vibrating inside of my body. I can't move. I am going to be sick. Nobody will help me -

Suddenly I am not where I was. I am placed in a new direction. I am looking at stone. Sotiris has me locked in place. My insides hurt so much.

"Look at the damage they have caused." Something about me has changed. A sting begins to settle in me. I can't bring myself to comprehend where it is coming from, until I feel a warm wetness on my forehead. It inches down beside my bruised and malformed nose, and settles between my lips. It is bitter and tastes like the scent of coins offered to Charon the ferryman. I am bleeding. I become aware, as if I am someone else, rotating around the me of that moment, of my father. There is fresh blood oozing from slices all over my face. There are some on my arms, my legs, in places I cannot see. The real nightmare is the warped remains of my flesh. It is all destroyed, one living being whittled into scar tissue. I am a long since festered wound. I have the feeling of choking in the center of my neck.

"Why?" When I ask, it sounds like I am gurgling on tar, "What is it? What did I do? Why am I unworthy? Why can't any part of me be enough?"

"Nonsense. Fools. Is it not they who are not enough? You are all scars of experience. Why do you offer?"

I do not understand the question. My eyes are filled with tears but they are like one with the membrane, unable to escape. I can only gaze up with broken eyes into that one, made of the nightmares of many.

"Would you tear your arm from your body if they so asked it?"

The tears rise higher. I nod.

"Would you tear your leg?"

I nod.

"Would you rip the delicate hair of your head from its seams if they so asked?"

I nod.

"And if they did not?"

... The tears break free with the scream of a dying warrior, spilling over and burning my cuts. I nod. I am inside of myself, made up of recognition. My mind and body are a sickness, and I would give every piece of myself away as gifts upon the pedestals of those who smiled down upon me. Even if they took all of me and went away, I am left with what really makes me wholly, unfortunately, sentient. I am still my mind, a soul that cannot be offered on my knees whilst my back is stepped on. I smile with my face in the dirt. Tears are fertilizing the soil.

Everyone who sees me before the crowd drowns me is alright with the show. They will be pleased with the harvest.

"Clipped wings, poor child. Shackled to this place. They should give thanks." Sotiris is lifeless. He is only rock, but so much more. I know that he can read every thought of mine as if I were speaking aloud, "You are pouring of love and light and pleading innards. What do they give you? Like false prophets, they have you swallow spoonfuls of lies. Even in the sad and broken lies pride. Do you believe your beauty unsuitable? Unfitting? Are they soiling your bright eyes of rusted sun and smile of secret dreaming?"

Tar. Tar and blood are all I feel inside my lungs, my mouth. Tears are comprised of salt. I am too guilty to nod, let alone speak yes or no. He doesn't need me to.

Father... Father father father -

"You desire return once more. You are an unquenchable thirst for the dark. You are made of rats and roaches. You are the same as I." I sense a parting over the horizon of the moment and I don't want that sun to set. It is too soon, not enough has been said, I need more time, I want my dad, I need his love and guidance and protection...

"Dad..." I sob dryly.

"You are all fight within the misery of being." I feel the eyes of rodents on me, pitying me. It is a sad judgment. They are my family. Bodies hot, eyes cold.

"I need... help. Somebody has to help me, please, if they don't take hold of me I won't return. I won't keep coming back to them, dad, I can't. Please, someone help me..." My voice is a throat full of razorblades, "Please, I need them to need me to come back."

"They may. If they do not? Whose journey truly ends?" I am spun in place and my head is tired. I stare into an impossibly black void of a doorway. It could be anything, lead anywhere. Behind me, something shifts. Sotiris is moving. I do not witness, only feel. He is moving. His arms sound like crumbling buildings as they rise up to rest heavily upon my weak shoulders. I am crying once more, but of appreciation. I am thankful. To will oneself to achieve what once thought impossible, is that not love? Is it devotion I deserve? Father is vulnerable with me and I am grateful. He is a lesson, and I am still just a failing student.

"... You are wise, my king." I shut my eyes, steadying for the falling feeling of becoming real once again. I will miss this moment in time, for here, in hell, I am home. Sotiris' voice creeps into my right ear.

"Not I. Amongst the coming choir of fools, you are my king."

I know when I wake gasping and inevitably must pull myself from bed and brace for the impact of reality and words, he will meet me there. He will be with me.

#this is really dark please be aware #blood mention #injury mention #my writing #familials

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demonsofhunting · 5 years

Text

All My Sins - Chapter 12

Pairing: priest!Cas x demon!Dean

Summary: Castiel goes out for a walk to clear his mind. If he would have known what awaits him in the foggy mist, he would have never stepped out of his doors...things are getting bloody.

Warnings: angst, kinda strong violence, torture, blood...have I said violence?

Words: about 1900

A/N: Welcome to chapter 12! *hides* I hope that you won't hate me after reading this one...well, the suffering continues, I guess? XD I kinda hate how much I enjoy writing such chapters...kinda. But well, here you go. Have fun! XD I'm so inspired right now, it's almost creepy. Yep, watching horror movies and listening to Marilyn Manson and gothic metal/rock inspires me A LOT! :D

Catch up here ( Masterlist )

Anyway, I hope you will like it! Enjoy! <3

It is cold outside. Cas shivers, and rubs his arms with a quick gesture. He doesn't really know where to go. All he knows is that he needs to think about some serious things...immediately. He needs to clear his chaotic mind a little. Maybe I should take a walk through the woods...they're beautiful this season. He nods, lightly, but then he decides that this wouldn't be the best thing to do right now. No. It would take too much time...I will just head for the small park in town. Then I will make my way home, and go for a small supply run on the way back. It's around 5pm and it's already getting dark outside...how is this even possible? He begins to walk down the street. The leafs at the trees, that are lining the street, are already turning into autumn colours. It's strangely beautiful. It's scary how something that is dying can be that wonderful... He has to think of Dean's words. How the other told him how much he enjoys seeing the life fading within a creatures eyes...how much he hates that he loves it. Castiel swallows. I need to get that demonic part out of him As soon as possible. There is fog crawling down the street, becoming thicker and thicker. Wow. It's really that time of the year again I miss the sun. A few cars drive by, fastly. The air smells fresh and heavy. Rainy. Cas breathes in, deeply, filling his lungs until they almost seem to explode. Damn, that feels good. The priest walks around the next block of houses. He can already see the 'town's park'. It is just a small amount of trees with a rather big area of grass in between. A small pond is placed right in the middle of it, looking lonely and pretty dirty. Cas steps closer until he can take a brief look in the pond, watching his blurry reflection on the water's surface. His face seems pale in the odd light of the cloudy day, just his blue eyes are shining like two stars, making a big contrast to his black hair. He smiles. "I am powerful," he whispers, quietly, tilting his head while following the movement, that gets reflected in the water, with his eyes. I am powerful. Suddenly, he feels someone breathing down his neck. Again. His heart skips a beat, and he stops moving. He closes his eyes for a moment, then he turns around, quickly. He gasps. "Meg! What are you doing here?! You almost scared me to death," Cas stutters, crossing his arms, nervously. She just looks at him, seriously. Her eyes are dark, and her expression is unreadable. "Clarence," she confirms. "...yeah?" "What are you doing out here all on you own? So damn vulnerable, don't you think?" She cocks her head a little, her gaze is going up and down on his body. It is making him hella uncomfortable. "You know what? You're right. I should go. See ya, Meg," the priest bursts out, fastly, already trying to walk past her. But he stops, as she grabs his wrist, firmly. "Where are you going, Clarence?" she purrs, pulling him closer. "Home. Away from you. I don't care," he hisses, trying to avoid any contact between their bodies in despair, "Let me go." His heart is already beating faster. When did she got so strong? What does she want from me? Her smile is cold as ice, her grip strong as steal. "I don't think so," she hums, placing one hand in his hair, gripping it tight. And as Castiel looks her in the eyes, he can watch them go pitch black within a few seconds. No...this...this can't be... "Meg," he rasps, panic is raging in his chest as he tries to fight her hold. "No, honey. You broke my heart. Now you will have to pay. You...you and your whore of a boyfriend, you won't make it! I will take care of that. Of you. You're his weakness, Clarence. Without you, he's just another dumbass without any anchor, going straight to hell." She laughs, licking over his cheek, even though Cas makes a face in disgust. "Stop it. You - you can't do that. Meg! I - " he stutters, trying to get free once again. But her grip just gets firmer, her hand in his hair feels like she placed buring spikes there, ready to rip his whole head off. Castiel can feel his sight getting blurry, as blood is running from the top of his head over his face, warm and...no! "Let's see what Dean - o will say if I help his precious little angel to get rid of his wings, huh? If I rip the skin of his broken, bleeding body? Oh, I bet he would love it!" How does she know - She laughs, coldly, and suddenly, there is a sharp pain pulsing through his body, starting right at his head. He can't help but cry out. "Who shall save you, Clarence. We're all on our own," she scoffs, pushing him away from her body, roughly. He trips backwards, and suddenly, there is nothing under his feet, but...water. The pond! Cas doesn't even get to think one clear though before he falls right into the dirty pond. It's cold as ice, making his limbs ache and then go numb, immediately. His hands are longing for something to hold on in despair, his eyes are wide open but he sees nothing. I...help...I... Then, there is a strong hand grabbing him by his coat, pulling him out of the water. He coughs, breathing in, heavily. I need...air... Everything hurts as he struggles to get up to his feet again, just to gets pushed to the ground, brutally. "Poor, weak, human Cas..." Meg's scoffing voice rings in his ears, hurtfully. He tries to get somehow away from her, crawling over the grass, shaking. I...I feel like I can't move. But she just grips him by his shoulders, turning him around, so that he lies on his back. Before he can get up, she already sits on his chest, her fingers are like long, sharp claws, running over his throat. He clutches his fingers around her arms, pushing her away, but she is just too strong. No! This - Her eyes are all black as she leans forth, bringing her face closer to his. He closes his eyes, and suddenly, there is a sharp pain in his chest, making him cry out. It feels like she carves something into his skin, ripping the fabric of his clothes apart. Castiel screams, trying to get her off his body, but the pain just gets bigger and bigger, until the priest feels like he is going to pass out. Doesn't anybody hear me?! Please! I need help! Dean - And in this moment, the pain stops. Suddenly. He breathes in sharply, blinking. Castiel struggles to see clear again. There can be screams heard in near distance. A high female voice. A familiar voice. Meg. She is fighting with somebody. "Fuck you, Winchester!" she shouts, roughly, followed by something that sounds like someone being pushed to the ground with much force. Winchester. Dean! But... Castiel sits up, slowly, wincing at the pain that pulses through his body as he moves. He looks down on himself, quickly. Oh no. Besides the fact that his clothes are soaking wet and he is freezing, Meg decided to rip his trechcoat apart - just as his shirt - to...carve some strange symbols into his skin. Right now he can't say much about what they look like. There is way too much blood dripping from the cuts, running down his chest, over his clothes... He swallows, trying not to gasp. As his gaze goes up, he can't help but stare. What he sees makes his heart almost stop. Dean is here. He is really here. He stands in front of Meg, wiping some blood from his face. His facial expression is the darkest thing that Cas has ever seen. Wild. Demonic. His eyes are flashing black as he storms into Meg's direction, trying to get the knife that she holds between her fingers. They're fighting for a couple of heartbeats, Castiel winces at every single hit. Dean fights like a lion. It's inhuman how much strength he has. Both of them. But well. They are not human, are they? Dean finally got the knife, and grips it, firmly. He smiles, coldly. "You - " Meg hisses, but her words end in an inhuman scream as the metal blade carves deep into the skin of her abdomen. "I told you to get your fucking hands off my boyfriend, Meg. You didn't listen to me, now he have to live with the consequences," Dean says, his voice is dark and dangerous. Castiel inhales, sharply. "Dean..." he manages to say, but the word just comes out as a little whisper. He decides to try again. "Dean!" The other recognizes him, immediately. The young man turns around, and before he can do anything against it or Cas can try to warn him, Meg kicks him right in the face. Dean cries out and stumbles backwards. The other demon gets to her feet, heavily. There is blood dripping from her abdomen, and she covers it with her hands, quickly. "I...this...this isn't over yet!" she screams, and then, she just runs away, leaving a bloddy line behind her on the grass. Dean tries to grab her foot, but she is way too fast for him to catch her, even though she is hurt. "Such a...bitch!" Dean growls in anger, getting to his feet again. His whole body is shaking, his fists are balled. There is blood on his clothes. Oh, so much blood... Castiel watches him closing his eyes, and inhaling, deeply. It's like he forces himself to calm down. After he made it, he opens his eyes, slowly. They're green now. Forest green. Dean's green, green eyes... His facial expression softens as well as he looks at Cas, already running over to him. "Cas!" The priest winces slightly as Dean hugs him, passionately. Ouch. That's hurts. The other immediately notices, and pulls away, slowly. "Sorry..." he mutters,"I knew that she would go after you again! I just knew it! Are...are you alright?" He strokes Cas' cheek, gently. The priest nods. "I am. Well...kinda. Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" His voice is raspy, his throat hurts. Dean shrugs: "I have to admit that I followed you like a creep, and I'm so fucking glad that I decided to do that. I just saved you ass, honey. " "Yeah...I can see that. And thank you, but...you can't be out here, Dean! What if - " As if he has called for it, there are some flashing lights flickering in the distance, followed by a loud noise. "What? The neighbours called the fucking police? Now? Too late, guys!" Dean yells in frustration, running a bloody hand through his hair, "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Cas, hurry up. We need to go. Now." The priest nods, pulling himself up on the other's body. He immediately kinda collapses into Dean's arms, shaking. "S - sorry," he bursts out, making a face in pain. His chest feels like it is covered in needles. Needles that carve into his skin with every move he makes... "No need to apologise. C'mon. We have to run." And they do.

( A/N: Next chapter on October 4, 2019 <3 )

That was chapter twelve! Thank you so much for reading, and if you would like to leave a comment or reblog this shit, I will love you forever! <3

Tag lists are open!

Destiel/Forever Tags: @adoptdontshoppets @rebeloftheseas @ablavalba @smodernlife @ignis-glaciesque @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @xsghn @helpmeluci @trenchcoatsandfreckles @legendary-destiel @leahslovelylibrary

"All My Sins" Tags: @emodestielshipper @emumag @waywardtricksterangel @didntwanderstillgotlost @angel-e-v-a @burnigontheceiling @too-old-for-fangirling-but-idc

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daydreamindollie · 5 years

Text

bts ot7 | Home

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes

A/N: I wrote a bit of this while I was on holiday two years ago, I think. I really wanted to write my own hybrid au for BTS after being inspired by so many other writers out there, mainly @hollyhomburg , @magicalsalamander , @chimkookie , @daydream-hobii and SOOOO MUCH MOOORREEE! There are just so many talented people out there! Anyway, as this was written two years ago and I hadn’t looked at it since, please excuse any grammatical errors or just any errors really; back then, I tried to write better than I actually could so I’m sure many of the sentences are long-winded. But...yeah! The inspiration was there but without a proper plan, my vision wasn’t steady enough to maintain and just collapsed so...*sigh* another one for the fragments series, I guess...

WARNING: these may contain some of my notes, they will be indented and in italics so you can distinguish them from the writing.

Also, this may contain some prejudicial views and minor conflicts, nothing major but just so you are all aware x

✚ ✚ ✚

Never Before had you felt so excited to reach your journey’s destination. Seeing as you live almost a full hour away from the city, these time-consuming journies were a normality in your life but they were bearable because you always distracted yourself with music, something to read and would even just watch the scenery run by the car window. All previous times were bearable because distractions always held your attention with a vice grip and iron fist, not on this particular day, however.

Today, you would get your first ever hybrid.

You had begged your parents multiple times promising that you’d be responsible for them and that you would take care of them and love them with all your heart. Eventually, they grew convinced and launched at your rambling plea for one such companion.

“You can go get one tomorrow - heck get multiple! I know how lonely it gets here and we don’t want our hybrid to grow bored of you being its only other companion,” your father joked as you squealed with happiness and jumped into his arms, too happy over the long-awaited agreement.

Your parents could never say no to you for long, these were one of the times where they had tried to put their foot down, knowing the true requirements needed to own a hybrid. Deep down, however, they’d always given in because they loved spoiling their only, oh-so-precious daughter. If you asked for the world, there isn’t a doubt in their mind that they’d still say yes, after all, they have an immeasurable amount of money to spare and with such an amount they already had the world in their palms anyway.

Months of convincing and pleading has brought you to this moment of ultimate concentration and anticipation for one thing - a person’s incomparable and irreplaceable companion - a hybrid.

Even before your father’s agreement, you had long debated over the type of hybrid you’d prefer to have above all else. //You didn’t want the typical cat and dog, although that would be a rather tame decision, seeing as this would be your first ever hybrid and more information was available for them. //Maybe a bunny, the hybrid’s counterparts were always very endearing with their large doe eyes and extremely petite physique but hybrid-wise, that meant that they looked a lot like children and - you assume - would behave a lot like them too. Taking care of a child, although you’re very fond of them, isn’t something you wanna sign yourself up for just yet. In your head, you imagine a scenario where you’re able to chat and do fun activities with your hybrid like making up silly dances ti your favourite songs. There’s not a chance on this earth that you can do that with an exotic fish hybrid, they usually had fishtails instead of legs and looked very mermaid-like, meaning that only the richest had them, their mesmerising beauty was always a sight to behold and treasure although, however beautiful they may be, you’d rather be able to interact physically with your hybrid and not just stare at it. A peacock? you heard how high maintenance they were (alongside foxes) due to their animalistic traits coming ever so naturally to them/their counterparts not being usual house pets and therefore requiring more attention than usual.

All this debating leaves you to wonder over what particular hybrid you’ll end yo choosing and befriending; there’s so much to choose from with pros and cons to each. The idea of even getting one is surreal, there are butterflies exploding with a vivacious flurry within the depths of your stomach constantly, surprisingly able to lift the weight of your precious meal on their frail wings and leaving you toeing the edge of either anxiety or excitement. The feeling, no matter how confusing its effects may be, is something you welcome with open arms, the way a lover would embrace the flaws that were responsible for their partner’s perfection.

Throughout the lengthy travel, your nerves were itchy with impatience, which made your contemplation of the journey being shorter than expected after finally arriving, all the more peculiar. Your mind certainly has a distinct thought process in comparison to actual logic. Despite all that, it seems as though all of your previous excitement has been completely overtaken by an overwhelming sense of nervousness when facing the hybrid adoption centre.

It was a powerful-looking edifice, tall and broad, harbouring an abundance of rooms with a similar amount of occupants. Amoung those many rooms, lies your future companion and longtime friend. It’s a heart-thumping prospect, so why were you so antsy?

“Will they like me?” you hum thoughtfully to yourself, voice shaky and uneven with stress. This was your oppressing problem. You’re certain that you’ll find someone you’ll like but will they like you back? And even if they don’t, will you bring them home with you anyway? Just to know them better and have them eventually take a liking to you, perhaps? But what if they never grow fond of you? You can’t just ‘return‘ them, that’s absurd and so inhumane, it’s degrading; they can feel emotions more prominently than normal animals because they’re part human and vice versa. Your morals scream that you just can’t do that to a person.

Your stuttering thoughts should have deemed your form motionless but your body moved on its own as if one autopilot from your subconscious. You’re lead through the main doors, across the foyer and right to the front desk, where the lady behind the computer asked however she could help you.

“Um, I’m looking to adopt today,” you stated surprised at how reasonably steady your voice sounded.

“Do you have an appointment ma’am?”

“Sorry, no,” you pull a face of guilt, mentally shaming yourself for being unprepared.

“That’s alright! Do you have a particular type of hybrid in mind?”

“You shook your head ‘no’, “I’ve debated but I’m still very indecisive,” chuckling, the lady smiles up at you.

“Don’t worry miss, that’s usually the case. Is this your first adoption?” her hazel eyes blink curiously at you.

“Is it that obvious?” you muse nervously as you fiddle and fidget with your fingers.

“Don’t worry it’s only because I work here that it is,” she assures before typing away momentarily, only beginning to reach over to the phone beside her to look up at you again, “please take a seat while I get someone to help show you around,“

Nodding with a sheepish smile, you gingerly take a seat, smoothing down the lap of your pleated skirt before taking the time to observe the facility. On the far left, there was a large door labelled with a metal plate ‘NURSERY’, where you imagine the newly borns are kept and goo at the idea. To the right, there seems to be a very spacious room filled with many pastime activities such as sports balls (footballs and basketballs), skipping ropes, books, a TV and probably more things as your view was rather restricted even though the doors were glass. Behind and to the right of the front desk, is another door that states ‘ROOMS’, which is pretty self-explanatory to you but also sets your nerves ablaze with spine-tingling anticipation with what’s to come.

Inhaling a deep breath, you attempt to calm and tame your nerves as you pivot from where you’re seated, wanting to explore more of the place without having to walk around. You weren’t really expecting anything more but right behind you stood a tall black door. It seemed to hold secrets that begged you to unveil them.

The amount of time you spent staring at the barrier that held back any number of malicious or wonderful secrets was unknown but your gaze was foxed for long enough that your feet began to move on their own again. Soon enough, you were making your way down a dimly lit staircase to find a room occupied by several - more specifically seven - hybrids. There was: a cat, two dogs, a peacock, a fox, a fish and a bunny-rabbit?

You tilt your head and shyly wave your hand, your head slightly bowed in timidity, showcasing your bashful demeanour whilst also allowing your eyes to stare at them in wondrous fascination. This was your first time ever seeing a hybrid in person and there were seven right in front of you. //“Hello,” you whisper, meeting the gaze of the only cat who hisses in warning at you, causing you to jump in place, your heart ready to fly out of your chest. You felt the nerves in your body preparing to run if need be but they instantly calmed at the sight of the bunny. As opposed to the pierce almond-eyed cat, the bunny appeared to reflect your anxiety, it was an endearing sight, but he was also beautiful, as a matter of fact, all of the hybrids present were ethereal in beauty.

The peacock in your peripheral view was especially so, you felt as though he could resemble a prince from a fairytale, even so, the bunny had your full attention. He was nothing like a child as most should look like, he possessed the build of a male with thick thigh muscles, which was probably due to his bunny genes but it was still unusual (in a good way) to see a different beauty representing bunny hybrids.

“What’s your name?” you ask after reaching the cage bars, eyes caring and warm and unable to hold back your elation. He gave no answer, only a frightened stare, making you furrow your brows. “What’s the matter? Don’t you have one?” you gently press for a response, eyes pleading for him to speak.

“I’ve...I’ve never been adopted before...” he finally speaks, his voice like a finely tuned harp, having all things that leave his lips be melodious and musical.

Your eyes widen in surprise, “but you're so beautiful...” you whisper to yourself, smiling fondly when you see a faint blush dusting his cheeks, “maybe you can finally have one if you agree to come home with me,” the instant those words left your lips, the other hybrids, who were looking on at your interaction cautiously, panicked. The peacock and dog shielded the bunny with their bodies as the other pup and the fox embraced him, leaving you to jump at the cat’s loud hissing as the fish banged a tight fist at his tank’s wall. //’Why were they being so protective?’ you ponder, not realising that the cat was reaching for you, past the bars of the cage, with his sharp nails drawn and bare, ready to strike. Just as he was about to claw at your face, a hand grabbed your upper arm and pulled you back.

“Miss, you shouldn’t be down here!” a man with woodchip hair warns, drawing a taser from his back pocket and going for the cat, which you screamed at.

“What are you doing?!” you snatch his arm back, expression scrunched up in worry and anger.

“This lowlife was going to attack you, ma’am,” he reasons, brows knitted together with confusion.

“Lowlife?...”

“yes ma’am - was going to attack you, a human,”

“I don’t care about that, I must’ve done something wrong in his eyes. I’m sure it was pure instinct for him to lash out,”

“But-”

“if you’re so concerned about them behaving ‘improperly‘, why don’t you teach them by being civil yourself and lead by example,” you huff, “people behave by copying others’ actions, don’t ya know?” you can’t believe how angry you’ve become since you only ever use shortened expressions when your temper was truly pronounced.

“Ma'am, you really shouldn’t be here,” he warns, finally tucking away his taser, consequently calming your nerves, something all hybrids picked up on and raised a curious brow at after calming down themselves.

“I know I’m not, I’m sorry for wandering off without fair warning or reason,” you try to be civil but your curiosity is peaked, “but can I ask ‘why‘ I’m not allowed here?”

“Simply put, it’s too dangerous down here ma’am...” you note how his voice wavers and his eyes are restlessly examining the room, not keeping eye contact with you for too long.

“Dangerous?...” you turn to the hybrids with worried eyes, an expression they were unfamiliar with and don’t quite know how to interpret, “why are these hybrids here then?“

“Ma’am,” the worker hesitates, “these hybrids are the reason why it’s so dangerous,”

“I...I don’t understand...” you mutter, unable to comprehend how people with such sad, gentle eyes could harbour such a threat. The employee with the taser is more threatening to you.

“We should really get you upstairs now ma’am. I can show you to the hybrids that you will definitely favour,” he puts on a weak smile as he attempts to lead you up the stairs behind you, only to falter in his steps when you abruptly pull away and step towards the cages once more, dismissing the worried gaze the male flashes you.

“I’ve already made my decision though, so I won’t need to go upstairs,” all eyes in the room visibly widen at your proclamation as you smile in innocent excitement.

“Who?!”

“The bunny please, if he’”s alright to go with me, that is,” you give the bunny a timid smile, staring into his large doe eyes as you try to tame the butterflies in your stomach.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible ma’am,”

You pout, “and why’s that?” your tone is stern but also childish in some way, much like how a child would deliver demands during a strop.

“Well, it’s impossible because if you want one, then you’ll need to adopt all of them.” now, it’s time for your eyes to widen.

“How come?”

“They’ve formed a very peculiar group-pack-alliance,” he sighs as you take a moment to look at the seven hybrids together, it was definitely a strange but lovely picture, “they always cause trouble by lashing out at whoever draws near, especially the cat. Many workers have quit from needing to go have some treatment done on scratches from him. This is why it’“s so dangerous here, they may look harmless but they can really hurt you, and it’s extremely expensive to adopt all seven. I, along with the rest of my coworkers, strongly advise that you don’t even think of adopting any from this group.”

You ponder for a moment, contemplating all your options as you stare at all seven hybrids collectively, “There’s no other way for me to bring the bunny home?”

“I’m sorry but no,” he says sternly, “please, just let me take you upstairs ma’am,”

“Is it possible for me to come here at a regular basis?” you turn back to him, having completely ignored his advice, “So that I can befriend them all before taking them home with me?”

The worker’s jaw drops, “you actually want to adopt all of them?”

Facing all hybrids, you smile, eyes sparkling, “why not?”

[MAYBE END OF CHPT.ONE?????START CHPT.TWO???⇣]

Yet again, you find yourself taking another long journey to the hybrid adoption centre, giddy with butterflies after a long week of waiting. It would have been easy for you to take the journey every day but you knew how high gas prices were and didn’t want to trouble your parents in spite of knowing their wealth. You were also adamant in being eco-friendly.

In your hands, you fiddly with the wrap of a large bento box, there were six others surrounding you filled with homecooked meals that you’ve put your heart and soul into. Hopefully, they’ll like what you’ve cooked; you did your best to research what particular hybrids liked. Bunnies loved carrot cake, cats like friend fish, dogs loved meat, foxes too, fish liked anything with bread and peacocks were very fancy with exotic fruits and such. It was a lot of fun to make but you also wanted to introduce them to other foods too. Most of the dishes were advised from the website most prominent in providing hybrid care information but you also included your favourite dishes, hoping to bond with them over something you liked similarly.

“Good morning!” you greet the secretary, flashing a peppy smile which she returns hesitantly, eyes hovering over the bentos that were piled high in your arms, “I hope this is okay,“ you lift the lunches before quickly making your way down to the basement, too blinded by the excitement of finally making your own friends to notice that the secretary had just begun to protest, only to face the slam of a door.

“I’m back!” you announce, giggling as you finally make it down the last step, “And I’ve brought lunches!“ again, you lift the bentos with a huff from their weight before setting them down. Facing up, you quickly note the surprised look all hybrids harboured just as you were about to ask what was wrong, your bunny spoke up.

“You came back...” his eyes were wide and his form rigged, completely unbelieving of the fact that you had returned.

“Of course I came back. I said that I would sooooo...here I am!” you gesture to yourself with a glint of mischief in your eyes, “Anyway, are you guys hungry? I made lunch,”

“We’re not hungry,” the cat snapped stubbornly from the back of the room, black ears and tail flicking in annoyance.

[MAYBE REAL END OF CHAPTER ONE????]

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.

#bts hybrid au #bts x reader #DRAFT

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imbumkyung · 5 years

Text

I Saw It In A Movie One Time (ch 6) - Digging

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 7

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Kai whispered to herself. One glance out the window and she knew— it was obvious. The Cullens got the wolves involved in the situation and now they were guarding her outside her store. She didn’t recall their faces from the movies, but the tattoos spoke loudly enough.

“I swear. They’re just trying to show off at this point,” she thought. Anyone in the real world who saw this would probably agree. One was in a gray tank and the other in a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing the mark on their upper arm.

Kai formulated a plan to get them away. Luckily, there was no one in the store and by the looks of the parking lot and the cars that drove by— or lack thereof— nobody would be coming in anytime soon. She pushed the door open with her two hands and looked up at the two of them who were a whole foot taller and two inches or more taller than her.

“Boys, if you aren’t planning on purchasing anything I’m gonna have to ask you to leave the storefront and our parking lot. Sorry,” she said, avoiding eye contact by looking past them or at the floor, then turned right on her heel back into the store before they could say anything to her. But she heard a “sorry” on her way inside.

Paul and Seth stared at her until she was inside, thinking the exact same thing— though Pauls’ expression gave it away too easy, “dude. She’s short,” he snickered.

Seth’s eyes moved from the entrance door to his pack mates’, “yeah say it louder I don’t think she heard you. Let’s go before she calls someone else to chase us away,” he advised his superior with a light push to his shoulder.

The two ran off into the woods and phased. Two hours had passed anyways and she happened to only catch them five minutes before they were to switch off with Embry and Jacob.

“She’s still there?” Embry asked through his thoughts

Seth let out a huff, “Yeah, but she saw us and told us we can’t stand outside the store,” he explained

“We’ll just stay in the woods in this form,” Jacob decided for himself and for Embry. With a nod, all four wolves went on their way.

Seth didn’t mind that this was the only thing Sam would let him do. Since he became a wolf, Sam would only allow him to stay home and study. No wolf duties. He remembered the girl they had to protect, and reminded himself to do a good job so Sam would possibly allow him to take on some more exciting wolf duties, All the while Kai’s face lingered in the back of his mind.

“Got a crush or something?” Paul teased Seth, nudging him a little bit.

“No! I’m just... reflecting. I wanna do good I mean— when’s Sam gonna let me do all the wolf stuff next?” Seth defended

Paul gave him nothing more than a huff in disbelief. It was normal for an 18 year old to have a crush but the whole world know how shy Seth could be

Kai almost felt bad for having to tell the two shapeshifters to leave, but she knew that in the movies, none of this happened. Her blood boiled in frustration at Edward who didn’t listen to her pleas. For the next hour she stood behind the counter, occasionally looking outside for any other suspicious activity that might involve the wolves. Other than that, she pretended to scan the store every once in a while— though it was pointless because there were usually no more than five to ten customers at a time.

The three-hour shift that seemed to stop the clock every time had finally ended. Kai walked urgently to her car leaving no time for conversation if anyone was going to try to stop her.

—

Kai managed to avoid them for the rest of the week, until Saturday. Her heart had been racing at the thought of Victoria coming around like Edward warned her. Still, she payed no mind to it and went to work anyway. She figured the wolves would be keeping watch anyway.

It was 1:30 p.m. and as soon as Kai opened the door to leave, with a few huffs of frustration because she forgot item after item, remembering each one as she was just about to leave. Finally, after checking and double checking for everything she opened the door. There stood Alice unexpectedly. Her heart stopped and she let out a yelp.

“I’m so sorry!” Alice apologized, her hands out to help her— only she didn’t know how so she could only watch as Kai recollected herself

Kai put a hand over her chest and looked up at Alice, clearly trying to get her heart back to normal, “Do you need something?”

“I need you to stay at home,” she said brightly, extending the “I” in her sentence.

“Yeah, not happening. I need to pay the electricity bill and 18 hours this week isn’t gonna cut it. So, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, trying to push past her. That’s when something clicked in Alice’s head.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked her, curious to see just how much this girl knew. This was their first meeting, after all, and it seemed Kai already had an idea that Alice’s appearance was related to Edward somehow.

“Uh... yeah you’re Christina,” Kai lied. Of course she knew who Alice was but she wasn’t actually planning on telling her. She’s not even supposed to be talking to these people.

Alice rolled her eyes, “I think you’re thinking of someone else,” she countered, “I’m Alice.”

“And I’mma be late for work. Excuse me,” Kai attempted to push past her once again.

“I called your boss and told him you were sick,” Alice said, trying to keep her home once more, “We really don’t want you to be in danger. We know Victoria’s coming and so do you,” she said, her tone switching to one of urgency.

“My boss is gonna be glad to see me,” she pushed with all of her force past alice, “not sick, and doing just fine,” she stalked to her car and drove quickly.

Alice sighed, “she’s stubborn,” she thought.

Victoria snarled upon the scent of Kai. It was a bitter taste to her that a small, meekly little human could do so much to infiltrate her mind. It drove her absolutely mad. The best part of the game to her was when people would ask, “who are you? What do you want?”. But when Kai whispered Victoria’s name— it was sickening to her.

Victoria crept through the woods just across the street where she caught sight of Kai.

“pity,” she thought.

Kai was beautiful with golden tan skin, raven black and tinted indigo hair, freckles adorned her face especially around her nose and underneath her eyes. Vampires were known to be beautiful, and Victoria felt almost envious of the life Kai carried through her irises.

She planned to make this quick. Use her inhuman speed to take Kai, drag her right back out into the woods then kill her for a meal. She took a step that unfortunately for her landed on a twig with a snap. Her eyes flicked to the left and instantly was met with a giant merciless claws of the shapeshifter. She took off running across the treaty line where the Cullens were waiting.

“Are you sure this is where you saw her?” Carlisle asked Alice.

“She probably would’ve been here by now if Kai stayed home,” Rosalie hissed. Everyone stood patiently, undoubtedly trusting Alice.

“She’s near,” Alice said.

“On your left!” She directed.

The chase was on. Carlisle and Jasper made a start for Victoria, each coming so close to catching her but she escaped every time. Even as she hopped over to the wolves’ territory, she was able to escape every time. Emmett risked it all to catch her by jumping off his land and into theirs, and was violently blocked by Paul. The tensions between the two sworn mortal enemies were high enough for Victoria to make a satisfying escape.

Kai pulled into the driveway after one hell of a shift. She shut her eyes and lolled her head back in furstration upon seeing Edward and Alice in front of her house, “If I see you outside of my house ever again, I’m calling the police. Or jumping off a bridge. Honestly, I don’t know but please,” she begged desperately, “just leave me alone!”

She just got back from an exhausting six-hour shift at work, her shitty manager had a bone to pick with her every move, and more than five irritated customers angry at her for just doing her job.

Alice felt sympathetic toward Kai. It was obvious how tired she was. Edward grimaced as well, hearing her thoughts reflecting on the events at work. But he had to do what he had to do.

“We can’t do that—” Edward began.

“Don’t!” She exclaimed, palms toward Edward to stop him, “Please don’t. I’m fine, see? Victoria didn’t get to me,”

“The wolves stopped her,” Alice explained.

Kai let out an exasperated sigh. They were getting involved in her life and she was in theirs. At this point, there was no coming back from it.

“Fine. What are you here for?” She asked, defeated. She unlocked the door to her house and the duo followed her in.

“I just—,” Edward stopped himself, collecting his thoughts, “We wanted to know you were okay,”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about Bella? Where is she anyway?” Kai shot back.

“You know Bella?” Alice asked, but it came out as more of a statement.

Kaileia cursed to herself and chose not to answer her. Dammit.

“You can clearly see that I’m okay,” she offered to Edward, “if that’s all you needed, I’m sure you know where the door is—”

“I’d like to know how you know everything,” Alice interjected with a small smile, “Its just— Edward said you knew about him being a vampire and how he reads minds. When I came to the door the other day, you acted like we’d met before. And you know about Bellas’ and Edwards’ relationship,” she explained with a light voice. Kai almost felt bad that she couldn’t tell them anything and took this as her cue to start yelling in her head so that Edward couldn’t read anything.

“I can’t tell you that,” she stated bluntly.

Alice ducked her head, still giving her effort into finding out, “can you tell us when or how you got here?”

Kai shook her head, “No.”

Alice sighed. She was starting to feel the defeat that Edward did.

Edward stood, “is there anything that you can tell us?” He asked her

“Only what I told you before, that talking to me any longer than you are right now could cost lives,” Kai explained imperatively, “I really think you guys should go,” she pleaded, desperation all across her face.

Alice sighed, “whatever you were trying to avoid— it’s here. It’s now. You can’t keep running from us I mean,” she shrugged, “I know you didn’t mean to, but you drew us in. I’m sure you knew the wolves and that’s why you kicked them out of the store, didn’t you?”

Kai nodded. In her head, she was debating on whether or not it would be good to tell them the truth. The pros and cons sorted themselves out in their heads.

“I kicked them out because they were soliciting,” she lied.

“It’s a public area,” Edward countered.

“ ‘Kay well they were annoying me,” she finished.

The three of them stayed silent. “You’re not gonna leave till you get whatever it is you want, are you?” Kai asked

“I’m not. I’m actually supposed to stand watch for you— you’re welcome,” she said with a smile.

Kai shook her head, eyes half-closed in annoyance, “I didn’t asked to be stalked.”

“You didn’t have to,” Edward smirked.

“You ever get tired of being a shithead?” Kai asked, half joking. She didn’t know what clicked, but some...(in)human contact that wasn’t her boss was refreshing in a way. After all, she avoided every single person with every single conversation since she woke up in Forks seven months ago.

Edward let out a small laugh, “I have too much time to ever be tired.”

Kai’s expression dropped, “you can’t be sure of that anymore.”

Edward and Alice looked to each other questionably. When they attempted to ask her to explain, she waved them off or chose not to answer. The two eventually gave up on questions and invited her to dinner instead, to which she rejected.

Alice was getting desperate, “Well it’s either you come to us tomorrow night, or we come to you,” she proposed, a smirk on her face upon seeing Kai’s visible defeat, “you choose.”

“Alice. You don’t understand what you’re doing,” she was begging them to stop their advances. It was worrying her how involved she’s become.

“Then help us to,” she replied

“I can’t.”

“Then we’ll have to help ourselves,” Alice said, “Will we see you tomorrow?”

Kai was beginning to feel discouraged. There was so much more at stake than Alice realized. Edward stayed silent for most of the conversation, trying to find loopholes in Kai’s mind that could give him some answers but— nothing. He drew in a sharp breath as her thoughts seemed to cease to exist. There was nothing. Edward couldn’t hear anything from her.

“What was that?” he asked Kai, still in shock

“What was what?” She asked him

He looked up at her, his eyes wide, “I can’t hear your thoughts, only Alices’”

Kai’s eyes widened. Things were starting to change just through the conversation they were having. She shook her head fearfully, “You two really need to go. It’s getting dangerous.”

“I’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow at 7. Don’t be late,” Alice said. With that, the two left her house and Kai stood alone in her kitchen.

Did that change something? Edward can’t hear her thoughts. What’s next? The wolves don’t shift? Alice doesn’t see the future? Holy shit.

She continued to stand in the kitchen, cup of water in hand. She did nothing, just stared. Her thoughts ran faster than they ever had in her life and a tear rolled down her cheek out of fear. Things were changing and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Edward and Alice went home puzzled, “May— maybe we shouldn’t be involved,” Edward proposed.

“What do you mean?” Alice asked.

“She keeps on emphasizing that it could mean life and death if we keep talking to her and I mean—” he shook his head in disbelief, “It’s proven. I stopped hearing her thoughts.”

Whoop whoop heres ch 6 i think i’ll have ch 7 up tonight as well^^

Tags: @sunflowerspectre @rosalies-hale @coffees-and-constellations

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