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austarus · 4 years

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HR Wells x Reader Hidden Among The Fairy Lights (Part 1 of 3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

*Just taking a small break from my Crisis of Infinite Wells reader insert series. Plus, I miss HR and I’m still baffled how they always dismiss him and Harry and all the Wells as if they mean nothing to the audiences. They mean just as much as Barry and Cisco and Iris. A reminder, the beginning dialogue is from the HR scene in 3x05.

Word Count: 4389

Part 2 Part 3

“You were named Entrepreneur of the Decade by “Tech Magazine”?” Cisco read off the monitor, arms folded as he maintained a look of doubt on his features. Iris sat on a chair; one leg crossed over the other as she rested her head against the palm of her hand. Barry stood right behind where his love sat, glancing from the screen back to the Wells doppelganger and crossed his arms like his best friend. Caitlin leaned against the main Cortex desk with both hands on her hips and a tired expression on her face. Wally hung back a bit on the other end of the main monitor desk.

You were at the main desk, sitting back with your hands folded in your lap. With pursed lips, you would glance down at your fingers ever so often at this supposed trial. He lied to us, but so did Harry when he first came to Earth-1 and he didn’t turn out as bad. Just prickly at times and soft in others. When this meeting was called to confront HR, you had decided in your head that you’d want the full story from HR before judging his course of action to lie to you all.

“That's right,” HR confirm with a drumstick pointed at his entire resume, eyes avoiding your gaze. He had calmed his breathing, but when his eyes met yours, he felt the tension climb within himself. He hadn’t wanted you of all people to find out like this. If only my charade had gone on for a few more weeks, I would probably have entrusted my truth to you. You had been the one cutie on the Team to not look at him oddly, especially when he made minor errors during his charade. A voice at the back of his mind told him that you had probably already figured out that HR wasn’t who he proclaimed that he was, but then again, you hadn’t questioned him. So, he left it at that… until the team called for him to fess up.

“Is any of what's on here true?”

“All of it.” With a pocketed hand, HR waved a drumstick to the screen for emphasis. His electric blue eyes caught you looking off to the side. HR didn’t need to know what you were thinking to hazard a guess of what you thought of him right now. What everyone thought of him when they learned his truth.

“How? You can barely turn on a computer.” Barry quipped up, nodding his head towards a random computer.

“There are two parts to every idea. There is the inception and the execution. I provide the former.”

“So, you come up with the ideas?” Iris clarified while Barry kept a dubious look on his face directed at the dark-haired doppelganger.

“Yeah, I don't know how to implement them. I'm the idea man.”

“So, you didn't actually solve the cryptogram that we sent you?” Caitlin asked, knowing that she had already answered her own question.

“No, that was my partner at STAR Labs on my Earth. I'm the face of the company.” HR responded making a photograph gesture of his face before fiddling with his drumsticks once more. Caitlin gave him an incredulous look at his response. You moved your gaze up, taking a peek to the rest of the contents on the screen before looking back at HR. The drumstick fiddling had caught your attention more than once since his arrival here and you’re more than convinced that HR does it when he’s nervous. Especially when he’s been caught red-handed. “I'm more of the inspiration behind the company. Then I was exposed.” His tone had softened, glancing at you from the peripheral before dipping his head down. Your heart caught in your throat at his dejected body language. Iris and Barry locked gazes with each other before listening HR’s continuation. “Well, people thought that I was something that I... I guess I wasn't. Anyway, it... it kind of all fell apart for me.” HR let out a little breath, before continuing. Your heart fell a bit at the amount of hurt that had been laced with his voice. “But then I got your message. My partner brought me your message. I realized he's bringing me an opportunity to come to this Earth to write this book.” HR’s face gradually lit up as he finished, a true novelist articulating his emotions through his words and gestures.

“So many planets in the multiverse,” Cisco mused in disbelief to himself while everyone glanced to one another, “and we happen to pick the one Wells who's not a scientist.” You made eye contact with Caitlin, who shook her head while you did a subtle shrug of the shoulders.

“You're right. I wasn't completely honest with you- with all of you.” HR took a seat as he spoke, rolling a bit closer. HR let out a breath, swinging the drumstick around. He couldn’t look at you in fear of what he might find. “I feel badly about that. I regret that. But let me ask you a question, has there been none amongst you that has ever shaded the truth for what you believe to be the greater good?” He’s right, we all try to hide our demons, our own terrible truths from hurting others. Barry from telling Iris that he was the Flash, Cisco when he first found out he was a meta, and so on. I’m no different either.

“It sounds to me like you're a con man.” Wally interjected in the silence. Murmurs of agreement rang out through the members of Team Flash while you only raised a confused eyebrow at Wally’s conclusion. Then I guess we’re all con men? I mean, we’ve all kept the truth from each other before. You kept your comments to yourself as you watched the others and HR. You already had your verdict, setting your chin in the palm of your hand as you rested your elbow on the cool surface of the desk.

HR got up towards Cisco, readily defending himself, “Was I a con man when I showed San Francisco here how to track the beast using car alarms? Was I a con man when I showed him how to fashion a rope using carbon fiber?” You held in a snicker when he referred to Cisco as ‘San Francisco’. I guess that’s one thing we have in common with his Earth.

“I came up with those ideas!”

“You were prompted by my suggestions.”

“Oh?” Cisco shook his head slightly at HR.

“That is how ideas work! People, you need a muse! I can be your muse,” HR pointed to himself, hoping to any higher power that the Team would accept that role for him to at least do. You gave him a soft smile at his suggestion.

“What about stopping all the metas on your Earth?” Wally asked, gesturing to the doppelganger before taking a step forward. Barry and Wally exchanged looks before shaking their heads at one another as HR started speaking.

“More of an advisory role for me, but I was there. I remembered how we- you don’t think that's something? Let me present you with a scenario. You're confronted with something, a threat that you've never seen before. You don't know how to stop it. Who does?” He pointed his drumstick towards himself. The novelist needed them to reconsider whatever decision that they already had. To reconsider booting him off this Earth and to give him a chance. “That's value to you. Let me prove my worth to you. If I fail, I will pfft right back to my Earth, but if I succeed, I will have succeeded not just in redeeming myself but also… will have done some good with my life,” he quickly mumbled the latter part, feeling sheepishly embarrassed, maybe even humiliated by the last statement, but if this is the way to go for redemption then it was certainly worth trying for.

“You know, you're lucky we're pretty big on redemption and doing good here,” Barry spoke on behalf of the team, gesturing to you all with a hand, “so I think you can- I don't know stay for a few weeks, try to prove yourself, but if not, fyoo, back to your Earth.” You watched with a quizzical look as Caitlin left the room. Must be the exhaustion from today. I hope she’s alright.

“Thank you,” HR sighed in relief, clapping his hands together in thanks towards Barry. He couldn’t help the fact that his eyes took a quick glimpse of you. He told himself he wasn’t sure why anymore; he had been exposed as a fraud once more. You wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Simple as that.

“Hey,” Cisco had stopped HR with a pointed look and finger, “no more repackaging.”

“Word is bond.”

“That- just- no more of that.” Wally and Cisco started heading out from the Cortex.

“All right, HR,” Barry and Iris were the last pair to go, bidding their ‘goodnights’. You had gotten up with them, knowing there was nothing else left to say, but to go home for the night to rest up for any more of the new timeline metas. Walking halfway through the corridor towards the elevator and trailing behind the West-Allen Gold Standard, a thought stopped you. Maybe… he just needs someone to teach him- You weren’t able to finish the thought as your feet silently carried you back to the Cortex. There HR sat with his back towards you, a drumstick in hand and his other hand rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the screen that held his resume and qualifications. While he was given a chance, you knew that he would have to effectively and efficiently find a way to prove himself before his time ran out.

“Word is bond, that’s a cute saying,” you softly spoke out, leaning against the metal frame of the Cortex entrance. HR let out a little “ah!” at the suddenness of your voice, accidentally throwing one of his drumsticks backwards. It sailed back towards your general area. You giggled at the reaction, picking up the instrument piece and handing it over to him when he had turned around. HR had let out a word of relief with a hand over his heart when he realized it was you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“For a little birdy, you sure do know how to be as silent and sneaky as a snail.” His cheeks felt warm when he heard you giggle; a bright smile had graced your features when you approached him. HR hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“Don’t you mean a mouse?”

“Snails can be silent.”

“I know, but the saying is ‘silent as a mouse’.” You pulled up a chair to sit beside him. The now dimmed lights of the Cortex had eased your headaches. “I guess that’s just another comparison between our Earths.”

HR looked at you oddly, running his fingers over both drumsticks that he held in one hand, “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Hm? What would?”

“How- How I say words and phrases differently? Do things differently from the people here on Earth-1?”

“I just think that makes you really unique,” you shrugged your shoulders a bit, giving him a soft grin. HR felt the heat returning to his cheeks again and now spread up to his ears. No one has really called him unique, certainly not in a good way either.

“But the others think its peculiar, just too much.”

“Well, I think it’s cool that there’s some form of variation from our Earth’s. Give the others some time, they’ll get used to you, I promise.” You secretly prided yourself with the ability to give people of various backgrounds and characters the benefit of the doubt. Open-mindedness as well as kind acts can go a long way, after all.

A deep chuckle left HR’s lips and you felt something jump in your stomach. HR glanced up to the monitor before looking back at you. “I’m guessing you’re not here just to chatter-chitter, huh.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” You folded your hands together in your lap, intertwining you fingers as you crossed one leg over the other. Almost looking business-like. “I have a proposition for you, HR.”

“Oh really?” The novelist quirked an eyebrow at you, he sat back to match your body language as if the both of you were associates discussing a business transaction.

“Yes sir, but you have to keep this a secret between us, ok? Word is bond?”

A smile laced itself onto HR’s ruggedly handsome features at your iteration of his Earth’s phrase. You swore the room lit up a little bit at his smile. “Word is bond.”

You nibbled on your bottom lip, choosing your words wisely before speaking up again. “… I also want something in return.”

“Naturally, an eye for an eye, but it’ll depend on the prize that you want. What’s your proposition, little birdy?”

“I want to help you realize your worth and value to the team. You know, find a way for you to be helpful with the time that you have here. And starting with teaching you the basics of turning on a computer.”

“At what cost?”

“Three questions.” You simply held up three fingers.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’d need to answer a total of three questions that I could have at any point of your stay here. No resisting and no shading of the truth. No avoidance, either. Just the honest to God truth.”

“…” HR remained silent, contemplating your proposition and the costs. Wondering your true intentions and if you would be the type of person to betray him. Like so many others have in my life. HR took one took at your smug-ish face before a sigh left his mouth. Your smile had twisted into a grin.

“Well?”

“Do you promise on your soul not to blackmail me?”

“Word is bond,” you repeated gingerly. HR reluctantly agreed with raspy voice, blue eyes holding some form of trust in you.

A cheeky laugh left your lips as HR relaxed a bit in his seat, sort of contemplating what he had just gotten himself into as he watched you stand up from your seat. You offered a hand to him, that grin on your face turning into a slightly mischievous one as your other hand had held your tablet close to your chest.

“Let’s get started.”

***

The next few weeks you would hang out with HR, teaching him the basics of scanning the city for metas, understanding the basics of how a computer works, and so on. He really had been putting in a lot of effort, asking to take notes which you thought was sweet, even if some of the others didn’t welcome it at the time. HR had gone to the extent of re-reading old meta case files that the team had stored and would go on coffee runs every morning just to make sure the team was awake for the next meta sent by Alchemy. You found out about the files one morning when you found him in his pre-caffeinated sleep state in the Cortex with the files littering the computer screens. You had gotten a spare blanket and draped it over him so he wouldn’t be cold.

It wasn’t until you heard some yelling and soft curse words being thrown around from within the Cortex, that your feet picked up their pace from where you were in the corridor. You tilted your head, standing at the door-frame as you can sense the frustration emitting from Cisco towards HR. Caitlin was rubbing her temples while Barry was just running a hand through his hair as he tried to keep his irritation off his face.

“Good afternoon?” Your greeting was more in the form of a question as you knocked on the metal door-frame to alert the others of your attention. Barry and Caitlin had breathed a sigh of relief at your presence, sending you gracious smiles towards you. Cisco had shut his eyes, massaging his temples. “I brought homemade goods?” You held up the bag that had been filled with sugar cookies, sweet berry tarts, and brownies.” A small smile was on your face, glancing at everyone before setting the goods down. HR lowered his drumsticks and internally felt at ease that you had come at just the right time before Cisco’s berating would soon turn even nastier. With swift feet, the author left the room, probably going to make a new cup of coffee that he’s gotten so attached to.

“Finally, someone sensible around here,” Cisco grumbled to himself, making his way to where you placed the goods in hopes that delicate pastries from your hands would calm his spiked-up mood. “Please keep him out of the labs today,” the mechanical genius leaned into you, holding up a brownie.

“He’s just trying to help, Cisco,” You whispered back to Cisco, giving your friend a side-glance.

“I know, but we really have a lead on all these husks, and we don’t want him distracting us from that,” Cisco stated almost desperately. “Please, just this once.”

“You’re lucky that I’m a good friend.”

“Yes, I am. And,” Cisco pulled out a paper from his pocket, handing it over to you, “I have a list for you.” You gave him a quizzical look as you took the paper and unfolded it, to which Cisco spoke again. “We’re going to need a few items for the break room and from Star City, mainly Felicity.”

“Why can’t Barry speed over to get these?”

“Because CCPD, specifically Barry’s new partner, needs him to be on time whenever they call or else, he gets reported to Sighn. Again.” Caitlin spoke up, taking a sip from her cup of lemonade.

Barry sheepishly looked over at you, a tart half-eaten in his mouth as he waved at you with a cookie in hand. “Uh huh,” you rolled your eyes, not really liking doing errand work, but at least you get to see Felicity again, “just do me a favor, don’t touch my algorithms.”

“No promises. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes, San Francisco?”

“Don’t call me that.” He rolled his eyes. “Make sure you crazy kids don’t stay out for too long,” Cisco winked at you, hinting towards something he and Caitlin had confronted you about earlier that week. Barry looked confused as ever, mumbling out a huh ‘huh?’ with his mouth still full. The blood rushed to your cheeks before you flipped him off, earning a cheeky look from your friends who just smirked at your reaction. You left the room, throwing Cisco one more pointed look about your coding and algorithms before striding to the breakroom to find HR, who’s probably sulking with his heavily caffeinated cup of coffee.

***

“Hey HR,” you entered the breakroom, spotting the broad back of the dark-haired doppelganger, “why don’t you come run some errands with me?”

HR was silent for a moment; the only sound was the clinking of the coffeemaker as it began to hibernate once more. “Did they want me out of the labs today?” You heard the hurt in his voice as he finished brewing his perfect blend, turning around with a dejected expression. You nodded a bit as you looked down, taking a step closer towards him and resting a hand on his forearm. You squeezed it slightly, feeling incapable of lying to him about… anything really. His shoulders fell, shaking his head as he pulled away from your warm touch.

“Give them some time to cool off,” You spoke softly in a low tone. “In the meantime, we’ve got a few places to visit. And I’m definitely going to need a strong hand.”

HR chuckled a bit, holding his cup of java close to him. “I’m sure you can handle it on your own. You’re a strong, independent, and intelligent female.” His comments made the blood rush to your cheeks. You gently took a hold of his free hand, feeling stubbornness wash over you.

“Yes, but I want your help. I want you to come out with me today.” You pouted at him. The both of you stared at each other. “And I’m not going to take no for an answer.” You poked his shoulder as you stated that.

“…”

You smiled widely when he sighed in defeat, rolling his eyes slightly before setting his coffee down. You both knew his answer. HR couldn’t deny the amount of light that he saw twinkle in your eyes at how he gave in. He liked to think it was because he agreed to accompany you today, but… He pushed his thoughts aside as you giddily pulled him along as you grabbed one of his dark jackets that he had left on one of the couches. He hastily snatched up his drumsticks as well.

“Where are we going, little birdy?”

“We, my dear bookworm, are going to visit an old friend in Star City.”

***

After finishing up with Felicity in the Arrow Cave, you and HR bid her goodbye with the materials that Cisco had noted down for you, but not before she pulled you close and whispered “Go get’em tiger” in your ear, pushing you in HR’s general direction which caused you to stumble forward with pink cheeks. Said man looked confused at the exchange, you stuttered out that it was nothing. Felicity and HR had gotten along well enough, causing something to stir slightly inside you. But you shook those feelings away. Felicity sent Cisco a quick text message once the two of you left, feeling happy for her close friend, who sadly remains oblivious to the signs of love. HR seems like a nice enough guy, not as shady as Eobard Thawne. I just hope he doesn’t break her like all the other guys she’s been with before. Even Felicity had noticed the way HR had looked at you. The genius hacker pursed her lips and went back to monitoring the city.

He does have to admit that leaving the labs today was a good change in scenery. HR didn’t feel as cooped up as he initially did. Leaving Star City, a thought came to you as you and HR entered downtown Central City. Cisco had also given you a grocery list to complete since him and a certain speedster were always running out of things to eat in the breakroom. I swear they have bottomless pits in their stomachs. A literal void of absolute emptiness that’ll never be satisfied. And how many freaking things do we need to buy??? HR and you had both agreed to drop off the tech pieces at the Labs for Cisco before completing the errand run.

“HR?”

“Yes, little birdy?”

“Why do you always call me ‘little birdy’?”

“Is that the first question you wish to use?” He perked an eyebrow up at you. I feel like a Djinn about to grant three wishes to the one who released me from my lamp prison.

“… No.”

“Then I guess, my secrets shall remain in the depths of my being.” HR watched a pout form on your face, and he had to force himself to look away. Clearing his throat, HR asked, “Where to next?” HR made sure the leather backpack of tech Cisco needed was securely on his back.

“Apparently, we have to do the Team’s grocery shopping today,” you sighed in annoyance, running a hand through your locks. Checking the time on your phone, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “I was hoping to at least have some time today to drop by CSMC.”

The CSMC? HR furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you do exactly?”

“Me? Well I’m a Computer Scientist, guess you figured out that part from my expertise with computers.” You laughed a little at yourself, not noticing the graying of the clouds. “Felicity’s two years my senior back in grad school, she taught me all the ropes in coding and hacking. When I finally graduated, we both had big dreams for the future, one of mine was to fund an establishing tutoring program to encourage more girls into careers involving computer science, robotics, and mathematics.” HR grinned at the notion, readjusting the strap of the backpack. “Felicity soon joined me in my endeavors with advocating for younger girls while pursuing her own and ever since then we’ve been visiting CSMC when we can. Society is changing and people are beginning to understand that these fields aren’t just for men, but for all people of various backgrounds. Central City and Star City work in collaboration to keep the centers running.”

HR was a bit speechless, the capability of your thoughtfulness seemed to know no bounds. “I shouldn’t have expected any less from someone as intellectually gifted as you.”

You glanced up at the taller man, a slightly humorous look on your face, “HR, I’m not smart. I just try to work really hard. I finished school at the bottom of my class actually. Hell, Cisco catches my mistakes still. It’s a miracle that I even got hired at STAR Labs. I’m not perfect really.”

“But you’re good enough that you’re able to work wonders with Team Flash. Saving lives, disabling villainous security systems. You really are an incredible soul.” I can’t do any of that…

I bet you’re incredible too, you just don’t know it yet. You pursed your lips smiling up at him, one that he returned before nudging you with his elbow. You giggled and nudged him back before walking in silence once more. “I think I know what I want to ask for my first question.” HR quirked a pesky eyebrow at you, his smile turning into a wry smirk. He pocketed his hands as you both seemed to lose track of time.

“What was your life like back on Earth-19?”

HR felt his blood freeze in his veins at your question. HR had stopped, causing you to stop as you found yourselves a few blocks away from STAR Labs. *The truth would come out sooner or later. A haunting voice echoed at the back of his mind, mentally presenting his nighttime demons that revealed themselves in his dreams. All of it.

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

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Essek Does Not Know What To Do With This

@shadowhand-essek had this amazing post and I wanted to write it.

This has been in my drafts forever and I wanted to finally finish it.

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Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, did not understand Caduceus Clay in the slightest. Every conversation he had with the firbolg left him even more baffled than the one before.

He never knew how to react to anything Caduceus said.

Once, he’d given a long and detailed explanation about gravity, dunamancy, and how magic that bends the fabric of the world and the nature of the universe is dangerous and should be treated with great caution. It was a very important explanation as to why the Mighty Nein needed to be careful when it came to these sorts of spells.

Once he’d finished, though, Caduceus had said, “Hey, did you know there’s a type of moss that smells like decay but tastes like strawberries?”

Essek had stared at him, completely dumbfounded, not knowing what to do with this. What had made it even worse was that none of the other members of the Nein had reacted to Caduceus’ comment, meaning Essek was the only one who was confused.

“I....” Essek had tried to come up with something to say but found his mind blank. Caduceus had just smiled at him, as if he was completely unaware of Essek’s bafflement. Essek looked helplessly at Caleb and Beau, who shrugged.

Another time, he’d come to the Xhorhaus to check on the Nein and make sure they weren’t causing trouble and the moment he’d walked in, Caduceus had handed him a large bowl of stew.

“Thank you,” Essek said slowly. “But I did not ask for anything to eat?”

Caduceus just shrugged, still smiling. “I just figured you were looking kinda peaky,” he said. “Don’t work too hard now, Mister Shadowhand. And eat that while it’s still hot.”

Then he walked away, leaving Essek standing in the doorway with the bowl of stew still in his hands. Essek did not know what to do with this.

Caduceus also had a fascination with death that bordered, to Essek, on creepy. Perhaps fascination wasn’t the best word for it. Death was something Caduceus was worryingly comfortable with. Which meant he’d occasionally say things related to death that baffled Essek.

“With the beacons, we have pioneered and perfected immortality. We preserve the knowledge of ages and can learn constantly from our pasts and our mistakes. We have discovered how to transcend death.” Essek had said once, caught up in pride for his people’s tradition.

“But the worms are still going to feast on you eventually,” Caduceus pointed out cheerfully.

Essek’s words died in his throat as he stared at the firbolg, his entire train of thought derailed by this statement. “I....”

“You can’t stop nature,” Caduceus continued, still bright and cheerful. “Doesn’t matter how smart you think you are, she’ll make sure you get turned to mulch eventually. That’s just how things are.”

Essek did not know what to do with this.

At one point, desperate to have a normal conversation with him, Essek had made an attempt to compliment the tea Caduceus had given him. The firbolg always seemed to have a new batch ready whenever he dropped by.

“This herbal tea is very refreshing, thank you,” he said after taking a sip.

“Oh yeah, that’s from the Mason’s. They were all brutally murdered about fifty years ago because of some really unpopular political decisions,” Caduceus replied. “They make really good tea, though. I guess their loss is your gain, huh?” He chuckled and took a sip of his own tea.

Essek did not know what to do with this.

It got to the point where when Caduceus approached him, fear welled up in Essek’s chest as to just what strangeness he would be subjected to this time. Would it be another strange comment about death and his own inevitable mortality? More corpse tea?

“I just wanted to say thanks for, you know, getting us where we need to go,” Caduceus said. “You’ve been really patient with us, and I appreciate that.”

Essek allowed himself to relax.

“Thank you, Mister Clay,” he replied with a smile. “You are quite welcome. It is my pleasure to serve, after all.”

“Yeah. You’re a good egg.” Caduceus smiled back, patting Essek’s head with one large hand before walking away.

Essek did not know what to do with this.

During one of Essek’s visits to the house, Caduceus spotted Essek glancing at Caleb every now and again and decided to comment.

“Be gentle with him whenever it finally happens, alright?” He said, patting Essek’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Essek replied, frowning slightly.

“Sure you do.” Caduceus continued to smile placidly.

“I…Have no intention of being rough with anyone,” Essek said slowly, moving to remove Caduceus’ hand from his shoulder.

“‘Course you don’t. But he’s had a hard time in the past.” Caduceus patted Essek’s back. “So have you. Be gentle with the both of you.”

Essek did not know what to do with this.

He even found Caduceus talking to his house plants once.

“Can I help you with anything, Mister Clay?” Essek asked, approaching him.

“Oh no, no, I’m great,” Caduceus replied brightly. “They’re really good conversationalists, you know.” He gestured to the plants that Essek kept around his home.

“Oh, I know. Wonderful listeners,” Essek said dryly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I talk to them every night about how my day has been.” He was tired and didn’t particularly want to deal with Caduceus’ strangeness at the moment.

“Oh, I know. They told me.”

For a moment, Essek thought Caduceus was joking. One look at his face, however, told him the firbolg was completely serious.

“They also said to let you know you’re doing a great job, and they’re really happy here with you,” Caduceus continued. “But they wish you’d come home early from work every now and then. They think you work too hard.”

Essek stared at him. He legitimately had no idea how to respond to what Caduceus had just said. Caduceus could talk to plants? And he’d talked to his plants?

“They’re probably right, you know,” Caduceus said, patting Essek on the shoulder. “You can always trust a plant to give you good advice.”

Essek did not know what to do with this.

What Essek didn’t know was that Caduceus was making a deliberate effort to confuse Essek. It would do him some good to have his feathers ruffled every now and again, he decided.

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #caduceus clay #fanfiction #essek thelyss

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dylinski · 5 years

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Doppelganger Series

(moodboard made by @fan-child ♡ ♡)

Spitting Image (Part Five)

Warnings: Language, mild violence, graphic depictions of death (not a main character), the sheriff has a mental breakdown, stiles has a minor panic attack, LOTS OF ANGST, but also some funny shit, inappropriate use of “doppelganger sandwich” (don’t judge me)

Relationships: some Lytch (Mitch/Lydia)

Word Count: 10.2K (#sorry not sorry - don’t expect them to get any shorter)

Author: @dylinski

A/N: here’s the next part. took me a while and i kept changing things and adding things and removing things so apologies. theres just so much going on and so much i want to say. this chapter explains a lot more about the druid and who he is, although i may leave you with new questions lol. im trying to throw some romance in for you guys, but its just not really fitting in so i’ll keep trying. who do you want to see together?? not to sound like a comment whore, but feedback is tremendously appreciated since i’ve almost abandoned this story numerous times. heh. ALSO, big thanks to @sterekficrecs for proofing this chaotic mess for me. ♡ ♡ ♡

Lydia ran over to Scott who was holding Stiles’ limp body as Mitch followed close behind. She fell to her knees and grabbed his arms while examining him. Mitch looked over to Thomas who was standing stiffly, hugging himself, and shot a hard look before he heard Scott shouting his name.

“Mitch! Stiles’ dad is coming with the cops. You need to take Lydia and Thomas and get out of here. NOW!” Scott’s voice was strained and panicked. Mitch just gave him a curt nod of understanding and reached down to tentatively touch Lydia’s shoulder.

They were all panicking, honestly, after what they just saw. Stiles, weak, skinny and defenseless Stiles, just lit up like a Christmas tree and took out a swarm of armed guards and a whole building, but there was so much happening that none of them had the time to process it correctly. Lydia was whimpering next to Stiles, clinging to him and begging him to wake up. Mitch went in to grab her, but she pulled away not wanting to leave his side. Scott and Mitch exchanged looks when the alpha decided to speak up.

“Lydia, he’s okay. I can hear his heart beating. He’s breathing. Ambulances are going to be here any second and I’ll make sure that he gets to one, but you need to go with Mitch and Thomas. We can’t have two doppelgangers running around Beacon Hills alone.” Mitch pursed his lips at the boy and rolled his eyes, but Lydia nodded and stood up. She chewed on her bottom lip and looked at Mitch with anguish. Mitch would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous, but he also understood. They were close and everything pointed to Stiles being hopelessly in love with the girl.

Lydia walked over to the third doppelganger who was lost in his own mind. “Thomas?” He jumped at her light touch on his arms that were cradling his chest. “We should go. You can come with us.” Still not entirely sure what was happening, or if any of it was even real, Thomas nodded and followed them to Lydia’s car.

“Isaac,” Scott called out, “I’m going to stay here with Stiles. Go find Allison, I’ll call you if we need anything.” Isaac took the orders from his alpha and nodded as he turned on his foot and ran towards the building to find his girlfriend.

One minute later, sirens were blaring and the first cop cars pulled into the large backlot with their flashing lights veiling everything in reds and blues. Stiles was still unconscious, laying in Scott's arms. Scott waved to the vehicles, signaling them to his position as the Sherrif’s SUV stopped. Stiles' dad jumped out before the thing had even fully stopped, door wide open and the engine still running.

“Stiles! Stiles!” He ran to his son and leaned down, pulling him from Scott’s arms. “What happened to my son!?” The sheriff’s words came through gritted teeth that were laced with fear and anger.

Before Scott could answer, Stiles was swept up into his father's arms and being carried away towards an ambulance that had just parked. A paramedic climbed out of the back and met them halfway. They laid Stiles on a gurney and were running tests and making sure he wasn’t injured or bleeding. Scott cautiously lingered nearby to make sure his friend was, in fact, okay. The medic was asking the sheriff some questions about Stiles’ medical history when the boy groaned. Everyone stopped and jolted their attention to him. The medic was throwing questions at him, “Stiles? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?” He shined a light into his eyes and Stiles raised his hand to block it out.

“What?” He sat up on his elbows and everything started to come back. “Yeah. Yeah, I know where I am.” He groaned again as he moved, his whole body aching like he just ran a ten-mile marathon. The paramedic checked out Stiles some more before he was satisfied with the boy’s state, then he headed towards the group of other boys being guided out through the gaping hole in the building.

“Stiles…” Noah spoke softly to his son.

Stiles adjusted himself again, wincing subtly while sitting up, “I’m okay dad really--”

The soft look of fear on his father's face turned to rage when he was content with his safety and he cut off his son. “What were you thinking!?” Stiles halted and his eyes grew wide as he stared at his father. “If you think I don’t know it was you who left the ‘anonymous’ tip, you’d be sorely mistaken. What were you even doing here, Stiles?” His father finally took a breath and the young boy pouted his lips with raised eyebrows, waiting to make sure it was safe for him to speak.

“We were…” Stiles looked over to Scott as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to soothe out a kink. Scott just gave him a face that read, ‘don’t look at me’. Stiles rolled his eyes and looked back to his father who was still fuming. He opened his mouth to speak when deputy Parrish ran up.

“Sheriff, we found forty-nine boys in the sublevel basement…” Parrish tore his eyes from Noah and looked to Stiles for a short second, “...just like the anonymous tip said.” Awesome, Jordan knew it was Stiles who called too.

The sheriff scrunched up his features, similar to the way Stiles does so often and turned back to his son. With a pointed finger, he spoke harshly, “I’m not finished with you,” then he followed Parrish to the building.

Scott walked over to his friend and started to chuckle. “Shut up, man,” Stiles whined as he reached out with yearning fingers for his friend to help him off the gurney. He hopped down and wobbled a bit before he found his balance. They started to walk to the jeep when Stiles looked over to the missing wall of the building, stopping in his tracks. He turned to Scott with a questioning brow and eyes full of confusion.

Scott looked just as baffled, “What?”

“The wall! What happened to it?” Stiles gestured towards the hole demandingly.

“You don’t remember?” Stiles shook his head, thinking he would never forget something like that. They both started for the baby blue vehicle again when Scott asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Stiles stilled abruptly and tipped his head in thought, “We were running from the guards with Thomas and— Wait, how did we get out?” Scott looked at the ground and scuffed his shoe against the pavement thinking he really didn’t want to poke that bear right now, especially since he didn’t fully understand what had happened himself. Stiles picked up on it and shrugged his shoulders as they took the few steps left to the jeep and got in, headed for his house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lydia used her key that Stiles gave her forever ago to unlock the door to the Stilinski home and they went up into Stiles’ room. Mitch guided Thomas by his bicep up the stairs and gruffly pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed as Lydia paced back and forth. Mitch walked over and blocked her path as he grabbed her shoulders and held her at a distance. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and picking at her cuticles apprehensively.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Lydia was avoiding his gaze, but Mitch touched a light finger to her chin, lifting her head up to meet his eyes half-heartedly. “It's going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.” She gave him a soft smile just as Thomas cleared his throat and stood up.

“Is anybody going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Thomas was beyond confused and frustrated. It was like being thrust into the maze all over again with no memory, but this time his only memories were that of the world he had left behind, a vague fog veiling them like a distant dream.

Lydia walked over to him and took a deep breath, composing herself. “We need to wait for Stiles, he’ll explain everything when he gets here.” “Who? Crazy glow stick boy!?” Mitch snorted at the statement and Lydia shot him a hard look before she turned back to Thomas and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Yes. He knows what happened to you, but we don’t, so we’re going to just have to wait.” Lydia offered assurance.

Thomas let out a long huff and frustration filled him to the brim. “Why won’t anyone tell me anything!? This is bullshit! You guys know something! Why did Stiles call that kid with the red eyes a werewolf? Why did he have red eyes? How did he have claws? What happened to Stiles? Why did he light up? What the hell is he? Why do I look like him? Why do I look like you? What the hell is a doppelganger and why did the glowy eye kid call me one? Why was I in that place? Why can’t I remember anything other than the maze? What were they doing to me?”

Thomas was shouting his spew of questions and stepped too close into Lydia’s personal space. Before he could spit out any more queries Mitch was at him in less than a second. He pushed the smaller boy back onto the bed hard, stepping between him and Lydia. He let out a small growl at the kid’s face immediately melted into compliance.

Lydia groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead. She glowered at Mitch and he rolled his eyes, then turned to the other boy to make a threatening glare and stepped away. Thomas responded with a mocking face and crossed his arms.

“Thomas, we’re going to answer all your questions, okay?” Lydia’s voice was soft now and she gave him an easy smile. “We just need—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. We just need to wait for Stiles.” Thomas rolled his eyes and was done talking to both of them.

There were a couple of minutes filled with silence before they heard the front door open then two sets of hard footsteps trailing towards the bedroom. The door swung open and Stiles halted in its frame, giving Lydia a look of confusion. “Whaaaat are you guys doing here?”

Lydia flared her nostrils and looked to Scott who just shrugged. When no one said anything, she threw her arms up and finally answered. “Well, I’m not taking them to my house. Where else am I supposed to take a bunch of doppelgangers?”

Stiles nodded in annoyed agreement as Thomas stood up in frustration. “There’s that word again! What the hell is a doppelganger!?” Mitch started towards the boy, but Lydia held her arm out to stop him. He relaxed at her touch, but only slightly. Stiles was about to answer Thomas when the front door opened again and everyone froze.

“STILES. GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.” It was his dad.

Everyone stood in motionless silence as eyes traded skittish glances between the five of them. When no one moved to come up with a solution, Stiles rolled his eyes and groaned. “You three stay here and be quiet.”

Lydia shot him a look and whisper-shouted, “Well, obviously.” Stiles made a mocking smile and walked off, then Scott closed the bedroom door with his lips in a thin line and followed him downstairs.

Stiles rushed down the steps and saw his father standing in the living room with his fingers holding the bridge of his nose. He looked up to see the two boys as he pulled in his lips and shook his head. He waggled his finger at them, “You two…” Stiles held up his hands in surrender as his father pointed to the couch and ordered them to sit down. His dad followed and sat in the armchair diagonally from them.

They all sat in silence for a time while Stiles’ father collected his thoughts, making no attempt to mask his fury. Eventually, his father found enough strength to speak calmly, but his voice was still jagged and laced with ire. “What were you two doing there?”

Stiles and Scott looked perplexed as they exchanged glances. “Would you believe we were in the neighborhood?” Stiles shrugged with an optimistic grimace. A throaty grumble sounded from his father.

Obviously, Noah wasn’t going to get a straight answer, so he moved on to the next question. “How did you know about the kids?”

Stiles winced, “Lucky guess?” His father lost the little composure he had left and shot a look that could kill at his son.

“Would either of you like to explain to me the missing wall!?”

Stiles raised his hands and smirked, “Uh, that one I actually have no idea.” The sheriff looked to Scott who was scared shitless. Again, not poking that bear yet. Stiles just rolled his eyes at his friend, not understanding why he won’t tell anyone what happened.

Noah huffed and was growing more irritated by the second with the lack of cooperation. “Well, what am I supposed to do with you two? Huh?” Stiles shrugged again and seemed unphased by his father. Listing each item off with his fingers, Noah spoke, “We have breaking and entering, theft, destruction of property, assault, kidnapping…” Stiles jerked his head at ‘kidnapping’ and donned confusion. “Yeah, kidnapping Stiles. There were fifty beds in that basement and we only found forty-nine boys.”

Stiles looked at Scott and gulped visibly. If his dad wasn’t sure if they knew anything before, he was positive they did now. Stiles turned to his dad, his voice uneasy, “We have no idea—”

“Stiles!” His father cut him off and held up his hand. “I’m done playing these games. You need to tell me what the hell is going on right now before I lock you up myself. Is that what it’s going to take to keep you out of trouble? Because I’m getting tired of this, son.”

Stiles looked at his feet and picked at his fingers as the guilt hit him hard. He never means to cause his father this much stress and frustration, it just kind of comes along with the package of having Stiles as a son. He looked up at Scott who shrugged a shoulder and gave a sympathetic smile. Stiles knew Scott thought it was a good idea to tell his dad, he had told him that when it all started, but it wasn’t his place to.

Stiles looked to his father, took in an agonizing breath and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. How do you tell someone this? How do you even start? ‘Hey Dad, I’m one of three doppelgangers, that we know of, of an evil druid who’s thousands of years old. Oh yeah, he’s immortal too!’ This isn’t something you can just say to your father. How is he supposed to tell him that his eyes, his mother’s eyes, aren’t actually his?

His dad used to drink after she passed and when he was drunk one night he mentioned how he looked just like his mother. Her eyes, lips, nose, and especially her smile. How does he tell him those aren’t even his? Is there a good way to tell someone that their son isn't their son because he’s not even sure if he’s a real person himself, but just some copy of the original?

Tears started to well in Stiles’ eyes and his voice croaked when he spoke. “Dad…” The word sounded foreign in his tongue like it didn’t belong to him. Was he technically still his son? His father reoriented in his seat, his posture changing from offensive to concerned. “You have to promise you won’t freak out, okay?” Stiles peered at his father from behind his clasped hands, filled with trepidation.

His father leaned forward onto his knees, more disquieted than angry now. “Son, it’s okay. You can tell me.” He saw the fear in his child's eyes and wanted nothing more than to snatch it away. He wanted to take it all, all the pain and hurt Stiles had ever felt and will feel. That’s his son and he has a primal need to protect him, but he felt like he’d utterly failed in that department. He keeps trying, but he can’t protect his son if he doesn’t know what the threat is.

Stiles continued to struggle with his words and Scott noticed. He nudged Stiles’ knee with his own and gave him a soft smile of reassurance. “It’s your dad, Stiles. He’ll love you no matter what.” As if his best friend could read his mind, that was exactly what he needed to hear.

Stiles cleared his throat and sat up straight, “Dad, I’m a doppelganger.” His father's face turned to confusion and Stiles realized his dad had no clue what he was talking about. “A doppelganger is like...a copy of someone else.” His father’s face was even more distraught. Okay, that explanation didn’t help. Stiles sighed and looked to Scott for help, but was offered none. “A doppelganger is like having a twin, dad, but the two people aren’t related. They’re exactly the same; their face, voice, everything.”

Noah held his chin as he processed the information provided to him. He let his hand fall as he opened his mouth, but only silence escaped. He adjusted himself in his seat and Stiles started to bounce his leg with nervousness. “So...you’re a....dobble wanker?”

Stiles sat up straight with wide eyes and waved his hands outwards, “Oh God, dad, no. That’s— No just— That’s not it at all.” His father made an unamused face at him. “Doppelganger. It’s doppelganger. Please never say that again.”

His father groaned and wrapped his fingers around his brow in frustration, “Stiles, I think I would know if my son was…” He was struggling with the word again so he motioned vaguely, “...one of those things.”

“Well dad, you would think that, but I had no idea myself until about a week ago.” His father shot him a glance and Stiles immediately cringed, realizing his mistake.

“A WEEK!? THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR A WEEK?! Oh, it all makes sense now. The staying out late, not answering my calls or texts, answering my questions with more questions or changing the subject. The half-truths and talking in circles. But I still don’t believe you’re a...whatever you call it.”

Stiles’ head fell into his hands as he realized his father wasn’t going to believe him without any evidence. While his father was well aware of the supernatural world and the creatures that lived in it, he was a man of facts and logic. The type of person who needed to see in order to believe. He groaned because the last thing he wanted to do was bring Thomas or Mitch downstairs. He was convinced his father would have a heart attack if he saw one of them, but alas, what other choice did he have at this point? “I can show you. There are...three of us that we know of if you’re not including the original.”

“Three!? What do you mean there are three of you? Original? Stiles, for the last time, you are not a dingle wacker.” Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, not even bothering to correct his father this time.

“Give me a sec.” Stiles pushed off the couch with haste and lost his balance for a short second, forgetting how weak he really felt after passing out earlier. Scott grabbed is hip to help balance him, but Stiles brushed him off and mouthed ‘I’m fine.’ His father was shouting his name as he made his way up the steps, protesting him leaving. He got to his room and opened the door to see Mitch and Lydia arguing in hushed tones in the corner while Thomas was still sitting on the bed like a child who just had his toy taken away. “Mitch.” The older man looked up with question and Stiles just jerked his head towards the hallway. All of them knew what Stiles was asking so Lydia looked to her friend with uncertainty, but he gave her a forced smile.

Stiles turned and winced as it took all his energy to dredge himself back downstairs. The last thing he needed was everyone worried about his physical state in the middle of this chaotic muddle. Mitch followed him to the top of the staircase until Stiles stopped and held out a hand. “You look like shit.”

Stiles sighed and looked at his reflection in Mitch’s eyes. They were like dark brown oceans that could swallow you whole. “I’m okay.” Mitch huffed and crossed his arms, not believing him.

Stiles turned and descended down the steps to prepare his father.

“Okay, I know you don’t believe me, because honestly, I wouldn’t have believed it myself, so I’m going to show you.” Stiles paused and took a deep and reassuring breath. “Dad, you have to not freak out because the last thing I need is you going into cardiac arrest.”

“Stiles, I am not going to have a heart attack. What are you talking about?” The sheriff had his arms crossed over his chest and rolled his eyes familiarly.

His son waved up to the top of the steps and a body slowly came down. When his face came into view, Stiles swore everyone in the room could hear the sound of his heart beating outside of his chest. The room was so silent that is was deafening, and everyone was too scared to break it. Mitch stood next to Stiles with a bored face as he crossed his arms and looked to the old man sitting in the chair. Stiles looked between Mitch and his father, but there was nothing. It was like they had frozen in place and he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. He looked to Scott who was just as terrified as he was.

His father finally stood up and walked over to the identical boys. He stood in front of the older of the two and looked him over, invading his space. He was taller than his son, but not by much. His hair was longer too, and the presence of a beard and mustache where Stiles still couldn’t manage one. There was a permanent line on his brow, something that was etched into his skin from the constant furrow of his forehead.

Noah crossed his arms and squinted like he was trying to read one of those posters with the letters when you go to the eye doctor. He started to make noises of curiosity here and there, lightening the tone of the group. He was analyzing Mitch like someone would a sculpture in an art museum.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he slowly made his way to Scott, his father not even noticing. He whispered from the corner of his mouth, refusing to break his lock on his father and Mitch, “Scott, what’s happening? Why isn’t he saying anything?” His friend shook his head, just as perplexed as him.

His father finally broke the silence and everyone looked to him. “Alright. Okay.” He started to walk towards the chair. “This is okay.”

“Uhm, yup. I broke him. He’s broken. My father has officially lost his marbles.” Scott just quietly chuckled at Stiles’ discomfort and despair.

“We’re all okay.” Noah sat down in the chair and let out a long sigh and the room fell quiet again, but only for a moment. His father let out a loud and unending scream that drew shock from the whole house.

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! This is worse! This is much much worse! Scott, make it stop! How do I make it stop!?” Stiles was frantically babbling and beginning to have a minor panic attack, his breaths becoming uneven and short. Scott just tried to comfort him.

Mitch looked to Stiles and then his screaming father and rolled his eyes as he spoke, “Great, it’s genetic.”

Lydia sauntered down the steps and tried to speak over the shouting and panic, “What is going on?” Both of the Stilinski’s were too self-involved at the moment to even notice her presence.

Mitch sighed and pointed to Stiles, “Well that one is having a panic attack,” He pointed to the older man, “and that one is having a mental breakdown.”

Lydia sighed and turned as she heard Thomas hopping down the steps two at a time behind her and Mitch. “I told you to stay upstairs.”

Just as Thomas went to speak, Noah turned and saw the third doppelganger. His shouts had died down, but they picked up again and were now laced with profanities. He was babbling nonsense and holding his head for fear it would roll off his shoulders. Thomas was starting to panic and become defensive. Everything in his body made his legs twitch and beg him to run, just run as far away from all of them and this ridiculousness as you could and not look back.

Lydia had enough of all of them, so she used her banshee voice, a demanding and humbling tone. “ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP.”

As if it had flipped a switch, everyone shut their mouths and it was silent again. They all looked to her submissively and in awe. “Now, are you all a bunch of children? Because that is exactly how you’re acting. Stop throwing your tantrums and use your words.” She turned to the sheriff, “Yes, Stiles is a doppelganger. This is Mitch and the other one is Thomas.” She turned over to Stiles, “Pull it together. You’re not helping your father, he needs you right now.” Then she turned to Mitch who was laughing under his breath. “And you, this is not funny. Just because you have this whole I don’t care thing going on doesn’t mean that everyone else doesn’t.” His ever so slight smile disappeared as he took offense to her words. “Since everyone has been put in their place,” she grabbed her coat off the chair at the kitchen table, “I am going home because I am way too tired and unprepared to deal with all of this.” With that, she walked out of the door and left the men to fend for themselves in stunned silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison opened her eyes and saw nothing but black. She was lying on the cold rigid floor with her hands bound behind her back. She couldn’t help but run her tongue across the cloth that was between her teeth to muffle any noise she would attempt to make. She managed to sit herself up and started to wiggle her shoulders in an effort to shake the ropes loose. She went to pull a small knife from her arm when a chilling and familiar voice broke through the darkness.

“If you’re looking for the blade in your sleeve, don’t bother.”

Allison froze and searched the void for the person who spoke, but she couldn’t see more than three inches in front of her face. She had other weapons hidden on her person, but it was safe to assume that the man found them all. She continued to blink, trying to differentiate the darkness from movement, and could have sworn she saw something red pass quickly.

Her body stiffened when she felt a contrasting warmth to the air of the room, becoming aware that the man was now close to her. He must have been squatting behind her because he was whispering into her ear now. “If you’re still wondering what my name is, I have two. My given name…” he sounded disgusted by the thought, “...and my chosen name.” He was much more satisfied with the idea of the chosen name. He circled around in front of her and loosened the fabric in her mouth, letting it fall around her neck as she wet her dry lips. He squatted back down so they were now face to face with only a small distance between them.

Her eyes, now adjusting to the obfuscation of the room they were in, she could just make out her captor’s face. “I’m assuming you want me to ask you what they are?” Allison’s throat was sore and cracked when she spoke, the dry air not a friend to her parched mouth.

The man chuckled and stood to tower over her. “You can call me Morfran.”

Allison pulled in her brows. “You chose that?”

“Why are you so surprised?” He was genuinely curious as to what her thoughts were.

“Morfran was the name of a soldier to King Arthur in Welsh mythology. His skin was charcoal black and so hideous that no one would strike him in battle for fear he was a demon.”

“I’m impressed. You know your welsh mythology. You forget what the meaning of the name is though. Morfran, great crow, bringer of death.”

Allison shuddered at the idea. “So is that what you’re going to do? Kill me?” She held back her fear, but it was still evident in her voice.

“Maybe.” Morfran seemed indifferent on the matter like he hadn’t entirely made his mind up yet.

“Then what are you going to do with me?”

Morfran was squatting next to her again, close enough to feel his hot breath against her cheek. “You’re going to tell me about your friends.” Allison opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get out any words she felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck and a silent scream escaped her lips. Her eyes rolled back into her head and everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Lydia left, Mitch and Thomas went back to Stiles’ room while he continued to explain everything that had happened during the last few days to his dad. When his father's head was thoroughly spinning, he tried to absorb what he could before he left to finish his shift and the mountain of paperwork his son had just caused him. Stiles was drained and tired on top of still being in pain, everywhere. He was going to kick the boys out of his room so he could sleep. When he got up from the couch with Scott, Isaac flew through the door and looked like he was about to break down into tears.

Scott ran over to him and grabbed his shoulders. Isaac was trying to speak but his breaths were shallow and deep like he had been running for hours. “Isaac, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He looked at Scott with weary eyes and a forehead full of lines. “She’s gone. I can’t find her.”

“What? What are you talking about? Who’s gone?” Scott was trying to calm the beta down while pressing for answers.

Just as Isaac was about to speak, Stiles cut him off, “Allison.”

They got Isaac to the couch and he explained to the two other boys what had happened. “After you told me to get Allison, I went up to the roof, but she wasn’t there. Her bow and knife were on the ground, but that’s all I could find of her. Not even a scent. I thought I could smell another wolf, but I assumed it was just me since I’m still not very good with tracking and scenting. I just don’t get why I couldn’t catch hers. I went to her house to see if she was there, but it was empty. I got one of her shirts and followed the smell to the edge of town, but then it just disappeared. When I lost it, I came right here.”

He looked between Stiles and Scott who were standing in front of him, waiting frantically for a response. They were both fixated on the floor while deep in thought. Isaac was growing impatient, so he shot up from the couch and raised his voice. “Well!? We have to find her!”

“Woah, Isaac. It’s okay.” Scott reached out to comfort his beta, and it seemed to help. Isaac relaxed a bit and slumped back down into the cushions.

Stiles looked up while rubbing his chin and gave Scott a worrying face. He darted his eyes towards Isaac and then back, implying he didn’t want to say what he was thinking. He jerked his head towards the kitchen and Scott lead them in that direction. Stiles spoke in a hushed tone, “What if…” He took a staggering breath and knew he would immediately regret it after he said it, but continued, “What if it’s the druid?”

Scott’s eyes grew and he was shocked, the possibility never occurred to him. Stiles side-eyed Isaac on the couch, picking at the end of the armrest perpetually. “Scott, we need to go look for her. We can't leave her out there with him. We know nothing about him. He could be capable of anything and from what Deaton told us, or lack thereof, he doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

Stiles went to grab his coat he had tossed onto the kitchen counter when Scott took his arm. “No, you can’t.” Stiles shot Scott a baffled glance and Scott shook his head. “You’re in no condition, and Isaac and I would have better luck anyways. You need to stay here and rest, talk to Thomas. I can hear his heart all the way down here. He reeks of anxiety and stress.”

Stiles let out a small sigh, thankful for the suggestion, but he still felt the guilt in the pit of his stomach. He should be out there, she’s his friend too. Scott was right though, what could he do but slow the wolves down? He nodded and watched as Scott called out to Isaac. His friend gave him a reassuring smile before the two of them left.

Stiles sat down in the kitchen at the counter and closed his eyes, allowing himself to finally breathe. A flash of white invaded the darkness of his lids and he jumped up, his whole body rigid and tense. “What the hell..?” He looked down and examined the tops and bottoms of his hands, then shook his head like it was all just a dream.

His attention was grabbed by the sounds of arguing upstairs and he slouched, rolling his eyes and letting his head fall back. “Seriously?“ The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was his two twins. Twins? Triplets? Or just doppelgangers? Honestly, Stiles wasn’t sure what to call them but all he could focus on was his bed and how ardently it called to him. He dragged himself to his room sluggishly and opened the door to shouting.

“What is wrong with you? Did someone shit in your shoe or something?” Thomas was standing chest to chest with Mitch, both of them fuming and locked in their gaze. Despite the obvious four inches Mitch had on the boy, he didn’t seem to be intimidated.

Mitch pulled his lips into a thin line and his eyes widened like he was preparing to headbutt the sucker, just as Stiles ran over. He pushed his way between the two of them and shouted, “Hey, hey, hey! Now, let's not all overreact.” The other two were still staring at each other and Stiles was now stuck between them like a doppelganger sandwich, instantly regretting the impulse to put himself in this position.

Through gritted teeth, Mitch refused to give any headway, “I’m not the one overreacting.” He pressed in further, pushing Stiles tighter between the two of them.

“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered under his breath. Despite all the fighting Stiles had learned to do over the years, it wasn’t natural to him. He was a lover if he really thought about it, but these two, they were undoubtedly born and bread fighters. All Stiles could think about was how he was going to be some sort of causality of war. He managed, somehow, to wiggle his way free and was now standing lateral to the others, forming a triangle.

“Guys, guys. Just take it easy, okay?” They both turned to glare at his unwelcome antics and Stiles took an unknowing step back. Come on, he just wanted to sleep. He was so exhausted, still not entirely sure why, not to mention his body in a constant state of aching.

“This kid won’t stop asking questions!” Mitch seemed less assertive than five seconds ago, but that wasn’t saying much.

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest defensively and spouted out yet another question. “Why are you acting like such a dickhead?” He turned to Stiles, “Sergeant asshole and the redhead kept saying I had to wait for you to explain everything. No one will tell me shit!”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak and raised his hand while the other rested on his hip, but he stilled. Glancing over at Mitch, he closed his mouth and pursed his lips not entirely sure where to start.

A look of annoyance was growing on Thomas’ face and Stiles knew he had to answer his questions. He sighed and got light-headed, both boys leaning in to catch him as he started to keel over.

~~~~~~~~~

“What the hell!?” Stiles sat up, putting all his weight onto his right hand while rubbing above his left eye with the other. He heard a groan to his left and saw Thomas pulling himself up from the floor to lean against the end of his bed. He looked over to Mitch and saw that there was no movement. He crawled over to him and looked him over with alarm. “Mitch! Mitch! Dude, wake up!” He wasn’t stirring so he grabbed his shoulders and gave him a timid shake. “Hey, man, you gotta open your eyes, okay?” He leaned down and turned his ear to his nose and mouth and could hear his small, steady breaths. Stiles fell back onto his butt and hands and sighed in relief.

“What was that?” Stiles turned to Thomas who had managed to sit on the bed. He decided he was too drained and whatever the hell had kicked his ass to the ground didn’t help, so he laid down on the floor next to Mitch. He let his right hand slap onto his stomach and he twiddled the ends of his hair with the other which was raised over his head.

“Honestly, I don’t know dude.” Stiles found solace in starting up at the ceiling and, for the first time, Thomas was quiet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allison gasped for breath and sat up abruptly in the middle of a green pasture. She looked around, her long hair dancing around her face like a frame. Standing up, she tried to place her surroundings but found them unrecognizable. She could hear people in the distance, so she started in the direction of the voices.

She found herself in a village filled with wooden homes and tents, animals and many laughing children. The women wore long cloth dresses, simple pieces that were sewn together. The men were wearing large shirts and pants that tucked tight around their waists. Everything was primitive compared to the world she knew—simple lives.

None of the villagers seemed to notice her as she made her way through the small grouping and she found a hut tucked away at the edge of the development. Something from inside it pulled at her, so she went to it sluggishly, passing through its entrance.

Inside the structure, a man and women traded hushed whispers. Allison couldn’t quite make out their words. Something about wrong and mistake. They were both undoubtedly frightened as the man tried to comfort the woman.

Allison was completely still, but the world around her began to blur until it moved. She was in the woods, watching four young boys from a distance. Three of the bigger ones looked to be bullying the smaller fourth one. Anger evident on the little ones face, his fists closed and jaw clenched. The others were throwing slurs at him, saying he was puny and weak, and he wouldn’t survive the winter.

The world shifted again, the little boy now standing in front of the same woman she saw before, but older. She was yelling at him to control it. No one could know what he was, what he hid inside of himself. If anyone found out, they would kill him out of fear.

As if she were the boy herself, she felt a hot fury in her stomach. That’s what the boy wanted, to be feared. His mother seemed to change in stature and become more loving, telling him how she feared for him and didn’t know what she would do if she lost him. The boy relaxed as well and they embraced one another.

Everything swirled and Allison was in the woods again but enveloped in darkness, the only source of light beaming from the full moon above her. She heard a reverberating howl from an unknown place and spun her head out of instinct, her hair flowing with the movement. She precipitously felt under threat and discovered her feet moving without thought. She was running through the trees, panting with each step that connected with the ground. Realizing there was no immediate danger, she stopped and looked around. She took in her surroundings in an attempt to figure out where she was.

Movement some feet away caught her attention and she snapped her head in that direction. She heard growling and it was soon met with a figure revealing from the brush. A white wolf, with cutting ruby iris’.

A voice shouted from the distance, “Maccon!” The wolf tore his gaze from Allison and looked to its location. He glanced back at the girl with intrigue and then dashed towards the person who had called for him.

The world around Allison went black and she felt cold, a pain radiating at the base of her skull. Something tore from her neck and she fell over on the ground that was stealing warmth from her body. She was back from whatever journey she had taken.

Keeping her eyes open was a struggle, the room she was in spinning in a dizzying trance. Morfran walked into her vision and leaned forward over her, a devious smile on his lips.

“Maccon,” Allison whispered so quietly it couldn’t have been heard by human ears. Morfran’s cheeky grin melted away and turned down, his nose twitching with anger. Then her eyes closed and there was nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t realized it, but Stiles started to drift off. Somewhere in the midst of the haze between consciousness and sleep, Thomas broke the easy silence. “Is Sergeant asshole okay? Shouldn’t he be awake by now?” Stiles shifted his head to get a good look at Mitch whose chest was rising and falling with ease.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. He’s tough as nails.” He could hear Thomas humming in response and let his eyes close again. “He doesn't hate you, you know? He's just...guarded. Doesn’t trust easily. Hell, I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t entirely trust me. Just give him some time.” Thomas thrummed acknowledgment.

“What are we?” Thomas sounded like a small child, but Stiles had no energy left to offer any sort of comfort. He just answered his questions as well as he could while fighting his fatigue.

“Uh, we’re doppelgangers. Like...copies, I guess.”

“Copies?”

“Yeah. We look the same and sound the same, but we’re not related. Clones if you really think about it. Supernatural clones.”

“If we’re clones, who’s the original?”

“We don’t know much about him, but he’s a druid, someone who practices magic. Supposedly he’s some super evil dude who wanted to be super powerful and fucked with some shit he shouldn’t have. That’s how we were made, I guess.”

“Oh.” Thomas seemed unsure of the answers, trying to process it all but everything was so uncertain to him. He had just been ripped from a world he thought was his own only to discover it wasn’t even real. It felt like it was, so how was he supposed to tell if this was real or not either. “How did you find me?”

“A dream, oddly enough. It was like I was you, and I was running in this stone maze. There was this kid running with me--”

“Minho,” Thomas spoke softly when his name passed his lips, almost like he was afraid someone would hear it.

“Yeah, I guess. But we were running and there was this ugly ass monster thing straight out of a sci-fi movie, but I, erm, I mean you killed it. Did that really happen?”

“Yeah.”

“Badass,” Stiles spoke with a smile growing on his face as he heard a breathy laugh from Thomas.

“Why was I there? What was Wicked doing to me?”

“From what I could tell, they were experimenting on you, but I don’t know why. Everything that happened to you wasn’t real. It was an artificial reality, so kind of all in your head.”

“Do I have a family?” This question startled Stiles. He opened his eyes and sat up on his elbows to look at the other boy. He was still sitting in the same spot he had last seen him, looking down at Stiles.

“Yeah, I’m sure you have a family.” Stiles smiled sympathetically and Thomas tried to return it, but it was too sad to pass. Stiles hadn’t thought about that. They had probably been missing him and looking for him. He made it his mission to find his parents in that moment. Once they figured all this shit out, he’d get Thomas home.

Thomas looked towards the window, “Then why didn’t they come for me?” Stiles tried to answer but didn’t have one this time. He just looked the boy over, who couldn’t be more than sixteen. His hair was a little shorter than Stiles’ and his bangs fell down onto his face. He was surprisingly skinnier than Stiles too, but also less lanky. His features were softer than the other two boys like he’d been through a lot but refused to give up hope. Stiles laughed internally, he could use some more of that, always the pessimist.

“What the fuck?” Stiles was shaken from his trance and turned his head to look at Mitch who was grabbing at his head.

“Hey! Welcome back to the land of the living.” He offered a half-genuine, half-mocking smile.

“God, why are you on the floor? Why am I on the floor?”

“Dunno. We all just kinda passed out or something. It was when--” Stiles shook his head and sat all the way up, pulling his legs into a criss-cross. “Dudes, it was when you both touched me at the same time! We were all touching. It must have done something!”

“Great,” Mitch groaned as he pushed himself off the floor and sat in Stiles’ computer chair. “We’ll add it to the list of crazy shit doppelgangers can do.”

“Yeah! Wait, what?” Stiles turned back to face Mitch again.

“The wall?” Stiles stared blankly, blinking his eyes in response. “You know? The big gaping hole in the side of the building?” He shrugged his shoulders, still not understanding what Mitch was getting at.

“You turned into a freaking glowstick!” Thomas grew impatient so he tore the band-aid clean off.

Stiles jumped up from the floor, “I did what!?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” Mitch was still rubbing the back of his head on the spot that collided with the floor.

“Mitch, I think I’d remember turning into a damn firefly.”

Thomas stood up next to Stiles, “Well, you did. You were so bright no one could look at you. It was like this white light and it looked like lightning was shooting out of you. Oh! And you’re eyes were gold.” Stiles was exasperated and his hands flew in all directions around his head as he twisted his features, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Don’t forget the wall,” Mitch added.

Thomas nodded at him, “Yeah, and you blew the wall off the side of the building with your mind.”

“MY MIND?!” The vein in Stiles’ neck was prominent and Mitch kind of thought he might have an aneurysm.

Mitch leaned forward in the chair and licked his lips, “Stiles, do you remember the book we found in that vet’s office?”

Stiles turned abruptly from Thomas to face Mitch, “Deaton? Yeah. Why?”

“Didn’t it say something about…” Mitch looked up to Stiles like he was failing at finding the right word, “...powers?”

Stiles contemplated and it hit him like a train. “Elements! The three druid elements!”

“The what?” Thomas scratched his head and Stiles turned back and forth between the two of them.

Making a thinking face and an odd noise, Stiles held his hands out in front of him. He turned to Thomas and started to explain using his limbs as emphasizers. “Okay. So, a couple of days ago, before we knew about you, we found this book—“

“Illegally.” Stiles let his hands drop to his sides and emitted a sigh as he turned to Mitch, giving him the stink eye.

Turning back to Thomas, “Whatever. We found a book that said the druid, who mentioned earlier, decided some thousand years ago, or whatever, to get all grabby hands with power and made himself immortal. He used the three druid elements. Calas, things that are physical and how it’s all connected. Earth, land, the body, matter. Gwyar, the ebb and flow of life and instability of it all. Water, the sea, energy, the source of life itself. And Nwyfre, what makes up everything. That bit of us that could be called our soul or spirit. Sky, heavens, mind, and spark.”

“Spark,” Thomas questioned.

“Yeah?” Stiles wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed by the look of deep thought on the younger boy’s face.

“That’s...what you looked like. A spark.”

Stiles’ mouth parted and he pushed out a small gasp, mouthing the word ‘what’. Like two cogs in a machine clicking into place, it all connected and started to work in tandem. He briefly had the thought before and was on the right track. This wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. He closed his lips and gulped, the muscles in his neck moving with the action. “I have a terrible idea.”

Mitch sat back in the chair and rolled his eyes, “Do you have any that aren’t?”

Stiles held up a finger, “First, rude. Second, I think we should all touch again. I know we got knocked on our asses before but that’s ‘cause we didn’t know what we were doing.”

“And we do now?” Mitch raised his arms behind his head, leaning back. Stiles closed his eyes and huffed.

Thomas winced and scrunched up his nose at the idea. Mitch curled in his lips and shook his head, trying to figure out how he was caught up in all of this.

“Guys, come on. Just trust me, I think this is going to work. The book said that the three elements had to come together as one. What if we’re like Voltron or the power rangers?”

Mitch pressed his palm to his face and let his fingers slide down, a groan at his lips. “Whatever. I call black ranger.” He pushed himself up from his spot and walked towards his counterpart.

Stiles perked up and was slightly dazed by Mitch’s sudden acquiescence along with the pop culture reference. He’d been pretty sure this guy was raised in a lab, but apparently that had been Thomas. “Ahh! That’s the spirit.” He waved over to Thomas to join them. The youngest of the three rolled his eyes and started towards them.

They were all standing in a triangle again, facing each other. Stiles held his arms out tentatively and spoke softly, ��Alright. Mitch. Thomas.” He nodded at the space between them and Mitch groaned. He wasn’t one for physical contact. Thomas rolled his eyes and grabbed the older man’s hand. Mitch let out a soft grunt in protest but didn’t fight it. Hovering his hands over the other boy’s, Stiles let out a breath. “Okay, I hope this works.”

“Wait! I thought you sai—” Before Thomas could finish, Stiles completed the circle and time stopped. They were all pulled into a blackness of nothing and everything.

Stiles blinked and found himself floating alone in the emptiness, but he felt a buzzing of electricity on his skin, in the air around him, and inside his chest. He ran a hand over the other and a spark ignited. “Oh my god! Cool, bro.” He looked his hands over and a white electricity danced over them. Following the current rolling up his arm and onto his chest, he took a step back. He almost tripped and suddenly the space he was in was now white. He heard someone shouting his name and looked up in response, seeking out the voice.

Realizing where he was, Stiles snapped back into the moment at the Wicked facility. He felt a hot light burning into his very being like he was exploding from the inside out. It had nowhere to go but outward, forcing the energy from his body like a beacon. It shot forward and knocked the men over in front of him, flinging them like rag dolls into the walls. Did he really do that? He turned and faced Scott and Thomas, looking past them to the barrier they faced. He pulled his arms back like he was preparing to throw a punch and pushed his hands forward, emanating a force that drained him dry. He watched as the wall all but vanished, being torn from its place and crumbling to the ground.

Stiles felt like all that power he felt was gone, leaving him hollow and wanting for more. He felt dizzy and couldn’t hold himself up, then blackness.

Thomas let out a breath that echoed into the abyss he was standing in. Despite being unable to see its beginning or end, if there was one, he knew he was in the center of it. He looked up and saw it littered with silver twinkling lights. He saw one in motion and followed it, realizing all the illuminations were connected. He looked down and found brown earth beneath his feet. Roots were lain around him, weaving in and out of the ground and he followed them to a tree. It towered in front of him standing tall and wide, an immovable force of nature.

The young boy stepped forward, raising a hand out cautiously. He touched the bark and his head flew back, shooting his mind up the extent of the tree for what felt like miles until he reached the stars. He felt a fire in his stomach, burning and raging to escape.

Thomas pulled back and for the first time in his life, wasn’t scared. He felt strong and solid like he was the tree itself. He clenched his fists at sides and felt something shoot up his arms. He looked over and saw an emerald flame enveloping his limbs. Holding his hands in front of him, he examined them closely. “Holy shit,” he laughed and noticed the fire wasn’t hot, but deadly nonetheless.

There was pressure around his ankle and he looked down to see the roots of the tree wrapping around his leg. With a yelp, he was jerked down into the earth.

Mitch was shrouded in a never-ending whiteness, almost blinding. Despite being fully clothed, he had never felt more vulnerable and naked than this moment. He wrapped his arms around his belly and tried to hold back the tears that pushed through his ducts. A cold rush filled him to the brim, a raging sea inside of him that pushed at his boundaries, pressing to seep from his pores.

He let out a sad laugh, recognizing that in spite of his controlled and calculated exterior he was a chaotic current and mess of emotions and impulses. It didn’t scare or frighten him, it empowered him. He’d always held back buried everything he ever felt down and hid it away from the world, protecting it. Like an epiphany, he found the power in his emotions and their fierceness. He opened himself up to the idea, allowing himself to feel and found that he was drowning in an open ocean with no land in sight.

Sinking down into the blue water he choked and clawed at his throat, desperate for a source of oxygen. He stopped, concluding that there was no point but found he didn’t need the air. In his stillness, he found a calm he had long searched for, a stark contrast to everything he was feeling only seconds ago. Blinking, he saw a face in the water, reaching out to him. Unknowingly, he returned the action but found they were just out of his reach.

The image came into focus and it was Katrina, like an apparition with the tendrils of light dancing over her form. He wasn’t sad or angry, just was and she smiled at him. He tried to smile back but felt arms wrapping around him from behind. He looked to his chest, that instinct of fear rising in him and was rapidly pulled back, his arms and legs dragging in front of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morfran stood over Allison’s limp body, fighting back his instinct to snarl when a surge of energy coursed through him and his eyes flashed vermillion. His nose twitched at the smell of copper in the air from where he cut into the girl’s neck. There was a tingling sensation over his flesh and he instantly knew what was happening. He was swallowed by the floor beneath him and dropped into a forest doused in tangerine flames.

Knowing it wasn’t real, he flicked his fingers to bring himself back to his body, but something countered it and he landed in a field of violet lilies. He let out a hideous roar and emitted a shadow over the beautiful pasture. He hated the flower. A sliver of light broke through and a breathtaking blonde woman with hazel eyes set a path for him. Her gown flowed in the breeze and Morfran faltered. He reached out to meet her fingertips and she was ripped from him and spun into the forest again, nothing but ash now.

He fell to his hands and knees, covered in soot. He was a small boy again, crying and screaming at the moon. The image of his mother, his anchor, burning and tied to a stake in the center of the village. The screams and shouts of the villagers saying she was a witch and cursed them all. His tiny eyes filled with tears as he watched her, whispering his name, “Maccon,” as the flames lapped at her feet. She wore a smile through it all until the flames took her and enveloped her kaleidoscope eyes and ate away at her golden locks. He slammed his eyes shut and heard the resignation sound of gut-wrenching screams.

That night something in him broke, no one would ever say his name again. It belonged to his mother and no one else. He had no room left for anything but hate for the people who took his mother from him. Druids were known and typically respected, but they used her as a scapegoat for their misfortune. That was his trigger, her death that revealed he too was capable of her abilities. When the fiery power kicked in him, his wolf howled and smiled. The magic gave it strength and the wolf fed the magic. A cycle of unending energy.

The boy, no older than fifteen, screamed and a ring of fire irradiated from him, engulfing the village and the people who resided in it. They would burn with his mother. His soul hung in the balance, teetering between the choice of light or dark. Every druid faced this when they came into their powers. The possibility to be the sun or the void.

With the taste of the newfound strength on his lips Morfran hungered for more, his wolf's belly rumbling and aching for the rush that came with it. The thought of being feared rather than the one who was frightened. He was tired of being nothing, he yearned to be more; more everything. His heart chose the darkness and went down the path of those who came before him known as darach. They meddled in magic that upset the balance of the world, going against their own nature.

Morfran let out a growl laced with a scream and awoke on the floor, leaning back on his hands. He was back with his body, his mind no longer wandering the supernatural realm. There was only one reason this happened to him and it was that the bond was forged between the other three he saw earlier that night. After sifting through Allison’s mind, he knew their names as well.

He looked to the girl across from him and decided to let her live, for what it’s worth, not that she would have much of a life. He stood up and walked over to her, whispering in her ear, “Cadal, nighean òg.”

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A/N: The last sentence Morfran says is “Sleep, young girl” in Scottish Gaelic. again, please let me know what you thought, theories, things you’d like to see, etc. thank you for reading. it means the world to me. ♡ ♡ ♡

Taglist: @daisyxbuckley @bitch-banshee @wolfmadefromash @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @theholydestiny @2eyesmadeoutofcoal @jasper53fox @stiles-o-dylan24 @shelinski-91 @samslave @peachybrook @juliebean247 @fastfadingfiction @pyro-vixen @katemusic @tete-futue @juliebean247 @allybugg888 @theoneswithoutpacks @raimykeller @ratman83 @mayxsx @ozgirl6 @prettyeyes1202 @xceafh @indecisive-fandom-writer @lawfulgeek @fandom-fairy-tale @catcrown21 @celestialblissx @saltistoosalty @dreamingofdyl @redsalv20 @treestarrrrrrrr @nashapixie @lettersofwrittencollective @behind-my-hazeleyes27 @nitnat6245

#doppelganger series #dopp series #thomas #tmr thomas #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf crossover #mitch rapp #american assassin #american assassin au #american assassin crossover #the maze runner #the maze runner au #the maze runner crossover #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien #DYLANS EVERYWHERE #DYLANS COMING OUT OF YOUR EARS

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dakotablackwood · 5 years

Text

Silence [Pt. 2]

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings: Unsympathetic Virgil, deception, manipulation, physical pain, bottled feelings, disguised violent threat, murder mention/joke, cursing, insults, hatred, Phonophobia [Fear of loud noises]

Ships: Loceit??? Who knows??? DLMP, other ships TBD

Prologue: It all got to be too much for Deceit sometimes. He's a flawed side, defective, useless. He isn't supposed to have these fears. He isn't supposed to flinch every time he drops something. He isn't supposed to have a panic attack when the dryer at a fast food restaurant is just a little bit too loud. It only gets worse when Virgil decides to mess with him. He thought Virgil would get better after being with the light sides. He didn't think Virgil would do anything to harm him. He couldn't hate Deceit so much that he'd hurt him, right?

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

When he woke up, he almost thought it was all a dream. Well, he hoped it was. As distinct hushed whispers came into focus, he knew it wasn't. If that wasn't enough, the texture of his bed felt….wrong. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to open his eyes, he didn't want to do anything to give the impression he was awake. It made him sick just thinking about the look on their faces. He'd honestly rather spontaneously combust than have to deal with their hatred. They probably thought it was a joke, some tactic to gain their trust. That would be fine, at least they would leave it as that. Maybe it would be better that way.

Suddenly, a specific comment caught his attention. It was quiet, and he seemed to be the only one who heard it.

"You always screw things up, don't you?"

Deceit's eyes flew open, and he was sitting up in just a few seconds. He regretted it immediately. Not only had he caught the others' attention, but he was now dizzy with how fast he'd gotten up. His mind blurred and his vision gave out. His body started to sway while he held his head, waiting for it all to stop.

A hand settled firmly on his upper arm. He couldn't comprehend it until a few seconds later, but when he did, he noticed that it hurt. It burned, really. As the dizziness subsided, he was able to look up and see Virgil, Logan, Patton, and Roman all standing over him. All he could focus on, though, was Virgil's hand over his arm, barely even touching him.

Deceit had fallen back, landing on his pillow at some point in his dizziness. He hadn't felt it at all, which was weird, but then again he was really dizzy. Normally, he would've cared about the fact that he wasn't in his own room. He would've been appreciative of the attention he was getting, if it weren't for the searing pain of Virgil's hand on his arm. He was so confused. 'How is he doing that? What did I do? What is happening?'

The pain made him bite his tongue, flinching and moving around uncomfortably.

He opened his mouth to speak, and as soon as he did, Virgil pulled his hand from his arm. Deceit gloved hand went to rub his skin where the side had touched him, "Why- how did you do that?"

Virgil mocked confusion, as if he wasn't speaking to the master of deception, "What do you mean, snake face? Are you already trying to mess with us?" He glared, but to Deceit, it meant 'shut up, no one will believe you'.

Deceit just rolled his eyes, not wanting to play these games. All he wanted was to know why he wasn't in his room anymore and how the hell he got here. He looked at the others, scanning each of their faces. Patton's was concerned, ever loving and caring. Roman's expression displayed uncertainty. Logan's was calm, but his eyes. His eyes showed concern. Genuine concern.

One of the things Deceit can do is see true emotion through people's eyes. He was able to see how someone truly felt, if they showed it or not.

Even so, he thought even the others could see Logan's emotions if they tried. They were always so strong, but somehow, the others never saw them. They never saw how truly emotional Logan is. It seemed so obvious to Deceit, but the other seemed to have his emotions so covered up that the others just didn't quite notice it. It was so confusing to Deceit. How did they not see it?! He was upset and almost crying, how did no one notice?

It always baffled him how the others could be so smart, so attached to each other, and yet they couldn't notice things like Logan's body stiffening (hurt, upset, angry) or him going silent (ignored, surprised). Deceit noticed these things, yes, but Logan's eyes broke every little external wall he put up for himself. He could have a cold hard expression, but be incredibly hurt or excited.

He quickly snapped back to life when he heard Patton's voice suddenly, "Deceit, are you….are you okay? Yesterday was rough for you, I imagine." He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Deceit's eyes were still just slightly red from crying, and he could feel the dried tears on his face. He remembered every detail of last night and flinched, "Perfectly fine, Patton. I've been fine, last night was nothing. It was simply a burst of emotion that I obviously couldn't handle. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave before you all start hating me again. I'd rather not be here for that part." As he stood, he finally took a look at the room he was in. Obviously Patton's, with blue walls decorated with rainbows, kittens, dogs, stars, and every other happy thing you can think of. There was a wall of pictures and memories from Thomas' past. They showcased big accomplishments in their host's life, like when Thomas got an award and when he got the lead role in a school play.

The room was bright and happy, everything in it was something from Thomas' past that held value.

Patton's room and Deceit's were very very different in that aspect, despite having the same layout.

Speaking of Patton, the side frowned when he went to leave, "Wait, ki- Deceit!"

At the mention of his 'name', the deceptive side turned to look at the bubbly dad. It didn't hurt that he didn't call him 'kiddo', it didn't, it didn't, it didn't, he wasn't a kid why would it hurt- "Yes, oh so loveable Morality?"

Patton crossed his arms, "Please tell us why you were so upset. We've never seen you cry before, we're just concerned."

He didn't know what bothered him so much about that little statement, but Deceit just hissed in annoyance, "Concerned? Really? Don't even try with that. I don't do anything that important, now go do your job and stop lying to a liar. Honestly Morality, you could've called me stupid to my face and it would've been less insulting." He could taste the lie on his tongue. It was a nice, rich honey-like substance. If it wasn't for the blatant, hurtful lie he would've appreciated the taste. He craves it, and this would've been a victory if it weren't for the pain that came with it.

"Well, I care king cobra!" Roman said defensively, "I mean, come on! We're not part of a mean person, we can't completely hate you! Have a little faith in us man, we're not that terrible." The prince huffed, looking to the side like an insulted teenager.

"Yeah, we're not going to like….kill you or anything." Virgil 'agreed', and somehow, no one noticed the sarcasm except Deceit.

This just made the snake faced side uncomfortable. The way the other's eyes darkened, how Virgil's smirk looked sinister to only him. It all just made him want to throw up.

"Right, well, I'm going to be in my room. While I'm there, try to keep it down for me." Deceit asked casually before sinking out. He didn't feel comfortable anymore, and he didn't need to deal with this right now. As soon as he made it to his room, he groaned and went to go look for his hat.

Now, any other side/person would've thought Deceit's request probably had nothing to do with the reason he was distressed the previous night. However, that little statement had confirmed everything that Logan had hypothesized already. He knew why he was crying, and he knew exactly what that meant. Was he going to tell the others? No.

Now you might be thinking "why not?"

Because, put simply, the others had had enough of his explanations, lectures, and definitions. He didn't think they would understand or care about what it meant either. They would lose interest, ignore him, dismiss his information as invalid.

He really did care about Deceit. He knows more about Deceit than Deceit even knows he knows about. He knows Deceit knows more about him, too. Does he care? No. He actually quite likes how someone can see past his hard exterior.

Yes, it was hard to be the logical side. It would be harder to do his job, though, if the others hated him. Which was why he felt kind of bad for Deceit in a way. While filming SvS, he had to step in and stop the other. Not because he wanted to be rude- despite how rude it might've came off as to Deceit- but because he knew the others wouldn't listen. He knew the snake side wasn't going to get anywhere, and it was better if it was stopped before the deceptive side felt just as bad as he did when he himself was ignored. It wasn't worth it to keep going, because it would only hurt worse the longer it went on.

He made a mental note to keep the noise level to a minimum.

After a few minutes of silence, he decided enough was enough and that they were wasting time, "We all need to resume our individual work elsewhere. We are not accomplishing anything standing here except for 'effectively' wasting valuable time. If we are done here, we should disperse, as I believe we cannot properly do our part in helping Thomas without moving from this specific spot. I will leave now, and I expect everyone else, excluding Patton, to do the same. This is Patton's room, obviously, so technically he's where he needs to be. Apart from him-" He was cut off by a groan from Roman.

"Alright, alright we get it! We're leaving!" Roman said before sinking out with raised hands.

Virgil just shrugged, leaving silently with a peace sign.

After the last of the two left, Logan sighed and finally sunk out.

Back in Deceit's room, panic was starting to rise as he searched everywhere for his hat. He just couldn't find it, and he didn't have another one. He was hyperventilating as he checked the floor for the twelfth time, sweaty with fear. It had to be there. It HAD to be there. As he searched, he felt more and more vulnerable and defenseless without his hat. He was searching for hours, having destroyed his room in the process. He was crying again by the end of it, on his knees in the middle of the room. His hair was messed up, his makeup even more messed up than before. He wanted his hat so badly, it was childish. It was so so childish but he NEEDED it. It was his hat for god sake. It was one of the only things that gave him comfort, the only thing beside it being his gloves. He felt stupid, but he also felt so….exposed without that damn hat. Burn anything in his room, sure, he didn't care. The only things he ever cared about was his hat and gloves, so be it if everything else is gone. He was so annoyed, upset, anxious. All he wanted was his hat, was that too much to ask?

Back in Virgil's room, tucked discreetly into a drawer and covered by clothes, was a little black hat. Inside, hidden from the eyes of everyone, was a little embroidery of a two headed snake.

#sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #unsympathetic virgil #loceit #phonophobia #tw #sanders sides #thomas sanders #abusive virgil

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bts-fantasy · 5 years

Note

idk if you do this, but, can you make a yoonmin imagine please? Ps, I love reading your imagines ☺️ uwuu

Hey @fadedsunnie 😁 Yes requests are always welcome! I hope you like this, I tried something new☺️ let me know what you think💜👍🏽

The Devil‘s Addict

Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin

Genre: Angst/Fantasy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

„And this is the main torture chamber.“

Yoongi explained after entering through the big wooden door. Jimin looked around in the big hall where there were many tools and machines with bloodstains on them. The smell of something burning rose to his nose and he covered his face immediately with one hand turning around to look at Yoongi who was watching him the whole time. He nodded wanting to leave the chamber as quickly as possible and walked past Yoongi into the big hallway of the castle. Finally, outside, he took a deep breath before turning around to face his new boss.

„It was so hot in there, but not as hot as you.“

Jimin spoke shamelessly pointing his fingers at him with a playful grin. Yoongi sighed for the fifth time already and rolled his eyes moving around Jimin to continue the tour.

With a low chuckle, Jimin quickly ran to catch up and walk beside him again. „Sorry I got lost...“, he said slightly panting as he tried to keep up with Yoongi who was moving rather quickly. „...in your eyes.“ Again he pointed finger guns at Yoongi who just sighed for the sixth time now.

If Jimin had known that the devil could be that handsome he wouldn‘t have fought against the demons who had dragged him into hell a few months ago. He didn‘t have anything or anyone to miss on earth except for a shitty job and a lot of bills so he might as well just stay and play the assistant for the devil he thought.

Ever since he laid eyes on the handsome man he couldn‘t stop thinking about him and even if Yoongi turned down every attempt he couldn‘t stop trying. In fact, every rejection only made him try harder and harder which led Jimin so far that he started using cheesy pick-up lines on him.

„Hey, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?“ Jimin wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk but when Yoongi abruptly turned to look back at him his heart skipped a beat and he couldn‘t tell if it was out of fear or affection.

„Jimin, I literally fell from heaven.“ He blankly said causing Jimin to mentally facepalm himself for the stupid mistake.

„Oh, right. Uhm... did it really hu-“, before he could finish the sentence Yoongi cut him off.

„Yes, it hurt, Jimin. A lot.“

And with that Yoongi turned around walking away leaving him behind with a dumbfounded expression.

Did he touch a sore spot?

Later that night Jimin sat at the dinner table but he couldn‘t eat one bite due to his mind wandering off to the incident earlier. He felt bad for making Yoongi uncomfortable that had never been his intention.

„Why aren‘t you eating?“

Suddenly a voice spoke from behind him causing him to jump up in shock. His fork fell onto his plate with a loud clink. He immediately turned around to look up at Yoongi standing tall in front of him watching him with a cold expression. For the first time, Jimin couldn‘t think of a witty comment or anything cheesy since the confidence he once had had faded away when he looked at him like that.

„Uhm... I- I am not hungry.“

Yoongi rolled his eyes as he moved around to sit at the opposite end of the table his eyes still coldly on Jimin. Neither of them moved the food on Yoongi‘s plate still untouched as he sat there with his hands folded in the middle.

„Why aren‘t you... eating?“, Jimin asked cautiously after a while not understanding the situation. The intense eye contact was too much for him to take and he tried to cover his burning cheeks by moving around in his chair avoiding Yoongi‘s gaze.

„I‘m not eating until you eat.“

Blank and cold. His voice lacked any emotion but still, Jimin‘s heart fluttered at the statement coming from the other end of the table. He couldn‘t help but imagine that there was somehow a little care hidden behind his words.

Slowly he picked the fork up again and started eating watching Yoongi finally do the same.

The rest of the dinner went by quietly only the sound of cutlery on porcelain could be heard in the big dining hall where only Jimin and Yoongi were left.

„I... uh... I wanted to apologize.“ Jimin started, putting the fork down on his empty plate. Yoongi raised his brows as he wiped his mouth with a napkin his eyes burning into Jimin‘s like fire.

„I‘m sorry if I was too rude or asked too many questions. I didn‘t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. Also, you shouldn‘t take my pick-up lines too seriously I just love seeing your annoyed reactions but then again I don‘t want to annoy you too mu-“

The sound of a wooden chair scraping the marble floor underneath them made Jimin shut up and look at Yoongi in surprise as he silently stood up and walked away. Jimin looked after him as he opened the doors and walked out without sparing him a second glance. His heart dropped and he let his head hang low, disappointed at the outcome of his attempt to make things right again.

A week went by and Yoongi ignored him mercilessly to the point where Jimin felt like a ghost wandering around the halls of the big castle. Lost and lonely he didn‘t have anyone to talk to since everyone else treated him like an intruder who didn‘t really fit in with the rest of them. He started missing his old life, his old job and even his rude boss who’d screamed at him non-stop.

So it wasn‘t a surprise when he found himself locked in a dark room crying all by himself. He let go of all the frustration and anger he had bottled inside of him over the past few months wiping his wet eyes every now and then only to have them fill with tears again. It was hopeless.

A loud bang on the door suddenly made him sit up straight on the cold ground. He didn‘t think anyone could find him in this room far away in a corner of the castle but it seemed like someone was impatiently trying to get in. Jimin wiped his eyes one last time, he had no other choice than to open the heavy door so he took a deep breath and stepped forward in the dark room.

As soon as he opened the door a baffled Yoongi stood in front of him his eyes immediately narrowing when he noticed Jimin‘s tear-stained eyes.

„Come with me.“

He blankly spoke grabbing Jimin‘s hand and dragging him along the hallway all the way to the top tower of the big castle. The hot air blew right into his face and it didn‘t take long for the sweat to run down his temples. Yoongi roughly spun him around letting his hand go so Jimin‘s back was pressed against the stone wall. His eyes burned right into him as he snorted shaking his head.

„What the hell is wrong now?“

Yoongi raised his voice but he dropped it immediately when he saw Jimin flinch closing his eyes in fear. He took a deep breath as he told himself to calm down again something he had never done before.

He was used to letting all of his anger go regardless of the consequences so why was there a little voice inside of him now stopping him from burning everything around him into ashes?

Jimin slowly opened his eyes again when the silence took too long and looked at the pained expression on Yoongi‘s face in confusion. He watched the elder run his hands through his dark hair fighting an inner battle that he couldn‘t quite decipher.

„It’s nothing... I‘m fine.“ His voice was nothing but a whisper and he couldn‘t tell if Yoongi could even hear a single word.

„Aaargh!“ Yoongi let out a loud growl of frustration pulling his hair but suddenly his body had him trapped between the wall and his arm was right next to his face pressed against the stones behind him. Jimin held his breath looking right at Yoongi with wide eyes whose face was now only inches away from his own. Up close he looked even more breathtaking and dangerous he thought as he took in the details he had missed to notice before. All in all, Jimin couldn‘t take being so close to him without being able to touch him as he pleased and it was slowly not surely driving him insane.

„What are you doing to me, Jimin?“

His voice was low as he looked at him with pierced eyes making Jimin‘s stomach float. He couldn‘t move at all his body still tightly pressed against the wall he didn‘t know what to expect next. Yoongi‘s actions were always so unpredictable and confusing that it was giving him a hard time to concentrate and think of a proper reaction or the right words to say so he just stood there and let everything happen whatever it may be.

Yoongi moved his arm up slowly but stopped before his hand could touch his skin. There was a hesitant look in his eyes as if there was still something holding him back from risking the step.

In fact, Yoongi didn‘t know what he was doing. Ever since Jimin came into his life he had started doing things he’d never thought of before. Small things that left him surprised and confused as to what the reason behind it was. He‘d catch himself humming a random melody or smile for no reason at all and now he was standing so close to Jimin, a human he had only dragged into hell for the fun of it. He had never been this close to a human before and the only thing stopping him from reaching out and touching his soft skin was himself. The idea that he was destined to be alone forever was something he‘d deeply rooted inside of him and he didn‘t like the way he was losing control over himself with each day that passed.

His hand was still up in the air just a few inches away from the tempting touch but he dropped it again with a defeated look. He couldn‘t bring himself up to make the step towards the thing he had sworn to never feel again.

Jimin, on the other hand, could see right through him and a sudden wave of confidence took over him causing him to reach out and push a strand of Yoongi‘s dark hair behind his ear. Yoongi looked up in surprise eyes widened in shock and for the first time the cold mask fell off and Jimin could finally see the lonely man hiding behind it, craving for another touch.

So he took the chance and leaned forward connecting their lips to a hesitant but deep kiss while his arms slowly wound around Yoongi‘s neck. He could feel how the elder finally gave in as he firmly grabbed him by the waist and pushed him further into the wall pressing his body against his.

They put everything that had been left unsaid into that one kiss that reassured one another that their feelings were mutual and they were genuinely happy in each other‘s presence.

There was no need for any words.

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imladris-soldier · 6 years

Text

Lashes (pt 18)

Bill Williamson is a racist asshole. Everyone knows it. They just punch him and go on about their day. When a Lakota woman joins the gang, everyone expects things to go on as normal, slurs and all, and for a time, it does. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds that hatred is something learned - which means it can be unlearned, if given time, care, and patience. And she has plenty of those… the first two, anyway.

Bill Williamson x OC

The trolley incident, as Arthur had referred to it, only gave Star more reason to remain uneasy about the course of the gang. Apparently Angelo Bronte had lied to Dutch as well as set him up, causing a lot of chaos and police deaths in the process. There was scarce money to be stolen at the trolley station, and Dutch had taken a bit of a blow to the head in the escape. None of it was good news.

“So... what's the plan, then?”

“Dutch said somethin' 'bout the bank, but that's gonna take some more legwork before we're ready to hit it.”

“He still wants to? Even after all of that? Shouldn't we just go?”

Arthur sighed heavily and shrugged. “I don't know what we should do. I thought we were only stayin' in Lemoyne to get Jack back, but... now he's talkin' about Tahiti and Australia like we got any kind of idea how to make a life there. He says mango farmers, but I ain't even seen a mango before.”

A laugh skittered out of Star. “Me either. Wouldn't know a thing about farming them.”

“Exactly. I don't mean to sound doubtful, but I just can't see his endgame like I used to.”

“Arthur... I'm...”

I'm worried, she wanted to say. She wanted to explain her fears and doubts and hopes and desires, but all of it just felt so pointless – so unsure. Dutch had been muttering more about doubters of late, and she didn't want to fall into that category.

When Star didn't finish her thought, Arthur looked over at her, taking in her thoughtful frown. “I know, Star. I know.”

They got back to camp around mid-morning, calling out a greeting to Charles who stood guard. “Good to see you back,” the burly man replied with a nod.

Star hitched her mare and removed the saddle before heading into the heart of camp. She knew that she had to seek out Bill, but a part of her was fearful of the conversation they would have. Instead, she went to find Dutch first, as she was worried about him.

The dark-haired man was sitting up on the second floor balcony, a book in hand. Star jogged up the stairs and quietly exited out the double doors. Dutch looked up when they creaked, but he smiled when he saw her. “Ah, the warrior returns. We've missed you the last few days.”

His words made her smile. “I'm sorry for the mess I made.”

“What mess? All I saw was a woman gaining her rightful vengeance for wrongs done to her and those she cared for. Somethin' I can admire, and admittedly feel a kinship with right now.”

“Arthur told me about Bronte and the trolley station.”

Dutch snorted in disdain. “Then you understand.” He put his book down and pat the chair next to his. Star took his invitation and sat. “That snake of a man has harmed us for the last time.”

“Do you intend to pay him another visit?”

“It is... up for consideration, though Hosea is being obstinate. The way I see it, he runs this town, and as long as he's still in it, we ain't got a chance in hell to rob that bank.”

“Do... do we have to rob the bank?”

He shot her a sharp glance. “Do you want to get away from them that's on our tail and live out the rest of your years peaceably in an island paradise?”

The tone of his voice made her shrink into herself slightly. “I suppose.”

“Then, yes. We have to rob the bank.”

Something had soured between them, and Star, for whatever reason, felt the insatiable need to make it right again. If nothing else, she understood Bill's compulsion to make Dutch proud of him. “Arthur said you hit your head. Has anyone looked at it?”

“Ms. Grimshaw gave it a look when we got back. I'm fine.”

Her lips pursed. “May I look?”

For a moment, Dutch seemed suspicious, but it faded into soft appreciation. “Suppose another input wouldn't hurt none.”

Star stood and moved behind him, gently taking his hat and hanging it off the back of her vacated chair. She ran her fingers softly through his dark locks, shaking them loose enough to be manipulated out of her way. “Where did you hit?”

Dutch pointed to the top of his head, just where his hairline met his forehead. “The worst of it was here, but my whole head has been hurtin'.”

Slender fingers shifted his hair away from the area he'd pointed to, revealing a large, ugly bruise on his scalp. They prodded carefully, earning a hiss of pain from him. “Sorry. Do you know what you hit it on?”

“No idea. We crashed a trolley, and things went flyin'. Ain't no knowin' what clobbered me.”

“Hmm.” She didn't like the look of the bruise, or the fact that his whole head hurt him, but she didn't know enough of her people's medicine to make any affirmative statements. “I know some plants that help with pain. I can make you a tea that will ease it and help you sleep.”

“You mean drinkin' alcohol 'til I black out isn't exactly the most healthy sleep method?” he joked, looking up at her with a smile.

She smiled back. “Not exactly.”

Just then, the floorboards of the house creaked, announcing the presence of another. Both pairs of brown eyes locked onto tearful, angry green ones. Molly's bright red hair whipped around as she stormed out of the room. Dutch sighed heavily, leaning forward until his elbows were on his knees. Star stood slightly frozen, hands still hovering in the air where his head had been.

“Don't mind her,” Dutch commented wearily. “Can't do nothin' to please her these days.”

“I didn't mean... if I gave the wrong impression...”

“You did nothin' of the kind. She's a jealous creature who can't see past her own damn nose.” He rubbed his eyes, then stood, grabbing up his hat and placing it back on his head. “I'll take that tea of yours. Thank you.”

“Sure. I care about this gang, and that means you too.”

He smiled. “Good day, madam.”

As Dutch left, Star turned to look out over the camp. It had mostly returned to normal, though there was noticeably less organization around the horses and their gear. It hadn't occurred to her when she left that there wasn't anyone else to look after them. Not with Kieran gone.

She sniffled slightly, turning her gaze elsewhere. It finally landed on blue and white plaid leaned up against one of the trees off to the right of the gazebo. It seemed that she was not the only one doing the watching. With a deep, steadying breath, she turned to head out and join Bill beneath the tree. Come what may.

He was still leaning on the tree when she got there, and remained that way for a moment. “Howdy, stranger,” he murmured on her arrival. “What brings you to these parts?”

She chuckled quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “Hi, Bill.”

He smiled, picking himself up off the tree to go to her and pull her into his arms. It wasn't what she expected, but she relaxed into him despite the surprise. Her fingers slid around his sides to his back where they twisted up in his plaid shirt. She rested her head against his chest, and he put his chin atop it. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

“I know. Ain't yer fault. You was just bein' you.”

“A very violent version of me.”

“Don't make no difference. We live a violent life. Besides, I knew you was good friends with Kieran. If you'd held back on my account... well, it just wouldn't've been right.”

She sighed and shifted her head to look at him. “Still. I do not want to hurt you. If all I do is cause episodes like that one, then it would be better if you stayed away from me.”

He seemed to not have expected that response, given the shock in his expression. “You...you think I'd be better off without you?”

“Maybe. I am a living memory of your pain. You should not be subjected to that every day.”

He gaped at her, then shook his head quickly. “No. That's not...”

“Think about it. You have to see...”

“Shut the hell up and listen to me,” he snapped abruptly. “You think too god damn much.”

He pulled back from her slightly, so her arms fell back to her sides as she stood in baffled silence. “Dunno if you forgot, but I ain't the only one in this relationship with nightmares, am I? You remember who caused yours? People like me. But you stayed. I-I-I treated you like shit, but you fuckin' stayed. And now you want me to leave you 'cause of some... waking nightmare bullshit that can't either of us control? You think that caused me anywhere near the pain I know I caused you? Gettin' told you're trash just 'cause of the color of your skin. Treated like a-a-a damn animal 'cause somebody decided you was less than.”

The more he talked, the more animated he became. His hands gestured wildly, pointing to her and himself and all over. She stood back a little farther, shaken by the vehemence of his speech.

“I asked about you first thing when I came out of it, 'cause I knew you was gonna blame yourself, and-and hell... in the past I would'a blamed you too, but I been thinkin' 'bout this for a long damn time. You and me... we got so much shit, and maybe we ain't supposed to be together – maybe some sane person would look at us and ask why we do this to ourselves, but I... I can't think of nothin' else to do. You're tellin' me that I should leave ya, and all I want... all I want is to wake up next to you every day until the day I finally fuckin' die. My nightmares ain't anything new, and I-I-I would much rather have you here when they're over than face 'em alone. You saved me. From... from myself and the world and my own stupidity. And I didn't deserve a bit of it.”

He was out of breath and red in the face at this point. It was the most impassioned thing she had ever heard come out of his mouth, and she couldn't decide if she was touched or frightened by the fervor. Still, her heart swelled with love despite her worries and fears, and to know that this incident had done nothing but strengthen his resolve was some sort of dream she had never dared hope for. Maybe neither of them were in their right mind, but at that point, who cared?

After taking a few breaths to calm down, Bill reached into his pocket, pulling out something small that he kept closed in his fist. “I... this ain't somethin' I ever thought I'd care about, but it's been naggin' me for weeks. You probably don't care neither seein' as how you ain't one for churchy shit, but... well, if I don't ask it's gonna drive me insane.”

He held out his hand and opened it. Sitting in the palm was a small silver band, glistening in the sun. Star looked at it, not entirely realizing its significance until he spoke again. “Would you... would you marry me?”

Many things flooded through Star's mind, and deciding which of those things to express was nearly impossible. Finally, after what had to have been an agonizingly long time for Bill, she spoke. “Before Christianity invaded, the Lakota had a much more fluid idea of marriage. Gifts were given, and if those gifts were accepted, then it was decided. The groom's mother would make a lodge for the pair, and when it was complete, there would be a night of festivities. At the end of the night, the couple would move into their lodge and... that was it. They were married.”

She paused and pointed at their little tent amid the rest of the tents and wagons. “That's our lodge. It might have lacked some decorum, but... I married you a long time ago.” Tears burned behind her eyes as she reached out and took the ring from his hand, slipping it onto her left ring finger. “If you also want to do it the Christian way, I don't mind.”

He abruptly closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands. “You mean I could'a been callin' you my wife all this time, and you didn't even tell me?”

She laughed, freeing the tears to slip down her cheeks, only to be wiped away by his thumbs. “Like you said, didn't think you'd care. Didn't think I'd care either, but since you asked...”

The kiss he wrapped her up into was full of a sort of desperation. It was hard to put a finger on what kind, but every single bit of the act radiated joy. He wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her up, causing her to giggle and put both arms around his neck to steady herself. She left kisses on his nose and his cheeks and his forehead before simply leaning her head against his. They might have stayed that way all day.

“See you two worked everything out,” Arthur called, coming to join them.

Bill sat Star down, then picked up her left hand and waved it at him. “She said yes!”

“Aw yeah? Congratulations, Bill.”

Star pulled her hand to her chest, eyeing Arthur suspiciously. “You knew, didn't you? That's why you wanted to make sure I talked to him!”

A guilty smile spread over Arthur's face, and he looked at his feet. “Yeah. He told me not too long after comin' outta that episode he had. You ain't mad, are ya?”

A sly smile pulled one corner of Star's mouth higher than the other. She went to him and put a hand to his cheek, pulling him down so that she could place a kiss on the other cheek. “Thanks, Arthur.” With that, she walked away, twisting the ring around her finger as she went.

….

It took a couple days, but soon the decision was made to visit Bronte in his big house. The purpose of this visit seemed muddled. Dutch insisted that it was business – clearing the path to rob the bank, but Hosea and even Arthur worried that it smacked too much of revenge.

After Dutch and Arthur secured transport to Bronte's property across the swamp, the crew was picked. Lenny, John, and Bill would be joining the two in their assault, the ends of which were apparently to be determined as they went along.

Star walked Bill to his horse as they prepared to leave, keeping her mouth decidedly shut about her concerns. Perhaps they would all be for nothing. Still, he noticed her demeanor and saw fit to ask after it. “You seem real quiet. What's got you worried?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, then paused and added, “Everything. It doesn't matter. Just go and do, and we'll deal with it when you're done.”

He frowned, obviously getting slightly lost in the double speak and misdirection. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Don't worry about me. Just keep your head down. If Bronte really does have the cops in his pocket, then there's likely to be a lot of law. Call me crazy, but I'm not exactly interested in watching you swing.”

He smiled a bit. “You'd come get me out. I know you would.”

His confidence broke her down into a smile as well. “Yeah, well, maybe I would. Depends on what you were doing when you got caught. If it's dumb enough, I might let you rot.”

“You joke,” he replied, swing up onto Brown Jack, “but I know you. You'd be beside yourself. If you scalped a fella over Kieran, I don't even wanna imagine what you'd do over me.”

He made a compelling point, and all Star could do was laugh. “Just be careful!” she called after him as they rode out. He waved, and then they disappeared through the trees.

Charles had watched the exchange from a distance and joined Star with a soft smile on his lips. “Would you really leave him in jail?”

Star sighed, placing her hands on her hips. “I'd burn the whole city down before letting him hang.”

“Do you intend to follow through with a Christian wedding?”

She shrugged. “If he wants to, but he seemed content with the Lakota way for now. Maybe when things settle down we'll get around to it.”

The air in the camp was tense while the men were gone. Hosea was in a foul mood and everyone knew it which only made everyone else even more on edge. It wasn't like him and Dutch to disagree quite so much on the course of things. Even Star, who had only been with them a few months, could see that. She wanted to ask the old man about it, but she also didn't want to go anywhere near him for fear of inciting his anger accidentally. Instead, she spent most of her time with the horses. However, when darkness fell, she joined a few people around one of the fires.

One of those people was Mary-Beth, and she scooted close to Star to ask, “Can I see your ring?”

Star held out her left hand, and Mary-Beth took it. The young woman's hands were soft and gentle, treating Star's hand as an object of worship. “It's so pretty,” she whispered with a smile. “Silver works perfectly for you. Do you know where he got it?”

“Stole it, most likely,” Star chuckled. “Not that I blame him. Frugality is nothing to sneeze at.”

Mary-Beth giggled. “True. I never thought Bill would be the type to marry. Too... rough. But you brought out a side of him none of us expected. Who'd have thought there was a romantic under all that bluster and brawn?”

“Well, certainly not me.”

They laughed together until a voice dripping in venom cut in, “Ah, the sound of lady's laughter. Music in the night.”

Micah sat uncomfortably close to Mary-Beth, smiling in a way that made Star's skin crawl. “Mr. Bell,” Mary-Beth greeted politely, ever so slightly scooting closer to her female companion.

“Miss Gaskill. Mrs. Williamson.” He snickered around the title. “Think they'll let you put Star on the marriage certificate? Or are they gonna force you to take a white name?”

“Star is my white name, you cretin,” she spat back. “A nice simple word for slow, ignorant tongues.”

“Oh, but my tongue is neither,” he crooned, waggling it suggestively. “Maybe I'll show you sometime.”

“Only if you fancy losing it.”

Mary-Beth's eyes darted back and forth between the two, and her face had gone pale. Micah leaned forward, across Mary-Beth, to get close to Star. “Now, I recall informing you that threatenin' me was a mistake, Mrs. Williamson.”

“That's funny, Mr. Bell, as I don't recall giving a shit.”

He huffed a condescending laugh. “You should learn some respect, girl.”

“Go ahead and teach me, snake!”

She shoved him, jostling Mary-Beth in the process. Micah reared back, then leapt to his feet, eyes flashing. Star joined him, squaring up for a fight, but then another voice cut in. “Problem here?”

Javier meandered into the firelight casually, deep brown eyes taking in the stances of the two standing and Mary-Beth's frightened face.

“Why don't you fuck off back to Mexico, greaser?” Micah snarled.

Javier looked at Star, then back at Micah, and made his way to stand with them. He rolled his right shoulder nonchalantly, seeming to work out a kink, then leaned back and threw a punch with all his weight into Micah's jaw. “Why don't you fuck off back to hell?!”

The ensuing scuffle saw Star and Javier both on top of Micah, beating him with fists. Mary-Beth shrieked and fled as others around the camp became aware of what was happening. Micah's foot caught Star in the throat, sending her backwards onto her ass, gasping for air. He managed to throw Javier off long enough to pull his knife and jump atop Star, pressing the blade into her cheek until blood began to trickle.

“I don't care if you married a white man, fool that he is. You're still just a redskin squaw, and you ain't ever gonna be nothin' different.” His knife slid maliciously across her cheek, flinging droplets of blood into the fire.

“Get off her!”

Charles' booming roar was enough to cause Star's ears to ring. Micah was abruptly removed from her torso, and she was gasping for breath again, one hand holding the cut on her face and the other massaging her throat. There was more shouting and shuffling, but soon Star was being lifted up into Charles' arms and moved across the camp. Javier followed.

When she was sat down again, it was on Charles' bedroll. He sat with her, examining her injuries carefully. Her breath was still ragged and a struggle, but the pain in her throat and chest had started to ease. The deep slice on her face stung and bled, but Charles was gentle in tending to it.

“Does it need stitching?” Javier asked.

“Probably. Would you get me the supplies?”

“Por supuesto. I'll be right back.”

Once they were alone, Charles sighed and rubbed Star's back. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, but didn't say what was on her mind. Outside of the gang, there were many people who felt as Micah did. Attacks, both physical and verbal, would not be uncommon. It made her second guess the ring on her finger. Perhaps it would be better to wear it on a chain around her neck. Something less obvious.

The stitching went quickly and cleanly. Javier and Charles stayed with her through the night, though she never regained her voice enough to thank them. None of them slept. In the morning, Javier brought breakfast over, and they ate in silence. There was a feeling that things needed to be talked about, but also that none of them knew what to say. They had all faced such violence so many times before that words had lost their meaning.

Finally, after some coffee, Star's voice came back enough for her to take Javier's hand and whisper, “Thanks.”

He nodded, clasping her hand with both of his. “Hermana.”

She and Charles spent the rest of the morning together in silence, braiding each others hair. When Dutch and the crew returned, they both paused and looked up. They shared a look and a sigh, knowing just from the bearing of the group that something had happened. Something that had shaken them. All but Dutch who rode in so assured of his choices that he practically glowed in the morning sun.

Ms. Grimshaw intercepted Arthur and Bill as they came in, murmuring quietly with them. Bill bristled and took a step towards Micah's tent, but Arthur caught his arm and practically dragged him over to where Star and Charles sat. Once his eyes landed on Star, Bill seemed to forget Micah and hurried to her, helping her to her feet so he could examine the cut on her face.

Arthur and Charles spoke softly, discussing the raid and what had happened. “I just don't know, Charles. I ain't... I ain't ever seen him so... unhinged. I mean, feedin' a man to an alligator? Business is business, but that... that was somethin' else.”

“Feels like everyone is losing bits and pieces of themselves around here,” Charles sighed. “We need to get that money and get out of here.”

Bill had yet to speak, and Star was having trouble reading him. He seemed wracked with guilt and anger and worry, yet none of those emotions would form into expression. He just stared at her, breezing a thumb over the stitches. Finally, at long last, “I shoulda been here. He never woulda done somethin' if I was here.”

“I don't know if that's true,” she wheezed, still very hoarse. “He hasn't exactly got much respect for you either.”

“Yeah, well... he can't just... just go around assaulting gang members. I'll... I'll talk to Dutch about it. If Dutch even cares.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bill shook his head. “Just somethin' Dutch said on our way to Bronte's. Got real... mean about my time in the army. Just makin' fun of me and stuff. I dunno, maybe it was nothin', but... but it didn't sound like him.”

Star swallowed painfully and leaned into Bill. “I'm scared,” she breathed, only loud enough for him to hear. “I don't understand what's happening. Everyone is losing their minds.”

He ran his fingers down her braid, then slid them to the back of her neck. “I know. But... it'll be alright. It will. We've always gotten outta scrapes before. Dutch'll get us out. You'll see.”

“I hope so. But what if he doesn't?”

#Red Dead Redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption #my writing #bill williamson #bill williamson x oc #lashes #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #charles smith #javier escuella #mary beth gaskill #micah bell

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marvmacdonald · 6 years

Photo

“she's fucking impetuous and daring, a little too bold and way too fucking fearless.”

MARY MACDONALD is 21 years old and works as an JUNIOR AUROR and is loyal to THE OOTP they were an GRYFFINDOR and are a MUGGLEBORN. SHE look like CHRISTIAN SERRATOS.

CHARACTER PARALLELS: jessica jones ( jessica jones ), leia organa ( star wars ), arya stark ( asoiaf ), johanna mason ( the hunger games ), nancy wheeler ( stranger things ), rosa diaz ( b99 ), ellie ( the last of us ), raven reyes ( the 100 ), kat edison ( the bold type ), nina zenik ( six of crows ) AESTHETIC: red lipstick stains on drained cups of tea, leather jackets, cigarette bums crushed under doc martens, sitting down in the shower and letting time pass by, always wearing your gold cross necklace, messy ponytails, beer burps, laughter that’s filled with desperation, jean dungarees, screaming in your pillow, mud stained clothes, denim on denim on denim. LINKS: stats. pinboard. character tag. playlist.

history

mary had a little lamb? WRONG. mary had a little calf. because she was born on a dairy farm in the highlands of scotland ( laugh at my joke pls i worked hard on it ). she was born third to two muggles – a scottish father and a mexican mother, who loved each other deeply – and would eventually become their middle child. she could have become overlooked, but mary never felt discounted at home: while her parents were very often busy with the cows, their love ran deep.

her youth consisted of this: running through fields of grass, attending a muggle elementary where people sang songs at her ( old macdonald had a farm and mary had a little lamb, the former of which was, of course, accurate ), playing with the animals, building tree houses with her brothers and sister and playing football every spare moment she got. it was good and simple and wholesome.

of course, strange things happened, as they tend to with muggleborns: she’d explode her brother’s toy when she got angry, or let things fly around the room when she was laughing. when she found out she was a witch at age eleven, things fell in its place. and the macdonalds, while traditional catholics, accepted mary, which is the most important thing of it all. her parents were shocked, yes, but they squeezed her shoulder and promised to discover this all together.

which?? very much influenced mary greatly? because it went against a lot of things they – and she, too – believed in. magic was deemed evil by the church they attended. everything about this was supposed to be wrong, but her parents shifted their views because their love for their daughter was greater than their desire to cling to all the rules the church laid down for them, this has allowed her to have a faith in people, and while she may be cynical and bitter at times, that faith is still there.

i mean --- her parents accepted her, they were capable of openmindedness despite being traditional people in most other situations. other people can too.

hogwarts was as chaotic as home, and mary settled in quite nicely. sorted into gryffindor ( she guessed it was for her rambunctious nature, but who knew ), she found herself a second home and loved it. as it turned out, she was rather good with a wand as well – she didn’t do so good at essays, though – and genuinely liked learning ( except for history of magic. fuck that. ).

being a muggleborn had its downsides, of course, but mary never really allowed herself to feel discouraged. hurt? yes, definitely, but never discouraged. she wasn’t going to let it get to her, she told herself, but it did, especially when the harsh words turned into something more. it was during her confrontation with mulciber that mary felt true, harsh fear for the first time. she felt shut down, paralysed, depressed —– but then, after a while, she got up and took some important steps. she reported mulciber, which led to nothing, which caused her to feel angry, which in turn caused her to feel determination. if the system wasn’t going to be on her side, she’d just have to fucking change it, right? mary started throwing herself in her schoolwork, determined to join the dmle – hopefully as an auror, but any position would do. she suppressed her fear and the trauma that was there, and kept her head straight.

this entire situation is up for change and stuff when/if we get a mulciber!

graduation rolled around and mary got the five required NEWTs to even apply. it was a nervewracking process, but once she got into auror training, she cried. like. for a full ass day. she was so proud of herself and she felt so determined and !! man. it was such a good, defining moment. around the same time, mary joined the order; she knew the ministry was corrupt, and that it’d not allow her to do everything she wanted to, when the order DID. mary had too much anger, too much determination to fight this bullshit to just stick with the ministry, and so the order seemed like the right place.

it’s only recently that mary graduated from her training and became a junior auror. it’s ... infuriating, at times, but also amazing. she hates the ministry and most of the people in it, feels paranoid in those walls, but knows that there are good people, too. people who want to better that place, like she does.

kaz brekker voice: brick by brick, i will destroy you.

also --- mary is ... very quite involved in the war. her time is divided between the order and work, and her dog. she’s determined to get this war to end. she doesn’t even care if she destroys herself in the process --- what does her life mean, if she could help save numerous people?

so right now, she’s fighting. she’s gritting her teeth and keeping her goals in the back in her mind and is focusing. and she does not always feel brave or confident or self assured, but that does not matter: mary macdonald always gets the fuck back up, and that’s what she will keep doing until she’s completely knocked down.

personality & tidbits.

mary is a human espresso. she’s so. damn. bitter?? despite the fact that she keeps on going and that she’s fighting her ass off, she’s tired and angry that things don’t seem to be moving in the right direction, she’s feeling bitter about the fact that this kind of discrimination is happening right in front of her eyes and that she does not have enough power to stop it. she feels powerless, which makes her feel bitter, which makes her cynical.

still! mary is not necessarily a debbie downer to be around. she keeps her bitterness ( and hopelessness, even ) carefully hidden in boxes in her mind. on the outside, she’s filled with quips and smiles and quick comments! just a sociable bean, but just a bitter one.

is a dog person and will fight anyone who prefers cats. has a cairn terrier called bowie. she loves him more than anyone.

obsessed with tea, tbh. her ma always said that ‘there’s nothing a cuppa can’t fix’ and mary definitely agrees with this statement.

though is also a ‘whiskey in a teacup’ kinda gal

can be spotted wearing either a rly nice ass blazer or a jean jacket, no inbetween. either office-fancy or farmer-chique

fucking loves muggle culture and loves fellow muggleborns and !!!!!! she loves it!!!

very much in a take-no-prisoners mindset at this point re: death eaters. it kind of scares her, tbh, but mary is very much capable of murdering a death eater, even if she could stun them — she’s just done. she’s very. done. with them. and this whole shbang? will only feed into this.

mary is ruthless, that’s what it boils down to. she’s a lot more than that, of course, but she’s ruthless — in small things ( football matches & boardgames ) but also in bigger ones, and of course the war is the main way it shows. mary is so angry. she’s so angry and scared and tired of feeling that way and tired of being scared to lose people and herself and of death and she’s so angry that people really are this way and that they really do these things — she wants it to stop. she wants the world to be right. and sometimes she thinks the ends do justify the means.

this is why she’s chaotic neutral and not chaotic good.

like ive had her turned to dark arts before just bc she’s so desperate to. fucking win. tbh i’m sure she has a growing interest rn. stop it mary :(

and she’s also like — mary doesnt care if she ruins herself? if she becomes a bad person who’s unable to live with the shit she’s done? as long as the world is better for it, as long as kids can go to hogwarts and feel safe and the world is a safe place for everyone. what does her soul matter in the grand scheme of things? she’d burn in hell forever if it meant the rest of the world changed for the better.

emotionally driven mess of a being

is catholic but struggles a lot with religion and feeling faithful, but she does still identify is a catholic, it’s just? complicated. it’s rly complicated and she hates it.

is a bit flighty when it comes to romance, def has a lot of one night stands/fwb situations though??? she’s just like??? i dont have time for romance its a WAR

has been trying to stop smoking for five years, but alas

a proud scot. a proud latina. proud proud proud. such a fucking lionness.

mary was a beater during her time at hogwarts and was Highly competitive. threw herself into the sport tbh after the mulciber incident. she still thinks football is superior, but you know, it isnt in the air.

she’s pan and out of the closet --- something that did put a strain on her relationship with her family. ( the fact that they could accept her magic but not her sexuality ... baffles mary, but bigots have never been very reasonable. ) she’s not very open about it at home, but otherwise ... she’s out here lovin everyone.

plot ideas!

roomies —– so mary is not Earning A Whole Lot Right Now but does not want to live at home any more because 1. its in the middle of nowhere and 2. most importantly, she’s afraid of endangering her family. she needs roomies! i’d love for her to live in glasgow/edinburgh/london/idk a city!!!

hook ups/fwb’s/etc —– mary is what the old ppl call promiscuous and she sleeps around. so ! let’s talk! former hook ups! booty calls! friends with benefits! etc etc etc!

party pals —- mary likes going to pubs and clubs in the muggle part of town bc it is a LIT way to escape the reality of the wizarding world and also, muggle clubs have better music. come party w her!!!!

in the dragon’s den together —- fellow ministry employees who side eye the ministry and whom mary can sip tea and judge their colleagues with

mudbloods club —- mary loves her fellow muggleborns and i would love some muggleborn friends that she can be buds with. ranting about dumb pureblood names and traditions and the fact that wizards dont have movies

general friendship ideas —- im just going to a bunch of ideas here: hogwarts friends, ride or dies, order pals, friendly exes, fellow tea drinkers that she can go on coffee/tea dates with, friends who are growing apart bc of the war (my fave), etc.

etc —- some other ideas i want to spitball: purists who h8 on mary’s life, fellow diagon alley employees, fellow order members, Annoyances, there is solidarity in being scottish, ministry connections, etc etc etc HIT ME UP

#maraudrs:intro

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chimswae · 6 years

Text

Chapter 15

Foreword:

Some stories are better left unsaid.I couldn’t change anything for the world, although the fame part of this industry is tough to handle.Do i have a life? Yes I have my fans.Do i have friends? Yes the members that I cherish. Do i have love? No I have to let go.Life always offers you a second chance. It’s called tomorrow. But do i have any tomorrow?

Pairing: Jimin x OC (Other characters: BTS, OCs, Lee Taehwan)

Genre: Idolau, Fluff, Romance

Word Count: 3,098

Author Note: I crosspost this story from my Asianfanfic account. Mind you, clicheness OVERLOADS

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Chapter 15: Some people can be oh-so human after all

“Is that blood?”

“Shit what the hell happen to both of you?”

”WHO DID THIS?”

“IS NUNA OKAY?”

Yeoul heard indistinct mumbled from outside, as she got changed into clean cloth. The boys were already circling Jimin like a wolf pact. Questions after questions fired from every corners which annoyed Jimin but they toned down as soon as their eyes lied on Yeoul.

Frozen in her spot, she felt all eyes were on her and it mortified her “Sister-in-law!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” someone crashed against her body, squishing Yeoul into a tight hug. Baffled, she could tell from the sweet voice; it was sunshine Jhope. He was the only one who was ignorant enough to initiate an over the top skinship with her.

“Whoa chill.. Hoseok oppa I’m alright” Yeoul stifled her giggles. Jimin was unhappy of course,his stare was throwing daggers at the older boy.

He pulled away and squished her cheeks together “You alright? You okay? Did you get hurt?Oh my I didn’t know they dare to do that! That is inhuman of them!” no one could stop Hobi from overreacting, not even Min Suga.

Wait a minute, why would we bring Min Suga in this matter?

Nodding with a smile, Yeoul patted his head “It is alright. I have to get used to it don’t I? Since I am associated with a big name like Bangtan Sonyeodan” she joked.

“Lil sis, we will protect you from the world since we are family now. So if anyone dare to hurt you in any way, they have to answer us” acting like an older oppa he was, Jin squished her hand as an assurance. Yeoul smiled genuinely feeling blessed with all the supports that she obtained from people surround her, oh well that exclude Bang PD.

She had no idea what was in that old man mind, cross fingers.

Manager hyung called out everyone to the conference room, and it was the moment of truth. Jimin and Yeoul relationship depended on Bang PD final decision, if he said no then they must find way to fix the mess.

“Nuna…Good luck” Jungkook shyly gave a light pat on Yeoul’s head. His nose scrunched up cutely as he put on his infamous innocent like deer eyes smile.

“Thank you Jeon..” she slid her hands in Jimin’s warm one as they made their ways side to side to the conference room. Her fears doubled upon seeing Bang PD sat at the end of the table with a tense expression.

His head snapped meeting Yeoul’s orbs, but she was quick to hide her face in Jimin’s arm. The older man seemed friendly on screen, however to face him off screen was slightly different. Bang PD’s leadership and charisma were too much for normal people like her to comprehend.

Jimin’s belly churned in fear as he could sense Yeoul body tense up. He didn’t want to transfer a negative vibe to everyone in the room especially not to Yeoul when he’s supposed to lead her in this.

After everyone settled down in their seat, Bang PD broke the silence, “Nice to meet you in person Na Yeoul-ssi” it startled her since she didn’t expect the older guy to sound a little too friendly.

Would it be normal for him to be furious?

“I am sorry for the ruckus..I..should have been more careful” Yeoul looked down not dare to meet his gaze who penetrated the deepest core in her heart. Jimin heaved out a soft sigh, interlacing their hand tighter hoping the energy flows was enough to kick away the fear in her.

Biting her lower lips, she rubbed his palm in circle with her thumb. Only god knows how petrified she was and at the same time Jimin’s gregarious presence beside her helped to stabilize her messy emotion. Others were anxiously tapping their foot on floor waiting for another words coming out from Bang PD mouth.

“Yeoul-ssi, I think you have nothing to be sorry about. I am upset because Jimin keeps this away from me when he is supposed to tell me so that I can protect both of you if something like this happen” he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

“Bang PD….” Jimin tilted his head with an apologetic look. He realized it was his mistake from start, now it was too late to cry over spilled milk.

He continued “Are you alright? I heard chaos in front of your home. How’s your son?” everyone in the room finally could normalize their breathing knowing Bang PD was not as angry as before. In fact, the older man looked concern rather than piss off.

“We are alright, don’t worry. Minyeol was a little shook but he’s doing fine. So, I left him with my mother back home. Don’t want to scare that poor kid anymore. Thank you for asking..” the corner of her lips were tugged into a grateful smile.

Bang PD smiled weakly “ Good to hear that. Press can be troublesome, I heard about you from Jimin. I have question so I hope it doesn’t offend you, may I?” she nodded with a smile nevertheless how nervous she was.

“Why are you searching for Jimin after years keeping the truth buried with you? Do you have other ulterior motives?”

Jimin eyebrows arched in confusion not knowing how to react to Bang PD’s questions, should he be offended over it but Yeoul was calm as hell. It was no time to be calm when people were questioning her so called ulterior motives just to degrade her. Even so he was positive Bang PD’s question meant no harm but still it was pointing out that way.

“I do not want Minyeol to be fatherless. I know how it feels to grow up without a fatherly love and attention, and I craved for it every moment. I was selfish to keep this away from Jimin and Minyeol. If and only I tell Jimin earlier things would be different by now. Neither do I wish to ruin Jimin’s career nor I want to see Minyeol living his life longing for Jimin every single day. I do not have any ulterior motive, I am not here for money. I truly care for Jimin, always” she calmly answered his question without feeling offended or upset.

Oddly, this felt like a daughter-in-law kind of situation whom seek blessing from the groom’s father before they got married. After all Bang PD is like the boys’ father here so she understood why he acted this way, prying answers and explanation. He was being protective.

“Yeoul…I am sorry that you have to raise this child alone all those years. You are a strong girl indeed. I am happy that Jimin stood up for you and your son. And, I am not here to punish you or Jimin. We’re here for the damage control” he smiled softly. Finally took him long enough to loosen up a bit.

Wrapping his arms around Yeoul shoulder, Jimin cracked a wide smile “Thank you Bang PD. I don’t plan on leaving her” their eyes met, as they exchanged a meaningful smile.

“I have never seen you this happy Jimin” Namjoon whistled supported by others.

“Love is in the air” said Taehyung with a teasing smile.

Yeoul blushed in her seat, turning her face to Jimin with her infamous puppy eyes wishing that he could hinder them from teasing them further. Other snickered awfully low upon witnessing their little scene though it was not a big deal but who could stop sonyeodan? If they could not find any way to tease their fellow bandmates, they would still find a way somehow.

The older man shook his head, probably getting used to see how these boys acted “The damage control. We will be releasing the official statement, and Jimin you need to come out with a written statement” he exclaimed.

She gasped “Oh my god, you will admit to everything?”

“Why not?” Jimin shrugged.

“THAT IS NOT HEALTHY FOR YOUR CAREER! What if they trash you? Like…what they said on the internet” she bit her lower lips,toning down her voice.

“Baby, seriously those comments are bunch of bullshits. I told you to not go near to the internet, what are you doing lurking around there?” he stroked her bangs away and gazing into her eyes softly.

“Jim… but…” she held his wrist with a concern look. Tarnishing his image was the last thing in her life dictionary.

Jimin took her hand, planting a soft kiss on it “Trust me. Give me chance to prove to you that I am worthy. I will not let go this hand again never” he whispered. Yeoul did not like this idea after all but considering there were many eyes on her at the moment, she gave him a meek smile and nodded in agreement.

She feared things turned ugly after his confession to the public. On top of that, Yeoul never thought of admitting this to everyone when she assumed Bang Pd would make her leave Jimin instead. Guess, not all agencies were inhuman after all. Some might be the villains but Bangtan was lucky to have Bang PD as their employer.

“So.. I think we settle one matter for now. We will be announcing the official statement in few days since the press are on fire. They have been bombarding us with questions. Just to remind you, official press conference to be announced once we sort this out” Bang PD reasoned.

“Since it is unwise to let Yeoul staying outside judging from the uproar outside, I suggest Yeoul to stay in your dorms from the time being. Will it be okay for you?” he continued and eyes flustered Yeoul.

Yeoul mustered her courage to reply him without sounding like a damn dolphin “Hmm.. I am okay with that.. T-hank.. you” she bowed politely.

Did she hear it wrongly? She had to stay in Bangtan’s dorm, how embarrassing.

Shoot, it was not embarrassing but they were talking about staying in a dorm with bunch of guys.

Not literally ‘bunch’ since it was confirmed there would be 98% of male populations in the house and 2% female which was her.

Chill Na Yeoul, it is not like you will see them running around the house naked. She mentally cursed.

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

Speaking of staying with a 98% of male population in the house, guess she was wrong about that point of not seeing them running around naked. That morning she woke up as early as she could since Yeoul intended to prepare breakfast for the boys, and most importantly to avoid any unforeseen incident happen like bumping into shirtless male after shower and so forth.

Frankly speaking, it surprised her to see Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok were already lined up in front of the bathroom this early. These guys were about to knock each other off if they kept on standing there doing nothing.

Jungkook stifled his yawn only to be greeted by Yeoul’s curious eyes “Oh morning..You are up early?” he smiled in the midst of his drowsiness.

“Morning Jungkook. Mmm.. I thought no one would be awake this early since you guys got back quite late yesterday. What are you doing queuing here?” she glanced at sleepy Hoseok and Namjoon whom seem not bothered by her existence there.

“Jin hyung is in the bathroom. It has been like one hour and I’m dying to pee” he mumbled cutely.

Yeoul only nodded, puffing her cheeks “He must be scrubbing his dead skin” she stood beside Jungkook waiting for her turn. To their surprise, Taehyung came out from the bathroom followed by half naked Jin who only had towel hang around his torso.

“Shit…. what are you two up to?” Namjoon’s eyes shot open as soon as he saw those two odd couples coming out from bathroom together.

Flabbergasted Yeoul stared at Jin blankly as her body stiffened in her spot.

“JIN HYUNG WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING TOGETHER IN ONE SMALL BATHROOM?” Hoseok shrieked dramatically.

Unlike Jin, Taehyung was fully dress and looked ready to hit the sack again. He yawned loudly and walked passed them with a small nod, he didn’t even answer questions from the floor leaving them dumbfounded.

“Kim Taehyung decided to barge in because he wanted to take a dump” Jin mumbled under his breath with annoyed face. Little did he knew, there was a 2% female population just right in front of him,staring at his exposed body. Oh, maybe he had something to flaunt like his wide shoulders, something to be proud off at least.

Namjoon poked his side causing the older guy to squirm feeling a little ticklish “Oh.. that is scandalous. I think we might need another written statement in few days to declare your relationship with Tae” he joked. Jin wanted to get away from Namjoon childish tease.

The maknae turned to face blank Yeoul “Nuna.. are you alright? Yeoul nuna?” he poked her cheeks trying to bring back her attention back to him. Just before she could tore her eyes from the sore sight before her, she witnessed an oh-not-so-cool scene. Namjoon and Jin teasing had moved to another level that caused Jin’s towel to slip down from his waist.

Yeoul loud squealed caused everyone to stop from whatever they were doing, especially Jin who just happened to realize Yeoul was there with them this all time. Jin eyes widened as he quickly squish his legs together and covered his private part with his hands.

‘Okay what did I just see. I did not just witness that’ she mentally slapped herself. A pair of hand covered her eyes from back as the owner hissed under his breath “What in the world, do I have to remind you we have female guest here? Do not wander around with your towel hyung!” Jimin frowned.

Thoughtful Namjoon picked up the towel, wrapping it around Jin’s waist “Shit this is all your fault” Jin shot the leader a dangerous glare.

Flustered Jungkook was embarrassed of his hyungs childish fight, so he decided to break the awkwardness to give Yeoul time to regain her soul back to her body. The maknae then pushed the two older boys inside their room before things got worsened.

Jimin shook his head, looking unhappy “How childish” being the only reasonable man in the area, Hoseok entered the bathroom not intending to join the fight.

“Okay you need to get Jin hyung naked body out from your mind” he turned Yeoul to face him and as expected the girl was already crimson red.

“Jimin that is dizzying” she pursed lips into a slight pout.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance “This wont do, i wont let Jin hyung’s little minion dirtying your mind” with that he pulled Yeoul entering the room he shared with Hoseok and locked the door behind him.

“Yah you don’t need to lock the doors, I need to prepare breakfast for everyone!” she flailed her arm like kids throwing their tantrum. She marched down to open the door but only to be blocked by Jimin body, he continued to step forward which flustered Yeoul.

“Park Jimin… you are scaring me.. get away” her voice crack as she nervously averted her gaze from meeting Jimin’s intense one. Yeoul’s back was pressed against the cold wall behind her, Jimin lips were tugged into a playful smirk.

“We still have to cleanse your corrupted mind though.. We have to replace it with something else” he palmed the wall beside her trapping Yeoul in between. Jimin stole few kisses right on her lips causing the shy girl turned into fifty shades of red.

One of his free hands pulling her torso close to his body, as he leaned in for a soft but passionate kiss. She could feel his body heat against her, Yeoul’s mind tried to resist his kiss. To her dismay, it didn’t work that way, she ended up kissing him back as passionate as he was.

Twirling her fingers in his hair, she nibbled his lower lips playfully earning a low groan from him. Now how on earth he sounded so sexy, at this early. She should refrain herself from having dirty thoughts but Park friggin Jimin was excreting an unnecessary sound. Not to mention his hands were all over body, it just felt so right.

Within a second, they were already on his bed with Yeoul under him. He licked her lower lips before moving further to her neck. A simple kiss turned out to be an unexpected make out session, and who knew where else this could lead to?

Not be able to surpass her voice any longer, she let out a low moan when he reached the most sensitive part of the body. Teasing, nipping, sucking and pampering it with so much love, she bit her lower lips holding back herself from screaming it aloud. The pleasure was too real to be truth. It had been so long since they got this close, it amused her how he still remember every sensitive areas on her bodies which drove her crazy.

Clothes scattered on floor and the only thing left was her thin fabric covering her most fragile area and so did Jimin. He finally freed her and continued to shower kisses there, earning a deep grunt from Yeoul. One of her hands was locking his hair, as her legs gave away to the pleasure down there.

“Jims…Please…” her breath hitched. Yeoul was reaching her peak and he knew it, just how he intended it to be.

Winking at her way, Jimin continued to love her with his skillful tongue. Her body tense as she exhaled a deep breath feeling the ecstasy from his sinful tongue love making. After spending few more minutes there, Jimin slid up kissing her with so much passion.

“I love you Yeoul.. so much” he whispered between kisses.

Smiling like an angel, she stroked his bare back and murmured “I love you too” her voice was driving her insane waking up the beast in him. Oh well, should we blame anyone here?

“So do you want it bare or covered” Jimin whispered teasingly.

“PARK JIMIN!” she slapped his arm slightly embarrassed upon hearing the request.

He bit her nose softly with a chuckle “Well it is upon request, I’m giving you choice”

“Mmm.. whichever that you want, I am giving you permission” she hummed.

“Then bare is the answer” he laughed before leaning in for another breathtaking kiss.

They were being human. Human with needs.

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#bts #bts series #bts fanfic #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin #bts jungkook #taehyung #min yoongi #bts jhope #bts rm #bts jin #lee taehwan #untoldseries #bts fluff #bts romance #bts idolau

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smashboxgirl26 · 3 years

Text

vengeance / chapter 11: manipulating

chapter 10: loving | chapter 12: catching

vengeance masterlist

After everything that had happened the night before, Bakugou practically pushed you into hanging out with one of your friends for the rest of the day, saying you didn’t have to worry about work or school or any of that “shit” right now.

And while you appreciated the thought, you were still terrified. You didn’t want to leave the house, at all.

But here you were, stepping into Camie’s car so she could take you to the mall - so you could heal in a “healthy” way.

“I’m so sorry babe,” she said when you’d settled down into the passenger seat, instantly pulling you in for a tight hug. “You don’t deserve this at all.”

You didn’t really have an answer to her statement, so you only allowed your arms to wrap over her body over the middle console. She seemingly understood, pulling away and giving a small smile before driving off.

“How are you holding up?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Okay, I think. It’s still more shocking than anything.”

“Well of course. That’s to be expected.”

You hummed in response, listening to the soft music coming from the radio. You were trying to distract your mind from staring at all the people walking outside the street, looking to see if the Ito guy was following you somehow.

He’d been doing it for so long, who’s to say he wasn’t there right now, just watching you? He hadn’t even been caught by the police yet, he could be anywhere.

“Well if anything else happens, know that you’ve always got me on your side, ‘kay?” she reassured, giving you a large smile from the side.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“How’s Katsuki holding up?”

You were a little baffled at the quick topic change, but Camie and Katsuki knew each other before you’d even met him. It made sense that she was worried about her friend.

“He’s trying to show me that he’s fine, but I can tell he’s trying to hide his feelings about this. He’s definitely more mad than anything else.”

“Classic Katsuki,” she chuckled.

You gave her a confused sidelong glance, which she ignored as she continued to speak.

“It makes sense that he’s holding back, like usual. He doesn’t want you to freak out. He’ll come around eventually, though, so don’t worry about it too much.”

“Right..” was all you could say, leaving the words lingering in the air.

Camie’s words were planting a seed of doubt in your mind. He’d been holding himself back this whole time? Were you the reason that he held himself back constantly? Was it because you reacted in a way that he didn’t like, or was it because you’d accidentally invalidated his emotions somehow?

Your brows furrowed in thought, and you couldn’t help but drift back to the Midoriya situation.

As soon as you’d said his name the other day, Katsuki froze up and refused to talk to you. You’d only chalked it up to him being annoyed, tired, angry, or some combination of all three. But then again, this morning, you could see the way he was holding back from you. His eyes were bright, but his mouth was silent. That was the only time you’d ever gotten indication that he wasn’t actually telling you the whole truth, but left it because you were feeling too frustrated and scared to want to address it.

“We’re here!” Camie cheered as you both pulled into the parking lot, breaking you out of your whirlwind of a mind.

It was too much to think about at the moment, and you decided you’d talk about it with Katsuki when you got home. So you pushed it into the back of your mind, and decided to try and enjoy the day, even with the nagging and paranoia tugging you constantly.

The mall was crowded and busy, like it always was, and that only added fuel to the tiny flame of fear growing in your mind. You were constantly alert and on the lookout. Even though Camie, an actual hero, was with you, you were instantly regretting the decision to leave the house.

It was too much, in too little time.

Camie watched as your eyes began flickering back and forth between everything and everyone you could, and quickly pulled you into a store.

“Nothing some new clothes can’t fix,” she said with a smile, before pushing you towards some racks to check something out.

It was only then that you realized that she’d pulled you into some swanky, expensive, designer store that you knew you couldn’t afford. But in an effort to show that you appreciated her trying to help, you just thumbed your way through a couple of racks and pretended that you were looking at the clothes on the hangers.

In reality, they all blurred together and the only thought on your mind was that you were the one making Katsuki act aloof and distant. It had to be because of you, you were sure of it.

Camie had known him for a lot longer than you had, and she’d basically said that it was usual for him to hide his feelings. That was something you already knew, but you thought you were past that at this point in your relationship.

“Y/N! You should totally get this dress! I bet Katsuki would love it!” Camie came bounding up to you with a hanger in her hands.

You plucked the hanger from her hands and twirled it around so you could see the front of the body-con dress. It had a deep v-cut, as well as slits coming up the sides.

“It’s, uh, really nice Camie,” you said cautiously, trying not to hurt her feelings. “But, it’s not really something I’d wear out.”

“Why not?” she pouted, holding the dress up against her own figure.

“Well, it’s really revealing, and I don’t usually wear stuff like that.”

“Right,” she paused, giving a seemingly random smile. “Well, that’s too bad. I have a similar one and Katsuki complimented me on it.”

You only stood and blinked at her response, seemingly confused on what you were supposed to say in that situation, which she brushed off like her comment meant nothing.

“Let’s try somewhere else then!” she exclaimed, tugging your hand to lead you out of the store.

…

Your fear of someone currently following you wasn’t wrong, however, no matter how much you convinced yourself you were being paranoid.

You were just worried about the wrong person.

After his mishap with Ito the night before, Midoriya was adamant that he had to help fix the stupid mistake that he’d made (because he thought Ito would be too scared to run). He’d been berating himself all morning for letting Ito go with just a bloody nose and a few bruises. He deserved to feel enough pain that he craved for death and didn’t get it when asked.

But at this point, he had no idea where he could’ve ended up or where he was hiding. The only thing he knew was that Ito had been trying to take you, which meant that he was more desperate now than ever to follow through with that plan. And that meant that Midoriya had been following you the second you’d stepped out of the apartment.

But now, in some ways, he was quite curious about the relationship that you had with your friends.

His meeting with Mina said something that went against his deep online dive, and he was sure that there was no way that he was wrong about the situation. Even the first time he’d followed you indicated that there was something borderline toxic going on in the relationship that wasn’t being addressed.

Maybe your relationship with Mina was simple and easy, but the nervous look on your face the day before when Camie had called you indicated that it wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

And his suspicions were almost confirmed when he saw the look on your face when you got out of the car with Camie in the parking lot in the mall. It was quiet, stoic, and intensely focused; and in the short time he’d seen you, you weren’t normally like this.

You, at the very least, had a smile of some sort plastered on your face, fake or not. The perception you gave other people was relatively important to you, so he could tell that you tended to hide your more normal feelings and trade them for happiness.

So seeing you like this in public was almost, unsettling.

He suspected that it had to do with Camie in some way, and it was confirmed when he saw a smirk form on her lips.

After parking his car quickly and following the two of you inside, he watched as you practically had a mental breakdown from the amount of people around. Clearly, you were psyching yourself out with Camie’s words and the news about Ito stalking you.

Something had to be wrong with Kacchan if he’d just let you go out in public that soon after finding out someone was stalking you. In fact, you barely looked like you wanted to be out in public.

Your face was swimming with anxiety and anguish, and Midoriya felt the look tug on his emotions.

You don’t need to be scared, Y/N. I’m here to protect you after all.

After all, he’d experienced a similar fear, where there was no one around to protect himself. There was no way that he was going to let you experience that on your own, whether you knew he was there or not.

He watched as Camie dragged you into a store from across the long pathway after seeing the look on your face, but then grimaced immediately at the store’s name.

It was a top-of-the-line, designer store. And with you being a student, he knew you couldn’t afford it.

But he guessed Camie knew that too, and that’s why she brought you there. She was trying to intimidate you in some way, but he wasn’t sure how or what the underlying issue was.

As much as he wanted to step inside the store behind the two of you and eavesdrop, he knew it would’ve been too plainly obvious about what he was trying to do. Even if Camie seemed like the scum of the earth, she was a hero, so she couldn’t have been that stupid.

Not to mention that he was wearing a baseball cap and a mask so he couldn’t be recognized, and that was suspicious enough.

Midoriya only huffed in annoyance as he made his way to the walkway facing the opening of the store. Who knew what kind of poison she was putting in your head? He just wanted to go in and undo it.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t be recognized by you, not yet. Not until Ito was caught.

A few minutes later, he watched Camie practically drag you out of the store with her hand on your arm, as you just silently followed behind with a bewildered look.

Camie had said something to you.

Midoriya silently seethed and glared holes into her, his tongue harshly running over his teeth before following the two of you from across the other end of the mall. As annoyed as he was, he couldn’t go out and break his cover. He’d just have to deal with the consequences Camie’s words had on you later.

But as he followed from a distance, he noticed a person dressed in all black clothes, with a baseball cap and a hoodie up, with their head down following behind you as well.

Ah, so Ito did come to play today. How fun.

──────────────

sorry this chapter took sooo long, i was kinda caught in a rut about how i wanted to approach these next few chapters and ended up rewriting this chapter three times. hopefully, i've conveyed what i was trying to show lol

just ask if you'd like to be tagged :)

tag list: @spicy-therapist-mom @triviajeongin @iliketobullydeku @nuclearnoir @lilyblossomblooms2020 @all-in-the-fandoms @no-post-ghost

#midoriya x reader x bakugou #yandere midoriya #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #yandere #mha #bnha #yandere izuku #mha fanfiction #bnha fic #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha izuku #mha x reader #bnha x reader #vengeance #keke.writes

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armsinthewronghands · 4 years

Text

Ron Edwards Making No Sense

https://plus.google.com/u/0/110790893064742233179/posts/JJj6ow3fEX5

Wayne Snyder Shared privately - Aug 18, 2015

Simon Bisley, 1997

(NOTE FOR THE TRANSCRIPT: The post consisted of a Simon Bisley painting)

43 Ron Edwards's profile photoMike Evans's profile photoMichael Moscrip's profile photoRichard Grenville's profile photo 84 comments

Richard GrenvilleAug 18, 2015+4 5 4

If I were in my bikini and bird mask ensemble I would not like to be in that position under all those razor-sharp spider parts, is all I'm saying.

Richard GrenvilleAug 18, 2015

+Jeremy Duncan #startingequipment for Oriax?

Asia PickleAug 18, 2015

I do like his stuff. You ever seen that TV show Spaced?

Ron EdwardsAug 18, 2015

plus for audacity, but yeesh, Simon, you get the big bucks, try some figure drawing

Zak SmithAug 18, 2015+5 6 5

That is a baffling comment +Ron Edwards. I don't know if you mean to have a conversation about art here but techmastery snark against Simon Bisley is about as misplaced as taking Aretha Franklin to task for not knowing how to sing. Any distortions of naturalistic anatomy in Bisley are chosen stylistic effects.

Rafael ChandlerAug 18, 2015+3 4 3

Sweet. Love the bird-girl. Thinking she might not be human -- look at them fingers.

Ron EdwardsAug 18, 2015+3 4 3

+Zak Smith Ohhhh, I have been schooled now. I'm saying this as someone who likes you: fuck off, Zak. Can't a person post anything without you comin' in as Master Scold? Do you own art? All of it, or just Bisley? Can you not face being baffled, as you call it? Or that a person can post something wrong, like really wrong horribly OMG wrong, and the world won't collapse if you don't correct it?

And no, this isn't a debate. I don't like Bisley so much, so what, it's not going to change the world.

People knuckle under to you for one reason: because they're scared of being vilified Limbaugh-wise. You've got the moral high ground, the professional success, the accolades, and a life you can be proud of. Any reason you have to be a bully?

Answer me that before you crack down on me again.

Zak SmithAug 18, 2015+1 2 1

1. There's a difference between "I don't like Bisley" (statement of opinion, unarguable) And "Bisley lacks technical ability" (assertion of fact, arguable) and the second is so far as I can tell, simply misinformation. I have a moral obligation to correct it if I see it because you don't want people acting on bad information. 2.How are the rest of us supposed to know which of your many public opinions you want to discuss and which one we'll be attacked for discussing? You snarked at Simon Bisley (he didn't attack you), I neutrally commented that I don't think that was warranted, now you're biting my head off? 3. If you didn't want to talk about your opinion, why'd you say it where other people could read it? 4. How can a person with no coercive power over you be "bullying"? +Ron Edwards +Mike Davison

David BaityAug 18, 2015

+Zak Smith lmfao

Victor Garrison (headspice)Aug 18, 2015+1 2 1

+Rafael Chandler, Dude, what are you? A "fingers man"?

Ron EdwardsAug 18, 2015+1 2 1

+Zak Smith You hold and openly wield immense coercive power. You are a master of single-messaging people about whom they plus or not-plus, of posting public messages to shame, and of leveraging your deserved reputation as a great artist and contributor to the hobby for weight in conversations. You are widely feared and operate as a chilling agent throughout many discussions in which your tangible interests are not involved. You may intend this or you may not; I am not speaking to that. But either way, do not play "Li'l ol' me."

I won't be looking at this thread again until tomorrow, in case that interests anyone.

Zak SmithAug 18, 2015+1 2 1

Which one of these "powers" is forbidden from Mere Normal Men? "A master of single-messaging"? That isn't a magic spell, Ron, you can do that, too. +Ron Edwards You just type. As for "leveraging my reputation"--you can't simultaneously claim someone has a deserved reputation for contributions in a field and then claim that their influence is unfair . Either the reputation is deserved and so they should be influential. Or it isn't and they shouldn't.

Tony DemetriouAug 18, 2015+2 3 2

I love Bisley, and his style. This is pretty representative of my ideal goal, if I could magically make art in any style I choose.

The distorted anatomy is perfect, in the same way that I enjoy Disney animation - the choices of how to stylize or not to stylize it gives so much character to the piece. And I'm lucky that the choices Bisley makes are the ones I find appealing.

And those colours!

+Ron Edwards Um, not intending to dogpile or anything. I totally get why you might not like this :) - But I can't agree with the "figure drawing" comment, to my eye he clearly has mastered figure drawing, and now is deciding which rules to break. That's what I love most about this piece!

So when I see you criticize his anatomy, I assume that we've got a mismatch when it comes to what we enjoy about the stylizations.

I say this because in other posts you've made, you've linked to comics and referenced art with much weaker figure drawing than this without commenting on the lack of technical skills. While that might not mean anything, is it just that you find these particular ones to be ugly?

Joshua BlackketterAug 18, 2015

David Lewis JohnsonAug 18, 2015

Ron EdwardsAug 19, 2015

A new day, and two fallacies await.

1. The "magic spell" is classic deflection. I said nothing of who can and cannot do those things. Single-messaging is obviously available to everyone; . The question is why you do them, which you are failing to answer.

2. Deserved reputation in doing a thing, in this case art, is not a moral obligation (your term) to do some other thing. Especially if that other thing is itself morally unsound.

These were also posted as provocation: I said I wouldn't be looking at the thread again until today, which I didn't. You posted immediately with fallacy statements, which you're not dumb enough to believe are valid. I think you know well a person can barely if ever resist replying to such things. Then you can play "ah ha you were too looking." You caught me with that once, and that dog hunts no more.

I don't think you are posting in good social or intellectual faith. What frustrates me is that you usually do post in good faith, and with points I generally value - until someone flips your Scold Switch, and you launch into these modes of attack which have long passed their high-school sell-date. They're beneath you. Yes, anyone can do them, and again: why would you?

One more check-in tomorrow to see if you answer this time. Then I'm done.

Zak SmithAug 19, 2015+1 2 1

+Ron Edwards *People don't have ideas different than yours just to piss you off, Ron* You assume bad faith: this is not good. - 1. It isn't "Deflection"--Bullying by definition requires the bully have abilities the target does not. I cannot bully you as I possess no such powers. - 1b. As for why I'd single-message someone: Because sometimes going "Dude do you know what's going on in that thread?" would derail a public thread so you send them a private message. Right now I genuinely don't know why you're attacking me or why anyone of good conscience would join in with you. I need facts. So I asked. - 2. Everybody has a moral obligation to fact-check stuff that's discussed. Period. You (or anyone else) say an inaccurate thing, it needs to get fact-checked. "I don't like Simon Bisley" requires no comment. "Simon Bisley lacks technical ability" requires a fact-check, just like "girls don't play D&D" or "game have to look like textbooks" or any other incorrect fact I come on here and check. - 2b. I say and believe things you disagree with because I believe they're true, not out of a sadistic desire to upset you. (This probably goes for a lot of people.) I, of course, never post fallacies and don't do so in order to "provoke" people. Provoking you achieves nothing. It is a bizarre and paranoid conspiracy theory to assume I someone get some special cookie for making you (or anyone else) mad. Like what's my supposed motive in your worldview? I didn't wake up hating Simon Bisley just as much as you yesterday and suddenly pretend to think he had technical skill just because I thought it would upset Ron Edwards! And what a joy upsetting Ron Edwards is? Right? Oh I am so glad I got to do this! What glee I have reaped from manufacturing this false opinion about my own profession simply in order to upset one random man! That would be like you pretending bats are made of goat cheese in order to piss off a biologist you don't like. Evidence I liked Bisley before today is not thin on the ground, nor is evidence that I fact-check people when they get things wrong. I would hope, as a biologist, you'd think fact-checking bullshit about your area of study is an end in itself . I feel the same way about art. When you make false accusations and I counter them you are not the only audience for fact-checks I may do to those false accusations. Every single person who might ever read since the beginning of time needs to know you aren't telling the truth, not just you. Now: The person making a claim has the burden of proof--if you are claiming I am lying prove that now.

Wayne SnyderAug 19, 2015+3 4 3

That's some pretty funny shit right there. This could have been one of those art posts where folks comment, "Cool." Or "Awesome!" But ya'll have brought the comments bar up a notch to down right entertaining. To bad you can't hear me slow clapping.

Wayne SnyderAug 19, 2015+2 3 2

But I must admit, I'm a bit sad it turned out to be an argument about arguing instead of an art criticism debate.

Tony DemetriouAug 19, 2015

Alas - the internet!

Zak SmithAug 19, 2015+2 3 2

+Wayne Snyder Would be happy to have the art criticism debate if there was someone who wanted to throw down on the other side. But that never really does happen.

Tony DemetriouAug 19, 2015

I don't know if anyone here has the technical chops to have that debate, +Zak Smith ?

Zak SmithAug 19, 2015+1 2 1

The whole talkin'-RPGs business relies on articulate amateurism +Tony Demetriou, if everybody here can say why they don't like Palladium or Pathfinder or Prometheus, they can, in theory, say why they think a painting fails. They may not be able to refer to personal experience painting, but I am not going to pull rank here and claim you need an MFA to critique a picture.

Tony DemetriouYesterday 12:22 AM

I kinda feel that, having played 2-10 hours of RPGs per week for a couple of decades now, I can speak as an expert on the topic (while recognizing there are many other experts)

With pictures, I can talk about what I like. But I don't really know how to engage in a criticism debate. Willing to try, of course! Especially since I learn so much by a good debate :)

Soooo....

What's with Bisley's neon colours? I love them, but my first impression when looking at this picture is a mess of brightness. That seems to be the opposite of when I look at, say, Franzetta who tends to use one dominant colour for the whole picture.

Is that a failing on Bisley's part, or just a stylistic preference? I love the colours, but could it have been possible to have made a picture like this, without the first impression being such a mess? Maybe better separation of them, rather than similar tones on overlapping objects?

I also find he often muddies the picture with unnecessary detail - like this picture has a great silhouette, and he pulls the two humans out of the background by making them brighter than the background. But the spider seems like it's a mess. What's with those skulls beneath its legs, that are the same colour as the legs, and the same brightness and contrast? It forces my eye to do work to figure out what I'm looking at. It doesn't "lead the eye" around the picture very well.

I'm a fan of both headdresses, but the material on the guy's one seems off - it looks like it's meant to be feathers, but to me it looks like some sort of white cardboard. The girl's headdress feathers look soft, which is what I'd expect from the guy's headdress too.

And the spider's abdomen kinda looks half finished? It looks like there's the brown from the background drawn over it. Or is that some sort of green in the background and not an abdomen? I dunno. I don't like it!

... but these are my nitpicks - as a whole image, I adore it!

Zak SmithYesterday 2:21 AM

I don't understand +Tony Demetriou , you have looked at far more pictures in your life than played games, why aren't you an expert on that, too?

Tony DemetriouYesterday 3:16 AM

Because of my nature.

I've mentally broken down and analysed what makes RPGs "work" and created my own, which tests my theories.

I've looked at many pictures, but until relatively recently (maybe 5 years ago?) I haven't been engaging with it in the same way. I'm trying to learn to draw, and it's given me a new perspective on art - I'm noticing things that I was never aware of before. My understanding of form and structure and linework is so much advanced just from this hobbyist learning - and I'm sure that once I go further I'll have similar gains with my understanding of tone, colour etc. once I start learning how to apply that too. So I "know how much I don't know" if that makes sense?

Maybe it's just how I learn - I very much "learn by doing", which explains why I'm more comfortable considering myself an expert on things that I make or do, rather than things I mostly observed.

That said - in the post above, I've given my criticisms of this picture. Do you agree or disagree with them, or have any comments of your own?

Zak SmithYesterday 3:26 AM+1 2 1

It can't be just you, as nearly every single intelligent person not trained inthe field is terrified of rendering an attempt at an intelligent opinion of a piece of art. As if it were somehow 1000 times more complex than a movie (which every person has opinions on). As for your criticisms: perhaps what they lack is a sufficient counterexample--like who does right the things you guess possibly he did wrong ?

Tony DemetriouYesterday 3:39 AM

Good point. I have no problem at all discussing movies, and the artistry involved. Maybe it's some sort of assumed-complexity due to art criticism being viewed as some elite field?

Hmm, a counterexample - I can absolutely give examples of people who do it differently but I don't know if that means they're doing it right.

- For the bright colours, a lot of cartoons and 3D animation uses bright colours without the first impression being so confused. The artwork isn't nearly as good (in my opinion), but this picture is also brightly coloured, while still "reading" easily at first glance: http://www.wisdomswebzine.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/Tangled.jpg

I suspect it's because, although there are bright colours, it's still a pretty limited palette - mostly blue and purple. It also keeps the characters silhouetted by dressing Flynn in darker colours and with dark hair against the white horse, and putting the darker blue behind the horse.

Rembrant's The Night Watchman is a great example of a very busy picture with a lot of detail, where the detail doesn't muddy the picture (although it makes me feel like I've forgotten my glasses...) https://catholicismpure.wordpress.com/2011/03/19/the-night-watchman/

If Bisley had done something similar around the spider & figures it might have helped give it a clearer shape, and stopped the spider being such a mess?

For the headdress - I think Bisley's own picture is the best example of doing it "right" - the woman's headdress feathers look great, the man's looks like cardboard. I think he should have softened the edges of the man's feathers.

For the spider's abdomen... uh, it just looks half finished to me. I don't think that needs a comparison? Although there certainly are other pictures that use that same effect.

Zak SmithYesterday 3:46 AM

+Tony Demetriou "I can absolutely give examples of people who do it differently but I don't know if that means they're doing it right." Well if you like it they're doing it right and if you don't they' aren't

Wayne SnyderYesterday 3:55 AM+2 3 2

Bisley is known for his bizarre pallette choices. I know he often used automotive paint in his illustrations. He's riffing off Frazettas choices, but taking it up a notch. Bisley is a heavy metal painter. He is painting visual representations of heavy metal music for the covers of a magazine called heavy metal. So the subject matter is over the top brutality and horror and sexuality. If you removed the spider and the warhammer from this piece it would just be pornography. The beef cake warrior's bulging junk is aimed directly at the sorceress's bulging junk and the course of image is obvious. But it is both, it is sex and violence in a pure cartoon proportioned form. It is the teenage mind and that is who is supposed to buy the magazine this is a cover for. I don't know why he put that skull mess in the center. I suspect without it the composition would be lopsided. Maybe it just wasn't "metal" enough for the Biz, so he added the skulls. It may have even been the choice of a art director and the Biz just wanted to get it out the door and get paid. But I doubt that.

Zak SmithYesterday 4:05 AM+3 4 3

I think "when in doubt skulls" is a pretty good creative default

Richard GrenvilleYesterday 5:37 AM+3 4 3

Regarding people's reticence about art crit, I guess I'll state the obvious to get it out there: there is a whole industry of art critics, which was at some stage dedicated to placing painting and sculpture (although not really printmaking) in a special separate category elevated above the vulgar horde - to promoting the value of art as a vital endeavour in which humans aspired to the level of gods. And even if critics haven't done much of this in the past couple of generations, some of those old attitudes still linger on, especially in primary schools which tend to be the last refuge of ancient pedagogical ideas.* And those old values still inform the economics of the art market (the aura of the art object, the figure of the artist as a conduit into some extraordinary other world). So I suspect people might be reticent to talk about paintings partly because they're haunted by the snooty ghost of e.g. Vasari or Jacob Burckhardt, refracted through a thousand indirect sources, telling them there is something spiritual and ineffable in there which is not for the likes of them. The fact that this picture in particular is not in the (socioeconomic) category elevated by Vasari or Burkhardt but makes use of its gestures probably makes things worse, not better.

In contrast, AIUI in the early days of film there were conscious efforts made by auteur directors on one hand and populist producers on the other either to place the medium firmly in the elevated sphere of Art or to rescue it from that ivory tower and make it democratic, for the people. Perhaps the economic possibilities of mass-market film just blew away the arguments on the high art side. Perhaps the costs of commercial film production spiraled out of the hands of individual directors making their individual artistic statements and left only oligarchical demagogues, reliant on sometimes-subversive film-making experts.

* and some innovative ones too, I'm not dissing early education here.

Ron EdwardsYesterday 8:38 AM

+Zak Smith You're not hitting anything with that reply. I never said you were doing this vindictively to upset me personally as me. I'm saying you use rhetorical and social tricks to marginalize people when they post things that .. whatever it is those things do that prompts it. It fits into your own definition of bullying - because using techniques not only that others don't have, but that they won't use, counts in that definition. You said my post "baffled" you, yeah, well it baffles me that a person of your qualities and insights would do these things.

You're saying Bisley's distortions serve his (an) artistic purpose. You can just say so. You don't have to pursue anyone who plusses me saying something else. You don't have to claim "moral obligation" to put me or anyone else down, with chilling and silencing techniques. It's this pious scolding and shaming I'm talking about. Not difference of views about the artist - in fact, if you'd asked in a real way, you'd have found that I like the way Bisley does it most of the time, not so much in this picture this time. I did not say "Bisley can't draw bodies and can never draw bodies and never did." That is your trip, you brought it in, and all your high-minded fact-checking claim to being the intellectual in the room is based on that alone. You revved up your moral fires for nothing.

All of the potential for easy contrast of posts, no status issues, open to the reader to evaluate or ignore, is gone when you descend with your blazing moral obligation in play. You talk about assuming things? You assumed vast tracts of attitude, position, and intention in my post, so hard you "saw" them. You've created an entertainment environment where people can enjoy you putting someone down. That's bullying.

Daily check-in tomorrow. It is remotely possible that this could be a worthwhile conversation.

Zak SmithYesterday 9:04 AM

+Richard Grenville Sure, but just because someone is telling you to stay in your class and let them handle the heavy lifting, why would you let them?

Zak SmithYesterday 9:18 AM

+Ron Edwards 1. Why would I want to marginalize you? Your claim has no motive. 2. Asking people why their friends or allies are being dicks isn't a "trick". It's a straightforward way of dealing with bad behavior. 3. No definition (including mine) of bullying includes "don't use techniques that are totally legit and make sense and that are designed to make the person making a false accusation stop" which is what these "techniques" were doing. 4. You're using a begging-the-question argument "What you did is obviously motivated by badness because it uses techniques that are bad and those techniques are bad because they are motivated by bad" 5. "You're saying Bisley's distortions serve his (an) artistic purpose. You can just say so. You don't have to pursue anyone who plusses me saying something else." I didn't do that. I only talked toone other person--Mike Davison--once you called me "bullying" because that is an insane charge. If you call me bullying--you are lying. If someone I consider a friend plusses that lie--I must address that with my friend. Period. Anything else would be irresponsible on my part. Also, in my original comments to you I didn't say the distortions "served an artistic purpose" I said he wanted them to serve an artistic purpose , which is different, in case you didn't know that, which your joke (implying the distortions were mistakes) seemed to indicate. 5. "You don't have to claim "moral obligation" to put me or anyone else down," I didn't "put you down" I fact-checked you. You asserted Bisley's distortions were down to not knowing how to draw accurately (rather than choice).This is not subjective--his distortions may be (subjectively) undesirable but they are (objectively) not "because he doesn't know any better". Therefore you said something objectively inaccurate in a semi-public space . Anyone who knew you had said this and knew the truth would have an obligation to point out the fact-checking error. 6. "in fact, if you'd asked in a real way,..." Once you express yourself in the form of a snarky attack, you don't then get to demand benefit-of-the-doubt from someone defending your target. Bisley did not begin a conversation by making fun of you . You attacked Bisley. I defended him. You then attacked me. 7. ". I did not say "Bisley can't draw bodies and can never draw bodies and never did."" No, you just made a joke to that effect at his expense and then accused me of bullying instead of going "Oh, sorry, that's not what I meant, let's sort this out" 8. "You assumed vast tracts of..." I assumed nothing. I interpreted that you made a snarky joke at Bisley's expense. *I can only be accused of assuming if you are claiming your comment was not a snarky joke at Bisley's expense.* You got a reasonable response to that directed not just at you, but to any naive 3rd party who doesn't knowmuch about art who might be reading (naive viewers might take your joke at face value and they need to be disabused of that and know the artist you're attacking can actually identify body parts and where they go). 9. " You've created an entertainment environment where people can enjoy you putting someone down. " I wasn't putting you down, I was fact-checking you. If someone enjoys that outside of some pre-existing reasont o dislike you, they are a total asshole. If someone sees that as important and necessary, they are correct.

Richard GrenvilleYesterday 9:48 AM+2 3 2

just because someone is telling you to stay in your class and let them handle the heavy lifting, why would you let them?

this seems like it might also have some bearing on your conversation with Ron - my guess is that a lot of people feel discouraged in talking about art the same way they would feel discouraged in discussing engineering, only even more so. On one hand, they feel ignorant about what they imagine is a specialized field of knowledge (like engineering). But also they have a sense that they might trip off some kind of lurking art trap and get laughed at by the cognoscenti for their ignorance or something, as if they'd used the wrong fork at a gala dinner.

Class anxiety may be silly and useless but it's real for lots of people and harder to negotiate than ever now that it no longer runs in simple hegemonic directions.

...I'm not saying that Ron is suffering from class anxiety. Just realised I didn't leave that clear.

Zak SmithYesterday 9:53 AM+1 2 1

Use whatever fork. Know why you made that decision. Speak with the courage of your convictions if someone gives you static about it.

Victor Garrison (headspice)Yesterday 9:54 AM+2 3 2

My only criticism of this piece is: why did he paint such awesomely proportioned derriere and legs and stick those spooky, fucking spindly assed fingers on her hand?!?!?

I mean as far as drawing in your gaze, it's obvious Biz intentionally wanted her ass to be seen first. I say this not because I'm a perv (tho I won't deny that charge) but because it's pretty much center and hi-lighted more brightly than anything else. Your gaze moves from there over to his crotch, up his breast plate, to his face and then -- OH SHIT!-- to the monster. I like how he lures you in with submissive sexuality, brings you further along with brute sexuality, then BAM knocks you in the head with a hideous creature. Nice work, nice work.

Rafael ChandlerYesterday 9:55 AM

+Victor Garrison He gave her fingers like that so you could tell your friends, "Hey, man, she gave me her digits." <rimshot>

Richard GrenvilleYesterday 10:12 AM+1 2 1

for me it's a tangle of long golden-brown forms that could be a tree root or something, and then I see a butt, and then the rest kinda unmasks slowly.

Zak SmithYesterday 10:16 AM+1 2 1

The greens of the spider come on before anything else for me

Victor Garrison (headspice)Yesterday 10:28 AM+1 2 1

+S Robertson , If you're telling a linear story, yeah, that's the route to take. But it seems to me that Bisley is going for a visceral "EWWW" reaction. It's a dark piece, so much so, that IMO, it almost looks like a black velvet painting technique was used. The bird woman's butt is the brightest spot in the painting, which is a signal to start viewing there. Especially since that spot seems to be the counterbalance to the large, dark negative space at the top of the painting. The next closest bright spot is the cod piece, then the breast plate, then the helmet, and that's when I made out the spider creature. IDK, that's just the way I encountered it, not as a story, but as an....oh shit, MONSTER! kinda thing.

Victor Garrison (headspice)Yesterday 10:32 AM

+Zak Smith Damn, I didn't realize that green was the spider. Seriously, I thought it was shrubbery and had no clue wtf he stuck that in a dungeon.

Justice PlattYesterday 10:45 AM+1 2 1

Good to see that Zak knows what Ron said better than Ron does. There is absolutely no contradiction between the belief that Bisley chose not to do good figure drawing for whatever reason and RE's comment.

Victor Garrison (headspice)Yesterday 10:57 AM+1 2 1

+Rafael Chandler, I wanna say I "dig it", but I'm reaching, yet I can't grasp it.... :)

Zak SmithYesterday 2:06 PM

+Justice Platt How do you interpret: "yeesh, Simon, you get the big bucks, try some figure drawing" ?

Justice PlattYesterday 2:14 PM+1 2 1

+Zak Smith , three points:

1)There is no logical contradiction between saying that and believing the artist capable of figure drawing.

2)The guy who said it says that' he did not in fact assert that Bisley cannot draw bodies.

3)It is entirely plausible that he meant to point to the lack of use of figure drawing skills. Example: The Packers go 3 & out on consecutive off-tackle runs. I say "Yeesh, Rodgers, you get the big bucks, try some passing" in whatever tone of voice you like. I clearly mean, as a reasonably informed football fan, that the Packers are making a strategic blunder by not using Rodgers' passing skills. I think the situation is exactly analogous for RE as a comic fan.

So, yeah, you seem to have jumped to conclusions about his asserting Bisley's lack of skill.

Zak SmithYesterday 2:23 PM

+Justice Platt Are you saying you think the comment was intended to be a responsible and constructive comment rather than (at best) vague snark?

Justice PlattYesterday 2:28 PM+1 2 1

I make no claims to being able to read RE's mind. He speaks for himself well. I'm saying that your blanket statement that RE asserted that Bisley has no skill is false on logical grounds, on the grounds of the testimony of the author, and on the grounds that there exists a strongly plausible alternate interpretation. Is any of this not true?

Zak SmithYesterday 2:30 PM

+Justice Platt I suggest only that RE;s comment was snarky and negative enough that my initial comment was necessary to clarify the facts. His subsequent comments could have been "Oh, that's not what I mean" and I'd go "Oh, ok" But instead he went "YOU CLARIFIED AFTER MY SNARKY COMMENT! YOU ARE BULLYING ME!" at which point he passed from "requiring clarification" to simply "wrong and insane"

Justice PlattYesterday 2:36 PM+1 2 1

+Zak Smith , bullshit. You have repeated a false thing-that RE asserted that Bisley has no skill in figure drawing-multiple times, even after clarification from the author. In no way did RE's reaction force you to do that, and blaming him for it is ridiculous.

Zak SmithYesterday 2:41 PM

+Justice Platt If he disagrees with that assertion, then he may say that and I will have no choice but to take him at his word. It does't retroactively mean: -My initial clarifying comment was in any way insulting or unnecessary (as his initial comment was, at best, ambiguous and, at best, still insulting snark) and -any of his later statements were in any way ok, since they contain crazy false accusations

Justice PlattYesterday 2:53 PM

+Zak Smith , the issue is not RE and the terrible things he allegedly forced you to do. You are not telling the truth about what he said. My 1st & 3rd points from my comment above at 4:14 applied before you replied, and you jumped to the conclusion that he must be asserting that Bisley had no skill. Further, it is a rather insulting assumption that a lifelong, voracious comics reader like RE has no awareness of Bisley's work & skill.

Zak SmithYesterday 2:56 PM

+Justice Platt If Ron feels that I have misrepresented his position, he can say so. My first comment is wholly justified because it was there to clarify the situation after his snark. My subsequent comments were necessary to to establish that he was not telling the truth about bullying.

Justice PlattYesterday 3:09 PM

+Zak Smith , textual evidence is what it is. Did you in fact jump to conclusions and make false statements about what RE asserted or not? Were those conclusions based on the insulting assumption that RE was unaware of Bisley's skill or not? If the answer to any of these is no, which of my three points is untrue?

Zak SmithYesterday 3:48 PM

+Justice Platt I already spoke to this: " If Ron feels that I have misrepresented his position, he can say so. (Neither of us know what he meant.) My first comment is wholly justified because it was there to clarify the situation after his snark. My subsequent comments were necessary to to establish that he was not telling the truth about bullying. "

Justice PlattYesterday 4:12 PM

More bullshit. Your entire justification for ongoing intervention has been that you need (in fact have a moral obligation) to correct RE's error of fact-an error of fact that you made up. RE points out to you that you did so, and you repeat it yet again! In bold even!

As far as your subsequent statements go, this is more "Ron made me do it" nonsense. Simply put, you can take issue with someone's tone, or with someone's attribution to you of bullying behavior, without insisting that your tendentious interpretation of his statement is utterly correct. You are perfectly aware of this.

So, do you believe that RE's statement must and can only mean that Bisley lacks technical skill or not? If not, will you retract those parts of your statements in which you definitively, unambiguously assert that this is the case? . And, yes, this is important. There is at least one person on the internet with a strong propensity to twist any statements by RE that can be twisted and attack RE with them. The person I have in mind also clearly values your opinion, and would be happy to have fodder for his horseshit that he can present as approved by you. Whether or not there is an analogy to your own situation is up to you.

Zak SmithYesterday 4:21 PM+1 2 1

+Justice Platt " do you believe that RE's statement must and can only mean that Bisley lacks technical skill or not? " I do not know what it means, I only know what: -I think it implied and -that Ron, instead of clarifying, chose to attack me " If not, will you retract those parts of your statements in which you definitively, unambiguously assert that this is the case?" If Ron says this isn't what he meant, then he can say that, at which point I will go "ok, then that's clear now" but all of my actions remained justified: His first statement morally required that I (or someone) clarify--as it strongly implied Bisley didn't know how to draw. My later statements were likewise, *morally required* because Ron falsely claimed he was being bullied.

Justice PlattYesterday 4:35 PM

+Zak Smith , a man who does not know what a statement means does not repeatedly, confidently, unambiguously, in bold offer an interpretation of that statement, nor does he present it as a definite error of fact someone made, nor does he assert that he has a "moral obligation" to correct it. Why are you so reluctant to admit that you jumped to conclusions?

And again, this "If Ron chooses to correct me" horseshit doesn't wash. Either you parsed his statement right, in which case I owe you an apology, or you did not, in which case you owe him an apology.

Zak SmithYesterday 4:38 PM

+Justice Platt How, pray tell, do we know if I correctly interpreted Ron's statement, psychopath?

Justice PlattYesterday 4:56 PM

+Zak Smith, either the author agrees with your interpretation or there is no plausible alternate interpretation. Pretty simple. Neither is the case here. You can answer my questions whenever you like.

Does you calling me a psychopath mean I'm officially on some list of trolls or RPG drama club members or whatever? Can I have a membership card?

Zak SmithYesterday 5:03 PM

+Justice Platt "either the author agrees with your interpretation or there is no plausible alternate interpretation" YES. That's why we have to wait for Ron to get past addressing: -1. The minor moral crime of responding to a work of art by an artist who'd done nothing wrong with a snarky attack and -2. The major moral crime of accusing me of being a bully and then move on to -3. The minor and arguable possible crime of ignorance or incompetence of attempting to express a possibly-believed inaccurate view of Mr Bisley's working process ....before we can answer the question of just what interior mental space Ron's absolutely totally objectively shitty comment was meant to reflect. When and if he finally gets around to clarifying that, I'll address it. As for you: you are simply obviously a psychopath for being so worried about 3 after all the 1 and 2 going on and doing so with so much pointless swearing. It would be remiss if I didn't point it out, for the benefit of anyone who hadn't noticed and might considering collaborating with you on any projects or discussing anything with you.

Justice PlattYesterday 5:53 PM

+Zak Smith , how on earth can a comment that you admit you don't know the meaning of be "absolutely totally objectively shitty?" And before you go to the "it was snarky" well, remember that my alternate interpretation turns the comment from "Hurr hurr Bisley can't draw" to "Bisley would have done well to exercise more figure drawing skills." You appear to have admitted that my interpretation is at least plausible, so you;ll be wanting to make an actual argument about why that's "objectively shitty." Otherwise, all you're really doing is tone policing RE, since, agree or disagree, that's a reasonably productive thing to say.

Also, we have both essentially been ignoring RE's 10:38 AM comment, in which he both specifically points out that he did not explicitly say that Bisley cannot draw, points out that you made assumptions (one of which I pointed out above as an insulting assumption) to get to that interpretation, and states that he generally likes Mr. Bisley's work. All of this makes my interpretation substantially more plausible.

As to my concern with 3-I was under the impression that you agreed with me that smaller falsehoods in the service of "larger truths" was a bad thing.

Unnecessary swearing? Never thought I'd see the day when you'd blanch at bad words explicitly directed at your ideas, but times do change.

Last, on the psychopath thing, I look forward to seeing your compendium of "dumb things Justice has said." Maybe you'll find some stuff I don't remember or whatever. Little trip down Memory Lane. I am disappointed by no membership card.

I don't, however, expect to see it soon. Unlike RE, I have no real reputation in RPGs to lose, and my name, to the best of my knowledge, has never been mentioned in a thread I am not in. That's not the case for RE. Agree or disagree with him, like his stuff or don't, he's been working very hard to write good games and think clearly about RPGs for quite a while. This is a good & worthy thing. Allowing distortions of his remarks to stand just gives him more nonsense to contend with, especially at the hands of the individual I referred to earlier, who clearly values your opinion, covets your influence, and craves your approval.

Zak SmithYesterday 5:56 PM

+Justice Platt "my alternate interpretation turns the comment from "Hurr hurr Bisley can't draw" to "Bisley would have done well to exercise more figure drawing skills."" Your translation inaccurately removes the snark, which is there regardless of whether you want to acknowledge it or not. And is still opinion expressed as if it were fact or advice expressed to someone who clearly chose otherwise, which is also inexcusable and does not lead to a good discussion. The helpful or informative form of the remark would be something like "I wish he showed off more of his figure drawing skill here". Most of your comments are unnecessary, you just need to wait for Ron to respond rather thant repeatedly trying to find new interpretations of his objectively dumb remark " Agree or disagree with him, like his stuff or don't, he's been working very hard..." Calling me a bully torpedoes any and all good intentions on his part and means his alleged accomplishments don't matter. He ceases to be a reliable voice immediately at that point and becomes a chew toy for the rest of his life unless he manages to apologize and there can be no real defense of him. Even if my interpretation of his remark in my first response was inaccurate, nothing licenses him to say that--it is evil.

Justice PlattYesterday 6:13 PM+1 2 1

+Zak Smith , you can do better than that. One man's hateful snark is another's witty tone. I found your initial response nastily condescending, but that's not an argument against you. It's just straightforward tone policing either way.

And, as far as opinion expressed as fact goes, come on. Just silly.

Zak SmithYesterday 6:21 PM

+Justice Platt "Witty snark" or "hateful snark" are still just snark at the artist, which makes you not A Respectable Helpful Voice In The RPG Scene it makes you The Comments. And the way you build a decent RPG community is not be ok with people acting like The Comments. The Tone was snark (not ok to make a negative comment without facts to back it up). The Content was implying inaccurate facts (likewise not ok). "Tone policing" is when you make an accurate criticism and get attacked for your tone. Ron made either: -an inaccurate criticism (which is wrong, regardless of tone) or -an opinion-as-fact criticism (which is wrong, regardless of tone) The internet SO doesn't need more opinion-as-fact or baseless snark.

Justice PlattYesterday 7:44 PM

+Zak Smith , my alternate interpretation, whether or not it is particularly incisive, is substantive. Which, frankly, is the better standard-"accurate" kinda sucks, since how could we possibly ' whether or not a counterfactual criticism, like my reinterpretation, is accurate? Do we have access to all the pictures Bisley could have drawn?

The opinion as fact thing is still silly. Work harder.

I agree about elevating the tone of internet discussion to at least some degree.But notice, you've gone from a duty to correct any & all errors of fact to a duty to elevate the the tone, as judged & enforced by you.

Which, given your earlier name-calling and ridiculous blue-stockingness about swearing, allows me only to say "Be the change," y'know?

Zak SmithYesterday 7:59 PM+1 2 1

+Justice Platt "The opinion as fact thing is still silly. Work harder." This alone makes you wrong. The rest is icing after that. If you think the internet needs more "Kirk is just better than Picard" then you're not a person anybody else need to listen to. As for "being the change" you don't stop someone from robbing banks by quietly not robbing banks. You have to call out bad behavior or it will continue, as the entire RPG internet proves every day.

Justice PlattYesterday 8:03 PM

+Zak Smith , would repeatedly, unambiguously asserting that your somewhat implausible interpretation of someone's statement was absolutely true count as OAF?

Zak SmithYesterday 8:09 PM

+Justice Platt Only if they contest it. If I think a house is on fire that isn't because of taste it's because of what i thought was a true fact about the world (which is all any of us can do: draw conclusions from sensory data). A grown-up like Ron needs to know the difference between taste and fact right off, but everyone can take the facts in front of them and make an incorrect inference--there's no shame in that so long as it is investigated if it was insulting to the target. Since Ron's comment was a bad thing to say because represents all bad options: -"Bisley lacks technical facility (incorrect) -"Bisley doesn't lack tech facility but it's good to express personal distaste by pretending it does" (counterproductive and trolling) -"Bisley made a choice I don't like and I'm going to both obscure that it's a choice and obscure that it;s just a taste thing" (counterproductive and trolling) -"I'm gonna snark for mystery reasons" (counterproductive and trolling) ...my inference was not particularly insulting since all the options make Ron's statement bad

Tony DemetriouYesterday 8:19 PM

I also interpreted Ron's comment as implying Bisley can't draw figures well.

I can absolutely see how the comment could have been intended to imply that Bisley can draw figures well, and chose not to in this picture - but even so it was clearly snarky. By saying "try some figure drawing", in either interpretation, it's saying that he didn't do figure drawing in this image.

To me, the implication that he didn't do figure drawing in this image is objectively wrong - there are two figures in the picture with (although stylized) relatively realistic proportions, musculature, etc. - there is clearly figure drawing there, whether it's good or bad.

So, using your football metaphor, it'd be more akin to Rodgers regularly passing the ball, but failing to do it to your satisfaction. And then you make the comment about "Yeesh, Rodgers, you get the big bucks, try some passing"

So clearly snarky.

(But it doesn't bother me if Ron is snarky or not. Bisley isn't here on this thread, and isn't having his feelings hurt, so we don't need to defend him unless we believe that some tangible harm will come to him or others from this snark.)

I'm not convinced that Ron's comment was shitty or bad - but it was inaccurate, and I don't have a problem with someone disagreeing with a comment they believe to be inaccurate.

I was quite surprised by Ron's response - although Zak's comment can be read as condascending, the reply was more vitriolic than I expected. Especially as I've seen Ron handle other, more direct attacks, with grace. I'm assuming that is due to their history, rather than this thread itself. As such, hanging this disagreement on Ron's originating comment feels like everyone is talking around the actual issue*.

* Whatever that actual issue might be.

+Zak Smith - Although I recognize that you were using the word in a non-medical sense, if we're being technically correct, +Justice Platt is only a psychopath if he scores above 30 on the PCL-R checklist. http://www.minddisorders.com/Flu-Inv/Hare-Psychopathy-Checklist.html

I dunno if he's likely to show up as a psychopath, as one of the primary traits is a lack of empathy, and Justice seems to be showing a lot of empathy towards Ron. (Although a psychopath might attempt to simulate that empathy as an excuse to exert their dominance in a conversation.)

Tony DemetriouYesterday 8:22 PM+1 2 1

+Zak Smith As a matter of taste, I don't know if this house is on fire, but it certainly is flaming

http://www.cynical-c.com/2015/06/19/relentlessly-gay-yard/

Zak SmithYesterday 8:25 PM

+Tony Demetriou the fact that Bisley isn't present is not the issue. Nor are his feelings. The point is a snarky negative comment does 3 things: -makes the conversation worse (because it is vague but contestable) and -(in this case) implies incorrect information. and -Violates the golden rule You don't avoid snark to spare peoples' feelings (surely thousands of people have snarked at Bisley before--he is an artist, this is a consequence of making art, it would be bad to let it affect your feelings), you avoid it because it makes the resulting conversation worse or (at best) does nothing but take up space. And, further, everyone must be subjected to the same standard whether they are present or not because they could easily see the comment in the future, and--MUCH MORE IMPORTANTLY--uninformed 3rd parties, new to the situation might see it in the future.

Tony DemetriouYesterday 8:29 PM

+Zak Smith Out of context, I have zero problem with snark. I've got a friend that communicates almost entirely via sarcasm. I'm also Australian, where we'll use insults as everyday conversation tools. To me, this doesn't muddy the conversation.

In context, if snark is used as an attack, then I've got a problem with it. If it's used to express an opinion, but not specifically as an attack, then I don't. In this particular case, I couldn't say which is true.

I do think whether Ron believes Bisley is going to see his comment makes a difference on my interpretation of whether it was an attack or not.

If you feel that snark makes the conversation worse, regardless of whether it's an attack or not, then it doesn't matter whether Bisley is present or not.

I absolutely agree with you that Ron's comment implies incorrect information, and that incorrect information is bad (which is why I also disagreed with it.)

Justice Platt12:25 AM

+Zak Smith , RE did contest your interpretation. I've pointed this out a few times. So yeah, OAF, by the standard you explicitly set out. Really makes the rest of your post moot. Snark always and everywhere bad might be defensible, but it is not the argument you were making in your posts to RE.

What I do want to address is your take on my opinion of OAF. You immediately ascribed to me a complete straw man-that I want the internet to have more "Kirk is objectively better than Picard." You had no warrant for saying so, and before you say that I should have clarified, does that justify the insulting ascription of the most ridiculous position I could possibly hold?

It's of a piece with your professing to find four uses of a rather mild expletive "pointless swearing" and offering that as a reason people should avoid me. In both cases, I cannot imagine that you did not recognize what you were doing and go on to do it anyway. You are vigilant for strawmanning where you are concerned, and your body of work (to put it mildly) shows little concern about cussing.

These are the kinds of things that concern me in argument. Your sanctimony about snark and OAF is sadly misplaced and rather grotesque when it occurs almost literally in the same breath with these other tactics. You admit that snark can be harmless, OAF is pretty well understood as a statement of opinion by the vast majority of English speakers. Faux outrage and strawmanning are always harmful. So, yeah, be the change.

Zak Smith12:58 AM

+Justice Platt You ignored this: " If I think a house is on fire that isn't because of taste it's because of what i thought was a true fact about the world (which is all any of us can do: draw conclusions from sensory data). " You also ignored the fact that while Ron has repeatedly said pieces of what he thinks Ron has NEVER claimed his original snarky comment could not imply to a good-faith, educated reader that Ron thought Bisley lacked technical skill Until he: - does so, - does so convincingly and -then I deny him and can give no counterevidence ...then I am plausibly in the realm of fact. Right now I have an interpretation of his words "He implied Bisley lacked technical ability, despite possibly not meaning it" and my responsibilities "Therefore someone needed to establish this was not a true thing to imply". Nothing that has happened has changed any of that, and none of that is me taking something I know to be an opinion and claiming it's fact. So far as I can tell (and this is a guess),, from what he's saying, Ron agrees with this: "Ron implied Bisley lacked technical ability, despite possibly not meaning it" and his take is "Who the fuck cares? I get to just say random shit on the internet because who cares if anyone believes it? The important thing is nobody should ever clean up after the mess I make." As for the rest: OAF always leads to "Kirk is better than Picard" arguments, so you are totally defending that practice. On swearing: you're doing it against a target that's done nothing wrong in defense of a target that objectively has (he said I "bullied" which is objectively incorrect), that's the disturbing bit. ' OAF is pretty well understood as a statement of opinion by the vast majority of English speakers.' Incorrect: the whole reason for edition wars and other shitty internet phenomena is that nobody clearly draws lines between what's fact and what's opinion. Like it's a fact that people I know grasp percentile systems easily. But if I go "percentile systems are easy to grasp" then we don't know whether I mean that fact I just reported or whether I am just saying they are having done no research. Same with 90% of RPG arguments, treating claims you've researched the same as info you haven't ("This is "unworkable" "--well is it literally unworkable as in the math can't ever work because of a literal error or is it just you don't like it? "You can't satisfy both this and that at once!" Well are you sayng you tested it or are you saying you guess that? "This drives most women away?" Well are you saying you checked or you're just guessing because you don't like it?) leads to nearly all the pointless fighting on the internet about games. So, just because you aren't smart enough to see why doing bad things causes problems doesn't mean they don't cause problems. Also, because you're not smart enough to see the reasons I call out bad behavior while at the same time engaging in behavior you think is the same, doesn't mean it's the same.

Justice Platt2:03 AM

+Zak Smith , you wanna get some sleep? Rethink that post? It's pretty feeble,

Zak Smith2:12 AM+1 2 1

+Justice Platt Again, the fact that you even posted that, resorting to just straight trolling and attempting to sort of wish away clear objections to your mistaken argument, suggests further that you have no value as a person to talk to. If you have an argument: make it. If you don't: apologize for wasting everyone's time.

Justice Platt3:06 AM+1 2 1

+Zak Smith OK. In order then:

I have no idea what you're talking about with the house on fire thing. Hence ignoring it.

You're shifting goalposts again. The idea that RE clarifying his position requires proof to the good faith etc etc is ludicrous. It's also an entirely new standard. My position has been consistently that your repeated, unambiguous statements that RE asserted (Not "implied"-another goalpost shift,. "Asserted" is your multiple repeated original word choice) Bisley had no skill were not warranted, given that you don't know what RE means, and plausible alternate explanations exist. "Plausibly in the realm of fact" is a ridiculous standard for big bold text this is true statements. It is "plausibly in the realm of fact" that you're going to the bank tomorrow morning, but I'm still not going to claim that you definitely are, especially if you say you aren't..

You again change the claim you make-your original straw-manning is that I want more KP arguments, not that I'm ok with them.

You, a grown-up with some experience of the world, find it "disturbing" that someone called your argument "bullshit" in a cause you think bad? What exactly does "disturbing" mean here, anyway? Ooh-a vague insinuation!

Last, I can summarize your claims about OAF as: 1)Leads to unclear/confusing claims that sometimes require requesting warrants. 2)Abolition of this form of statement abolishes, or at least greatly diminishes, 1. 1 is not unique to OAF statements, and it is frankly risible to imagine that unclear claims and/or the need for warrant clarification stop or greatly diminish with their elimination. So, minimal harms and inadequate solvency. I'm not saying the practice is laudable, but c'mon.

Zak Smith3:26 AM

+Justice Platt 1. "I have no idea what you're talking about with the house on fire thing. " Then the decent thing to do is ask not continue to be a tremendous shithead. I will explain: A grown-up person reporting on their taste knows they're reporting a mere opinion. If they dress it up as fact, they're pulling a rhetorical maneuver. Intent to deceive or bluster past rational objections. A person who thinks a house is on fire (they see the smoke, etc) and reports that it is and turns out to be wrong, has simply made a mistake no intent to deceive there. They inaccurately reported a fact which we all do innocently from time to time because we rely on our senses. My remarks in response to Ron have been of the second kind at worst--I believe Ron's remarks to be asserting (perhaps against Ron's real beliefs, because they are jokes) a certain thing that people may believe. Just as a joke may assert that a chicken crosses the road even if the person telling the joke doesn't believe that any chickens ever cross rods. 2. "You're shifting goalposts again. " Incorrect, I never shift goalposts, that would be disgusting, and it's disgusting you'd say that. My initial comment was based on and continues to be based on (and justified by) this idea: " (a) Ron's initial comment was such that a naive viewer might believe that Ron was expressing the following idea: "Bisley lacks technical skill" WHETHER RON BELIEVES BISLEY LACKS SUCH SKILL OR NOT. (b) It is therefore the responsibility of someone to explain to such a naive viewer that Bisley does indeed have technical skill " ...this has been my contention since the beginning. We know that Bisley does not lack technical skill. If he asserted Bisley lacked technical skill despite not believing it, he is evil and negligent. If he asserted it and believed it, he is ignorant and subsequently got mad about that being exposed. Neither of these conclusions is good for Ron therefore assuming one rather than the other does nothing to harm Ron's reputation more than the other choice. But there is no evidence anywhere that he did not assert this . You don't tell someone to try figure drawing if they're trying figure drawing. (a) Is not an opinion . It is an assertion of fact, so far as I know. If Ron wishes to contest the idea that his snarky remark may be read in such a way by a third party. I am (because I am sane) willing to consider the idea that my analysis is an inaccurate statement of the facts, but thus far there is zero evidence of this. Ron's defense and yours has simply been to talk about what Ron believes not what was implied to readers by the remark (the only relevant thing). - As for the rest: you equivocate "not all harm is caused by x" (true statement) into "therefore there is no reason to eliminate x" (not a rational conclusion. OAFs cause: -some harm and provide -zero benefit ...so there is no good argument for them. Like bedbugs.

Victor Garrison (headspice)4:03 AM+2 3 2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrCPIrs90eg

Ron Edwards3:32 PM

Looks like people were busy.

+Justice Platt thanks for the input.

+Zak Smith as I've stated before, there is no connection between my initial statement and a statement that Bisley cannot draw figures. Demanding that I repeat it was unnecessary, and as this is the second time, please don't demand it again.

You also demand that this statement be assessed or discussed in terms of its impact on readers. This is not the first time you have elected yourself the Voice of the Readers - I believe we agreed that you weren't going to do that to me again.

This is the day, unfortunately, when I have decided you're not going to explain why you single-message people to criticize their plussing choices, and why you often reply to others' stated views or takes on works of art in a chilling fashion yet post very similar statements about work you don't like. These are bullying acts. Why, in the complete absence of discernible need, do you do them?

My last statement before signing off. Willing or not, knowing or not, you have cultivated an environment of fear in this subculture. You can call this crazy and talk about more and more colorful metaphors all you want. Or you can try to assess this claim in any way you want that's not your gut, and see what you see then.

Signed off now, finished with the thread.

Zak Smith3:45 PM

+Ron Edwards 1. " as I've stated before, there is no connection between my initial statement and a statement that Bisley cannot draw figures. " Then what was it meant to communicate and why should we care? What's important is what it could logically be interpreted to mean literally by third parties 2. " You also demand that this statement be assessed or discussed in terms of its impact on readers. This is not the first time you have elected yourself the Voice of the Readers - I believe we agreed that you weren't going to do that to me again. " Citation needed. Why would I ever agree that the _most important thing about a public distortion of fact not be discussed? That would be like me agreeing to let you kick readers in the balls. 3. " This is the day, unfortunately, when I have decided you're not going to explain why you single-message people to criticize their plussing choices, " I do not message people to criticize them I message them to see if they are insane or not. If they are insane, it is important to block them from my circles. You haven't even explained how that's bad . It's Good Citizenship 101 to privately contact people you have conflict with so that you don't rake each other over the coals publicly unnecessarily. You are just grabbing random acts out of the air and affixing the word "bullying" to them out of what appears to be sheer insanity. How is sending someone a message in any way a harmful act? 4. " and why you often reply to others' stated views or takes on works of art in a chilling fashion yet post very similar statements about work you don't like. " Citation Needed. Since you aren't that smart and apparently can't read very well I suspect your definition of "very similar" is the problem here. 5. " These are bullying acts. " Incorrect: a bullying act would be: -negative and -something I can do that the target cannot or refuses on moral grounds to do. ...you haven't cited any such acts. You've only cited awesome good things I did.

6. " Willing or not, knowing or not, you have cultivated an environment of fear in this subculture. " If you're trying to say "Oh no, back in my day, indie game designers used to feel totally cool about posting false allegations and now they're afraid they'll be asked for evidence" or "I can't falsely accuse someone of bullying, then run away with no calls for accountability any more" well cry me a fucking river. I don't know any good person doing good work who claims to be afraid of jack shit--in fact people seem markedly less afraid than they were a year ago when you could be publicly accused of everything from hate crimes to cattle rustling and the Oh-I-Know-That-Guy network would back the accuser up because they both had the same grudge against the same dumb game. You can allege I've had an impact--but if you do so, then you have to weigh that against the fact that the DIY RPG scene is fucking kicking ass these days, in ways it hasn't for 30 years. I am totally proud of calling out shit people for their shit behavior--it's worked and we've made things better.

Zak Smith4:28 PM

I didn't come into this assuming Ron was insane, but now, I guess, we all know he actually is.

0 notes

grither55 · 4 years

Text

The Princess and the Peasant - (An Azula Epic) - Chapter 72 - The Girl in Red

"Red hair…I have never seen red hair before…" Jiao muttered in awe as she stood at the back gazing at the unmoving girl.

"What nation…are these soldiers from?" Zoe pondered in an awestruck voice as she surveyed the weaponry in unhidden curiosity.

Is it really possible that other worlds truly exist?

And even more baffling!

Could there really be a gateway of sorts between their worlds?

"This…is the supersoldier that you have told us about Elle?" Mai asked in a wary voice while Elle numbly nodded her head.

It had not escaped their notice that Elle had not once taken her wide eyes off this Naoki's motionless face.

"Naoki…an interesting name." Nako mumbled in shock while she surveyed the device going off at her feet in wonderment.

It was almost like…the device that she just recently constructed!

"Y-yeah. It's her. And these are government soldiers. Were government soldiers." Elle breathed in quiet voice with her eyes gaping at the scene before her.

"A covert invasion in my domain?" Azula hissed in a furious voice as she strode forward with her cold eyes sweeping about.

It seems as if she will truly teach these people a lesson sooner than she first thought.

"What do we do Azula?" Ty Lee questioned with her brown-gray eyes gazing wide down at the blood-stained grass.

Only for the voice to call out once more just as they watched in shock when Elle sprang forward with a rock in hand.

And not a moment later…

Smash!

The device shattered into numerous pieces while the seven stared down at their young friend's panting face.

"Hey…I was going to study that!" The royal pilot protested in a disappointed voice while the princess frowned in agreement.

"I-it's too risky! We need to make sure that we destroy all of their communications!" The blonde-haired girl blurted out in a panic as she gazed up at her princess's stoic face.

"Zoe! Saro! Search their corpses and make certain that you leave nothing suspicious intact!" The princess ordered with her burning fists at her hip while her soldiers nodded in understand.

"What do we do with her?" Saro inquired in a cautious voice as he knelt inspecting a corpse while Azula pursed her lips into an even deeper frown.

"Wake her up and interrogate her." Azula spoke in a glacial voice as she glared hard down at Naoki's unconscious face while Zoe nodded in affirmative.

"Understood princess." The captain agreed as she strode forward only to pause when the teenager called out to her.

"D-don't touch her! And don't walk near her! She's extremely dangerous and highly volatile! All you will do is provoke her!" Elle explained in a hurried voice as she shakily stood up while Azula let out an arrogant snort.

"Please! Don't make me laugh. This one hardly matches the stories that you have been so vividly telling me." The princess remarked with a haughty smile as she waved a dismissive hand in the air.

Only for her two-childhood friends to roll their eyes as they gazed at the slain men lain out before them.

"Yeah Azula. Real harmless." The markswoman stated in a monotone voice while her friend glared at her from the corner of her eye.

"She might look harmless but I assure you that she isn't. She is much stronger than she looks. T-they turned her into a killing machine. If you disturb her, she is liable to put a hole in you." The blonde-haired girl advised as she slowly approached her prone comrade while the others listened in rising curiosity.

"Given the look of these men…it's probably wise if we listen to Elle." The brown-haired woman suggested in a nervous voice as she balanced her weight on a tree.

"Hm. You've intrigued me servant. Perhaps if she proves worthy, I will allow her to serve me…" Azula trailed off with a fingertip rubbing the underside of her chin while Mai rolled her eyes behind her back.

'Leave it to Azula to want to enslave a former slave…' Mai thought with a spark of disgust in her eyes while she gazed at the redhead's sleeping face in pity.

Only to turn her head when she saw the blonde walking forward from the corner of her eye.

The group watched in a mixture of curiosity and concern as the teenager approached the downed redhead.

"If anyone is going to handle her. It should be me. I am the only one that she might hesitate to kill." Elle announced to the surprise of her team as she knelt without warning before the redhead's unmoving face.

"What! Absolutely not! The last thing I need is for you to get another hole in your chest!" The princess snarled as she stomped up behind her handmaid while her childhood friends rushed over.

"Please be careful Elle!" Ty Lee pleaded in sisterly concern as she approached behind her crouched little sister.

All the while Zoe kept a close watch on Naoki through the corner of her hazel eye as she surveyed the girl in unconcealed curiosity.

'A supersoldier…' The captain thought with a piqued gleam in her hazel eyes as she quickly walked closer.

“Well! I’m in no hurry to get cut up. I’ll just relax over here while you nobles risk your lives.” The seductress commented in a lazy voice while the princess glared back at her with icy golden eyes.

She was no fool.

She knew that if not for Zoe that she would be put to death for talking like that in front of the Crown Princess.

But she knew well enough that her dragon would never let anything happen to her.

“Naoki…I know that I should probably just leave you here. You intend to commit genocide. If you died here…how many lives would be saved?” The blonde-haired girl lamented in a solemn voice with the others listening in bewilderment behind her.

It was a terrifying statement that made all but Zoe and Azula shudder.

“You’re not making me feel any better kid. In fact, she’s starting to sound a lot like someone I know…” The markswoman stated as she gazed at the princess’s scoffing face through the corner of her eye.

“Erm…in that case maybe we should just leave her here?” Nako spoke in a shivering voice while Azula rolled her eyes over her fear.

“And yet…I feel sorry for you. I-I know what it’s like to have your life taken from you. They did the same to me. And…and neither you or I can ever get that back.” Elle muttered in a soft voice as she removed her water bottle form her bag while her companions stared on in a moved silence.

And then she tipped the bottle back against the redhead’s parched lips while tilting a small sip into the girl’s mouth.

“Elle…” The brown-haired woman trailed off in a saddened voice as she eyed both girls in sympathy while the princess still watched both closely with her callous golden eyes.

“Now I know that you aren’t very fond of me. And I know that in the past you have likened me to a spineless worm.” The blonde-haired girl commented in a carefree voice while the others sweatdropped behind her.

“She’s weird.” Jiao quipped from behind them while Nako sweatdropped as she scratched her cheek in agreement.

But even so…

The pilot couldn’t help but muse that she found the blonde quite likable.

“But you did save my life twice now. And I can’t just ignore that. I owe you a debt. So, drink up.” Elle instructed in a caring voice with her amber eyes shimmering in emotion while Naoki swallowed the mouthful of water.

All the while the seven never once took their eyes off the redhead’s unconscious face.

“Childish peasant. You are far too carefree for your own good.” Azula snorted with a roll of her eyes while she supervised the two with a keen eye.

“Maybe so Azula-sama. But my mother taught me to follow a path of love and peace.” The blonde-haired girl replied with a smile on her lips while her princess groaned as she rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

“Love and peace…” The princess sneered in a haughty voice only for the acrobat to swat her shoulder pad.

“I think that’s beautiful Elle. The world needs more love and peace.” Ty Lee remarked with an emotional nod while Azula scanned her fingernails with a bored scoff escaping her lips.

“Love…and peace…” Zoe spoke in a reflective voice as she stared down at Elle’s back with a spark of protectiveness in her eyes.

It was a foreign notion to a soldier like her.

And yet, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of emotion deep inside over the blonde’s innocent words.

“It’s not too late for you Naoki. There’s hope for every last one of us. I know it! Maybe…all you need is a little kindness to help you find your way.” Elle mumbled in a heartfelt voice with a hand reaching out to touch the redhead’s shoulder.

“You’ve got a good heart…Elle.” Mai spoke up with a small smile on her lips as she watched protectively from the rear.

“If you really believe that you can change the world with peace and love then you are even more naïve than I had taken you to be. But at this point…it doesn’t surprise me.” The princess declared in a conceited voice as she shook her head with a fond sigh.

Her pet was such a strange one.

But to her liking all the same.

“That’s so Azula-sama. But…it’s what I believe. Eek!” The blonde-haired girl squeaked all of the sudden to the alarm of her friends when the redhead coughed in her sleep.

Only for Azula to roll her eyes while the others sweatdropped behind her.

“That was really pathetic Elle.” Azula commented with a snort while she tapped her fingernail along her bicep.

“I-I can’t help it Azula-sama. If you knew her you would be wary to touch her too. They put her through hellish training. They taught her to cut people open without regard for if they are enemy, ally or civilian. If you do anything that jostles her then she will kill you just like that. It’s very sad really. She’s…basically a living weapon.” Elle insisted as she sat up with her heart racing as she gazed at Naoki’s still sleeping face.

The others quirked their brows over the unnerving description while the soldier stepped forward.

“Then perhaps it is best if I carry her?” Zoe pondered in a composed voice with the others turning to nod in agreement.

“Ugh. So, now we have to cart a fourth peasant around with us? What do I look like? A pet shelter?” The princess snorted in a smug voice with a finger raised in the air while the peasants in question gazed at her tall back.

“Five. You left me out princess.” The lieutenant replied in a humored voice while the princess eyed him in a smug fashion.

“You are such a pompous ass Azula. You know, that right?” The markswoman inquired with a roll of her eyes while the princess regarded with a cold stare.

“N-no. I’ll do it.” The blonde-haired girl answered as she bent over while her companions watched in uncertainty.

Just as she slid her arm around the redhead’s shoulder while she pulled the unconscious girl to her feet.

“Fine. I suppose I will permit it servant. If she proves useful then I may consider gracing her with my greatness.” Azula sighed with a hand sweeping through her dark hair while she smiled smugly.

Only for her two childhood friends to groan behind her.

“I rest my case.” Mai muttered as she gazed on attentively while Elle began to carry the slumped over redhead on her shoulder.

Just as all seven of them noticed in alarm that the redhead was still clutching her blade.

A sight that had Ty Lee gazing on with worried brown-gray eyes.

“Shouldn’t we take her weapon?” Saro asked in a wary voice while Azula scowled as she watched her girlfriend carry the redhead passed out on her shoulder.

“N-no. She’s much less likely to hurt us if we let her keep her weapon. It’s safer…if we let her keep it.” Elle explained in a soft voice with her backpack on her other shoulder while Azula scowled at her.

“Zoe. Don’t take your eyes off that girl. Not even for a moment.” The princess ordered with a hand on her hip while the captain nodded.

“I don’t know about this Elle…” Ty Lee trailed off with a frown while she stepped close to her adopted sister.

“Really oneesan. It’s fine. She could kill me in a heartbeat with or without the sword. This way…it could be seen as an offering of peace.” The blonde-haired girl responded with a nod while her friends gazed on unconvinced by her grim words.

“Impressive training…even in her sleep. She still holds onto her sword.” The captain stated as she began to walk with her hazel eyes still surveying the redhead’s sleeping face.

“Like I said. I will be watching this peasant friend of yours closely.” Azula informed in a cold voice as she walked beside her pet while she gazed on with possessive golden eyes at the blonde’s lovely face.

It would not do to let her pet to come to harm.

Not…again.

The princess thought with a rare spark of emotion in her frigid gaze while she clenched a fist at her hip.

“And these men princess?” Nako queried as she stood gazing down at the slain men.

“Leave them. We will return to collect any valuable equipment on the way back.” The princess commanded as she took a long stride with her boots hitting the forest floor.

“Good. Let’s return to the pathway then. If we find nothing, we will make camp before nightfall.” Zoe spoke as she strode along with her hand over the hilt of her blade.

“When this is over Zoe. I expect you to take me somewhere nice.” Jiao huffed as she followed after her partner while Azula rolled her eyes at her once more.

“Sure, Jiao. I am certain that Princess Azula wouldn’t mind putting the war on pause for a few weeks so we can elope for a night or two.” The captain quipped with a smirk on her lips while her monarch glared back at her.

“Keep dreaming peasant. You mean as much to me as a pebble in my shoe. Take that for what you will.” The princess mocked in a cruel voice with her childhood friends gazing at her in exasperation.

And yet even still.

She couldn’t help but find herself pondering just how these soldiers and this…girl got here.

‘What is it that I don’t know that they do?’ Azula thought with her nostrils releasing a snort of blue fire while she pursed her lips into a fierce snarl.

She will find out soon enough.

Make no mistake about that.

Soon enough they stepped back onto the seemingly endless forest pathway as they prepared to continue their quest.

This despite their uncertainty over their newest ‘companion’.

All the while equally paranoid of the mysterious puppeteer making yet another attack on them if they were to so much as to drop their guard for even a moment.

Only to find themselves gazing on with widened eyes when the vast forest started to shift around them.

“W-what’s happening?” The royal pilot blurted out in a fearful voice as she gazed on in amazement at the shifting trees.

While the others did the same in an equally perplexed manner.

“The trees…they are changing.” Zoe commented with her alert hazel eyes staring on in wonderment as the forest warped around them.

“Is this an illusion?” The princess pondered in a cold voice with her golden eyes narrowing as she watched the forest take shape around her.

All the while her right hand rested atop her sword as she stared on with her eyes widening ever so slightly as she spun around.

The forest pathway was vanishing!

Only to stand in shock as she watched a shimmering hut begin to appear before her very eyes.

“Captain…it looks like you were right after all.” The lieutenant stated in an awed voice while his leader nodded numbly.

“I hate to say it but it seems as if she was.” Mai spoke in a hushed voice as she watched with her mouth agape in amazement as the hut took shape before their eyes.

And just like that.

A simple hut now stood in view at the base of a massive tree while Elle peered on with Naoki still unmoving on her shoulder.

All the while her amber eyes widened in childlike awe as she watched the door of the hut open up before them.

“Wow. I was beginning to think that it was just an old fairy tale.” Ty Lee murmured in excitement with Azula staring on in uncharacteristic fascination beside her.

“Me as well.” The seductress agreed with her blue eyes watching in fascination as a figure began to step outside of the hut.

“Woah! It just appeared from nothing!” The blonde-haired girl chimed in an excited voice with her amber eyes agape in marvelment while she watched an old woman come into view.

Only For all eight of them to gaze on in even greater shock than before.

Exiting the hut was an elderly woman that looked as if she had seen decades more than even the likes of Lo and Li!

The haggard old woman stepped out with a wooden staff in hand as she now gazed back at them with glazed over golden eyes.

Her raggedy gray hair flowed in an unkempt mess behind her as she muttered under her breath while the expedition stared back at her in disbelief.

All the while taking in her weathered robes that swayed in the breeze while the old crone seemingly gazed back at them.

“Peasant! Are you this old sage that I have heard so much about?” The princess demanded in a spoiled voice while her lifelong friends gazed at her back in severe disapproval for her rudeness.

“Azula!” The markswoman hissed as she scowled in anger at the princess’s cruel face.

Only for the elderly hermit to speak at long last.

“I am. And you are a rude one. I don’t usually show myself like this but given nature of my visitor I don’t really have much choice. Now do I?” The sage muttered as she slowly stepped forward while the group listened in rising interest.

“It pleases me that we are in agreement. It isn’t every day that a princess goes through this much trouble to visit an old hermit like you.” Azula scoffed with smug smirk on her beautiful lips while she stood with her fists on her hips.

Just as her friends groaned in embarrassment over her gigantic ego.

Only for the others to watch in amusement when the old crone scoffed in return while the royal woman glared down at her.

“Bah! Princess? Not here for you rude one. Get lost!” The elderly woman snapped in a dismissive voice as she turned away from the princess’s now narrowed golden gaze while the captain chuckled in amusement.

“Now you listen here you old peasant…” The princess growled with her boot tapping on the forest floor while the acrobat slapped her shoulder with an unusually stern look in her eyes.

“Show some respect Azula!” The brown-haired woman exclaimed with a frown while her friend sneered back at her.

“It is you…that I am here for.” The sage spoke in a grumpy voice as she finally came to a stop standing before the astonished servant girl.

And just like that the captain turned to grace her scowling princess with a smirk that said I told you so.

“F-for me? But Azula-sama is much more important than me…” Elle trailed off as she chewed on her lip innocently while Naoki still hung over her shoulder.

All the while Azula’s smug smile returned as she swelled in arrogance over her young servant’s undying praise with her fists planted on her womanly hips.

Only for the sage’s next words to take each and everyone of them by complete surprise.

“Yes. I have been waiting a long time for you…Component.” The elderly woman announced in an enigmatic voice with her wise eyes staring down into Elle’s speechless eyes.

The fact that the old woman had stated that she had been ‘waiting’ for Elle was nothing short of shocking to even the likes of Azula and Zoe.

The sage knew that Elle was coming to see her.

And just like that any doubt that they had swiftly dissolved into even greater intrigue than before.

It would seem as if their trip wasn’t for nothing after all.

Elsewhere.

A prison cell opened up with a prolonged clang while Suki sat in the corner of her cell with her despondent blue eyes staring at her cell wall.

At first, she didn’t even bother to glance up at her latest tormentor.

It was only when she heard the sound of quiet approaching footsteps did, she numbly gaze out of the corner of her hateful eye to see a lank man standing in her cell doorway.

He gazed back at her with sly golden eyes as he rubbed a finger underneath his chin just before he glided into the room.

“Suki of the Kyoshi Warriors. I am Chancellor Terak. And I…would like to have a word with you.” Terak greeted in a smooth voice with his robed sleeves folded before him.

While he quietly stepped forward with his beady eyes gazing back at the tormented woman’s hateful face.

The prisoner did not utter a single word of response as she glared back at him with just a spark of her former self.

‘Things are going just as planned. This…should work out nicely in my favor.’ The chancellor thought with a faint smirk on his scheming lips as he strode into the room.

Only for the heavy door to slam shut behind him not a moment later.

#Azula #Avatar The Last Airbender #femslash #ty lee avatar #mai avatar

0 notes

ohyangchon · 7 years

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Age of Youth: What Should’ve Happened to Kang Yina (Kdrama SS Gift)

@andtheyfightcrime wow thanks Tumblr this is just wonderful but Whatever WHATEVER

Happy Kdrama Secret Santa! I wouldn’t lie and say that I picked AoY because I’m most familiar with that (I watched a few but I’ve forgotten...sobbu). I hope you enjoy my iteration of what happens to Yina before she leaves, because 1 1/2 episodes is just not enough for us okay.

Takes place in between the events of Age of Youth and Age of Youth 2.

“I’m leaving,” The bombshell dropped in the room, and everyone immediately straightened.

It’s shocking news for all of them, and they all become emotional at the thought of Yina no longer living with them.The housemates help Yina load her luggage into the car, and Eunjae begins to cry. Yina insists that this isn’t goodbye forever, but Eunjae knows that it won’t be the same as living together. She knows that the occasional visits will eventually stop, and that’s how they all will separate eventually. They all embrace, and Yina thanks Jinmyung for teaching her so much. Crying uncontrollably, Yina gets into the driver’s seat, and Jinmyung tells her, “I love you.” Yina responds through her tears, “I love you, too. I really love you. Don’t forget me.” (taken from Dramabeans)

But wait! How long did Yina had to think about this before telling everyone?

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“So soon?” she repeated, looking back at the storeowner, “B-but...” Waving her off, the owner wagged a finger at her as Yina unloaded the rest of the items and wrung her hands nervously. “Two weeks, and I expect to see you in Suwon first thing in the morning,” stated the storeowner warningly, “No ifs and buts! It’s a promotion, and I don’t want to hear any more protests.” Yina nodded meekly as he left her to close up the store, her heart immediately sinking at the thought of broaching the news to her fellow housemates.

That night, she waffled over the Skype icon, wondering if she should call Jinmyung and tell her that she might not be able to make it to catch her flight back to Korea because she was packing. Yina mentally rehearsed whatever she wanted to say to Jinmyung: should she lie about this and say she finally got a rich boyfriend to sweep her off her feet? Should she mention the store truthfully and that she was moving out? Would Jinmyung and the others worry over her striking out on her own? Too many questions swirled in her mind, and Yina finally slammed her laptop shut in resignation. “Nngh. Can’t do it,” she whined, flopping onto the bed on her back as a familiar face peeked in from the ajar door, “Where do I start?”

Without context of the whining, Jiwon grinned slyly and yelled, “From the pants!” Yina jumped so high she nearly touched the ceiling at the sudden intrusion, before quickly sitting up and adjusting her head. “Unni! Knock please before you burst out in stuff like this!” complained Yina, her face burning up at being caught, and Jiwon peered around before waggling her eyebrows. “I see you’re making friends with the ghost I talked about,” she continued, and Yina brushed her hair back quickly, stuttering that ��at least the ghost makes noises before they come in’. Jiwon scoffed, informing her that there was fruit on the table, and she should probably get to it before everyone else ate their fill.

Everyone was huddled in front of the TV, catching up on the latest episode of Infinity Challenge. “Did you hear?” Jiwon piped up again, holding an apple slice close to her mouth, “The landlady is leaving. I think she was hinting about it before that her grandson or nephew’s coming to help out, but I don’t know if she’s serious.” Eunjae raised an eyebrow before she shrugged her shoulders, confused. “Why would halmonie leave?” she pointed out, visibly baffled by this statement, “I wonder why she’d suddenly talk about that.” Yina, however, picked at her fruit, obviously not paying much attention to the conversation about the landlady halmonie but more of when to start with the conversation about herself instead. There was only so much one could say to start and end this when they had stayed together for a year, after all.

After everyone broke up to go to bed, Yina lingered for a few moments alone on the couch, deep in thought. It had began to rain, and she couldn’t help but notice the lightning illuminating her morose expression against the window. The howling in the closet didn’t stop, and Yina felt a chill run down her spine as though it was foreboding. She quickly jumped to her feet, shaking off her fear and tucking Yeeun and Eunjae in instead. As she reached Jiwon’s room, however, she could hear Jiwon speaking to someone over the phone- a familiar voice, and immediately plastered herself against the wall to peek into the ajar door as if by reflex.

“...and yeah, so, she’s been acting really weird about this whole thing,” ended Jiwon, obviously after a long rant, and Jinmyung’s face from the screen seemed tired, but mildly sympathetic of the situation, “Maybe you should call and talk about it or something. I feel like she needs it.” Jinmyung sighed deeply, looking back at Jiwon before she shook her head slightly. “I’ll talk to her about it, don’t worry. I’ll find time for it,” Jinmyung stated firmly, once again asserting herself in the situation as Yina quickly stole away to her room, starting to grow anxious that they might’ve caught onto her secret. She laid down and rolled herself into her sheets like a burrito, unsure of what to do next- not realising that Jiwon was actually discussing Yeeun’s anxiety after her assault.

The next day, Yina continued with her daily affairs, trying to put on a front that nothing was wrong- but she froze up when the laptop went off, a call from Jinmyung awaiting her. Immediately, she brought the laptop into the living room, yelling about needing ‘moral support’ to distract from the situation and it wasn’t long before the four girls huddled around the laptop, watching their unni connect to the line. Jinmyung studied the quartet plainly, rubbing her brows before saying that ‘Jiwon wanted me to speak to you lot’. Yeeun and Eunjae turned to Jiwon, then each other, and both tilted their heads in tandem. “We’re fine, unni! I don’t know what you want to discuss,” Eunjae began, her tone visibly baffled by this sudden show of concern, “And I’m sure we don’t need a family meeting so soon after the last, right?”

Jinmyung gave Yeeun a knowing look, and Yina was on pinpricks throughout, bracing herself for Jinmyung grilling her about what was bothering her- before Jinmyung addressed Yeeun’s situation, insisting that she needed to take care of herself. Yeeun lowered her head, her hair covering her face as she muttered that ‘therapy wasn’t really that necessary and it was expensive’, and Jinmyung folded her arms, visibly unimpressed. “Finish the term before everything. The therapist is here to help you,” Jinmyung assessed, trying to be objective, “I don’t want to hear Jiwon complaining about you skipping out again. If you’ve got problems, tell us, and we can try to help. We all knew what happened when you bottled it all inside the last time. We want you to feel safe.” At this, Yeeun scrunched her face up, giving a nod of acknowledgement to her unni, and Jinmyung returned her gaze to the others to address some logistics- including the fact that she would be returning 2 days earlier than planned.

Yina immediately straightened, the shock spreading out through her system. So...she would be able to receive Jinmyung after all? She couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief about the turn of events for her. Everyone happily waved goodbye to Jinmyung as she hung up, and Eunjae dusted herself off before mentioning that she was going out again to meet Jongyeol. Yina scoffed and rolled her eyes as Yeeun got up to get herself a drink, before she and Jiwon finally locked eyes. Jiwon sidled up close with a wide grin, asking if she had ‘figured her dilemma with Jinmyung out’, and Yina scoffed, insisting that ‘they’d find out when we get there’. “Are you...getting married?” Jiwon guessed, seemingly taking her time to think about it, “Eloping with someone? Come on, throw me a bone here, I have to know!”

Waving her off, Yina soon perked when the others began to leave, and finally, she had the house to herself. Nobody seemed to question why she hadn’t seemed to be working for a few days, and Yina was happy to deflect any question about being retrenched. As she began to pack in the quiet sharehouse, she couldn’t help but let out a sniffle at all the moments she had shared in the room and everyone else’s. She knew she would miss them- everyone that lived here, even the landlady. By then, tears had begun to fall, and she angrily brushed them away, annoyed that she was being so sappy about this. It wasn’t like she wouldn't see them forever! she internally berated herself, but she couldn’t help but sob as she packed her belongings, simply glad that everyone else was away and couldn’t see her cry.

She walked up to the upper storey of the sharehouse to get her refund on the rent, beginning to wail at the thought of actually having to leave, but when she reached the door, she had to quieten herself hearing the landlady on the phone with a foreign voice. It seemed as though she was discussing letting the place out, and when Yina wiped her tears and knocked, she saw the landlady swing the door open and comment how much of a wreck she seemed. They sat together in the house, and in between sobs Yina explained her predicament before raising her hand, asking for her deposit back. The landlady seemed to be in deep thought about this, motioning to the drawer...before slapping her hand away hard, putting Yina’s contract down in front of her instead.

“No refunds, lass,” scoffed the landlady, “But nonetheless, good luck in Suwon. I’m leaving myself.” Yina cried out in shocked pain, clutching her limp wrist overdramatically with a grumble- but the landlady’s words sank in and this time she was concerned. “Where are you going, halmonie? Why would you leave? Who’d take over?” she peppered with questions, and the older lady scoffed and shook her head. “Next year, next year,” she grumbled, “I told my brother to send his useless child to help me with the place. I’m going to travel the world with all the money I got from all you kids.” Yina’s jaw dropped wide open at the admission, but quickly composed herself, giving a nod of acknowledgement at the contract before getting up to bow at the landlady. “I’ll visit before you go, halmonie,” she promised glibly, and the older woman merely waved a dismissive hand to get her going back to the sharehouse.

Trudging back home, Yina tucked the contract under the tear stained clothes and checked the calendar once again. Circled in red ink was the date Jinmyung was slated to return (crudely scratched out with another red circle 2 days before the original date), and Yina sighed longingly, making her way towards the kitchen to start making them a meal. Time passed way too fast for her liking sometimes, she mused to herself, beginning to crack several eggs into two pans for omelettes they could share.

The rest, as we all know, is history.

#age of youth #age of youth 2 #aaaaaaa I love Yina I'm sorry #ryu hwa young #kang yi na #han ye ri #yoon jin myung #park eun bin #song ji won #jung ye eun #han seung yeon #yoo eun jae #ji woo #park hye soo #nooooooo there's no landlady tag #oh well #belle epoque #kdrama secret santa #kdramasecretsanta

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emilynroses · 7 years

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So since I can neither be bothered or find the time to write any more, here is the first two chapters of a fanfic I started to write and at the end, I will put the notes for how it was going to carry on.

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Chapter 1. “So we’ve got a possible ghost about two hours down south, and a vampire nest three hours east.” Sam said to his brother, closing his laptop. Rubbing his face, Dean replied “Uh… ghost, I need some warmth on these bones.” Making his way over, his brother handed him some breakfast, to which his only reply was a grunt of approval. They sat in silence as he ate, his brother only scoffing at the speed. “One of these days, you’re going to regret eating so fast.” Sam noted. “Well that day is not today.” He replied, mouth full, and causing his brother to grimace. “Well anyway, the victim was 17 year old Enna Mills. Witness said, and I quote, ‘there was a hot chick muttering the name Cathy over and over as she stabbed her’. The witness then proceeded to say that this girl was floating.” Sam explained. “Sounds like a ghost to me. You got any clue who it is, or who that Cathy is?” Dean asked. “Mmm, I looked further and found that there had been killings of a blonde haired, green eyed, teenage girl every 10 years since 1958.” “Suspicious.” Dean had finally finished his fry up and was now taking full interest in the case. “Yeah, and in 1948, a teenager named Catherine Jones had been stabbed to death by her best friend.” He finished with a sigh. “What, so her best friend died, became a ghost and is continuing to kill Cathy? Bit excessive” Dean commented. “There’s been cases like it before.” The elder brother shrugged and stood up, going to pack what he needed.

They got in the car, stopping only once at a service station so Sam could use the free Wi-Fi to book a motel room, and so that Dean could use the bathroom, as his eagerness to get out on the open road made him forget to do so before they left. “Room all booked? Let’s hit the road.” He said on his way out of the bathroom, cranking up the volume of the music in the car as he got back in. Eddie Van Halen’s guitar solo powered him onwards and the Impala’s engine roared approvingly. Not so long after, they pulled into the motel parking lot, grabbed their bags, and were in their temporary fort. “So I’m going to hit up the library to learn more about Cathy, and you wanna go check out the crime scene?” Sam said, throwing their duffel bags onto the nearest bed. “On it!” Dean replied, heading to the bathroom to get changed into his suit. “Hey” He yelled from the other room, “Remind me when we get back home to buy a new one of these, this thing is getting a bit worn out.” But his brother was already gone, sat at the bus stop, knowing Dean would want the car. By the time Dean was out, Sam had already caught the bus, so he headed towards the park, changing his plan to give his brother a lift. The engine cut out and he adjusted his tie, before stepping out and flashing his badge.

“Special Agent Hudson. Where exactly was the vic found?” Dean loved playing a federal agent, the power and authority rolled off his tongue with ease. If he hadn’t been a hunter, he would have definitely been a fed, he thought to himself. The rookie cop pointed him in the direction of the detectives and went back to his duty. “What are the feds doing around this place? Bit dry for you top dogs?” The detective sneered, an obvious distaste for higher authority. Dean simply replied with his signature smirk that could get anything off the hook, and got to work, discreetly checking for EMF. The lights shone red inside his pocket, a ghost for sure. Meanwhile, Sam was cooped up under a pile of old newspapers and books. Turns out, Cathy had a younger sister who was witness to her sister’s murder. Sam thought back to the many a time he had witnessed his older brother die, and how awful that had been, despite knowing there was a high chance of his revival, and that was as an adult. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it would have been for Cathy’s sister, she was 10 at the time. Poor girl. Not wanting to get too attached to such a simple job, Sam exorcised that thought from his mind and returned to his research. The best friend turned out to have been dating the high school jock, and Cathy had been sleeping with him behind her back. Her statement claimed that “The devil made me do it”, and that she “was suddenly filled with so much rage when I found out that I got possessed by an evil spirit that made me kill her.” Sam rolled his eyes at that, knowing that none of which would have been true, the girl was simply crazy. And she was rightly placed in an asylum after the trial, having pleaded insanity. By the time the library closed, it was dark outside and Dean was back at the motel eating take out food. Sam knocked on the door and heard movement inside, knowing that his brother was quickly shutting off whatever he was watching. “Find anything good?” Dean asked, leading his brother in. “Eh, not really. But Cathy’s murderer was buried in the asylum, 10 years after being admitted.” Sam said, grabbing a beer from the mini fridge that Dean had filled whilst he was in the library. “And it’s abandoned now, so no problem getting in tonight.” His elder brother nodded, grumbling about how he hated asylums, that they always gave him the creeps. Sam only rolled his eyes in response, before lying down for a few hours of sleep.

He was tied down, restrained at the wrists and ankles. “What the…” He craned his neck, looking around in fear and confusion. Blood. Blood everywhere. It painted the ceiling, walls, and floor. He could smell it, feel it dripping onto his face and down his throat. He couldn’t spit it out, couldn’t swallow it. He was choking, trying to call out for help but no words came out, just a gargled cry. He was about to die, he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly paralyzed, a tall figure came into view. The figure was hooded, but Sam could still see his eyes, glowing golden as they stared into his soul. Feeling uncomfortable, Sam tried to shift his view, but even his eyes were uncooperative, and he had to bear witness to the figure pulling out a knife. The cold metal blade slid surgically down Sam’s exposed torso, though he felt no pain as he saw the figure pull his small intestines slowly out, and inject them with a serum Sam hadn’t seen earlier. His mind was telling him to be afraid, but his heart was beating at a constant rate, no sweat across his forehead. The figure pulled Sam’s skin back together, it quickly healing itself, and suddenly the walls were no longer painted red, but instead held home to a calming blue, and there was his mother, standing over him in his bed, singing a lullaby. He was still paralyzed though, still felt the restraints on his ankles and wrists. But he could blink again, he realized once his eyes started stinging. And when he did, his mother was once again on his ceiling.

Another blink, and she was in flames.

Blink.

His dad was in the room.

Blink.

He was crying his wife’s name.

Blink.

And he was back in the motel room, his brother’s arms shaking his shoulders, concern written across the elder’s face. “Sammy, you okay?” He asked, worried. Sam looked around and realized it was just a dream, a very weird dream. “Uh, yeah” He replied but sounded unsure. “Yes.” He said once more, this time more certainty in his voice. “What time is it?” Dean, finally satisfied that his brother was feeling alright, turned back to take a final swig of his beer. “Two AM, time to go.” His brother sat up and rubbed his eyes, clearing gunk from them. They drove in silence, with only the sound of the wheels on the road filling the car, and it was putting Dean on edge. “So, you feel like talking about what happened back there? I was sat drinking my beer when suddenly you’re screaming bloody murder throwing your arms and legs all over the place. I could hear your heart racing.” Sam glanced out the side window, before replying with a simple no. He often did that. There was no logical reason behind it, but for some reason, it gave him courage, filled him with the strength to speak in times of pain or sorrow. “Dude, you can understand why I was worried, I thought it was you-know-who again.” Dean said, trying to prey the answer out of his brother. “I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay! It was just a bad dream. People get those from time to time, and sitting on leather in a metal box doesn’t magically make them talk, so cut it out.” The outburst caused his brother to sigh frustrated, turning on his music. He was only trying to help. Not wanting to go into a hunt with tension between them, the elder of the two tried to lighted the mood. “How dare you insult Baby like that. She is not just a metal box!” He feigned offence. Latching onto what his brother was trying to do, Sam returned with: “you’re right, she’s a beautiful metal box.” Dean smirked. “You hear that, girl? You’re beautiful.” He patted the dashboard and floored the gas.

Luckily, they didn’t have to go inside the asylum, as the graveyard was by the gates. Having gotten digging down to an art, the two men were finished in twenty minutes, and cracked the lid open. “I don’t get it.” Dean said. Sam looked just as baffled, for instead of a skeleton inside the coffin, lay a pile of ash, and the inside lid of the casket was scorched. “Maybe another hunter got here first.” Sam said, trying to think of a reason as to why the scene before him was as so. Turning around, Sam started to ask what his brother thought, but trailed off when he saw two angels holding Dean by the arms, one covering his mouth. “You are very correct Sam, but that was a good ten years ago.” The one keeping Dean silent said, pausing before saying the word ‘good’ to shrug nonchalantly. The other one, the one who’s vessel perfectly fit the description the witness had reported in his statement, laughed menacingly. “What do you want with us?” Sam demanded, retracting an angel blade he had acquired a few years back. “You? Nothing.” The angel shrugged once more. “Then give him back!” Sam threatened, stepping forward. “Ah, but you see, your little friend Castiel is quite invested with you two Winchesters. And especially with this little runt, for some reason, so it only makes sense for us to draw you out of whatever hole you were hiding in and use you as bait, else how do you expect us to find our brother dearest?”

Blink.

The angels were gone, taking Dean with them. Sam looked around, his mind falling to a frantic panic. He was alone, angels had taken his brother and were going to do goodness knows what to him, and Cass was in danger. Not caring about the mess he caused earlier digging the grave, Sam picked up the duffel bag, and ran back to the car. He tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing, he remembered that Dean had the keys. He sighed and placed the bags down, going to hotwire the car. Once in the driver’s seat, he caught his reflection in the windscreen and a pang of sorrow hit him. This wasn’t his seat, it should be his brother sat here, cracking a joke and reversing onto the main road. A lump formed in his throat and he had to choke it back down, reminding himself that now was neither the time or place to get emotional. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Cass. No answer, great. He set off back to the motel and though he drove in complete silence, his intrusive thoughts about what the angels were doing to his brother, and possibly his friend, were deafening. Just as the rain started to pour, Sam stepped back into the motel room and gave a wry laugh- the metaphorical heavens were opening, and the real heaven was sealed shut. He tried calling his angelic brethren again, but once more, the phone rang until voicemail. Quickly losing hope, Sam sat on the bed and started to pray. “Castiel, if you’re out there, I need your help. Dean needs your help. Please.” He sat like that for a solid five minutes, before flinging himself backwards, frustrated. He was alone, no way to rescue his brother, no way to save his friend. The younger Winchester wasn’t quite sure what brought the lump back to his throat, or what made him lose all control over his emotions, but salty tears soon started trickling down his cheeks and before he knew it, he had cried himself into a restless sleep.

Chapter 2

Despite jumping from buildings and chopping off body parts, Sam couldn’t force his body to awaken from the torturous dream he was in.

‘Come on Sam, Dean needs you’ He thought to himself as he sliced off another finger, blinking back the pain. He looked up and saw that he was completely alone, everywhere he turned was abandoned, not a person or animal in sight.

Blink.

Scrap that, someone was there, staring at him in his peripheral vision. Sam turned to face him but the figure had vanished.

Blink.

It was back again, lingering in the corner of his vision, slightly blurred. “Show yourself, damn it!” Sam yelled, turning around to face the stranger, but once again, the figure was back in his far peripheral vision. Still, he couldn’t help swinging around once more, but he lost his balance. And now he was once again falling from a rooftop, though he wasn’t quite sure how he got there this time, as he was certain that just moments ago, he was stood on the pavement down below. Bracing himself, Sam thudded on the concrete, his back erupting in pain and he couldn’t help but yell out. The figure was no longer in sight as he lay back in defeat, his heart beating a thousand times a minute.

Blink.

The figure was stood over him, another injection in hand. But this time, Sam wasn’t paralysed, and he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Sam threw a pained punch at the figure but missed, greatly. After another few attempts at hitting and kicking the figure, Sam realised that despite the angle it looked down at him from, he still couldn’t see the stranger’s face. In fact, he couldn’t see anything at all, the world having suddenly fallen to black.

“Sam!”

He was sure it was the figure talking to him, but the voice sounded so familiar.

“SAM!”

His eyes shot open, and he could once again see. Instead of a hooded stranger stood over him, a soft faced, kind hearted angel stared worriedly down at him, two fingers on his neck. “I thought you were dead! You weren’t moving whatsoever, and you hardly had a pulse.” Sam brushed Castiel’s warm fingers off his neck and sat up slowly, his muscled tense and feeling exhausted from what his body had endured in his dream. “I’m fine.” He mumbled, trying to ignore the nagging voice in his mind telling him to go back to sleep. “The dried tears on your cheeks suggest differently. Sam-”. Dried tears? He touched his cheek and sure enough, there were dried tears. Why had he been crying? “Dean!” He gasped, the memories of the previous night’s events flooded back as he interrupted Castiel mid-sentence. The angel’s eyebrows scrunched and his eyes squinted in confusion. “Dean, what about him?” He asked. Sam rushed to explain to Cass what had happened the night before, stopping to catch his breath only once. As he recalled the story, he couldn’t help the tears from flowing once again. Once he finished telling the tale of what had occurred only a few hours prior, Castiel stood from the bed he had sat back on when listening to the story. Seeing the rage in his friend’s eyes, and knowing just how thoughtless he could be when passionate, Sam quickly raised and put a hand on his shoulder to stop the angel. “Where’d you think you are going?” Sam questioned, though he knew exactly where Cass was headed. Though the trenchcoated man had many talents, strategy was not one of them, he tended to just charge without fear of consequences. “You go back to heaven alone, you’ve fallen straight into their trap. If you’re dead, then I’m all alone and there’s no chance of rescuing Dean. No, we go back to the bunker and we find a spell or something to get him back.” Castiel hesitatingly nodded, knowing that Sam was right, but still hating it. He couldn’t take on an army of angels by himself, especially with the welfare of Dean on his mind. The Winchesters meant a lot to him, were his weakness, and the other angels knew that. Though he couldn’t help in that field, he’d be damned if they had to waste precious time that could easily be spent doing research, be driving dangerously in the car. With a nod of Sam’s permission, he zapped them back to the bunker and as soon as his feet were on solid ground again, Sam ran off to the archives, angel on his tail.

Dust covered the lining of their lungs as they pulled out the fifth filing box of the day. They were sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by useless folder upon useless folder. Sam looked up and saw that Castiel’s eyes kept glancing at him, concerned. Taking a deep breath, as he was unsure if he really wanted to know the answer, Sam asked the angel: “Cass, if you hadn’t heard me calling for help with Dean, then why did you appear in my room?” Castiel paused his reading and looked Sam straight in the eye. “Angel radio suddenly started going crazy, thousands of my brothers and sisters talking excitedly at once. The noise was deafening and I grew fearful at what the fuss was about. One voice spoke above the rest so I tuned the others out and what I heard sent me rushing over to protect you. A reaper was coming to collect your soul, the light emitting from it quickly dimming. You were dying, Sam.” Sam felt the air rush from his lungs. “Oh.” Was all he could manage. Should he tell Castiel about the strange figure in his dreams? The one that was somehow controlling his body, even though he wasn’t actually there? No, now wasn’t the time, he decided. Dean was more important, as long as he didn’t sleep, he would be fine. He cleared his throat to change the topic back to dilemma at hand. Almost dying didn’t matter as much as his brother actually dying.

Two hours later, the pair were sat in silence reading through another box of files. Not even bothering to acknowledge the cough dancing on the back of his throat, Sam delved into the sixth file. He read in silence, a frown of concentration on his face. “I think I may have something, but it’s in Enochian so there’s the odd bit I can’t understand.” He passed the folder to the angel sat next to him, not noticing the look of sympathy Castiel gave him. He knew that Sam could read Enochian from his time in the cage, but it still hurt him knowing that Sam had spent so long there, long enough to learn an ancient and angelic language. He skimmed through it with ease, not needing to focus like his friend did. “No, absolutely not.” Sam looked at him in confusion. “It’s a spell to turn a human into an angel.” He said with no further explanation. Not seeing the problem, Sam tried to argue for it. “That’s great! We’ll turn me into an angel. With both of us up there, we stand quite a high chance of beating them dickheads who stole Dean. And once we rescue him, we reverse the spell.” Castiel was still doubtful. “There must be some other way to rescue him, I don’t want you to go through this. I’ve only heard of it attempted once and it was apparently a very painful process.” He didn’t understand, Sam thought. Dean was his brother and he would be willing to undergo as much pain as physically possible if it would save him, nothing could be as bad as what Dean was currently enduring. “Cass! I don’t care. If you won’t help me, I will do it alone. They are torturing my brother, your brother, and you want to sit around looking for another solution when we already have on?” He pleaded, his voice strained from trying to hold back more tears. Castiel sighed, knowing Sam was right. “Fine…”

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Okay so that is as far as I got and gave up lol. Special thanks to @lzzywinchester and @67pineapple01 for helping me with some technicalities in the first chapter.

The rest of it was going to go like this:

They perform the spell, it is kinda like the trials in which it lasts over a period of time, Cass trains him up on angel powers, S and C go to rescue D, fight scene, get back to bunker, C is injured and S heals him, they go to turn S back human, the reversal doesn’t work, D suggests just taking the grace but C fears it may also take his soul/kill him, S dreams of the figure again- this time talking and reveals that he is an angel and this was their long game plan (kidnap S in heaven and brainwash him as one of their own. Dreams were them egging S on. Now they have to kill him), S tells C and D, D wants them to go into hiding, S feels too powerful with soul and grace (ex addict), C removes the grace, S falls unconscious, cue D being motherly and protective- cleaning S’s feverish forehead etc. Two alternative endings- S wakes up and everythingis fine OR S dies and D goes on a mission to exact revenge

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #fanfic

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