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korpuskat · 4 years

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Rating: Gen/Teen Word Count: 4,716 Summary: Kylo and the Knights must retrieve a limiter for your Lightsaber. You must oversee the newly reinstated General Hux- but how can you oversee the man who was once your commander? Contains: No serious CWs necessary. New to the series? Start here.

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“We have the crystal, but it needs a limiter. It is on Vincul.” He says, pointing to a diagram in the book you had poured over for weeks. On the flimsi, a faded sketch stares back at you. You know well enough that your saber would need a limiter, that was not the issue. He already knows that. “The raw power of a kyber crystal is not naturally shaped as a lightsaber.”

You move around him and huff, “That doesn’t explain why I have to stay behind. It is my saber we need it for.”

“General Hux is being reinstated.” Kylo does not look at you as he moves about his quarters. He even spare you a look as he brushes you off. “The Supreme Leader wants a Knight to oversee him, to prevent any further unnecessary losses.”

“I’m not a Knight.” You spread your arms out, frustration manifesting. “I’m not even a soldier, I barely got more training than the engineers. I was a translator, I sat at a desk, I don’t know anything about war stratagem. How am I supposed to oversee him when I don’t know what I’m looking for?”

This time, Kylo turns.

You wish he was wearing his mask.

His stare goes cold from across the room, makes your arguments dissolve like bitter medicine on your tongue. Ice settles in your stomach- the sensation of running water over your hand. “Hux will not make any important decisions today-” You swallow, open your mouth to form some protest, but Kylo continues.“And if he does, you have training as a Knight. The Force will guide you.”

He stares you down with the gold-rimmed eyes, the straightness of his back daring you to continue to defy him. There’s no trace of the softness between you in his mind; his meeting with Snoke at the start of the cycle refreshed his carefully held control. How he can push those feelings so far down, you can’t understand. You know well enough they’re still there- itching to come to the surface, yet still buried under Kylo’s overwhelming will, his desire to find his place in the galaxy. There’s no point in arguing with him like this, no point in resisting his command. ”Alright, Kylo.”

You pull on the outer layer to your robes as Kylo puts on his mask. You watch as the mole-dotted face you’d come to love disappears under the anonymous metal. Your face reflects distorted in the chromium rings; you aren’t sure who looks back at you. He stands by the door, the subtle tilt of his mask the only sign he’s waiting for you. What other choice do you have- did you ever have?

In the hallway, officers and troopers alike step aside for Kylo’s storming pace. It takes little to touch one blonde ensign’s mind, to feel the cold terror and deeply hidden curiosity.

You can't blame her. You used to be one of them. Just one of a sea of matching uniforms, watching Kylo cut through the crowds like a dark knife, wondering who exactly was under that mask, if the rumors of his power were true. Now you follow in his wake, trailing through the hallways of the Finalizer. Maskless, you feel exposed- those that had been your shipmates become onlookers, spectators to your ascension to Knighthood. Some of them knew you-

They’d gossiped about Ren, about your relationship. What would they think when he kills you?

The crowd at the lift is already separated, but splits further as a wave of faces turn to look at the Master of the Knights of Ren and you. As they part, you see what had caused them to gather to begin with: on each side of the metal turbolift doors, stands two black-clad Knights. They turn towards you as you approach; Xeni's hands landing on her hips, accentuating the skewed angles of her robes.

Your blood runs hot at the sight of Enki Ren’s skull mask, tension gathers around your shoulders. Unbidden, the first tingle of power manifests at your fingertips. The empty eye sockets don’t even look at you, focused entirely on Kylo. “Is it not wise to leave a trained Knight in control of this ship?”

Your nose wrinkles and you want so badly to be stronger, just to make him wrong.

“Are you questioning me, Enki Ren?” Kylo’s modulated voice makes you shiver, only in part from your last training session. Some part of you is still grateful that he does believe in you- or at least is pretending to. “Do you wish to join your predecessor?”

Any appreciation for him freezes. Any emotion falls from your face as the gears turn. Well-drilled training alone keeps you from projecting: predecessor? Kylo’s mask barely tips towards you, the barest tilt giving any indication he heard you.

Xeni’s mask slides between Kylo’s mask and your face, her shields held so tight you can't make out anything of her emotional response. Her squared mask is unreadable, but just barely angles towards Enki as he speaks again.

Enki Ren doesn’t falter, unphased by the hardly veiled threat. “Of course not, Master Ren.” You want to punch him. To knock that mask off his head and to rip those tentacles right off his face and-

“Then we shall go planetside.” Kylo's gloved hand retrieves your bounty from a hidden pocket in his layered robes. Against the black synthleather, the crystal pulsates, glows a deep magenta from within. “The crystal is... unique. Bonded to my apprentice and usually powerful. A limiter that will accommodate it will be on that planet.”

He hands the crystal to you, but you can barely take your eyes off Enki’s mask. As touch the kyber, your body becomes a circuit; power flowers through you, warm and familiar, makes your skin tingle from your fingertips to your shoulder. Darkness runs through your veins and you push it down, dropping the crystal into your robes.

Bootfalls click across the floor, crisp and pristine- and you don’t even have to brush against his consciousness before you feel the indignation wafting from his mind. “And I assume you have your mystical Force to thank for your intelligence?” Hux's clipped tone is familiar, grounding- you’d hardly seen him since the failure of Starkiller. Imagined repercussions had haunted him- and from all you knew of the Supreme Leader, his survival is as unexpected as his reinstatement.

As carefully guarded as Kylo’s response is, you’re just close enough to feel the irritation roll off him, yet it is Xeni Ren’s Force-voice that answers. “The First Order is founded on mysticism, General Hux.”

Hux flinches, his brow pinching at the strangeness of Xeni’s power. As removed as you are from Kylo's mind, the muscles around your mouth twitch as Kylo's lip twists and lifts at Hux's discomfort.

Any further confrontation is cut short; the platform rises through the transparent tube, black metal shining. The doors slide open and the three Knights of Ren step into the lift. Kylo’s cowl drifts as he turns to face outward- his mask dipping slightly, the only sign you have that he’s looking at you. You swallow and nod, whisper be safe.

The tip of his mask is hardly there, the only sign he's heard you. The doors slide closed, lowering the trio of Knights down to the hangar bay.

“Well then, Knight,” Hux spits, though you can hardly blame him, “we must oversee the bridge.”

“Yes, Sir.” The title bites at your lips, yet Hux hardly notices. You haven’t been a translator in a long time, even as you long for the ease of your previous life.

There’s no going back.

You follow at Hux’s heels; the lift just to the right opens. A handful of officers join you in the lift, greeting Hux with stiff salutes. They each look you over, then give you more space. You keep your eyes set forward, waiting for the indicator for your floor. The red lights click by, your weight shifting as the lift propels upwards- and you take a chance. The barest brush against Hux’s mind has your head spinning; thoughts race through, picking over the dozen things he has to do, a dozen times he prepares for your scrutiny, prepares for how you will try to interfere. A dozen ways he could fail.

You disconnect from him. The doors open, and from memory alone you make your way through sleek dark halls towards the bridge. It's almost how you remember it. It’s been some time since you’d last heard the bustle of techs and officers, seen the doors slide open and looked through the massive, triangular viewports. The last time- The last time the ship had been careening, blood spilling over your face, and Kylo had been--

Your head pangs in memory, aggravated by the increasing distance between you and Kylo Ren. His long time away with Snoke broke the worst of the symptoms of your separation, but you can still feel that strangeness- the empty, meaningless silence where he should be nestled in your skull, strong and dark in the Force- as he drifts further down to the surface of the planet.

Your pace has faltered behind Hux’s and you shuffle to keep up with his brisk steps. The buzz of life, of activity around you is… stronger than before. Like every mind in the room, in the recessed area below- somewhere far away, they’re all speaking, all at once. You brow furrows, you scan the room-

“Distracted already, Lieutenant?” You startle, blink towards Hux. You flush at getting caught and- Incompetent.

A chill passes over you. You had worked so hard to impress Hux- tried to accommodate him and Kylo’s demands, stars, you’d transferred to the Finalizer on his order.

“The bridge feels different.” You say and pretend not to notice the derision in his eyes.

“How astute.” Hux motions towards an array on the port side of the room. “New shield generators were installed.” after Starkiller. The bitterness of his internal voice makes you wince- and catches Hux’s eye.

You nod quickly, “That must be it.”

The machines hum and vibrate beneath your feet, but they quiet when you close your eyes. You decide not to pursue it further.

You settle yourself with circling the bridge, giving Hux enough room to not constantly have his monologue droning on between your ears. All around you lights on panels flash, trained techs move across the controls, keeping the Finalizer just beyond Vincul’s orbit. And there, through the huge viewports, down past the monumental display of gray durasteel, the planet Vincul spins idly.

Its surface is covered in gray, churning storms, hundreds of miles across, hiding the low-built cities below their off-putting dark clouds. You shouldn’t worry, you know- Kylo has seen much worse than a storm, but you can’t help the sense of unease.

“General Hux,” A man salutes- and you hardly recognize him with how heavy and tired his eyes are. Mitaka hesitates and looks at you, the distrust rolls off him without you even having to brush his mind. Though you relate to his confusion on why, exactly, you’re accompanying General Hux, he corrects himself before he can raise Hux’s ire. “The Sector 8 Recon team has returned, they are ready to deliver their report.”

“Thank you, Captain Mitaka.” Hux dismisses him, though Mitaka waits a moment. He watches you, and you wonder what has changed, exactly, that makes Mitaka so uncomfortable now. He salutes Hux again and turns away-

Your fingers flex, your wrist turns- and Mitaka flinches as he walks. He presses a hand to his forehead- -saved me before, but looks like him now…? You break away from him. So long ago you had liked him, thought he was cute. Now what have you gained?

“I assume you’ll be attending this meeting as well.” Hux intones dully. You nod without looking at him. Mitaka walks back towards his post, still rubbing at his temples.

The debriefing room is smaller than expected, a few other officers gathered around a sizable holotable. A woman with dark hair pinned back taps at the controls. The officers already waiting step aside to make room for Hux- and the room quiets as they each, one by one, lift their gazes to look to you. That same unease slips over each mind, the whispers of Who? and where’s Commander Ren?

“Ren’s apprentice will be joining us.” Hux says, before his eyes harden and pointedly look at you. “The Knight is simply here to observe.”

You nod, he’s not… wrong. If Kylo was correct, there was little for you to worry about. This was simply to make sure Hux was still capable of handling his position, nothing actually serious.

You settle into one corner of the room as the pilot taps on the first star system. The map zooms, bringing up the circular display- an orange orb as the central star. “The Bedhal system had no signs of Resistance activity and is classed as low-risk. Karline,” She taps a lush, floral planet, which brings up another section of information. “Is still used for ground-based Stormtrooper training, but there is little other value in the system…”

You turn your attention away from the debriefing, casting a tendril of power out, and out- towards the faint signatures on Vincul’s surface. They’re far enough away the trio of Knights have blended together.

The holo moves back out to the multi-system map. The pilot taps a blue star. “The Scuulo system…”

You close your eyes, exhale slow. Kylo’s training passes over you: Focus. Count the inhale, hold it- feel the pressure in your chest. The life inside you, the power that flows in your veins, the immutable gray, pulsating with every beat of your heart-

And as you exhale, your hand moves of its own accord. The power reaches through the stars. Against the bright planet, teeming with innocent, unaware life, their signatures stand above the rest. They’re all together, in one city, each separated.

You ignore the blue and purples, seeking out Kylo’s comforting darkness. A single probe-

Kylo’s shielding rockets up, makes you recoil-

And his defenses relax. He says nothing, but the ghostly sensation of Kylo’s shoulders untensing makes your back ache. Shame takes you for a moment; you shouldn’t bother him. You both have your assignments… and you miss his presence beside you.

Is it going well? You try.

His hand tightens- dulled by his glove, metal bites into his palm, his fingers curled around something. Your hand mimics his, finding the ridges in your mind until you can picture the tiny cylinder in his grasp.

Something is happening. His Force-voice is dark and serious, the pride in finding the elusive limited negated in seconds. Watch.

Kylo’s shields snap closed- the disconnect so abrupt you gasp aloud, eyes snapping open.

A wave of eyes turn from the holo to stare at you, their emotional responses spitting annoyance, fear, concern- and your heart constricts in your chest. The pilot’s dark brows pinch together, eyes narrowing. Hux sneers-

And none of this is what has your mouth drying, your breath coming short.

The holo has changed. In the light of a blue sun, a planet teems with life, verdant and bathed in blood and green.

“Where is that?” Your voice shakes, hardly more than a whisper.

Hux can barely contain the indignant roll of his eyes, perfect teeth revealed as his lip curls. “Had you bothered paying attention, translator, you’d know it is of low risk.”

Useless, worse than Ren--

Your knuckle ache. Stupid, stupid and ignorant and stubborn- how can he not know? and you won't hide the bite in your voice this time. “Where?”

Hux’s eyes widen, the delicate seaglass wavering, one eyebrow raising in surprise- you'd dare speak against him? Rage replaces it in a snap- Dare to upstage my meeting?

“Varovani.” Heads swivel back towards the pilot again. “It was an outpost for the Empire. It was abandoned after the Battle of Endor, the New Republic never found it as far as we know. The First Order did not see it as tactically advantageous to recover and retrofit it. There's not any signs of Resistance activity in the system.”

A display of the outpost enlarged over the planet, a gray structure long covered in moss and decay- the info panel displaying words you can hardly parse.

“It’s important.” You swallow, “Keep a close watch on it.”

“What? There’s nothing of value there, it never saw any battle or resistance.” Hux spits.

Deep inside something pulls- the perfect, undeniable knowledge, that unwanted gift through the Force. It’s not fair, that orange-red grass had felt so real, the blood warm and wet and sticky-

“It will.” and that drives the knife in. So long fighting to create that future Kylo had seen and this- this is how it ends? Pain arcs through your palms, fingernails cutting to your palms. No. “There will be a battle there and we can’t-” You breath catches, rage boiling just below the surface. “We can’t let the Resistance win.”

Your chest heaves, your ears ringing- and the conference room is silent. Disbelief weighs over the room, omnipresent is the eyes that stare back. Except for one-

“...The RT Stormtrooper platoon has been on standby for a month.” Brigadier General Torosian lifts his chin, ignores the white hot glare from Hux. “An exploratory mission would be cheap enough, and the potential to recover Empire tech would substantially affect the cost/benefit ratio.”

“It’s an absurd fantasy.” The synthleather of Hux’s gloves creak as he motions vaguely. “The Resistance is not interested in Varovani and any tech we find will be thirty years outdated. I won’t approve of any expeditions.”

“Then Commander Ren will overrule you.” You step closer to Hux and his eyes are cold with fury. You would've wilted before him, but you can't afford to back down. You reach deep, think of every time you’ve witnessed Kylo in control- “Do you really want your first act after reinstatement to be overruled by a Knight?”

Hux’s jaw clenches, the muscles flexing under his fair skin. You don’t need to touch Hux’s mind to know how he’s cursing you. “Fine.” He turns on his heel back to Torosian, “A small unit, exploratory only. Focus on possible financial uses.”

Torosian nods sharply, makes a note on his data pad. “Yes, Sir.”

“Have you anything else to report, Captain?”

The woman shakes her head, “No, Sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.” Hux says, but does not move.

The tension in his shoulders only grows as each of his subordinates filters out, one by one. Torosian sneaks a look at you as he walks by, but you don’t bother reading his mind. You’re fairly sure what awaits you as soon as the last officer leaves and you are alone with your ex-commander.

And it is exactly as you expect. Hux turns towards you slowly, his hands held behind his back. The only display of his rage is the pinch of his brow, the tightness of his voice. “Do not ever threaten me in front of my men again. Kylo Ren may see something in you, but you are not a Knight.”

So many times before you had wilted to Hux’s demands. Yearned for his attention- the General in charge who had personally requested your presence on the Finalizer.

“You have not been my commander for a long time, General Hux.” Your voice shakes as you say it, but you must. That time has long passed, there is more on the line than just your commander’s approval. “You are in no position to tell me what I can do.”

His face smooths, his chin tipping up to look down his nose at you. His voice drops low and you can’t stop yourself from shivering. “Then you best prepare yourself to justify this pointless excursion to Leader Snoke.”

Snoke. Hux lingers just long enough to watch your expression falter. His lip pulls up just enough to smirk and you’ve never wanted so badly to slap him. With the reaction he wanted, Hux does not bother waiting for you as he leaves.

You understand now, why Kylo dons his mask.

You catch up to him just as his datapad dings. You don’t need to hear him speak to know what it says, what you missed in your risky outburst: the Force signatures have left the planet.

Hux stops to read the notification, but you stride past him, towards the lifts down to the hangar bay. “Coming, General?”

The scowl directed at the back of your head only makes you smile.

Against the backdrop of stars, the ship drifts, pivoting in place until its long wing extensions retract. Its image shifts, refracts as it passes through the bay shielding. The engines spit as they throttle down, the command shuttle lowering onto its landing gear, the boarding ramp extending. A mechanic, a woman in a gray jumpsuit with long, dark hair tied back rolls her eyes, sighs audibly at the engines' noises.

You know you should restrain yourself, all too aware of the relief you must be projecting, but you can’t quite bring yourself to bother. The clack of boots on metal makes your chest fill, and before you Kylo makes his way down, out of his ship. His cowl trails behind him, robes swaying with each step.

And two other pairs of legs descend the ramp. Every atom in you wants to collapse into Kylo’s arms, but any self-preservation you have left keeps you upright, your face falling into something hopefully neutral.

“I expect your mission was successful.” Hux says, “Because your apprentice has decided to make a mess.”

The chromium lines around Kylo’s visor reflect the stark lighting in the bay as his gaze falls to you. Even with your closeness, Kylo’s scrutiny still makes your stomach churn. In your pocket, you clamp your hand around the crystal, feel the energy flow through your palm. “It’s…”

Enki looms over Kylo’s shoulder, impossibly tall and staring down at you with his ghoulish countenance. You don’t need to be Force sensitive to feel that twisted grin at the mere possibility of your failure. Again, you feel that first curl of power around your fingers- and you direct it inwards. “It’s the green planet. Varovani. A recon team found it,” Kylo’s back straightens, his shoulders going stiff. You glance towards Hux, “and I advised Hux to send a team to investigate it further.”

Hux huffs, “Advised is-”

“So you use First Order resources to accommodate your fears?” Enki rasps, his modulator coming off deep and warbling. He takes a step forward, his heavy robes swaying- that skull mask moving ever closer, “Like a child, running from the inevitable.”

Kylo’s head turns sharply, but your chest is already frozen, suspended between terror and rage. “Enough, Enki.” He does not look to Hux as he continues, “My apprentice is right. This planet is worth investigating.”

Pride fills your chest- even as Hux grinds his teeth. Enki’s mask tilts ever so slowly toward Kylo, the empty eye sockets boring into Kylo’s back.

Xeni steps around them both and smacks Enki’s arm- you gasp. Hux’s eyes go wide. Neither of you breathe- and Xeni’s force-voice cuts through the silence. “Come on, let’s go, Enki. My robes are soaked.”

You can only imagine how Enki’s jaw clenches, but as Xeni continues walking, Enki’s massive shadow follows her.

Kylo’s mask tracks them as his Knights make their way to the turbolifts. Only when their dark robes disappear behind the shining black metal of the lifts’ doors, does Hux release the breath he’d been holding. His shoulders sag for only a moment before he pinches the bridge of his nose with his well-oiled gloves. Only when he’s taken a deep breath does he face Kylo again, “Then I suppose I have passed your inspection?”

And Kylo turns to you. You blink, look between them. Of course. You watched him, it’s your call. Hux knows it, too, yet he pointedly focuses on Kylo’s helmet. In your hands, Hux’s future waits for your decision. Is this how he felt, choosing to reassign you? Does it even occur to him, the power he holds over his inferiors?

Sweat never beads across Hux’s brow, his hands never shake as he waits for your judgement. He can’t hide the anxiety that rolls off his response, the way his heart beats heavy against his ribs. How pointless excursion runs through his thoughts over and over. Yes, you decide, he knows.

“Yes, General Hux commanded the bridge without incident. He is fit to be reinstated.”

Hux’s mind stops in its tracks, takes a moment to resume. He doesn’t know what to say- and settles instead for a single nod. He leaves, still numb, shocked-

“He disagreed with you. Tried to humiliate you.” Kylo’s modulator hisses. “Why?”

You press up against Kylo’s side- the dark fabric is still damp, but his natural warmth has saturated the cloth. You close your eyes, let your guard relax- reaching out to touch Kylo’s mind. He hesitates, but lifts his shields just enough. His presence calms your nerves, the worries of a green planet fading under his supernatural embrace.

“He’s capable.” You decide on. “He hated the Force before Starkiller and still hates it now… It’s honest. He won’t suck up to you.”

“To us.” Kylo corrects. He dives a hand into his pockets. In his gloved palm, a tiny metal structure waits. A shiny tube, threaded with ridges along the ends, the sides cut out, revealing a complicated inner structure. You take it, turn it over in your hands.

He guides you with one hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the lifts.

You don’t respond, hardly pay attention as you step into the elevator. To us. You’re a Knight- or soon will be. You’ll have a lightsaber, you’ll fight alongside Kylo Ren in battles. You’ll be stronger. Strong enough to handle it, to be what Kylo needs you to be. What you need to be.

The crystal in your robes pulses.

The doors open and you follow. You follow. Just barely trailing behind the Master of the Knights’ steps, leading you through the officers’ quarters. He stops before his door- and your heart stutters. The mask tips, his hand hovering over the touchpad.

You’re a Knight, you tell yourself. You can’t keep hiding.

Kylo. He opens the door and steps inside his quarters. He doesn’t move far, already reaching for the releases to his mask. You pursue him, chasing the cowl as it sways behind him.

He doesn’t face you- you don’t give him time. “You’ve killed a Knight before.”

Yes.

Your breath wobbles in your chest, choked up in your throat. You can’t go back. “Tell me.”

Kylo’s shoulders set, every muscle stiffening. Tension floods the room, would’ve suffocated you- and you reach out to him. The pads of your fingers touch the rough-hewn cape-

Kylo turns. The poisonous yellow ring of his eyes settle on you. “Why?” He snatches your wrist in one huge hand and you gasp, “What do you hope to learn?”

You open your mouth, but find no words. Kylo’s gaze pierces through you; heat of anger washes over you, but… Kylo doesn’t resist as you reach for him, splay your fingers over the black ripples of his surcoat. Beneath the anger- it’s something more and the iron will behind Kylo’s eyes waver. You close your eyes, lean into it, find that stream of thought just how you used to--

And it’s anger and impatience and he’s tired and it’s-

“Fear.” Your lips move on their own. “You’re afraid you’ll do it again.” Your rub your thumb over the seam of the surcoat, feel each thread against your skin. Your words catch on your tongue, but Kylo makes no move to answer. “I’ve been afraid so long.” And that yellow fades, Kylo’s long lashes lowering just a touch. You want so badly to touch his cheek, to trace where those moles connect over his face-- “I can’t let it control me anymore. So tell me.”

Kylo stays quiet for a long moment, his emotional response swirling and churning and all at once he nods. “Snow. His name was Snow.”

#Kylo Ren #kylo ren x reader #Kylo Ren x you #Kylo x reader #Kylo x you #kylo ren imagine #Star Wars #to love your fate #Amor Fati #love is a four letter word #General Hux #lieutenant mitaka #chapter update

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 5 years

Text

A Book of Thoughts

Summary: Reader finds Arthur’s journal and gets curious.

The sun shone brightly through the blinds of your bedroom window, dust spiraling through the beams of light that had been stirred up. You were in the beginning of tidying up your room, tossing clothes into the laundry basket before moving over to the bed.

You’d woken up not too long ago, making a plan to clean the house after breakfast before heading out for a nice lunch afterwards. Arthur was in the shower, and though it was tempting to join, the slight mess in your room prompted you otherwise.

Grabbing the comforter, you flicked it. The fabric awkwardly flourished as something heavy hit the floor. You blinked and looked down, recognizing the worn leather binding of Arthur’s journal. It’d fallen open on a random page.

Without a second glance, you grabbed it. Normally Arthur would have put it in his nightstand. You wondered if he was writing in it before breakfast. You glanced at the open page, noting a rough sketch of a woodland creature along with some writing.

Closing it, you turned to place it onto the nightstand. Though in the back of your mind your curiosity piqued, wondering what else was contained in this pages. Some of his entries weren’t a secret to you, as you’ve read some of them in game prior to his arrival.

Yet, you wondered how he would react if he found you invading his privacy, or if he cared at all. He wasn’t shy about keeping it a secret, yet he never offered to let you read either.

Glancing at the bathroom door from your spot, you wondered how much time you’d had. Arthur had only gotten in a few minutes ago, and he never took too long.

Taking a deep breath, you finally sat down and opened the journal, letting it sit on your lap. The pages smelled faintly musty, with a hint of pine and tobacco. Like him.

You recognized the page immediately, a drawing of Blackwater. You flipped through the pages gingerly, your eyes glossing over familiar entries and sketches. You marveled at how well he was able to draw, his handwriting so gorgeous when yours could be chicken scratch in comparison.

A full page had caught your attention when your name jumped out at you.

I don’t know what happened to me. Don’t know where I am or how I got here. Must’ve blacked out somehow. Last thing I remember was being in Saint Denis, and now I’m in this strange house.

Ah, that day.

I was trying to find my way out when a woman came out from one of the rooms. She seemed as confused as I was. Told me I was in a place I ain’t even heard of before. She even told me the year, 2019. I thought I had to be dreaming.

You couldn’t help but to giggle to yourself, remembering how exactly Arthur had reacted back then. You turned to read another entry.

Been a few days since arriving in this strange future. Can’t made head nor tail of it. I miss my family, but I don’t know how to get back. Y/N has been kind enough to let me stay at her house, and her cat has taken a liking to me. She’s been showing me how her contraptions work. The telly-vision is my favorite, who knew you could record performances and watch them whenever you wanted?

On the page following was a drawing of Artemis, curled up contently. You turned the page again.

Guess I’m starting to adjust to this place now. No telling when or how I’ll get back to my time, but Y/N’s hospitality is endless. Can’t say I mind staying here for the time being. No worries about Pinkertons or the O’Driscolls lurking around every corner. Food is readily available, and a personal bathroom too.

You flipped through a couple of more pages, which were just sketches. A view of your car from the living room. Your backyard. Random electronics from around your home. You paused when you came across one of yourself, relaxing on the couch and gazing out your patio doors. You never realized he’d drawn you then.

With another excerpt found, you began to read again.

Y/N’s patience with me is confusing. I don’t know how she isn’t tired of me by now, but she insists that I’m not a bother at all. She’s gone most of the day, off to do her job. She trusts me alone here, even though she asked me not to go outside. Not sure what would happen if I do anyway, she’s worried I might cause trouble. What could I possibly do in this future world? I keep myself busy, but I’m starting to get bored…

The next one had really caught your attention.

Something happened, something I never expected to experience again. I laid with her yesterday. Wasn’t expecting it honestly. I’ve always avoided sharing myself with another woman in such a way after Eliza. Y/N is a different woman entirely, beautiful in every way.

Your cheeks burned with a blush that crept up your face.

Didn’t think I would think of her that way, not until she kissed me. Everything about her…was wonderful. It is wonderful. She took me without hesitation. Made me feel in a way I’d never felt before.

We’re sweet on each other now, sleeping in the same bed and all. I never did imagine myself as the type to settle down, guess that’s why no one else wanted to have me, not even Mary. Though I can’t live like I did, running out robbing folk, so I have no choice. If I ever do go back to my life, I would sure miss Y/N.

You continued through, glancing quickly at some more entries. The first time you took him out, his first club experience, and of course, the day he found out the truth about himself. It carried through to his diagnosis, and the process of him taking his medications. You were thankful the sickness had long since cleared up by now, but you couldn’t say the same for his virtual counterpart. Neither of you had touched the game in a while now.

You were beginning to lose track of time, reading through everything. There were a few more drawings of you, ones that you were both aware and not aware he was drawing. He certainly was sneaky about his artwork, not that you minded. Another entry had piqued your interest.

I think I’ve fallen completely for her. That woman has been nothing but kind and loving toward me. All those times we’ve laid together, every time she kisses me, holds me, smiles at me when she wakes up every morning. I keep thinking she’ll change her mind, that she don’t want an old, ugly man like me. But she says otherwise. Her words make me feel good, though I still can’t say why she wants to be with me. Either way, I think I love her…

Your heart fluttered.

Y/N was worried she was with child, even though she once told me she was on sort of birthing control. She took a strange test, turns out she wasn’t pregnant at all. I know it’s a different time now, but I got lost in my memories of Eliza and Isaac. I told her about them, my worries and all. She was more understanding than I thought she would be. She also told me she wouldn’t mind having a child with me…she told me why, still can’t believe it…I told her I loved her after it all. And she feels the same way.

The reminiscence of that day nearly choked you up. The raw emotion exchanged between him and you was powerful, electrifying. Sometimes you had to wonder if you had been pregnant, what would have changed? Taking a deep breath, you turned to another page.

It’s been a while since I got here, and I think I’ve made a life here. I ain’t fully adjusted to everything, but I got a handle on most things now. I even got a job, one that reminds me of my old life. I’ll always miss my old life, and I think it’s certain that I won’t return at this point. But if it meant waking up next to Y/N for the rest of my life, so be it. It’s the first time in a long time that I feel truly happy. Maybe one day, we’ll take things further.

Your finger toyed with the edge of the next page, ready to turn when you heard the bathroom door open. Your heart leapt to your throat as you hurriedly shut the journal, quickly placing it on the nightstand just as Arthur stepped into the bedroom.

Hair dripping and him donned in only a towel, he looked at you and smiled. It didn’t seem like he knew what you were doing, though you gave him a smile in return and tried not to look guilty.

“Hey you.” you greeted him.

“Hey sweetheart,” he turned to grab some fresh clothes from the dresser. The towel dropped from around his waist, granting you a sight you’d never tire of. “Still cleanin’?”

You’d almost forgotten, your head still swimming with what you’d just read. Arthur was such a poet in his own way, a sweet and soft man hidden behind a tough exterior. You stood up and closed the space between you both, wrapping your arms around his thick torso. He paused in surprise, turning to face you. “Y/N, you okay sweetheart?”

His skin was warm and damp against you, cheek pressed against his chest. You peered up at him with a warm smile. “Nothing, Arthur. I just love you so much.”

His gaze softened, raising his hand to smooth your hair momentarily before gently taking your chin. He pulled you in for a tender kiss, which you met halfway. “I love you too.” He murmured against your lips.

#Arthur Morgan x reader

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insane-control-room · 5 years

Text

The Sketch

Chapter 3, segment 3

Previous - Next

full chapter on ao3 here

In the hallway, Johan struggled to fight against the two men pulling him back. He tried to hit them off, tried to run, he tried to scream, but a gag was stuffed into his mouth, and the butt of a revolver smacked against the back of his head,

once, dazing him,

twice, stunning him,

thrice, and it all went black.

Joey fought against the haze in his mind, hearing voices, voices he could not process.

However, we are not Johan, and therefore, these voices can be understood.

“Good thing the hospital isn't too far,” Fleishcher huffed, dragging Joey backwards. The lanky man groaned in his confusion. Disney nodded with a scowl; “It’s also a good thing we planned this, just in case.”

Fleishcher flagged a cab, even as the commotion within the courthouse grew exponentially.

“Please, he’s hurt, get us to the hospital straight away,” Disney spoke in a masked voice, pulling Joey and Fleishcher into the car with him. Henry ran out of the courthouse, his lab coat flapping behind him, and he cursed as they zoomed away. Disney smirked, and muttered to Fleishcher. “No problems from here on out - once he can’t do what they expect him to, this one will be at a loss, for good. We’re in the clear. By the way, after this, I don’t expect to work with you again.”

“Agreed,” Fleishcher nodded. Joey tried to raise his head, unable to see anything but the blackness in his darkened eyes. “Our sleeping beauty is trying to wake, aw.”

“He doesn’t look anything like I expected,” Disney opined, putting a hand onto Joey’s face to turn and inspect it better. “I’m surprised that one of… his type was able to get up so high. No wonder he wore a mask. And what is he, Mexican?”

“I’m pretty sure that was stated in court,” Fleishcher interjected. Disney hummed, and neither spoke, until Fleishcher recontinued in a low tone. “Do you think that Stein fellow is after us?”

“Undoubtedly,” Disney leaned back with a grin. “But it’s not like he’s gonna catch us or figure out where we’re going.”

Henry scanned the area, cursing, wishing the police would do a better job of looking for the cab, and remembered the jacket that Bertrum had been torn off of Disney. There must be a clue in it! There has to be! There absolutely has to be… there must be!

He ran as fast as he could, feeling the cold breath of a demon on his neck, dodging other dashing wandering souls, ducking and jumping around them, and snatched the forgotten coat from off the ground. He searched the pockets hastily, and found, crumpled in the breast pocket, a small brochure. It was from the very hospital he worked at, and his eyes narrowed as he glanced over it. His eyes widened, and the paper drifted to the ground, the man already running as fast as he could to get a cab or

“Bertrum!” Henry gasped, bumping into the panicking greek. “I know where he is, I need to get to the hospital!”

“The hospital?” Bertrum’s eyebrows shot up, Lacie stepping back in surprise as well, and she asked, “Why would they take him there?!”

“Walter Jackson Freeman,” Henry wheezed in explanation. The name had no meaning to Lacie, but to Bertrum, he understood immediately. He grabbed Henry by his arm and ran him to his car, and he called to the befuddled mechanic, “I’ll see you at home, Lacie!”

Bertrum speed through the streets, and even so, Henry had a sneaking suspicion that they got to the hospital sooner than they should have, not that he was ungrateful for it. Time was of the utmost importance, and the clock seemed to tick faster and faster. Both of them ran out of the car, and dashed into the hospital.

“Where is he?” Bertrum panted as Henry dashed before him. “Slow down, for Zeus’ sake! Actually, don’t slow down! Speed up, I’ll catch up to you! Go!”

And so Henry did, running as fast as he could, praying he would not be too

“We’re late,” Disney hissed to Fleishcher. Joey was in a wheelchair, fisherman’s thread digging into his wrists to restrain him, his head sunk against his chest, pounding with the blows he had received. A small groan of exhaustion escaped him. “But no matter. Mr. Drew here has a specially made appointment.”

“What does this thing do again? A leucotomy?” Fleishcher asked, briskly walking alongside his fiendish partner. “What good will that do for us, exactly?”

“If the head doesn’t function fully, the body will collapse,” Disney explained. “And that applies to a business as well. Without Drew able to function, well, the whole studio will fall apart. And then free sailing from here on out.”

“L-Leucotomy…?” Johan mumbled, blinking in the bright hospital light. “A… a l-lobotomy?”

“Someone’s finally putting the pieces together, hm?” Disney chuckled, grinning at the still dazed chicano. Joey squinted in the harsh lighting. “Oh, don’t worry about it. When it’s over, you won’t be able to have an opinion on it, anyways.”

“What!?” Johan shrieked, the situation becoming clear to him. “No! No! Help! Help! Hel-MMPH!”

Joey hyperventilated against Fleishcher’s hand pressing to his mouth. He tried to scream around it, but found the gag shoved into his mouth and tied in place, again. Tears started to trickle from his eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’ll all be over soon…” they entered a presentation hall. The glint of the two ice pick rods burned into Joey’s eyes, as did all the electrical equipment. Despair flooded his system, drowning every hope away. “It’ll all be over soon….”

Henry’s polished shoes left skid marks as he ran down, down, down, jumping over the stair rail to skip some steps and shave some seconds, just a few. He ran as fast as he could, faster than when he ran from the ink, feeling the cold air of the demon on the nape of his neck, and yet, he never ran so fast, never ran so fast in his life, in any of his lives, desperate to save the one person that understood him, that knew him inside and out, whose smile he never wanted to lose, who would go through

“A lobotomy is a very delicate procedure,” Mr. Freeman spoke in a showman’s voice to the amassed crowd. “It calms the mind. It relaxes the body. It frees those that go through it into a sense of tranquility, assuring them that all is right in the world - and so it is.”

Johan’s head was held back, yet there was no need: he was paralyzed by the sight of the “ice picks” that would be used to bore into a skull, his skull. The way the so called doctor waved them around without any care as to the result, flashing in the far too bright light. He was chained once more, tightly bound to the board. Johan scanned the crowd with his eyes, praying to see someone that might help him, but found that they were all mesmerized by Freeman’s performance. Joey felt his hair being brushed back, and it felt soothing, and he tried to relax into it. The gag would come out, it had to, it must, and he would be able to cry for help. But what if it was deflected as insanity? What if no one cared? Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.

“We shall now anesthetize the patient with electrotherapy,” Freeman continued, peering over Joey. “As you can see, this young man has been brought on account of his sexual preference - the lobotomy procedure is very powerful, and many have used it to correct this.”

Johan wanted to slap him. How dare he? He was slim, he was tall, he was gay, and he was proud of it!

“Please, shock the patient,” the psychologist instructed his assistant, who nodded, and pressed the two electrodes to the sides of Joey’s head, and god! The pain! It laced through his body, and he screamed against the gag stuffed in his mouth. His head, had it not been held back ever so gently, would have thrashed from side to side to avoid the pain. His whole body convulsed. His hair was brushed back again, and it tingled and stung like hundreds of swarming mosquitoes. “And now, my assistant will cut the patient’s hair until-”

“Stop!”

The doors slammed into the walls, breaking indents into them, bits of ceiling falling. Henry’s shoes clacked against the floors as he ran towards the stage.

“There’s been a confounding mistake!” he shouted, and Freeman made his assistant put down the razor he held. He jumped down the stage to greet Henry. “Well, I’ll say! Whatever is the matter, doctor?”

“That man is not a patient, he’s Joey Drew!” Henry panted, hands on his knees, looking up at the other doctor. His eyes widened. “He’s been kidnapped from the courthouse by….”

Henry whipped around and pointed at the two men attempting to escape from the theater room.

“Disney and Fleishcher!”

The two businessmen looked at each other and then attempted to bolt, but immediately bumped into Bertrum, who grabbed them both by their ears.

Henry ran to Joey as the police came in to sort everything out, Freeman at his heels. Henry held Johan’s unconscious head in his hands, tears burning in his eyes.

“Did you…?” he asked Freeman when the man caught up. Freeman put a hand on Henry’s shoulder and shook his head. “W-why is he….?”

“Seems like the shock was too much for him,” Freeman scratched his head. “That’s odd, normally those that go through a transorbital lobotomy are able to respond even as the treatment is occuring.”

“Good thing we’re already in a hospital,” Henry muttered, taking the abandoned razor and cutting at the wire tying Joey down to the wheelchair. He and Freeman exchanged a few words, and he ended up chatting with the man as he wheeled Joey to a room he knew was always available, writing in his vitals and reason for being in the hospital (Shock, both emotional and physical). Henry and Freeman shared a cup of tea as they spoke together. Then, Freeman shook his watch out of his sleeve, bid Henry a goodbye, and left. Henry’s hands ran through Joey’s hair, and he was so grateful that it was still there for him to do so. Joey’s eyes fluttered open at the warm touch. Henry’s smile felt like it would tear his cheeks, and small tears filmed over his eyes. “Hello, honeybee.”

“Hen… ry?” Joey croaked, his throat raw. He managed to see Henry clearly after blinking a few times, and then smiled back at him. “H-hello, doctor.”

“How are you feeling?” Henry asked, squeezing his hand. “Need anything?”

“I feel… fine…” Johan admitted, though he seemed worried. “I need to know if th-they… you know… went through with i-it?”

“No, I got there just in time,” Henry told him. “You know, I heard that he was going to lobotomize you under the word that you’re gay.”

“Oh, I am!” Joey proudly stated, grinning. “Very much so!”

“Well, I am as well,” Henry chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Perhaps more than you!”

“Excuse me my good sir!” he cried out. “You were the one married to a young Eleanor, and then to a Diane, weren’t you?”

“That may be so,” Henry hummed, tapping his chin, “But now….”

His hand came to rest on Johan’s. His blue eyes looked right into red ones, glistening and gleaming with love and genteelity.

“But now what?” the dark man smiled dazzlingly, stealing Henry’s breath away with his sheer beauty. A princeling, that is what Joey was. One of the forgotten fair folk. His eyelashes batted in a playful manner. “Doesn’t change the fact you are certainly less gay than I!”

“Doesn’t it, now?” Henry grinned, climbing onto the white hospital bed, nuzzling against the side of Johan’s chin, making the lanky man laugh and wriggle under his weight. Henry pressed little kisses to the other’s collarbone, making him burst out into a fit of giggles. Henry hugged him tightly, slipping under the blanket to garner the warmth from his beloved. He smiled at Joey, who smiled back sadly, hand coming to rest on Henry’s cheek, wiping away Henry’s stray tears as he said to him in his sonorous and musical voice, “Don’t cry, mi amor! It’s all ok, it’s fine.”

“I know,” Henry smiled, pulling Joey all the closer to himself, their opposite bodies like puzzle pieces, clicking together perfectly, “and that’s why I’m crying.”

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years

Text

Grateful

Main Characters: Steve Rogers (and a little secondary Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Steve knows he should be grateful for the gift he was given through Project Rebirth but his new life wasn’t as easy as he expected it to be.

Warnings/ Content: Sad feels and some angst. Very brief mention of PTSD.

Word Count: 1943 (not intentional AT ALL. I’m currently laughing my ass off at this)

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We’re trying something new today! My very first Steve fic and I’m nervous AF about posting it because I feel like this is a version of Steve that most people won’t really jive with. Everyone expects him to be this icon hero but like he’s still going to have some pretty raw emotions. The man went through war and losing his best friend and then battling his best friend, and alien monsters, etc. I refuse to believe that our sweet, scrappy little Brooklyn boy came through all this unscathed. We see other heroes battle their mental health but never Steve, he’s the stoic one. I think not. And so this fic was born. I hope you all like it as much as I do! Please be gentle, I’m just getting my feet wet writing Steve. And thanks for bearing with me while I rant, I love you all more than words can express.

XOXO - Ash

Grateful

Steve had a lot to be grateful for when he walked out of the Vita-Ray chamber in 1943. Something as simple as taking a full breath without wheezing or coughing seemed miraculous after twenty five years of battling endless illnesses in a tiny, frail, body. Dr. Erskine crowed that Project Rebirth was a success and in that moment Steve felt like one too. Steve had assumed life would have been easier now that he was in a more powerful form. He had the natural moment of adjustment, having shot up from 5’4” to 6’2” in just moments, but other than that he expected to have less hurdles in his life from that day forward.

Steve was wrong.

One of the first things Steve was grateful for was his improved eyesight. He no longer needed ultra thick glasses and his astigmatism had cleared up as well. The world was alive with fine details and vivid colors, and he couldn’t wait to get everything down on paper in his sketchbook. He wanted to capture the way strands of Peggy’s hair fell around her shoulders, slightly mussed, after a long day, and the way the rays of sunlight filtered through his bedroom curtains in the early morning. He never got them down though. Steve sat down one evening as Peggy curled up with a book, ready to commit the scene to his page when a sharp, snapping sound startled them both. Steve looked down at his hands and found he’d broken his pencil in two. The second pencil he held too gently, unable to keep his hand steady for fear of breaking it as well, and then in a moment of frustration he held it tighter and it too snapped. His once beloved sketch pad sat awkwardly in his hands, feeling as if it were the wrong size even once he got the pressure correct on his pencils. Steve missed his former size for a moment, the way the sketch pad had fit perfectly balanced on his lap, how the pencils had felt like an extension of his own hands when he drew. He was clunky feeling in his new form, his body designed for brute strength instead of artistic endeavors. Steve shook himself when he realized he was feeling down about the amazing gift he’d been given. Sarah Rogers had instilled a deep sense of humility in her son and Steve felt painfully guilty at having a momentary lapse of appreciation for the gift he’d been given.

Steve was so surprised the first few days when slept through the night. Outside of the times he was so ill he couldn’t maintain consciousness, he could count on one hand the number of times he had slept all the way through to morning. If it wasn’t his asthma waking him up to wheeze or cough, it was his arthritis aching so deeply it woke him. Sometimes his heart palpitations would start up as he slept too, waking him with a jolt, feeling like his heart would beat out of his chest. Bucky used to tease that he pitied the dame who tried to sleep over in Steve Roger’s bed. After Project Rebirth, Steve was grateful each morning for a full night's sleep, until the nightmares started after his first real battle in the war. Sleep wasn’t so appealing after that. It wasn’t until a lifetime later that Steve knew why the memories of war haunted his dreams, Sam taught him the word: PTSD. But back then all Steve knew was that he longed for the nights he was woken by a cough, instead of in a cold sweat with the cries of dying men echoing in his ears.

The thing that Steve missed most, on the rare moments he let himself admit he missed anything at all, was the way he used to disappear in a crowded room. Social anxiety was as palpable to Steve as his physical ailments and it was the one thing Project Rebirth couldn’t cure him of. He was called the star spangled man with a plan, but really he was still a sweating, nervous wreck when all eyes turned to him for direction. Steve wanted to curl into himself in the way his 95 pound body used to be so good at, and slip away into a corner, lost in the collection of larger bodies around him. Now he stood a head above the rest, the breadth of his shoulders and sharp line of his jaw inspiring confidence in his men as he detailed their next moves. It was fortunate Steve was a whiz with math, having taught himself more at home than he’d ever learned in school, and was able to piece together battle strategies based on logic and equations. His anxiety only increased seventy years later when he returned to a strange new world he was completely unprepared for. More often than not Steve missed the days he could drift through the world like a ghost. In the modern world he couldn’t even walk to the store without being stopped by a “fan” let alone try and spend a quiet day at The Met or grab a baseball game in peace.

It was both harder and easier when Bucky returned. Bucky seemed to instinctively know Steve was struggling. Bucky encouraged Steve’s art whenever he could and while Steve had gotten better, he knew he would never quite be what he was and it frustrated him. Bucky tried on several occasions to throw an arm around Steve like he used to when Steve would get nervous out in a crowd, but Steve would blanch at the embrace and Bucky would recoil, distraught that he had somehow made it worse. Steve wanted to explain it but couldn’t past the lump in his throat. Back in the old days Steve’s narrow shoulders had fit so perfectly under Bucky’s arm, pulling him in to shield him from the world. Steve was too tall, too broad, now and what should have brought him comfort was just a painful reminder that nothing would ever be the same.

After months of watching Steve struggle Bucky finally put his foot down. He’d been in therapy since before his trial started and it was helping immensely. His therapist had offered to see Steve for an informal meeting after Bucky had, reluctantly, shared some of his concerns with him. “You’re going. Tomorrow.” Bucky said firmly, staring at Steve across the dinner table.

“I don’t need a therapist, really. Maybe it’s working out for you but there’s no need for me to go. I’m not…” Steve trailed off before he could say something tactless.

Bucky didn’t let it slide though. “Not what? Hmm? Don’t punk out on me. What did you mean? Yes, I go to therapy. So what does that make me? Weak? Damaged? Less than?”

“That’s not what I meant, Buck.” Steve ducked his head, completely chagrined.

“Are you sure about that? Because you’re the one who’s struggling and refusing to go and even entertain the idea of getting some help. You don’t have to struggle. I know I’m not the poster boy for mental health but I’m a hell of a lot better off because of Dr. Franklin. I think you would be too. Just talk to him once, see if you feel any better afterwards.”

Steve groaned, knowing he was on the losing end of the argument.

“I need you to be okay, pal.” Bucky continued, “It’s you and me to the end of the line, right?”

“To the end of line.” Steve said quietly, nodding in agreement.

“Then tomorrow morning, after your run- don’t give me that look Stevie, we’ll go over to see Dr. Franklin and you can just meet him.”

“Okay, if that will make you happy, we’ll go. Now will you please finish your steak? You wouldn't believe what these things cost nowadays.”

Bucky chuckled and speared a piece of meat on his fork, grinning as he took a bite, his smiling eyes never leaving Steve’s.

~~~~~

Steve was still hesitant to meet with Dr. Franklin the next morning but he had promised Bucky he would go and he was a man of his word. Thankfully Bucky didn’t insist on participating other than the initial introductions. He said he had plans and would be back before the hour was up. Steve doubted he actually had plans but appreciated the sentiment. Dr. Franklin seemed nice enough, Steve mused. He could see why Bucky was so trusting of the man after a few minutes of idle chit chat. Steve didn’t expect to get anything out of the session but was too polite to say so.

It all started over a banana. There was a banana sitting on Dr. Franklin’s desk and Steve gave it a subtle glare when he spotted it. The doctor noticed and asked Steve if he disliked bananas. It was an innocuous question but somehow it was also the key to Pandora’s box.

“I used to.” Steve told him with a sigh. “They don’t taste the same anymore. Not that I’d had very many growin’ up but I remember the flavor and those things are just not it. I read a few years ago that apparently the variety we had back in the 20s have all died out and the kind available now are a different type.”

“I’m sure you find a lot of things like that.” Dr. Franklin said simply. But it was a leading statement and Steve took the bait whether he meant to or not.

“Oh boy, do I. You’d be amazed at how things change in seventy years.”

“Like what?”

“Well you certainly can’t get a normal cup of coffee, that’s for sure. And I will never understand why everything has to have a scent or color…” Once the flood gates had opened it seemed impossible for Steve to stop. Dr. Franklin steered the conversation around gently, letting Steve get things off his chest after so many years of being stoic and putting on a brave face. Steve talked about his confusion of waking up after the ice, the painful longing for the world he’d left behind in the 40s, and even a little about how hard it was to find that Project Rebirth hadn’t solved all of his problems after all.

Steve was mortified when the buzzer sounded and Dr. Franklin’s assistant announced his next appointment had arrived. Steve had gone on for over ninety minutes without realizing it. Dr. Franklin didn’t seem overly concerned and told Steve to think about what they’d talked about and consider coming back next week to talk again.

Bucky was pacing in the waiting room and Steve noted his hair was shaggy looking, like he’d been running his hands through it. “You okay, Stevie?” He asked, pulling him close for a quick hug.

Steve realized he must look as worn out as he felt. “I’m good, Buck. Can we go home though?”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go.” Bucky steered Steve out the door.

Back at their apartment Steve was quiet for most of the afternoon and Bucky wondered if taking Steve to therapy had been a mistake.

Steve did a lot of thinking like Dr. Franklin had asked him to do and the next week, same day, same time, Steve was back in the therapist’s office baring his soul all over again. He went back week after week, even when it was tough to get over the hurdle they were tackling at the time. Slowly he healed. And eventually Steve found the peace and happiness he had been chasing since the lid to the Vita-Ray chamber opened almost eighty years before.

#Steve Rogers #captain america #sad steve #steve rogers is allowed to be sad #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #protective bucky #bucky barnes is a good bro #please be kind its my first steve fic #i may have to delete this if it bombs

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arianakristine · 5 years

Note

Graham (because I'm always curious about what everyone else's first impression of him was) and, I feel like I should apologize for this, but all of the Crain kids? :)

Send Me a Character

ALL OF THE CRAIN KIDS??? Girl, you crazy.

Graham

First impression: Okay, so this is the Love Interest. He was sort of that “okay, this’ll happen” and not much more interest than that.Impression now: GRAHAM, YOU ARE MY SON, MY CHILD, MY MOON AND STARS!!!!!!!!!Favorite moment: “I’m leaving you for me”Idea for a story: *laughs uncontrollably* YOU MEAN EVERY FIC I’VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST 7 YEARS???Unpopular opinion: I think the only truly unpopular opinion I have is that what happened to him in canon actually happened? Favorite relationship: Let’s ruminate on this one, shall we? No, but really, Gremma is #1 with Hunted Believer a close #2.Favorite headcanon: That he is still alive in another of those million worlds they keep finding, and his happy ending is still pending.

Now,

*Deep Breath*

Steven

First impression: Aww, look at what a good big brother!Impression now: Ugh, Steven. Why are you the worst? I have such mixed feelings about you. The fucking vasectomy and not telling Leigh did you in. But you’re still trying, and you’re trying to be better, and okay, I guess I love you, too.Favorite moment: It hurts my heart so much, but probably when he tells Luke to keep the camera and the money but leave the ipad. Yes, it’s enabling, but yes, it’s heartbreaking.Idea for a story: His fascination with the house grows to obsession, driving him deeper and deeper into its history and its bones. Because Olivia still has her sights on the rest of her children, and he is the most convenient of the targets.Unpopular opinion: He better have paid Shirl back for Luke’s rehab and paid with money that wasn’t included from the book royalties set for her.Favorite relationship: Ugh, again, it KILLS me, but Hugh and Stevie. They had such a great dynamic when he was young and seeing it deteriorated in the present (ugh, “the wrong parent died” is my death) stings. But that last moment is so touching and emotional that it brings me back.Favorite headcanon: That he bounced around different relatives after The Last Night (he only stayed with Janet that one summer) because nothing ever felt like home again without his mom (but he didn’t admit it was because he wasn’t with his dad as well).

Shirley

First impression: Ooh, okay, so she’s actually the eldest sibling in terms of dynamics. Put him in his place, Shirl!Impression now: You are hypocritical and a mess. I still love you.Favorite moment: “Did you just punch me in the boob?”Idea for a story: Unpopular opinion: That I actually like her character. I mean, she’s awful in many ways, but she’s so damn human in that. She is flawed as anything and still wants her family safe. Oh, and probably that she was right in sending Luke away at Nell’s wedding.Favorite relationship: Despite everything, Shirley and Theo.Favorite headcanon: She is talented in drawing, but when she takes a moment to try quietly, all she can seem to sketch is the forever house (over and over)

Theo

First impression: Basically Shirley’s assessment: “you’re like a guy, like a frat guy!”Impression now: THEO, MY LOVE, YOU ARE AMAZING.Favorite moment: Hands down her breakdown and apology in Witness Marks. She is just so raw and emotional and it’s so damn painful to hear it. I get teary every time.Idea for a story: Theo learning to control her power and help more children/families with the loving support of TrishUnpopular opinion: Trish showing up at the funeral was Not Okay and Theo was well within her right to tell her off for it.Favorite relationship: Still Trish and Theo, with a close second of Luke and Theo.Favorite headcanon: Aunt Theo and Little Eleanor are best friends, just like she is with Allie (and Nellie).

Nellie

First impression: Aww, adorable little girl, please do not touch her, ghosts.Impression now: NELLIE, MY POOR CHILD, YOU DESERVED SO MUCH MORE.Favorite moment: THE REST IS CONFETTI, I CRY FOREVER!!!!!!!Idea for a story: Nellie sifting through time until she starts to notice a new little girl in the house. She will absolutely protect this little one from those that want to devour her, and even fight her mother over it. Her father is both unexpectedly and expectedly with her on this, even if it means their souls are lost forever.Unpopular opinion: That she didn’t actually kill herself. I mean, I don’t doubt that she was hurting and likely wanted to die, but she didn’t actually kill herself in the end and I want to pull my hair out every time someone says she did.Favorite relationship: Arthur and Nellie, I was sold in those, what, five minutes?Favorite headcanon: She is not the only ghost at Hill House with a gentle nature, and because of that Hill House cannot ever completely win.

Luke

First impression: You’re so tiny and adorable in those glasses!Impression now: Oh, Luke, you’ve gone through so much and you’re trying so hard to overcome your addiction and I am so glad you’re getting all your support.Favorite moment: As Adult!Luke: the eulogy, as Baby!Luke: him teaching Nellie about 7 (7 keeps you safe). But also his big eyes when he asks Stevie to hang out with him in the treehouse???Idea for a story: Luke learning to make and keep friendships that are healthy for him, and Steve accidentally bringing back those memories of the Last Night. He finally deals with his trauma and has the support to guide him through it.Unpopular opinion: That he really escaped the Red Room, I guess? So many fan theories (directly against the writers) wanting to make his (and his siblings’) end tragic when he was actually able to overcome his addiction and trauma?? I don’t understand it???Favorite relationship: Luke and Nell, and baby Luke and Stevie.Favorite headcanon:Luke visits the house but never enters it again (close, but not actually giving in, mirroring his addiction in so many ways).

#skagengiirl #kristy answers stuff #graham humbert #the haunting of hill house #for funsies #thank you!!!

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subtlerain · 7 years

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Mask - Part IV (final)

→ Yoongi x Reader

I ♥ II ♥ III ♥ IV

Genres: MAJOR FLUFF & ROMANCE, angst, just a lot of emotions

A/N: Hello everyone! So I’ve decided to end ‘Mask’ here. I’m sorry it has taken such a long time to get up, but I wanted to make sure I took time to work on the ending. Thank you all for the support on this series, and please look forward to new writing coming very soon! <3

Ask/requests ♥ Masterlist

You rubbed your tired eyes, blinking at the white paper in front of you.

You glided your pencil over the surface, making a smooth line before shading in the drawing.

After a successful job at dying the member’s hair, the head stylist, Jisu, had told you that you were to start doing what you had been hired for, styling.

It was time for you to show your skills, in the form of sleek and sexy outfits for the seven idols.

You were sketching some ideas in your sketchbook, using inspiration from what Jisu had told you, and the title track of the new album.

So here you were, sat at your desk, sketching the last outfit at very late hours of the night.

You were tired, but needed to finish, which had taken you much longer than you anticipated, the glowing sun now below the horizon.

You dropped your pencil as you finished drawing, bringing your arms up over your head in a much-needed stretch.

Sighing, you closed your sketchbook, satisfied with your work.

For a moment, your mid wandered to Yoongi, the dark haired idol who had seemed to be invading your thoughts even more since when you dyed his hair.

That interaction had been cut short, just as a familiar image flashed in your mind. Yoongi had left abruptly, and you had not seen him since.

He was just to mysterious, so captivating.

And so familiar.

Shaking your head, you gathered your belongings, holding your sketchbook to your chest.

It was quiet in the building, the usual hustle-and-bustle of the workplace replaced with a peaceful silence as you made your way down the stairs.

As you were about to leave the building, your eye caught onto something behind you.

There was a light on down the hallway.

You furrowed your brow, wondering who else would be here so late. It certainly wasn’t any of the other stylists.

You made your way down the long hallway, passing the dance studio and dressing rooms, noting that no other staff member’s belongings were here.

You turned the corner to see a door cracked open slightly, light casting shadows down the dark hallway.

Your eyes flicked up to the sign on the door, heart beating faster as you read the name.

It was Yoongi’s private studio.

You knew he had one in the building, but you had never visited it, nor had a reason to.

You approached the door cautiously, daring to look inside the room.

Yoongi was hunched over his desk, headphones strapped to his head as he clicked away at his computer, obviously working on a new song.

His hair was covered with a black beanie, giving him a casual look.

You watched him work, his head sometimes tilting or shaking as he clicked away.

You could almost feel the passion radiating off of him as he worked, the room completely silent around the musician.

Yoongi was so quiet most of the time, except when he was with the other members. You had watched him sometimes, laughing with the other guys, feeling slightly disappointed that he had barley ever smiled at you.

All of a sudden, he abruptly turned around, causing you jump in surprise, your sketchbook falling from your arms and onto the floor.

Yoongi stared at you wide eyed before standing up and opening the door wider.

“Y/N?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he looked down at you. He looked just as tired as you, large bags under his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve been spying…” You trailed off, picking up your sketchbook.

Yoongi didn’t respond, his eyes grazing over your face. He surprised to see you of course, but that didn’t stop the butterflies from forming in his stomach as he stood in front of you.

Flustered, you adjusted your bag over your shoulder, staring to turn away, “I’m sorry again, I should get goi-“

Your words halted as Yoongi grabbed your wrist, the sudden action making you turn and look at him.

His eyes were wide, filled with something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Just…I need some input on my song.” He stated simply, his eyes still looking into yours.

You felt lost for words as you looked away, feeling a shiver crawl up your back.

“Please.” His voice was softer now, almost begging.

“A-alright.” You said, your mind growing fuzzy.

Yoongi let go of your wrist, your hand falling limply to your side.

You watched as he pulled an extra chair so his desk, before sitting at the one he was in before.

You carefully walked in, letting the door close behind you.

You shrugged off your coat and bag, placing them down on the small table.

You looked around the studio, the whole room covered with posters and awards and pictures. It truly was his studio.

You sat down carefully, suddenly realizing how close you were to the Idol. You gazed at him from the corner of your eye as he clicked around on his keyboard, the bright light from the computer monitor making his pale skin glow.

You swallowed and looked away, focusing on the small figurines that were sat on the desk.

“Okay…” Yoongi said softly, opening a file on his computer.

He seemed flustered for a moment before turning to you.

“I want your honest opinion. I’ve been working on this for a long time. It’s kind of a secret project.” He explained.

You were completely surprised by his forwardness, nodding slowly as you looked at him.

For a moment, you wondered if you were even allowed to do this. Was it really okay for you to be here alone with him?

It’s for his music, it’s fine.

You felt your heart speed up as Yoongi carefully placed his headphones over your ears, all sounds being immediately muted around you.

Yoongi glanced at you once more, his finger hovering over the play button. He hadn’t planned for this to happen, but the need he felt to share his emotions for you were just too overpowering. He couldn’t tell you how he was feeling, but he could do it through his music, and this was his only chance.

He hit play, watching you carefully.

You blinked as the song started, a simple piano melody in the background. You breathed in as you heard his voice, a soft rap flowing into your ears.

You had listened to BTS music before, but this was different. His rap was soft and open, hesitant even.

But the words were powerful, passionate.

You felt butterflies explode in your stomach as you listened to the music, letting your eyes flutter shut.

It was beautiful. The lyrics were about love, a topic you didn’t think the rapper would focus on.

In the rain, a soft touch

She walks, a simple smile on her face.

I want to know her,

I want to see her,

She’s here, but so far

I want to hold her, so close to me

The girl who walks in the rain

Set me free

Your chest tightened at the words, heart speeding up as you let them settle in.

It was too real. It couldn’t be.

The song faded out, the lyrics imprinted in your head.

This song was different, it was raw emotion, something you hadn’t expected from the idol. It wasn’t Suga or Agust D, it was Min Yoongi.

And it was beautiful.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Yoongi was looking at you, lips slightly parted as he looked for any emotion on your face.

You looked back at him, your eyes tracing over his features. Soft doll-like lips and high cheekbones beneath pale skin. Those eyes that you had wondered about ever since the day in the dressing room.

You carefully lifted the headphones off your head, placing them down on the table.

He watched your movements carefully, his own heart beating out of his chest.

You suddenly had a thought, one that could change everything.

You slowly reached into your back pocket, Yoongi’s eyes following your movements closely.

You produced the wrinkled black face mask, the one you had taken with you everywhere ever since the night in the rain.

“Y/N…” Yoongi said slowly as you unfolded the mask.

He looked at you, eyes wide as you brought it to his face, carefully tucking the strings around his ears.

You let your hands fall to your lap, a soft smile gracing your lips.

Those eyes that you had seen on the night in the rain were peering back at you, from between the face mask and black beanie.

The eyes that belonged to the man who had saved you, the one who made you laugh when you were crying, who you had felt something for ever since you first met.

“It’s you.” You said simply, feeling warmth flow through your body.

Yoongi stared back at you, feeling butterflies form in his stomach. “You’re so stupid, Y/N.” He said slowly, eyes crinkling as he smiled beneath the mask.

You laughed, the sound making the air around you less tense.

You looked back at him, “All along. It was you all along.” You shook your head in disbelief.

He flicked his eyes back to yours, “Now you know why I couldn’t tell you my name…”

You nodded. It all made sense. The expensive coat, dark clothes and hidden face. He was an idol. He was Min Yoongi.

You felt a shiver go through your body as his hands found yours, his fingers brushing against yours lightly. You swallowed as he held your hands in his, his soft touch making you dizzy.

“Why were you really out in the rain?” You asked, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I know for real now that it probably wasn’t for drug money or bank robbing…”

Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head at the memory, “I needed inspiration. I had been trying to write a song, but I couldn’t do it. I felt empty.” He rubbed his thumb softly over the back of your hand, “And then I saw you getting attacked.”

You looked away at the memory, remembering how scared you were, and how relieved you were when the mysterious man had come to your rescue.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You smiled up at him, “I can finally say it now.”

He laughed at that, the sound taking you back to your conversation in the rain.

Without thinking, you leaned forwards and took the mask off his face, earning a questioning look from the boy in front of you.

You let the mask fall into your lap, “You don’t need to hide anymore.” You said simply.

“I thought you would’ve thrown it out.” Yoongi said, looking down at the black mask in your lap.

You shook your head, “This might sound weird, but it’s my good luck charm. I haven’t taken it out of my pocket since the morning my first day.” You admitted.

You glanced up at Yoongi. A small blush had formed on his cheeks, the sight making butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

You felt an intense pull towards him, suddenly allowing unspeakable thoughts into your head.

You suddenly felt your stomach drop, realizing what you were doing.

You stood up abruptly, causing the chair you were sitting in to topple to the ground.

“Oh my god.” You said quickly, running your hands through your hair, “This is-no, I shouldn’t be here. Oh god, what am I doing?!” You exclaimed. How could you let this happen to you? Why were you feeling this way?

Yoongi looked up at you, feeling confusion course through him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You said, covering your face with your hands. You were so dumb. He’s Min Yoongi, an Idol for your company. This could get you in deep trouble, or worse, fired.

“For what? Y/N?” Yoongi stood up, starting to step forwards. He felt his stomach drop, his heart clenching with fear.

“You’re an idol, Yoongi. You’re my client, I was hired to be your stylist!” You shook your head. Your mind was racing. What was happening to you?

“What does that mean? Y/N, I wrote that song for you.” He said, eyes wide, “You’re not a stylist to me, Y/N, you’re different. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since the day we first met. Didn’t you hear the lyrics?”

Your heart clenched at his comment, but you looked away. “Yoongi, I just can’t. I’ll get fired, I’ll get charged for taking advantage of you-“

“Do you not feel the same way?” Yoongi said harshly, his eyes dark.

You stopped in your tracks, looking away. All your feelings came rushing down on you, your night in the rain, the song lyrics. “I can’t give in to my feelings. It’ll be bad for the both of us…”

“So you just forget? I’ve been trying to do that ever since I first saw you. Y/N, you’re killing me.” Yoongi moved closer to you. You knew you needed to leave, but you couldn’t. “You’ve been driving me crazy.”

You took in a breath as he stopped just feet away from you, his eyes bearing into yours.

“Yoongi…” You looked down. How badly you wanted to kiss him, feel the electricity flowing between you.

Yoongi tilted his head, “I’ve felt all these strange new things since I’ve met you. I never thought I’d seen you again. And here you are. You always appear right in front of me, Y/N.”

You swallowed, feeling your heart clench. Your body was pining for him, yearning for his touch.

You finally lifted your head to meet his eyes. They were wide and passionate, his words during into your mind.

You felt an overwhelming feeling wash over you, and Yoongi’s eyes darkened.

Yoongi flew towards you, slamming you against the wall as his lips smashed onto yours. The kiss was full of need, want, and passion. It made your head spin as he pressed you against the wall, his hand cupping your jaw, his lips moving against yours.

What you were doing was wrong, but it felt so right.

You let your hands trail up his back, letting the beanie fall to the floor was your fingers brushed through his soft hair.

Your body was on fire, the burning passion flowing through your veins.

With his body pressed against yours, you could feel the hum of his heartbeat, perfectly matching yours.

You let out a soft whimper as he kissed down your neck, each brush of his lips leaving you more and more breathless.

He stopped right before he reached the top button of your shirt, knowing that if he continued, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

You leaned back against the wall as the two of you broke apart, heavy breaths escaping your lips.

Although your head was swimming with thoughts, your mind was clear, clear that the boy in front of you was right where he as supposed to be, pressed up against you, your hearts beating as one.

Yoongi pulled back from you, resting his palm on the wall behind your head, gazing down at you.

His lips were puffy and red, his face flushed, “Y/N, you’re everything to me. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

You gazed at him, all doubt seeping away, “Everything in the world seemed to be going against me when I first arrived.” You said slowly, intertwining your hand with his. “But then you came along, my knight in all-black armour."

Yoongi chuckled at your comment, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before pulling you towards him into a tight embrace.

You sighed into his chest, feeling safe in his strong arms. You heard a familiar sound, and opened your eyes slowly to peer over his shoulder through the window, watching as small raindrops began to fall softly from the sky.

You smiled, everything fading away around the two of you, the soft rain matching the rhythm of your heart.

81 notes · View notes

allenmendezsr · 4 years

Text

500 Scrapbooking Sketches

New Post has been published on https://autotraffixpro.app/allenmendezsr/500-scrapbooking-sketches/

500 Scrapbooking Sketches

Buy Now

“Amazing Scrapbooking Secrets Brings Special Family Moments Back To Life . . . Transforming a Mountain of Photos into Raw Teary-Eyed Emotion.”

Now you can stop fussing over blank pages and start producing magazine quality pages, even long time scrapbookers will be envious of…even if you have never scrapped before.

“500 Scrapbooking Sketches – affectionately known as my Bible”

“I am one of those scrapbookers who can never seem to get started on a layout. I push paper and embellishments around for hours and still have no success, but since I got my copy of 500 Scrapbooking Sketches (affectionately known as my Bible) I have been completing pages in no time! I’ve even had to buy a new album because I’ve filled my other albums! Thank you so much!”

– Jaine Collins, Australia

Sunday, August 16th, 2020

From: Jennifer Gormly

Dear Friend and Scrapbook Lover,

When you’ve ever wanted to easily create jaw-dropping scrapbook pages in less time than it takes to brew a cup of tea (transforming all those precious photos and recording your treasured memories)…while saving time and expressing your personality…then this will be the most important message you ever read.

Here’s Why . . .

My name is Jennifer Gormly and until 2004, I was your basic scrapbook novice.

I was an emotional basket case.

One day I would have Van Gogh inspirations and creativity. And the next I couldn’t decide which box of photos to start on. I swear I have sat many heart-wrenching hours swearing to myself . . . “I was going to finish ‘at least’ one page before hubby gets home”.

Doesn’t it drive you nuts? I had nothing to show for all my efforts, even after months of working regularly. There was no way to know how each session would end. And it wasn’t for trying, lord knows I tried, I just didn’t know where to start. I had too many options and nothing ever seemed to fit right.

Fortunately I’m The Kind of Woman Who Never Gives Up . . . Just Ask My Husband!

This is when I discovered the ‘real-life’ secrets to producing eye-popping designs. And my scrapbooking life changed forever after just a few short days of trying these new secrets. . .

I had eliminated ‘scrappers block’, creating higher quality pages more often than I ever had before (it was as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders)

I noticed myself drawn easily into my scrapbooking . . . as it no longer felt like a chore. (It became fun again and you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when I showed her my new pages.)

Plus – incredibly…

Many of My Friends and Family Members Started Begging Me to Show Them “How I Did It”!

And it just keeps getting better and better! My endless trail of pictures has become manageable…and I became “super woman like” to my fellow scrapbookers as if I have special creative powers.

It’s not magic at all!

What I discovered had nothing to do with my ability to be creative or knowing where to start. . . and everything to do with these little insider scrapbooking secrets I discovered. These secrets involved using “Scrapbooking Sketches” I luckily uncovered this shortly after I got started back in 2004. Back then, I was looking to socialize with other family-oriented women who wanted to share their every day stories with supportive friends, swap ideas and have some fun.

Trust me I know what it feels like to stare aimlessly at a blank page for hours. In fact, I used to get so frustrated and upset when I would go scrapbooking with my sister-in-law, because by the time I would get one page almost finished (if I was lucky to get one completed) she would already have 5 or even 6 beautiful pages put together. I keep wondering how this was possible. Maybe I lacked the creativity gene needed to produce work you would be proud to show your family.

Imagine how this felt – showing up week after week – with only half-finished pages. I think my family was starting to feel sorry for me. I’m sure they thought I was wasting my time and should throw in the towel and quit.

Lucky for you I didn’t. In fact, I began producing awe-inspiring pages during the commercials of my favourite tv show…and in a flash of insight, I had found the truth:

This Was A Huge Advantage Over Normal Scrappers!

I have to confess to you – I was no longer a slave to the creativity “monster” – I will explain how all this works later – how I was able to come up with stunning page designs, while expressing my unique personality. Yet it was never stressful…easy to get started and so much more enjoyable.

The overlooked and often forgotten technique of using Scrapbooking Sketches is so simple, yet so effective, that anyone – anyone — can use it to instantly transform dull-blank pages into fabulous masterpieces exploding with colour, gorgeous patterns, stunning embellishments and what ever else your imagination can dream of. Using only your precious photos and your favourite scrapbooking supplies. . .you’ll have all the other women drooling over your latest creations.

How can this simple secret do all this for you? Easy. . . because this secret. . .

Eliminates the Need To Be A Creative Genius, So You Know Where To Start Each And Every Time YOU Sit Down to Start Scrapbooking!

Anyway, there’s a good reason I’m telling you all this. You see, since 2004 the only way to begin using these amazing Scrapbooking Sketches was if you were to somehow stumble upon the free sketches I had been publishing online. These designs were small and hard to see, let alone figure out how to use them properly. Plus nothing was organized, meaning if you wanted to create a page with more than one photo, you had to search through the entire archive . . . basically eating up your entire scrapbooking time.

That was up until recently when I decided to put my nose to the grind stone and transform 500 of the best sketches into easy-to-find organized sections which include:

500 sketches total in the entire collection

127 sketches for one photo

132 sketches for two photos

108 sketches for three photos

56 sketches for four photos

35 sketches for five photos

21 sketches for six photos

21 sketches for six or more photos

Here’s how a sketch works: A sketch is basically a plan or outline to help you get started and give you an overview of your entire project. It allows you to see how your photos will be arranged and how the different elements of your page mesh together before you even start scrapping.

By using sketches you will be able to “test drive” your design deciding whether you like it before you crop a single photo allowing you to . . .

Discover the Secrets to Overcoming Procrastination and Indecision

As you more than likely already know, the biggest time wasters for scrappers includes indecision and procrastination. However, the minute you apply a sketch, you’ve already passed up these two monsters and your battle is half way over.

With a quick glance you’ll know exactly how everything will look and flow so you just “fill-in-the-blanks”.

Now you can begin to see how much time these “Scrapbooking Sketches” can save you. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Let me show you what else you can achieve:

500 pre-made single page layout sketches. (Quickly create pages while letting your imagination run wild.)

Discover how to sift through the sketch collection and find just the right sketch for each and every project.

Discover how to transform any sketch using only your personal style and flair into a creation leaving a statement about you.

Spend more time expressing yourself, rather than wasting your creative energy deciding where to start putting each element on the page.

Easily get ideas and inspiration whenever you need it and start creating page after page without procrastination.

Stop searching for a design that inspired you last week. Every sketch is organized allowing you to find it any time you need it.

Discover how to easily change and personalize a sketch to suit you.

Discover how the same sketch can be used over and over by simply changing your photos and the scrapbooking supplies you use. (No two pages will be alike).

Begin right away preserving your family’s precious moments, because you will get instant access to the entire collection. (I did this with busy moms in mind!)

No matter whether you are a traditional or a digital scrapbooker, you can start using these designs straight away.

These scrapbooking sketches were made for square layouts of any size including 12 x12, 8 x 8 and 6 x 6, giving you the flexibility to use them for any project you want.

Attention: No special skills are required to begin using these sketches properly. Even if you are a complete newcomer to scrapbooking you can produce the same quality of pages as women with many years of experience.

Anyone can start using these sketches immediately, even if you have never created a page before.

Plus: With a special segment of “Secret Instructions”, you’ll get to see how experienced scrapper’s take any single-page layout and morph it into a killer double page format. . . and how you can easily do the same.

And there’s more: You get my personal guide on how to make the most of your scrapbooking time so that you get more done more quickly and enrich your life through the joys of scrapbooking.

Plus You also get a Free downloadable book to crank up your creativity and guide you along to creating memorable gift cards. This snippet from my “Card Making Classroom” contains 7 easy-to-follow recipes for creating impressive cards. Just follow along, add a splash of your personality if you like, and let your inner child come out to play.

And you get a collection of 60 Christmas quotes specially collated and chosen with scrapbookers in mind. They include everything from the reflective tones of Charles Dickens to the playful silliness of Dr. Seuss so you will have something suitable for any Christmas project.

Can a simple sketch like this make that kind of difference in your scrapbooking?

You bet it can! I used it to create this layout:

Just read what other happy scrappers are saying:

“I’m whizzing through my photo’s . . .”

“Hi, I have enjoyed my scrapbooking sketches so much, I have completed so many pages over the weekend I astounded myself. It has been the best tool that I have bought since taking up scrapping.

I could never get started, never knew how to start, but with the sketches I am wizzing through my photo’s. I have altered, changed and rearranged the sketches to suit my style and photo’s but to have a basic starting point is great………………..Thankyou so much for the inspiration that I needed…………………..A very happy scrapper.”

– Tina Owen, Australia

“I printed them out and placed them in a book . . . extra inspiration!”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been printing and using your sketches for a little while now and I just love them. I have them all printed out and placed in a book. I have a scrapbooking night with a couple of my friends on Monday nights and the book comes out every week. So keep up the great work. We are really happy for the extra inspiration.”

– Elaine Powell, Australia

“I was in a major slump and some of your sketches just spoke to me!”

“I just wanted to say THANK YOU for sharing your sketches. I was in a major slump and some of your sketches just spoke to me!!! Off to finally scrapbooking for the first time in months!”

– Lindsay, USA

“My creative juices are back and flowing . . .”

“I’m writing to congratulate you on 500 Scrapbooking Sketches. I would class myself as an experienced scrapbooker having done it for over 10 years. I ran my own successful scrapbooking business, but since selling it have lost the passion to get back into scrapping and have only done a handful of pages over the last couple of years. I’m pleased to say thanks to your “500 Scrapbooking Sketches” that my creative juices are back and flowing and I’m starting to prioritise my scrapbooking again.”

– Vanessa McDonald, Australia

“YOU took the work out for me.”

“I love to scrapbook and do cards, but I also love to make handmade gifts for people. I absolutely hate the time it takes for ME to figure out the placement of pictures, journaling, and embellishments to put on a project. YOU took the work out for me! Now I can enjoy being creative and using all the techniques I’ve learned. And I love being able to adapt some of your ideas into other projects. Satisfied Customer.”

– Karen, Texas, USA

“We are having so much fun and creating the best pages …ever.”

“My apologies for not taking the time to thank you for the best book I have ever purchased – but I have been busy scrapping thanks to your sketches.

My girlfriend and I now set a challenge each week – for example we choose a sketch, colour, bling & one item tool that must be used eg. circle cutter and one item you cannot use eg. no rub ons. Oh and by the way we are not allowed to purchase any new items for our challenge page we must use what we have – which is nearly our own scrap book shop anyway. At the end of the week we get together to compare – it is amazing how your one sketch can be created differently and look perfect every time. We are having so much fun and creating the best pages we have ever done and completing more pages than we have ever done. We only have another 497 sketches to go. Thanks for assisting us in our challenge to be more creative”

– Di Ebert, Australia

“I’d be lost without it!!!”

“I am a sketch junkie…and this book was just the fix I needed!! I’d be lost without it!!! Thank you sooooo much.”

– Debbie Benefield, Australia

“Great inspiration to me.”

“Thank you I can’t express enough thanks for 500 Scrapbooking Sketches. As a very busy working mum your scrapbooking sketches come as a great inspiration to me. They keep the scrapbooking dream alive!”

– Tracey Whitehill, Australia

Are these scrapper’s any different than you?

No they’re not.

They represent women from all walks of life who share the same passion for scrapbooking as you do.

The only the difference between them and you . . . they put their doubt aside . . . and gave these sketches a try. For them this book was worth it’s weight in gold—and was worth every penny.

If you too can put your doubt aside for a short time, you can see for yourself just what its like to create page after page without wanting to stop . . . get compliments on your work . . . and preserve every one of your family’s precious moments so fast . . . you will have time left over to pamper yourself!

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mosdrabblebabbles · 7 years

Text

A Turn in Time Pt. 16

A/n: Here’s the next part you guys, enjoy!

-Mo

You and Newt stuck to the shadows, whispering out a plan. It was a rather poorly thought out plan, but the situation was dire. The Thunderbird was chained and pinned up, stuffed into a cage so it could barely move. Your heart broke at the sight, but at the same time it burned with anger at the slimy man who kept the creature locked up in the first place.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. I will go and keep the man distracted while you go and break the Thunderbird out. Once we get that far, we will have to run. Fast.” Newt explained, and you nodded, gripped your wand in anticipation.

“Then let’s go.” The two of you stepped out of the shadows at the same time. Newt veered a bit to the left, heading for the slimy man who ‘owned’ the Thunderbird while you walked straight ahead. You didn’t know how Newt planned on distracting him, but you couldn’t think about that. You had to focus on your own task.

Walk with a purpose. You belong here. Nothing suspicious going on at all.

You risked a glance at Newt, and you were pleased to see that he was completely blocking the man’s view of you and the Thunderbird. You raised your wand as inconspicuously as you could.

“Alohomora.” You whispered. The padlock on the cage opened with a click, and you hurried to take it off. The cage door opened silently, and thanked Merlin for that. The Thunderbird lifted his head at your entrance, the chains around his beak and neck clinking together as he moved.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m here to help you.” You murmured, noting that the Thunderbird was growing restless at your presence. You risked a moment to calm the creature down. It would be pointless to be doing this so quietly if the Thunderbird was going to start making a scene. Once he was calmed down, you set to work unlocking the chains around the creature. Those proved to be a bit more challenging. Your ‘Alohomora’ bounced off the chains, and you had to duck out of the way to avoid getting hit by the spell. It flew out of the cage before fizzing out somewhere across the street. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, and you mind started think of alternative ways to break the chains.

An idea popped into your head, and you acted quickly. You took hold of the chain in one hand, pulling it as far away from the Thunderbird as you could. Taking a steadying breath, you touched the tip of your wand to the chain next to the lock, and whispered your spell.

“Deletrius.” Your eyes widened in surprise and delight as the metal chain your wand had touched started to disintegrate. As soon as the reaction stopped, you started un wrapping the chains from the Thunderbird. You were halfway through when a shout was heard a few feet away. You looked up in a panic, only to find a man pointing in your direction. The owner of the Thunderbird glanced up as well, and before you knew what happened, he was thrown back. You went back to unwrapping the chains, but not before you saw Newt with his wand out. More shouts rang out, but you didn’t pay any mind to it. Once the Thunderbird was unwrapped, you stood. Witches and wizards were closing in on the cage, blocking your way out.

“(Y/n)!” Newt yelled, trying to get through to you. You palmed your wand, preparing yourself for what you were about to do. Turning to one of the corners of the cage, you stood between it and the Thunderbird. You raised your wand, pointing it at the metal cage.

“Bombarda!” you yelled, and the cage blew apart. The witches and wizards that had been blocking your way flew back and you took your moment. You placed a gentle hand on the side of the Thunderbird and started to run toward Newt who was waving wildly. You reached him in seconds now that the path was clear.

“Excellent work!” Newt said as the two of you started to run back through the market. Spells started to fly your way, and you started to throw spells back at them. You were just about to round a corner when a spell flew past you and hit Newt’s hand and case. He cried out, the case dropping to the ground. In a split second, you stopped and turned, grabbing for the case. When you straightened up, you had to think quick and cast a spell, as the slimy wizard trader was running right for you.

“Colloshoo!” You yelled, and the trader stopped so suddenly he fell on his face. You cracked a smile before turning back around and running after Newt and the Thunderbird.

“Hurry!” he called, clutching his one hand to his chest. You put on a burst of speed, and Newt opened his arms. You crashed into him, and together you continued the last few feet till you were out of the markets. You put a quick glamor on the Thunderbird until you could put him in the case.

“Now what?” you breathed, sucking in as much air as your lungs would allow.

“Now we make camp outside of the city limits and make a habitat for him in the case.” Newt said, breathing just as hard. You nodded, setting out to find the perfect spot for a camp.

By the time night came, you had a secluded spot found and the tent set up. You gently led the Thunderbird into the tent while Newt set up his case.

“One of the latches is busted. Must have been from that spell.” Newt told you. You left the Thunderbird to get it’s bearings with the new environment and walked over to Newt.

“Let me see you hand.” He gave you a look before placing his injured hand in yours. It was raw and red, almost burned.

“What spell did they use?” you wondered. Newt shrugged his shoulders. You grabbed some medical supplies from the case. When you were done, Newt’s hand was bandaged and ready for use. He led you down into the case, and you watched as he created the perfect habitat for the Thunderbird.

Bursts of magic erupted from Newt’s wand and before your eyes, there was a new space just outside of the hut, ready for use. Another burst of magic and sand swirled around in the air in beautiful spirals. It settled in the new space. Next was rocky perch for the creature. The sand started to bubble, reminding you of potions class. Slowly the bubbling sand started to grow, and in the blink of an eye there was a rock formation perfect for the Thunderbird. Cacti popped out of the ground, and then Newt turned to you.

“It’s ready.” He said. All you could do was stare at him in awe. The magical ability he must have to create something like that was astounding. You grinned at him, chest bursting with pride. You walked over to him, wrapping him up in your arms.

“That was amazing.” You whispered into his chest, hugging him with everything that you had. He pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you.” He said back. You stood like that for a moment, before pulling away.

“We should bring the Thunderbird down. Let him see his new home.” You say, and Newt nods. When you emerged from the case, you saw that the Thunderbird was standing where you had left it, though much more relaxed than before. You let Newt walk up to the creature, electing to stay by the case.

You watched as the Thunderbird eyed Newt wearily for a moment, before letting him stroke his side. The look of awe on Newt’s face was plain to see, and you were certain you looked the same. This was the first time that either of you had seen a Thunderbird, as they were native to Arizona in the United States. You couldn’t wait to get the chance to draw the beautiful creature.

Once Newt knew that the Thunderbird was comfortable, he started leading him to the case. He moved with little suggestion, following Newt. You followed them into the case after them, closing it behind you. When the Thunderbird saw the habitat Newt had made for him, you could see a brief spark of recognition. The creature hesitant walked up into the habitat, sniffing at the sand before stretching it’s six wings and leaping up to the rock perch Newt had made just for that moment.

The Thunderbird gave a screech of happiness, batting it’s wings up and down. The wind generated by the movement had your hair blowing around your face and you laughed. Newt wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“He’s going to need a name, you know.” You murmured into his ear, running your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Frank. His name is Frank.” You hummed in response, looking up into Newt’s eyes. They were shinning, happy that Frank was now safe. His hands glided up your waist, arms, and ended cupping your cheeks. He leaned down, his lips connecting with yours in a sweet, emotional kiss.

Frank the Thunderbird let out another screech, breaking the moment you were having with Newt. You looked at the creature and laughed again. You could only imagine how happy and relieved he was to be out of that cage. After a moment of gazing at the Thunderbird, you and Newt exited the case, ready for a chance to relax after the heist you had pulled off.

Newt woke up some time in the night. The space beside him that you usually occupied was empty and cold. He tried not to panic, thinking the worst had happened and you were just gone, but he couldn’t help that his heart started to beat just a little bit faster. He climbed out of bed, looking around the tent for you. When he didn’t find anything, he looked to his case.

“Oh (Y/n),” he murmured, realizing you were probably in the case drawing. He should have realized that sooner, knowing you had a tendency to draw when you couldn’t sleep. He opened the case with ease and climbed in, making sure it latched properly behind him. He would have to get that fixed, before any of the creatures escaped. He made his way through the hut, and when he saw you sitting in front of Franks habitat he sat down on the stairs and watched as you drew.

You were leaning over your sketch book, pencils scattered all around you as you captured the visage of the Thunderbird on paper. Frank sat on the rocky perch Newt had made for him, completely still. Newt almost thought Frank was posing for you. His head was held high, chest out. It was a bold, powerful look.

Slowly Newt stood from his spot, walking closer to you. You smiled at him when he sat down. He was amazed at what he saw on the page (though you would think by now he knew what to expect when it came to your art). You had drawn ever last feather, claw, and scar that was visible on Frank’s body. You had the colors down pat. It was almost like looking at a picture, but in color.

“He has so many scars, Newt.” You whispered, running your fingers over the page. You rested your head on his shoulder, and Newt could feel your heat seep into his skin, warming him to his core. Newt nodded, looking up at Frank. The Thunderbird sat on his rock, looking totally at ease.

“Every time I looked at them, this… this anger just kept building. I whish I had done something more to that man. He deserves the worse punishment possible. I just…” you continued to tell him what you felt, and Newt couldn’t help but smile. He knew what you were talking about. That’s how he felt when he found the Niffler, and many of his other animals.

He watched as you spoke, noticed the passion, pain, and determination in your eyes. His heart swelled with love in that moment, and he knew he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“So what do we do now?” you suddenly asked, and it broke Newt out of his thoughts. he thought about it for a moment before responding.

“Well, I suppose we should take Frank home. Where he belongs.” He said, and the excitement that took over your features made his heart burst with happiness.

You hugged him close, ready for the new adventure.

@djpaige13paige @givemehopeandtea @gryffindorwithagedweyignasia @andie-in-tumblland @phoenix-009 @jackdawsonsgrl @hoodedbirdie @afusadakmun

#newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts fic #the wizarding world #wizarding world fic #mo writes

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lonelyandgone · 7 years

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READ THIS BEFORE YOU READ THAT ……. Some of you aren’t going to like this story. While Hiddleswift is very integral to this story, it IS NOT a Hiddleswift story. So, if you only want to read TnT, then you probably don’t want to read this. Also, I can’t guarantee chapters/parts of this story to come out quickly. My work schedule is intense right now and I have tons of stuff going on with Lexi finishing up Pre-K, having dental surgery coming up and planning for Disney (less than 40 days now!). I’m going to be MIA a lot (I already am). So basically, read the story and follow it if you want but please keep what I just said in mind. And before you ask, I am not done writing Hiddleswift. I’m just branching out a little.

Unexpected – Teaser/Prologue

You grow up watching fairytales. Whimsical stories that inevitably ingrain an image in our mind of “the one.” That perfect love. That perfect partner. The one who sets your heart afire, who makes you whole. It’s always there, always peeking out of the back of your mind, even when you think it’s not. Even when you tell yourself that fairytales aren’t real. That childhood expectation is always there. Always. Then, also inevitably and sometimes subconsciously, you set out trying to find that one. You kiss a few frogs along the way. You kiss a few you erroneously (and sometimes stupidly) think are the one. And then, likely when you least expect it, they waltz into your life. The “one” has arrived. And you’re happy and sad (c’mon, you know there are always obstacles before the happy ending) but you know in your heart that they are the one. What happens though when life gives you another gift. A curve ball. An event that takes everything you know about fairytales and how love is “supposed” to go and flips it upside down. An obstacle that is put into your path that maybe isn’t really an obstacle. What happens, when life gives you another “one.”

And so, the new fairytale begins . . . .

He glances over at the figure of the woman sleeping peacefully in the seat nearest him. A woman he had met just hours before, as he settled into his first-class seat for what he expected to be a long and boring flight to France. She had stepped onto the plane, and into his world, just as the flight attendant was set to close the door. A bodyguard in tow, she smiled when she recognized his familiar face, and then took a seat a few feet away.

They were two hours into the flight and he was seven chapters into his book when he heard her ask what he was reading. She held up a pair of earphones when he moved his gaze to her, telling him that she was listening to an audiobook. It’s not as good as I had hoped, she laughed and he noticed a hint of laughter sparkle in her eyes. He didn’t recall ever seeing that before. Seeing someone’s emotion play so vividly in their eyes. He had always loved how expressive Jenny’s eyes were but still, he never saw laughter in them.

He held his book up, his finger within the pages to hold his place, and whispered that his wasn’t too great either. She laughed louder then, the shine in her eyes seemingly doing the same. We’re going to have a long flight then, aren’t we?

She was easy to speak to, not once exuding an ounce of star behavior. He’s not sure if he had expected her to or not. He had heard of her charm, of her normalcy, but he was also plenty aware of her stature. She was Taylor Swift after all. But as he sat across from her, deep in conversation, for the next four hours, the magnitude of that name never crossed his mind.

They spoke about books, about travelling and politics. They argued the merits of Boston and Nashville, Taylor impressing him with her passion for the city she calls home, both admitting that they knew very little about each other’s picks. I’ve been to Boston so many times, Taylor had said, but I’ve never really been to Boston. It does, he had answered when she asked if that made sense. You definitely need to go one day, he had added.

Eventually their topic moved to the city they were travelling to and, again, they both admitted to knowing very little about Paris. She had mentioned she had a photoshoot the next day, he, an interview. Both had laughed when they said they didn’t know why their respective tasks couldn’t have been done in the States or, in his case, over the phone. He could feel his cheeks warm when she added that she would bet his interviewer was a woman and that’s why it couldn’t be done over the phone.

When their conversation stalled for a brief second, he considered broaching the one subject they had in common. His Marvel costar and her ex-boyfriend. But he knew little of their situation and quickly decided against any mention of his name. If she wanted to bring him up she could but he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his place anyway and the last thing he wanted to do was make their conversation within the close confines of the airplane uncomfortable.

Paris, she had muttered a few seconds later, bringing his gaze back to her. She had been looking forward, her head nestled into the back of her seat. I’ve always thought Paris has some sort of dreamy quality. I think that’s part of the reason I’ve never truly spent much time there. She had moved her head to the side, placing her vibrant blue eyes on his, when she continued. I think I’m afraid if I actually know the city, it won’t be dreamy to me anymore.

He had smiled at her, nodding. He understood the feeling. He could never put his finger on why but he had always thought of Paris in a way he didn’t think of any other city. Like it was a painting. A perfectly sketched work of art that shouldn’t be bothered with for concern of ruining it. He hadn’t actually considered the pedestal he put the city on until that moment, until Taylor had pointed out it’s dreamy qualities.

I think maybe I’ve watched too many movies, she had giggled. Paris is always portrayed as this city that just exudes romance and whimsy. Even the music. It’s so . . . . . dreamy. When she said the word again, he laughed, telling her that he too agreed in its dreamlike quality. She continued on after, telling him that she had spent most of her life thinking a movie she watched as a pre-teen, Before Sunrise, was actually set in Paris. It wasn’t until she watched it again at 24 that she realized it was set in Vienna. But still, when I think of Before Sunrise, I think of Paris, she had added.

She had grown quiet for a quick second before those eyes bore into him again. I watched Before We Go, she said, her lips slipping up into a smile. It reminded me some of Before Sunrise. There’s something romantic and whimsical and dreamy about that too, she whispered, her eyes once again sparkling brightly as her emotions seeped into them.

About what, he had asked and her smile deepened. About exploring a city, known or unknown, in the middle of the night. I’ve always wondered if the city would feel different then. More raw, more real, without the bustle of crowds all around and the curtain of perfection pulled. When I was 14, I thought it would be so cool to do that. To get on an airplane and travel to somewhere I didn’t know and to just walk . . . in the middle of the night . . . just walk and see the city as it sleeps. Her smile broadened even more. Of course, she had added, when I was 14 I also dreamed of kissing Prince Charming on the top of the Eiffel Tower as the sun rose behind us. Or maybe set behind us, I can’t even remember now.

He could feel his own smile deepen as he watched her face animate with her words. Aha, he had chuckled, so life has jaded your childhood dreams. Veiled them, she giggled, they’ll always be there. Childhood dreams always are, aren’t they?

He had agreed, going on to tell her about his own childhood dreams of driving racecars and meeting Harrison Ford, both of which he had accomplished, he added. Indiana Jones should indeed be put on the pedestal of childhood dreams, she had said with a wink and they eased into yet another comfortable conversation.

She had fallen asleep an hour ago, probably ten minutes after she had told him that she didn’t want to sleep because she knew that doing so on the plane would make her unable to rest when she arrived at her hotel. She had added that touring had done a toll on her body, making her sleep patterns strange and making it impossible for her to fall back to sleep once she had woken up. But yet, when he saw her eyes start to gloss over and her lids start to grow heavy, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her.

He had gone back to his book then but found it impossible to actually read it. Instead, he’d find his mind wandering back to their conversations and found himself occasionally even looking over at her. She was everything and nothing like he expected her to be and he admitted to himself that he had enjoyed their few hours of chatter. It was nice. It was refreshing. And he liked the way there seemed to be no underlying expectations of what was to come from it. It had simply been just that . . . a nice and easy conversation.

He’s not sure how much more time had passed when the pilot announced their decent, his mechanical words jarring her slightly from her slumber. She was rolling her head from side to side when he glanced at his watch. 11:54 p.m. Paris time.

He takes a deep breath, his words spilling forth without much consideration. “So how about it,” he says, bringing her tired baby blues back to his.

She smiles, “How about what?”

“It’s night. It’s a city we don’t know well and neither of us will probably be able to sleep much after we get off this plane. So, let’s explore. See if it’s as dreamy as we think.”

He thinks of how ridiculous his offer is as soon as the words are said. This is a woman who walked onto this plane with a bodyguard, a woman whose star power far exceeds her slight build. It’s not like she has the ability to walk around a city, any city, unnoticed.

He’s shaking his head at his own foolishness when he hears her answer. “Ok.”

He feels his eyebrows furrow when he looks at her. Her smile ignites. “Ok,” he stammers and then nods to the man just awakening beside of her, “he can go too if you’d like.”

She glances at the figure beside of her briefly before pulling back to him. She shrugs. “I shouldn’t need a bodyguard. I have a hat and jacket and things typically aren’t as bad outside of the US. And . . .”, her eyes twinkle, “I believe I will be safe. After all, you are Captain America.”

#taylor swift fanfiction #lonely and gone #unexpected #teaser

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movietvtechgeeks · 7 years

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Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/stephen-maing-talks-crime-punishment-twelve-brave-nypd-officers/

Stephen Maing talks 'Crime + Punishment' and twelve brave NYPD officers

Documentary filmmaker Stephen Maing tackled a very touchy subject with Crime + Punishment, but getting twelve brave New York City Police officers to break out of the ‘blue wall of silence’ was quite an extraordinary feat. It reminded me of the feeling I got when watching Ava DuVernay’s documentary 13th with the frustration and anger learning about the NYPD’s illegal policing quotas and other discriminatory practices. I dare anyone not to feel their blood boiling after watching this powerful film. While much of it won’t be surprising in today’s world, but knowing that it gets even worse can really turn you towards activism or just crawling into a ball of frustration. Reviews have been very positive and reflect how Crime + Punishment made me feel watching it at the 2018 Sundance Film Festival. It’s not often that a documentary film achieves both newsworthy timeliness and long-term, long-form, longitudinal depth. But that’s exactly what Stephen Maing pulls off with Crime + Punishment, a project that’s been years in the making, following more than a dozen characters, comprising over a thousand hours of footage, and yet the issues at hand and its attendant legal proceedings, couldn’t be more active or immediate. Building off of several shorter films made earlier in the decade, Maing (whose previous feature, High Tech, Low Life premiered at the 2013 Tribeca Film Festival) spent time with New York City police officers who had decided to go public with their frustrations over what they were being asked to do—effectively meet arrest quotas that target citizens of minority communities, even though such quotas have been deemed illegal. Whereas other filmmakers might have invested just enough production time to get adequate footage for a topical, news-oriented dispatch from the “front lines” of the clashes over police reform and racial profiling, Maing instead just kept showing up. And kept meeting more officers, with different stories, from varying backgrounds, who were readying themselves to go public and face on-the-job punishment as well as potential public backlash in order to do what they felt was right and try to change a culture of criminalizing—and profiting from—the poorer and more vulnerable sectors of society. Maing talks about his intent with this film while shying away from being called a journalist despite working deeply and ethically in a journalistic mode. And while working quite effectively in that mode, what he accomplishes regarding form, and in terms of nimble, elastic filmmaking, goes well beyond a presentation or deliberation of reported facts. Sequences flow from on the fly, off-the-cuff interactions between the filmmaker and his subjects into visually evocative passages, then into spontaneous, often revelatory street-level reportage, then into candid moments of whistleblowers weighing the costs of their convictions and commitment. There are Serpico-worthy confrontations that veer into thriller territory, as well as candid, emotionally raw moments that can only be achieved over time, and through sincere human connection between a filmmaker and his or her subjects. “We really wanted to kind of create a genre—cinematic investigative filmmaking,” Maing offered at one point, and that might begin to convey the significance and complexity of what he’s aiming for with his film. Most documentaries have a rough sketch timeline, although that usually gets scrapped after the film takes a life of its own. Did you being with a specific timeline idea or just see where it went? I’m assuming you didn’t start out with exactly this many subjects, or planned to shoot for precisely this long. Back in 2013-2014 producer Ross Tuttle and I made three projects—two shorts for The Nation and another one-hour piece that ended up on CNN, where we used anonymous NYPD officers as informants. After the pieces were done, it became very clear that a couple of the cops who had allowed us to record in silhouette were ready to go more public, to speak out with their identities undisclosed. So we kept in touch with them, and there was this opportunity to document the process of officers considering blowing the whistle on things that they thought were not going well in the department. To show it firsthand and in intimate detail. To do something different than what we had done before and create something that was much more rooted in human experience and was more character driven in order to show the impact of the policies rather than just have a discussion about them. As a filmmaker you’re often in the position of having to earn someone’s trust in order to get them to reveal themselves, but this sounds somewhat more advanced, in that they were already ready to show themselves to you. Did you have to make efforts to protect them from the risks of their own revelations, considering what you were capturing? You’re always worried about situations where your subjects are willing to show more than you are comfortable with committing to an official record. It’s why this took so many years to make. We had to learn and grow with them rather than rush to put something out. This film entailed years and years of verite filming—it’s easily over 1,000 hours of footage, probably 200-250 days out in field with the various subjects. It took an incredible amount of time to just make sure that at various junctures they were comfortable with the film being made about them. And the truth is at varying times, I would film with one or two cops, and they would sort of cool off a little, and then we would pivot to some others. Maybe it was because they were busy with work and family stuff, or were still acclimating to this whole idea of fully disclosing not just their claims, but their experiences. In a lot of ways, it’s much harder to share your emotional response to problems than to share the problem as you see it on paper. And so I think that was the big challenge for Ross and I, sticking around long enough, through the years, and continuing in a fully transparent verite mode, just countless, endless days in the field. I think a lot of doc filmmakers like to hone in on the strategy that allows them to shoot less with more potency. But in this case, it was the exact opposite. I was shooting a lot, and I was casting as broad a net as possible, because at the end of the day we didn’t want any single subject to bare the individualized kind of burden of the claims. How were you able to not only relate to them all but maintain their patience and trust over the long haul? I think that they saw that Ross and I had really put in the time to get to know them and report on their stories in our previous projects. The idea and the hope was that over time they would understand that—while they were fighting the day-to-day battle—a kind of longitudinal history of what had unfolded would also be of value down the line. Even though it might not have always been apparent. A lot of times, I think they probably just shrugged their shoulders and wondered, “How much shooting is it going to take to tell this story?” And for me it was admittedly a very messy process. Which is inevitable I think, as there needed to be a very organic kind of strategy to flow amongst various groupings of communities and police reform efforts. All were centralized around this singular idea that in those apartments, there are minority officers who feel ethically conflicted with the pressures that they’ve received to go out and target the community for more enforcement activity. That is a very dry and simple statement that is not news to anybody. We’ve all heard that before, it’s been reported out before. But that could take on so many dimensions. And could mean so many different things and have such a powerful ripple effect, far beyond that single moment of recording of an officer pushing back against a supervisor. Obviously, they were all putting themselves on the line, and to some degree so were you. Did you feel a parallel sense that powerful entities didn’t want you to pursue this story or make this film? Yes and no. The totality of what we’re making here feels very explosive, but in real time, the thing that I was encouraged by, that made me believe that this film could actually be made and not be harmful to ourselves and the subjects, was that these guys did not come out in one grand gesture. This is years of effort to speak out and to file complaints—and to speak to the media. Adhyl Polanco and Pedro Serrano had been involved in the 2015 Federal Trial on Stop & Frisk—Floyd vs. City of NY. They testified during those hearings and were already being retaliated against for being whistleblowers. This is a very active, live story that the local media was engaging with, but the fact that we were covering it over such a long period of time gives it a bit more gravitas because there is this propensity for the media to splash something up on social media—here today, but gone tomorrow. Whereas our narrative structure is designed to radiate outwards and incorporate more and more corroborating stories of other officers and then other individuals—civilians on the street—to bring us into courtrooms and precincts, homes and law offices. This is something that I hope speaks more systemically than the individualized cases might have been able to in the past. So this kind of diversified burden of responsibility that these guys have taken on as a group is a powerful gesture. And there’s a little bit more safety in numbers. I’m fascinated by the tension the subjects must have felt between the short-term newsy stories that pop up over the course of the film, and what they were doing with you, participating in footage that might take years to see the light of day. It’s a really hard thing to stay committed to. Not just in terms of convincing people whose lives you’re filming over a span of four years, but even on a financial level. There is no financial incentive to draw the documentary process out beyond a year. Nobody is really apt to throw money at you to do that. So the burden of doing that just falls on the filmmaker. Yet I was dead set that if we did something with this kind of access that it needed to be deeply intimate. That it absolutely needed to feel authentic and true to their experience. And that it needed to allow for consideration that these guys were making a credible case for what they were claiming. I think that that’s the duty of long-form documentary filmmaking. Time spent somehow indirectly helps translate into making a rhetorical point that would be much more difficult had you just sort of air-dropped in, got a really punchy interview, and shot some verite coverage. Considering your longitudinal, day-to-day commitment, how did you come to close the circle on the larger narrative, to arrive at this shape and put the film out into the world? Since we have been under this very distracting cloud of daily dystopian news coming from the White House, our attention has really been shifted much more so than in the years past, and a lot of these kinds of stories are just not getting nearly as much attention. They just don’t have the sustaining power of a Trump tweet story. It’s overwhelming and scary. As things were unfolding in 2016 and it was clear that the city was going to be pushing fiercely to have the class action dismissed, I just felt like it was really important that we try our best to insert the conversation that unfolds in this film into a citywide and ideally, national conversation around police reform. Since 2018 was always going to be the start of a new mayoral term and with that would be the reappointment of a commissioner or the placement of a new police commissioner, I didn’t want to just rubber-stamp the mayor to continue business as usual. And the nature of the class action lawsuit is that it could easily take 5-7 years to see a resolution. Thus this lack of resolution was going to have to be the conclusion to a piece we would make. It’s quite powerful, dramatically and emotionally speaking, to know that the officers’ lives and livelihoods put out on the line in the film are still out on the line. You’re not revisiting a case that’s been won; you’re seeing one that’s still being fought. It puts the audience in a more activated state, and that’s crucial I think. How do you think the release of the film is going to change your relationships with your subjects, since they’ve existed on such a private scale for so long? I think these guys simultaneously know that what they are doing is significant to some of the most urgent issues that we are facing right now as a nation, while they also maybe underestimate the great power of what they’ve done individually and as a group. They’ve largely lived and made these efforts in a kind of vacuum at times. They have a lot of support, but as I said before, the fact is that police reform will be hot for some weeks and months, and then the nature of the news cycle is quite cruel, and quickly moves on. I hope this will allow people to really see the continuum of all their efforts, and the calculated risks they’ve taken in order to expose what is really an urgent and pressing issue. You’re obviously deeply and uniquely knowledgeable about this issue, but you’ve also made sure not to make an issue-oriented film. Despite all that you’ve witnessed firsthand and are now presenting to the world, the film comes across much more like finely-wrought, exactingly detailed group portraiture than some kind of expose. I would imagine that’s both the yield of your artistic intentions and of the depth of what you were able to encounter over so many years with everyone. This is not just an investigative piece like any other you would see on Frontline or whatever. There are filmmakers who go out and acquire material by being active agitators. Whereas this is all about passive participation and observation. Just sticking around long enough. So that a two-hour car ride unfolds into some pretty heavy shit being said. I think in a lot of ways the place that journalism and documentary filmmaking should part is in that place where, as investigative journalists, you can go out and produce a proof of concept very easily. You ask the right loaded questions. But in long-form documentary, if you just stick around long enough, you’re going to get a more authentic rendition of that same thing. I don’t consider myself a journalist per se, but rather somebody working in that space. I don’t want this to seem like the culmination of “well here’s a piece about quotas,” and we went out and made that piece. This was something a lot weirder. A lot more unwieldy in a sense. You’re getting something authentic from them, but also you can’t be in a car for that long with somebody, or spend that many days with them, without being authentic yourself. I would seem to work both ways. That’s always the gift when you’re spending time with people eager to have you understand things the way they’ve lived it. And so it’s good to go in being the open, uninformed person that you are, despite having spent a number of years already working in the space. I think that the human element was something that [in those previous films] we still hadn’t really cracked. It was really nice to see their openness to participate in this, to see their conviction that this was the right thing to do. And by way of that, we got access to a very rich human story.

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allenmendezsr · 4 years

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