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kirisaki-daichi-scenarios · 3 years ago

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a discussion of jabberwock with team interaction hcs + deeper nash analysis

for anon who asked "Can we get some headcanons for jabberwock members or like headcanons when they're together? (its okay if it was jason or nash only)" and made me realise it's about time i get these guys' personalities down

note before we start: cause i didn't know their names until i wrote this

zack is the bald one, allen is the one with a headband, nick is the other white guy apart from nash.

team hcs

nick gets bullied for being under 6ft, but not by jason

nah good old jason teases all of them for being short fucks, emphasising that they’re all 5ft tall in comparison to him

he 100% lifts things out of the others' reach and then laughs for ages after when they try get them

unfortunately though, they’re all used to this and now just ignore him. either that or nash stares at him so intensely jason actually repents and hands it back

zack’s another one with a very good glare, but he’s used it too often on jason and it’s since stopped working.

also jason gives me ‘straightens his back as much as possible when getting measured so he’ll measure in as 7ft’ vibes

oh and he thinks he could wrestle a gator and win. i’ve got no explanation for that except for the fact you can't tell me it's ooc.

allen’s very protective over his white headband - it’s his lucky item - but he’d never let anyone know that

he’s confident in his abilities like the rest of them, but there’s nothing wrong with wearing a headband just in case

(nash knows anyway)

they watch nba matches together and do not shut up once throughout the entire match - lots of jeering, booing each other if someone criticises a player they like, lots of “i could do that”, lots of “get your fucking hand out of my popcorn do you want me to punch you in the face” etc

they used to all live together, but nash has since moved out. he was sick and tired of trying to make people do chores, as the only one who kept their room clean.

yeah the others’ house looks like a heap of trash but also very much “where’s my toothbrush?” “it’s in the third coke can by the orange peel behind the sink” *silence* “yeah thanks” *a minute later* “who the fuck has been using my toothbrush”

they’re all “bro your dribbling sucks why are you on this team loser” to one another, but also very protective (aka arrogant for one another) if anyone else Dared to criticise one of their teammates

then again, what kind of person would criticise jabberwock

half of the time he spends with jabberwock, nash is a Single Mother TM trying to get a bunch of man children to behave; the other half of the time, he's just as bad as the rest of them

i talk about this a lot but i get the feeling nash is an exceptionally hard worker, but at least he gets to let his hair down around his teammates sometimes

nash is also the only person jason thought was truly ‘strong’ at first sight

and nash is also the only person who can beat jason in a fight, and also the only person who can get nash to train, and also the only person who can.. [etc. you see my point].

(n.b jason calls himself the ‘almighty me’, nash says that ‘even god can’t beat me’. point made.)

you know how jason silver’s motto is “I have never thought”

imagine him proudly stating that, before zack adds with a straight face, “yeah cause nash does it for you.”

in short, the team would fall apart without nash.

although the team’s communication and coordination is very fine tuned, nash is the guy who keeps everything in order off the court to prevent what is essentially a team of aces ('main characters', if you will) from falling apart

they hang out together a lot, but do all have other friend groups that do not overlap

team bbqs

unofficial rule not to criticise anchovies on pizza because the one time nick did, nash snapped

however pineapple on pizza is fair game, even though zack quite likes it

more than once, jason has brought a girl home and nick has stolen her attention away with effortless trick shots, funky ball manoeuvring etc

more than once nick has had to trek to nash’s place (with a black eye) at midnight to have somewhere to sleep

do you see a correlation?

oh and everyone in the team has been walked in on by nash when they were naked with some girl

nash has absolutely no shame

he apologises to the girl with a charming albeit insincere tone, and then remains standing in front of the bed/couch until his teammate does what he expected of them

usually it involves not having come to practice

allen learnt a few (emphasis on ‘few��) words of japanese before they travelled to japan and was disappointed that he never got to use them

that said, one of those words was hentai

and now a quick analysis of some panels

a) so there's at least one player who wasn't underestimating vorpal swords. if i were to overanalyse, i'd add that nick's wearing a hoodie (possibly athletic wear) whilst nash has a 'fancy' shirt on; perhaps nick wasn't expecting them to be going to host clubs instead of chilling/training?

b) i know what you're thinking: "how can you say nash is a hard worker when he didn't want to practice for the match". i reckon he was still pretty high on the complete and utter success of their previous match, that plus being around girls, encouraged him to have a more 'jason-y' personality. (either that or fujimaki didn't want to add too much depth/realism into nash's character bc he's unequivocally the villain, right? and obviously this helps with the plot and the jabberwock bad geniuses gom good geniuses rhetoric.)

earlier, i mentioned how nash is the only one that could keep the team together, and is thus the undeniable head of the team; here's a clear example. you can see both jason and zack have no interest in continuing - if anything, there's disgust in their faces, kinda just saying "we spat on all of japan, now we can go home". whereas nash won't allow for the slightest of possibilities that there might exist a team stronger than them, and hence agrees to the match. the key thing here is that the others do as he says without too much fuss.

another thing to note is nash's reference to harakiri. now what can we make of that, alongside his proficiency in japanese, in relation to his character? the way i see it, he's either a weeb or possibly has some japanese lineage. (you could spin that even further and say his mother was japanese, taught him the language, then abandoned him, and hence his almost excessive hatred/mockery of the japanese people.) (is that why he wanted to do another match in japan..?)

just a quick point. "thanks to him" - jason isn't so superior as to think that he could win this match effortlessly without nash's support. links pretty nicely with my earlier idea about how nash is the only person jason has always considered 100% strong.

yet another point about how nash is the strongest of the team in pretty much every way you can think of. you know how scary/powerful you have to be to shut jason up (after he's getting real pissed from being prevented from scoring?)

i personally think this is a pretty important panel, though i've never seen anyone mention it before. did nash grow up training in a professional basketball training situation, as opposed to growing up playing streetball like i suspect the others did? well, to answer that question, imma bring in another panel.

here we see visible rage on nick, zack and jason's faces - they can't accept their loss, which is fair enough. but i'd argue that nash's face seems to depict sadness more than it does anger like to rest of them, look at how downturned his mouth is - and he's looking away from the 'camera', as if hiding his shame.

when you combine that with what he says here, i have no doubt that this is someone who has experienced some proper lows in basketball - as would be expected from someone who's played 'properly'. he's possibly not even a prodigy like the rest of them - compare jason's motto with his. "i have never thought" versus "do not suppose opportunity will knock twice at your door".

there's various lines of thinking you could design with this - he might have been trained by alex (hence, himuro having heard of jabberwock, though he should have known of a team as popular of jabberwock regardless), he might have grown up with professional basketballer parents etc. but here's my own little theory:

nash received serious basketball training from early on - maybe because his parents were living vicariously through him, or maybe he always loved the sport and wanted to be no1. so there he was training away, but, as he grew older, it started getting all a bit too much.

he didn't want to dedicate his entire life to basketball. after all, his hobby is water sports and his speciality is boxing; that's a lot of different things to be keeping up with, whereas the pipeline for promising athletes demands people focus solely on basketball. as a result, nash become bitter: stopped attending practice regularly, got in trouble for trash talk of increasing severity, etc.

result was he was kicked out of the program.

only when he was no longer playing basketball again, did he realise how much he missed it. and hence he got into streetball, where he was tremendously successful as someone with so much training, 'elite skills', and the overly confident attitude to boot.

then, one fateful day, he met jason and the rest is history.

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nikadoesanart · 3 years ago

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Dazai in both his PM & ADA clothes

In Chapter 11, we can see Dazai depicted wearing a combination of both his PM and ADA clothing when Chuuya reminds Dazai of his past as the youngest executive in the history of the Port Mafia. I am aware that he is drawn in a similar way in the Vol 3 contents page, but I will be saving that for another time, as he is accompanied by Akutagawa and Chuuya there and I think it's best to analyze that artwork as a whole.

In regards to Dazai’s outfit here being a mix of his ADA and PM ones, overall I think it was done intentionally to show how even though he’s been in the ADA for the last 2 years and defected from the PM 4 years ago, he can’t get rid of his past. He may have been able to literally burn the coat (ch 30, p 15) and create an unbelievably clean record (Entrance Exam p 17, Yen Press translation) but his crimes still followed him, covered up or not. Or another way I’d phrase it would be that he may be on the side that saves people and a better person at heart now, but he can’t shake off his past as it still quite literally clings on to him. Starting with the background, the people and eyes glaring at him could very well be a metaphorical representation of his crimes. For example, it could be some of the people whose deaths he played a part in. It could also be those who were/are supposedly close to him judging him for his decisions and actions as well as how he may likely feel that he is still viewed by society as a monster and "the demonic prodigy of the Port Mafia’s guerrilla squad" (The Heartless Cur, easygoingscans translation) considering that his high intellect alienates him from almost all of society in addition to all of his mafia achievements. After all, he was advised to lay low while his records were made clean for him to even have a chance at being hired by the Agency. For comparison, Fukuzawa’s past occupation isn’t common knowledge to the public and Kyouka’s mafia achievements were an issue at first with her being able to work in the Agency (or really anywhere outside of the mafia). Moving onto Dazai's overall appearance, he looks all disheveled here, as if both the coat and his own physical and mental states are all falling apart and off of him. He’s holding onto the coat like he’s not quite ready to let go of it, likely because his time in the PM is crucial to who he is today. After all, that is when and where he (most likely) met and befriended Oda (as far as we can infer based on existing knowledge in Dark Era, novel version included). Through Odasaku, Dazai found someone who truly understood him and was given a reason to both live and to get rid of his ties to the mafia, which the coat literally represents because he received it from Mori.

Fully leaving his past behind him means leaving Oda in the past and moving on from that part of his life entirely. We know that that is one thing he cannot and likely will not do, even if all he is left with now are small mementos and his memories of that time, including at least a couple of moments that he does treasure. We've seen him hold a Lupin matchbox and even pay the bar a visit right before difficult and risky decisions, and think of Oda when thinking of how he has failed both in the past and in the present or just reflecting in general (when talking with Kyouka on the plane in ch 35, at the end of 55 Minutes, at the end of season 3, and when discussing his views on why things happen with Fyodor in ch 77, etc).

Even in this panel alone, his facial expression clearly shows that he is far from pleased to be depicted and referred to this way and we now know that he was at his absolute lowest, mental health-wise, at age 16 during Storm Bringer (at least as far as we currently know of his past). (Creds to @emmacifer for pointing these two details out) Admittedly, my knowledge for understanding body language is fairly limited, but regardless, look at specifically how and where Dazai is holding onto the coat. His right hand is in his pocket and with his left hand he’s gripping onto what appears to be the area just between the parts of the coat that are in the armpit and lung areas (idk how else to describe it). If you try grabbing your own shirt or jacket in that same spot, you will feel some of the pull on the fabric in your shoulder, almost as if Dazai is trying to create or maybe even recreate this feeling in a more visible way to represent Oda's last words giving him a reason to leave and go towards the side that saves people, or his desire to escape from feeling inhuman. In regards to Dazai having his left hand in his pocket, and because Dazai specifically has his thumb out, that means high confidence (source 2).

(If you do know more about reading body language, I'd love to hear your input on this panel! The stuff about his right hand is purely my own speculation and interpretation vs the part about his left is based on what I read in the linked source) Coming back now to how he is dressed specifically in this panel, Dazai is wearing his coat/overcoat and bandages from his PM days and his vest, shirt, and pendant that he wears now in the ADA. In other words, he is currently on the side that saves people (the ADA) at heart, but he still wears his past on top of that. The weight of his actions, especially as a PM executive, outweigh his accomplishments under the ADA, especially once his crimes and past do get revealed. He is quite literally wearing the source of his (currently known) pain and suffering on top of everything else because that ultimately did play a large factor in shaping him as a person. Both the countless injuries he's sustained in exchange for his achievements (represented by the bandages) as well as the cause of the mental abuse and manipulation he was subject to under Mori (represented by the coat).

Additional sources and credits:

Meaning of hands in pockets Meaning of hands in pockets 2 (the one I used) Huge thank you to Zae, aka BSDiseverything on Twitter for helping to find where Dazai’s demon prodigy nickname is from (I literally reread half of Dark Era by this point and started checking the dark era anime)

#bsd #bsd analysis #bungou stray dogs #bsd theories #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #slight manga spoilers #also slight Storm Bringer spoilers

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alloftheimaginess · 4 years ago

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Wired Autocomplete

Other parts

Jared Padalecki

Alexander Calvert

Jensen Ackles

Ys = Your sign aka your zodiac sign

Bd = Birthday

Ht = Hometown

Sn = Sister’s name

Yh = Your height

"Hi I'm Yn Collins and this is my Wired autocomplete interview" I say smiling and I get thrown a card and I hold it up.

"Is Yn Collins" I say pausing.

"Dumb?" I say laughing and I pull the first one back.

"Is Yn Collins going to comic con" I read and I look up.

"Actually yes I am you can catch me there everyday, I'll be at the Supernatural panel when I'm not at my own so if you weren't able to meet me at mine you might be lucky and meet me at my husbands" I say looking back at the board.

"Is Yn Collins" I read pulling it back "adopted" I say looking up and I nod.

"I get this a lot so I'll explain here so people can continue to ask later down the road" I say laughing

"So my parents split up when I was 4 and my dad remarried my stepmom and she adopted me like made me legally hers and then my dad divorced her and went to jail so then I stayed with her and she remarried and she's legally my mom because she adopted me and her husband who I consider my only father is her husband" I say laughing explaining it the best I can.

"Is Yn Collins a" I say and I pull it back "a Ys" I read.

"Yes I am. I was born Bd" I say moving on, making it the shortest response.

"Is Yn Collins" I read and I start laughing "these make me nervous" I say laughing "Volt. Oh yeah, it's a character that I play in the marvel franchise. She started off bad but not really bad just misunderstood" I say nodding and I pull back the last one.

"Why is Yn Collins famous" I read "It all happened when I decided to audition when I was 7 and my husband" I say smirking "I'm just kidding not because of him" I say throwing the card getting another one.

"Where did Yn Collins" I read pulling it back "grow up" I read "I grew up in a million places lol, my dad was in the military so we moved often. I can name 9 places I lived. But before all that I grew up in H/t" I say.

"Who are Yn Collins siblings" I read. "I know you guys only googled this to see if Lily Collins would pop up which she didn't, we played adopted siblings in a movie and because of our chemistry and names everyone assumed we were actually siblings. But to answer this question I'm the oldest of four who's last names aren't Collins because that's my husbands last name" I say laughing, pulling the last one.

"Was Yn Collins" I read pulling it back "on glee" I read laughing.

"I also get this question often. That was my little sister Sn, we look super similar so at one point everyone struggled to tell us apart but yes she was the one on glee not me" I say.

"Does Yn Collins sing" I read "yes all the time. Who doesn't sing" I say laughing.

"Honestly at this point in my life I never stop singing" I say looking up at the camera.

"Misha tells me to shut up all time, I'm a nervous singer so when I'm anxious or nervous I hum, sing all of that" I say laughing.

"Did Yn Collins and Chris Evans date" I read "no, we just hang out like a lot. We've been making movies together since I was like 14 so he's just my best friend" I say laughing playing with the last cover.

"Did Yn Collins get married" I read laughing. "Yes that's why I'm called Collins" I answer. "Is this actually a question people google enough for it to pop up?" I ask shaking my head. "But yes I did my husband is Misha Collins. He's this really hot guy who plays an angel named Castiel on supernatural" I say pointing to the camera.

I throw the card and I catch the one that gets thrown to me and the first one has my avengers character name on it and I laugh. "Who is Audrey Patterson aka volt" I read "Aubrey Patterson is a woman who grew up in the south until she got her powers when she was just a wee tween and she was shipped away to live with her grandparents in New York" I say looking at the card.

"Is Aubrey Patterson and Sam Wilson friends in real life" I read "Mackie is my guy, when I first came onto the Captain America scene he was the first person who I hadn't met before to welcome me with opened arms" I say.

"Is Aubrey Patterson" I read and when I pull the tab back it pulls off the words "I guess we'll never know" I say laughing.

"Is Aubrey Patterson the youngest in the Captain America movies" I read "yes I am" I say laughing and I toss the board to the side.

"I'm almost done and I'm sad, I never want this to end I want to answer google questions all day" I say grabbing the board "can Yn Collins speak any other languages" I read.

"Three and a half" I say.

"Can you say something in all of the languages you know?"

"Yeah of course" I say nodding.

"Bonjour je suis avec câblé aujourd'hui" I say.

"Ik zal je vragen beantwoorden" I say raising a brow trying to see if I said that right.

"Don't come after me Dutch fans I'm sorry I'm still learning it's the half language I know" I say.

"Ich bin buchstäblich ein offenes Buch" I say smiling at the camera.

"Začnime" I say.

"What did you just say?" He asks.

"I said hello I'm with wired today and I will answer all of your questions, I'm an open book so let's begin" I say holding the bird back up.

"Is Yn Collins one of the best actresses of our generation" I read "literally I don't even know if I can properly answer that because naturally I'm going to say no because I work with a lot of amazing women so no" I say moving on.

"Who does Yn Collins look like?" I read "hmm, my sister like I said, my ten year old but she looks more like Misha than she looks like me but that counts. But definitely my eight year old son, he looks dead on me and my twins" I say smiling at the camera.

"What are Yn and Misha Collins" I read pulling it back. "kids names" I say.

"My oldest is Elodie, my second oldest is named after his dad so Dmitri, then the twins Maren and Mavis and then my youngest Farren" I say smiling at the camera because any time I can talk about my kids I'm in heaven.

"Is Yn Collins an alumna" I read "yes I am, I graduated from New York school of arts" I say.

"How tall is Yn Collins" I read "good question" I say laughing "I want to say about Y/H, in that area, just about" I say looking at the next one.

"How did Yn meet Misha" I read "aww" I say smiling "I love talking it about this a lot more than I actually should" I say.

"The year was 2009 and I was at comic con for Avatar" I say.

"He was there for his first comic con ever and we were next door neighbors and I got locked out of my room and my purse and everything were in there and I couldn't get a copy of my room key without my identification so I knocked on his door and the most attractive man I've ever seen opens the door in just a towel and I'm like lost for words at first and then he let's me in and enter through his room and we talked and hung out that whole weekend and 9 months I had Elodie" I say giggling.

"How long have Yn and Misha Collins been married" I read "nine years, we got married after Elodie turned one. Almost ten years" I say smiling at the camera.

"Is Alex Calvert Yn and Misha's kid?" I read laughing.

"How old do you guys think I am?" I ask laughing even harder.

"Also that would make no sense for obvious reasons but to answer your question no Alex is not either of our kid, separate, together, adopted" I say giggling.

"His wife is actually one of Misha and I's best friends, we've known her since she was like 14" I say.

"She actually named their first kid after Misha and he let's that go to his head because he has two people named after him" I say laughing.

"Is Yn Collins closer to Jared or Jensen's wife" I read.

"I'm super close to both and I love them to pieces but I do hang out with Jensen's wife more, we always go to lunch whenever we're together, and we always ride with each other to the airport when Jensen and Misha fly in together so I guess I'll just say her because we hang out more" I say shrugging.

"But like I said I love them both so much and equally" I say.

"Is Yn Collins pregnant" I read and I start laughing "you guys are good. But yes I am, 20 weeks today. We just announced it before I came in today so" I say throwing the card.

"I'm Yn Collins and this has been my Wired autocomplete Interview" I say smiling at the camera and blowing a kiss.

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years ago

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Out Of Time ~ 118

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,010ish

Summary: Y/N goes on the run.

Y/N appeared in the Zephyr. Immediately on the look out for Coulson. She turned the corner, running into another agent.

“I’m so sorry,” the agents apologized, stepping back. “Are you— you’re Agent Rogers. You’re awake.”

“Um… yeah. Have you seen Coulson?”

“Him and Mack are on the ground, doing some work.”

“Oh, okay. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Why would you—“

“Come in, Zephyr One. Come in,” Director Mace called over the comms in the front control panel.

The agent rushed over. “This is Zephyr One.”

“Agent Y/N Rogers is missing. If you find her, take her into immediate custody.” The agent looked Y/N’s way.

“Please,” she whispered, “don’t… I don’t want to force you to not. Just… don’t.”

“We haven’t seen her, sir,” the agent replied to the Director. “We’ll let you know if there’s a sighting.” The agent hung up and walked towards Y/N. “I know that you don’t deserve to be in custody.”

“Thank you, Agent…”

“Johnson.” He held out his hand. “Agent Johnson.”

“Thank you Agent Johnson. Tell Coulson that I tried to say goodbye, will ya? And that I’ll reach out if I need anything.”

“Of course. Stay safe, Agent Rogers.”

Y/N nodded before stepping through a portal. Looking around, she took in her surroundings. It was a cold December evening in London, where she had placed herself. It was time for her to work on gathering her strength for the inevitable fight and for her to figure out how to tap into the Soul Stone. Y/N also knew she needed to stay on the run, the government was going to be non-stop after her, world wide. She couldn’t afford to stay in one place too long.

Y/N found a small shop where she bought a backpack and some essentials she would need for the run. She bought a train ticket to Amsterdam and immediately headed there. In her private room on the train, the news was on. She was ignoring it, simply taking in everything going past the window, until something caught her attention.

“It has been almost two months since Tony Stark announced that he was selling Avengers Tower in New York,” the news reporter stated. “So far, he’s had many bids, but has not officially closed on anything. Rumors have it is that he’s hiding rouge Avengers, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Wanda Maximoff in the Tower. Officials have denied it, but who can blame us for asking?”

“In other news about Tony Stark, his former girlfriend has officially been announced as a wanted fugitive of the United States government. Nothing has been heard about Avenger Y/N Rogers since the Sokovia Accords were put in place, until now. That has people wondering if Stark had been hiding her until she couldn’t take being cooped up anymore and decided to join her brother and former lover, Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier, on the run.”

“Again, most of this has not been confirmed. But one can only assume that—“

Y/N turned off the tv, unable to hear anymore. No one truly understood what had happened, nor did they really try to. With a sigh, she laid down and fell asleep.

She lived like this for the past two and a half months, constantly on the move, barely making time to even sight see. She had made her way across a majority of the Europe and Asia continents. It was lonely, but she knew it needed to be done. As much as she tried, Y/N was never able to connect with the Soul Stone. That didn’t mean she stopped trying though.

Currently, she had found her way to South Africa. She had been there longer than she had been anywhere else. Y/N was enjoying it there. She was walking the streets of a market, enjoying the smells and the food when she could sense someone following her. Turning around, trying to make it normal, she couldn’t see anyone obviously following her. Pursing her lips she turned around and headed for an alley way outside of the market. Y/N wasn’t afraid to take on whoever was following her. She was honestly a little curious as to who had tracked her down.

Turning into the alley way, she was thankful that it was empty. She didn’t need any civilians in the way. Facing away from the entry, she heard someone jump down from the building onto the ground. Using her powers, she jumped into the person’s mind, forcing them to freeze. Y/N turned around to see a person in a black suit, more specifically, a blank panther suit.

“T’Challa?” Y/N questioned. They had never really formally met, but she knew who the new King was.

“Y/N,” he greeted through the mask. “Mind letting me go?”

“Not until you tell me why you’re here? Why are you following me?”

“I made a promise.”

“To the Accords you signed?”

“To your brother.”

Y/N let her hold go. She took a step forward as T’Challa let his mask down.

“Steve. Do you know where he is?”

“I do not. But I promised that I would look for you and keep you safe. You haven’t been all that sneaky since you arrived in Africa.”

“I knew I was over staying my welcome. Thank you, T’Challa, for looking out for me. But I think I’m doing okay.”

“And I think you need to rest. Wakanda is a safe place, no one will turn you in. You can stay as long as you want.”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think I want to risk it.”

“I understand but, Y/N, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You don’t look like you’ve been taking very good care of yourself.”

“Well, not every place I find to stay at is a five star hotel.”

“You do not need to stay very long. Just get some rest and then you can be on your way.”

“T’Challa… I don’t—“

“Don’t make it seem like I’m breaking the promise I made to your brother.”

“You’re good.” She smirked, waving her finger at him. “Fine. Let’s go.”

~~~

Wakanda was more amazing than Y/N had ever imagined. She had heard that T’Challa had opened it up to the world saying that they had the technology and resources to help many. But she had struggled to believe that until Y/N saw it with her own eyes. T’Challa introduced her to the Dora Milaje, the King’s guard, and their head Okoye. Y/N was extremely impressed that the King’s guard were all women.

Next, she was given a tour of the labs, where she met Princess Shuri and the Queen Mother Ramonda. They were both so kind and welcoming, offering to get Y/N anything she needed. T’Challa then showed her to a room.

“This room will be yours for how ever long you need,” T’Challa stated as Y/N walked around. “I will have your meals for today brought to you, so that you can get some rest. Feel free to safely explore the kingdom. You are safe here.”

That last sentence made Y/N tear up. She hadn’t felt safe is so long. “Thank you, T’Challa, for all of this.”

“Of course. Please let me know if you need anything.”

He gave a kind smile before shutting the door and heading down the hallway. Shuri was at the end to meet him.

“So…” she started, “does she know?”

“I do not believe so,” T’Challa replied, keeping his pace.

“Are you planning on telling her?”

“Not unless it comes up. She needs to be able to rest, not worry about anything else.”

“Well, do you plan on telling him that she’s here? Or the Captain?”

“For now, I do not. The Captain has enough on his plate and you continue must to work with the White Wolf and try to get him better. Do not say anything just yet. We do not know how long she plans on staying.”

“She may stay longer if she knew about him.”

“We do not know that and I do not want to test that.”

~~~

Y/N let herself enjoy a delicious meal before falling asleep. When she woke, it was night and she was now wide awake. Taking T’Challa up on his offer to explore the kingdom, Y/N changed into something warm at set out to find a way out of the palace. She was honestly grateful that it was dark and that hardly anyone was out, it let her wander without the fear of prying eyes.

As she wandered through the fields, Y/N tried to connect with the Soul Stone. It was frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t find away to tap into those powers. She wanted to feel and interact with the souls she had lost, hoping that it might calm her guilty heart. Y/N had tried to get in contact with the Ancient One, but to avail. It was becoming clearer and clearer that the Ancient One had been right, it was up to Y/N and Y/N alone to figure out the Soul Stone.

Too deep in her mind, Y/N hadn’t realized how far away from the palace and main city she had wandered. But someone else had. He kept his distance and kept quiet, fearing that what he was seeing was an illusion. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but this was a little too real. He was too busy staring at her to notice the branch his was about to step on.

SNAP!

Both he and Y/N froze. Their hearts started beating faster. His because he was scared that she would disappear and hers because she had just come to the realization that she was being followed. Completely on guard now, Y/N slowly turned around.

“Who’s there?” She called out.

When she was fully turned around, she saw no one. But that was because he had laid down in the tall grass, trying to stay out of sight. Y/N could sense the person’s presence. She took a few, careful steps forward towards the person.

“I know you’re there,” she said. “No point in hiding. Just show your face and I can promise you I won’t hurt you.”

He sighed, which Y/N heard. Y/N waited with bated breath for the person following her to show their face. The grass several feet away rustled as the person pushed themselves up from the ground to stood. Y/N inhaled sharply at the silhouette in front of her. The man was bulky, clearly long hair and was missing one arm.

“Bucky?” Y/N breathed out.

“Hello, Y/N.” He responded, clearly nervous. “How are you?”

“I—I—I didn’t know… they didn’t tell me…”

“T’Challa probably didn’t tell you on purpose. How long have you been in Wakanda?”

“Not even a day.”

The two couldn’t move. Too scared to get closer to each other.

“How long have you been here?” Y/N asked.

“Since Siberia,” he answered. “T’Challa was there as well, he brought Steve and I here for safety.”

“Is… Is Steve here then?”

“No. He left after I was put back in cryo.”

“They put you back in cryo?”

“Until Shuri could find away to take HYDRA out of my head.”

“Did they…? Did they help you?”

“For the most part… we’re still working on it.”

They stared at each other, quietly, for a few long minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I’ve got to go.”

“Please don’t.” Bucky reached out, taking a brave step forward. “At least, don’t leave Wakanda just yet. I want to… I want to see you again.”

“I… I won’t… I just… I just need to think.”

“Of course.”

Y/N opened a portal beside her, unable to take her eyes off Bucky. “Goodnight… Bucky.” She stepped through the portal, disappearing into her room.

“Goodnight, doll.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#t'challa x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Phil Coulson x Reader #agents of shield x reader #aos x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagines #marvel imagine

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datawyrms · 4 years ago

Text

Changed Hunt

For Phic Phight 2021! (not completely finished but AAAAfinshnowwww) lowkey Dannymay Day 2 Portal, as well

"That portal is awesome!" Sam says. "Would be so cool if it worked."

Danny goes down into the lab that night to try a few things—it doesn't quite go as he planned.(aka a no one knows au) (Dey’s prompt!)

Danny really wished Sam and Tucker had stayed a bit longer that day. With them around, maybe he wouldn’t have wandered in that portal like an idiot. In his own defense, how could he have known that little panel in there had been an on switch? Who’d put that inside a reality tearing portal device? Jack and Maddie Fenton, apparently. He was just lucky the thing hadn’t killed him! Or at least, managed to overdo it to the point he...survived somehow? He hadn’t really decided what that portal had done exactly. Waking in a pained heap, bathed in a haunting green glow from the now active portal was confusing enough. Looking up and seeing a stranger in the reflective panel nearby just made it worse. Of course he didn’t take it well, or know what to think. If he’d become a ghost, his parents would freak. Fixing their portal by turning into some...evil human hating creature probably wasn't in the plan. At least his terror somehow managed to get him to become human again. Heartbeat and everything. He hoped it had just been a weird one off, or he’d imagined it from trauma. Until he started falling through things. He died so hard that he got his life back? The portal only managed to kill half of him? He was dead but ‘imitating humans’ was his specialty? Some human that just got to use his ‘soul’ or whatever to be a ghost early? Sam and Tucker might have had guesses- but he knew one thing right away. Whatever happened, he wasn’t all human anymore. He couldn’t tell them. What if they decided that was just too weird? What if they blamed themselves for not being there- thought they’d killed him? It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, he couldn’t let Mom and Dad find out, so he’d be trying to hide any of the new weirdness anyway. Might as well just always do it. Maybe the weird new abilities would just go away. They hadn’t. They just forced him to think about it to keep both feet on the ground. He could deal.

Until other ghosts started showing up. Ghosts that actually knew how to be ghosts, terrifying powers and all. Ghosts that seemed to know what he was. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when a green woman in a hairnet tapped him on the shoulder and asked who ‘changed the menu’. There was a lot of screaming and running away at that, considering she was floating and well. Obviously some sort of dead person. Freaky Fenton attracts freaky ghosts. Of course. She didn’t buy his claim of not knowing why the menu wasn’t exactly the same as fifty years ago (why would he? That’s a lot of years!) and thought setting ovens on fire and throwing them at him was a fair answer! So apparently Mom and Dad were totally right about ghosts being completely terrifying monsters that he should run away from very quickly. Which he did. He only ran into two walls he meant to go through, even. Just more reasons to never, ever tell anyone he might be like that crazed ghost lady. Mom and Dad proving their inventions actually did work sometimes was just icing on the ‘i’m so screwed’ cake. Ghosts exist, they fought one, and the school got shuttered for a week from excessive damage via flying appliance. Fun.

It was dumb to pretend that was a one off thing. It was stupid to think he could keep hiding what happened that day. Even if it felt safer, even if he just wanted to keep denying the portal was open so she could keep pretending it hadn’t done anything to him. Maybe if someone knew, he wouldn’t be hopelessly trapped by a huge glowing robot. Running didn’t work on this one like it did the older ghost lady. He tried, he really did, but the self proclaimed hunter kept tracking him down. Even when he transformed into the strange ghost version of himself he failed to dissuade the robot. Punching metal still hurt as a ghost, and so did getting pelted with little missiles. So much for intangibility being an advantage.

“You’re lucky that you’re a rare creature, whelp. Otherwise I’d be disappointed by how little effort hunting you took.”

Great, flame head thought he was a disappointing freak. More pressing was the net the ghost had shot at him that he couldn’t struggle free of. Even drawing on his weird ghost side wouldn’t let him phase through it. “Pretty sure you can’t hunt endangered species!” He redoubled his effort as the ghost picked up the net, trying to trick himself that his swinging was making him feel ill, not the terror of being carried off by some monster that came through the portal just to hunt him down.

“Hah! If I didn’t take you ghost child, someone else would simply end you.” The blank green eyes stared into his own as the machine pulled him up higher. “You should be grateful to be part of my collection.”

Danny gulped, unsure if he should keep his attention on his captor or the fact they were getting closer to the swirling portal. “How about no thanks? Since you’re such a good samaritan and all. You can just let me go and forget all about uh...this.” Why couldn’t he just squeeze out of the net, or make the rest of him all weird like when his legs decided to vanish sometimes? Pulling with his gloved hands wasn’t working, and the glow just grew brighter as the lump in his throat got thicker. “Please? You already said I was weak, if you let me go I’ll be stronger next time!” Okay, it was a stupid plea but he’d try anything right now to not get dragged to some ghost world.

“I’m not a catch and release sort of hunter.” The ghost chuckled as his prey shrank back with the denial.

“How can you be the ‘Greatest’ hunter if you just go after kids, huh?” Begging wasn’t working, so maybe getting him angry? He couldn’t go through there, what if being on the other side made him more like this thing, or the other weird green monsters? “More like lamest hunter.”

“Oh you’ll see the sort of creatures I normally hunt, ghost child. Once you join them.” Skulker shook the net hard, rattling what little bravado Danny had managed to gather up right back out of him.

So much for that hope. “This has got to be a mistake, just let me go!” The ghost didn’t answer him, and he couldn’t help closing his eyes when the mechanical monster fired up a jetpack and flew through that portal. It wasn’t as cold as he feared it would be, it wasn’t like the void of space. Just as green as the portal, still a swirling background to everything. He swore he saw faces and doors, but couldn’t keep looking for long. The combined movement of being dragged along with the spinning energy was stomach churning enough, and he had to deal with the fact he didn’t know anything about this place. Even if this ghost decided to let him go, where would he go? Was there even anything to navigate with? He certainly didn’t see anything useful like stars. Would all this green stuff just soak into him and make him not want to find home? Nothing here made sense! It was easier to curl up instead of struggling with the net to stretch out, and the stupid ghost couldn’t see how the tears welled in his eyes as he struggled not to cry.

He should have been braver, should have tried to watch more, but it’d been too much. The crunch of metal against stone jarred him out of his silent self berating, just to be even more confused. He was on an island? That just floated, because islands did that here. Islands that had forests on them, that grew out of what looked like rock. Sure, okay. At least it was a bit of a distraction from the fact he was trapped by some evil robot in a completely different reality! Well. It had been. Seeing the fact the ghost lived in some weird stone skull jutting out of a mountain made him snort despite himself.

“You said my puns were bad, and you live in that thing?” He was pretty sure the green mohawk monster was Skull-something anyway. Mostly tuned it out after he kept repeating the ‘greatest hunter’ bit. “Ghost Zone’s Greatest Halloween Decoration’s a more fitting title.”

“For a terrified whelp, you are very chatty.”

“I think I looped around from terrified when I saw how doomed I am.” He was just joking. Totally. He wasn’t goofing around to try and fend off the engulfing panic of never getting home, nope. Absolutely not. He tried to pay attention to the strange ‘skull mountain house thing’, but the fact it reminded him more like a zoo inside wasn’t helping. Massive, monstrous glowing ghosts leering out and snapping as they passed, smaller sorts that didn’t even look up and several empty cages stained green was not calming his nerves. He couldn’t even describe some ghosts, being such a confusing jumble of parts that didn’t remind him of anything. All he could tell was robo-hunter probably didn’t have any willing guests. Unwilling guests that looked far, far more powerful than anything he could dream of trying. He was so, so doomed. To the point that being tossed roughly in a similar cage was almost a relief so he wasn’t right beside the ghost anymore.

First task was struggling free of the no longer glowing net (deactivated somehow? weird.) which wasn’t too hard, but just left him in his freaky ghost form, in a cage, in the middle of who knew where. The Ghost Zone, that’s what they kept calling it. Not Earth. Fantastic! That’s enough to get a C-, but not enough to get him out of this cage. Reaching through the bars was out, the unexpected shock had him rubbing his hand and grumbling to how having some invisible field between the bars was just unfair. At least let him see it before hurting him more. Now what? Grasping that feeling that let him walk through walls wasn’t letting him through the cage floor, just like how the net wouldn’t let him out. Floating just reminded him of getting dragged here. So that was it. Why did he have to get stupid dying powers? They didn’t even do anything useful!

Stressing out and not finding a way out was an exhausting way to spend a few hours. He kept thinking of new problems, like he didn’t have enough already. When the robot wandered past, he almost grabbed the bars to get closer. “Hey! Screw head!”

The ghost actually looked at him, the stern face looking more confused than anything.

“Yeah you! You know I’m gonna like, starve to death in here, right?” Danny had no idea how he was managing to say something he was very terrified of coming true like it was a joke. “Kind of a waste, don’t ya think?”

“You will be fine, ghost child. Your pleas for freedom won’t fool me.”

“Wanna bet? Maybe we’re so rare because we all starve to death in this dumb ghost world or whatever.” That and there probably weren’t too many people dumb enough to get shocked to...sort of death. “That and like, you’re some freaky machine man, you probably don’t know anything about eating to start with.”

Skulker kept staring at him, as if doing that would suddenly reveal all his secrets. “Well I prefer live specimens, but I suppose I could always do with another rug.”

Oh gross! “Seriously? Do I look like rug material to you?”

“Wall art?”

Yup, he was gagging now. The very idea a ghost would want to do that just made his spine want to shake right out of him with disgust. “I’d be way out of place, all of the other ghosts here look like animals! You’ll just gross all your hunter buddies out.” Maybe if he pretended to be some know it all like Jazz the ghost would...reconsider making him into wall art? Uurk. What was his life that he even needed to think that?

At least that got the metal monster pondering, massive hand scratching at his chin. “I do wonder if your pelt would only show half of your nature.”

“How about we don’t test that and say we did.” He’d seen some of the knives on the way in and did not want any of them near him thank you very much. Not that he had much of a choice- oh man he really, really did not want to learn why Sam hated the fur industry this way. “Pretty sure I’d just die. More. Or something.”

“Oh, but you’ve seen the other pelts on the way in. They’ve still got enough of a spark to not melt to nothing ghost child. I’m not that sloppy.”

Oh so he could be barely aware wall art. Even better! What would he do, skin him alive or just crush him? Both? “Humans don’t melt.” It was all he could think of blathering out. Don’t think about what the terrifying ghost guy can do Fenton, just don’t.

“True...unfortunately I don’t have another subject to test on.”

Score one for being a unique sort of freaky ghost kid. Maybe. “Soooo how about you just bring me back and rethink the whole uh. Hunting me thing.”

That just got Skulker laughing. “Not a chance whelp.”

“I’m not a whelp! I don’t even fit in with all your monster-things!” It had annoyed him, really. The other ghosts didn’t really...talk? “I’m not some animal!”

More chuckling, as if amused by a puppy chasing its tail. “Of course you are, with that stench of the human world on you.”

“You think I smell. With what nose, metalhead?”

“None of your business. Not to fear, any ghost here can tell you’re a hybrid. That human body you insist on wearing can be felt even when you’re in a superior form.”

Oh, was this a ghosts thinking humans were animals thing? Or was this a ghosts are kinda racist to different ghosts thing. Was there a difference? He probably should have paid more attention in civics. “Yeah well that ‘human body’ needs food.” He wasn’t even going to touch the idea that he was ‘wearing’ his own body, eeeeugh.

“I’ll figure out a solution to your hybrid failings, child. I won’t let a prize go that easily.”

Greeeeeeat.

#Danny Phantom #phic phight 2021 #dannymay2021 #skulker #unfinished im sorry fsljfsfs #i took longer writing then i meant to #but uh. i can use other prompts to finish #or something #i swear this was mostly meant to be funny but i didn't get to the funny bit yet

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jgvfhl · 4 years ago

Text

The Number Lads

Part 1/???? 3K words, no warnings :)

So I’ve created an audience on Tumblr for the Number Lads, and I’ve happened to got 3K words here for them. So! Here are the origins of the Number Lads! More to follow.... eventually....

For future reference:

Sevenset = ARC-7777 = ARCBoiiiii

Do-si-do = CT-2222 = Double Trouble

Trees = CT-3333 = Green Bean

Loops = CT-8888 = Loopy

Sixes = CC-6666

Double Trouble: i meant it as a joke sevens

ARCBoiiiiii: i didn’t

ARCBoiiiii: what you think you can drop that information on me and i wont use it??? how long have you known me

Double Trouble: okay okay but if you die i’m not mourning you

Loopy: ouch

Green Bean: how do you have this much time to comm us when you’re at ARC training, sevenset

Green Bean: who changed my name

Double Trouble: :3c

ARCBoiiiii: what you don’t like it? thought it suited you, trees

Green Bean: why did i let you guys talk me into this club…

ARCBoiiiii: we’re awfully convincing that way

Double Trouble: you felt compelled

Double Trouble: it’s the numbers gang bond

Green Bean: it was not that

ARCBoiiiii: was it loops space buns

ARCBoiiiii: i bet it was loops space buns

Loopy: what

Double Trouble: they are adorable

Loopy: oh kriff you, don’t you have arc stuff to do, sevenset?

ARCBoiiiii: ehhhhh my next training block doesnt start for another 4min, so....

Double Trouble: well i gotta run, we’re going hyperspace in a min or so--remember the meeting next week!!! be there or be square!

ARCBoiiiii: we dont have any perfect squares yet ;-;

Green Bean: Yeah, yeah, i’ll see you weirdos eventually

Loopy: stay alive out there

Double Trouble: especially the guy who wants to recruit Commander Death over there

ARCBoiiiii: I’ll be fiiinnnne whats the worst that can happen

Green Bean: i mean. his name. is DEATH?

ARCBoiiiii: ..... a fair point.... i guess you’ll just have to wait until the next numbers gang meeting huh :)

Loopy: maker help you

----

Sevenset was uncharacteristically quiet that day during second meal, but only because his mouth was continually occupied with food, not talking. He was on the clock today.

“Hey, Sevenset, are you inhaling those rations, or…?”

He looked over at Buster next to him, quickly swallowing his food. “I just got something I wanna do,” he said, taking a glug of water.

“Something so important you’re taking one of the few unscheduled breaks we have to do it? Okay then.”

Sevenset cleaned the rest of his tray, flashing a grin at Buster as he stood up. “Don’t wanna be late. Got a meeting with death.” He really couldn’t resist the pun. Honestly.

Buster’s eyebrow raised skeptically. His friend next to him, Sketch, asked, “Is this about some new way you’ve managed to piss off the trainers? Because yeah, I’m sure Alpha could arrange a meeting with death for you if you… I dunno, painted pink hearts on his armor.”

“Amazing idea,” Sevenset admitted, his brain automatically figuring out where the pink paint was (he’d have to make it), where Alpha-17’s armor lived (not sure on that one), and how possible it would be to sneak in and out to accomplish the task (a challenge). “However, no, not this time. See you guys later!” He deposited his tray and utensils in the proper area to be cleaned, then jogged out of the mess hall.

Kamino’s winding halls and levels really weren’t efficient--but compared to Coruscant… he couldn’t really argue. A healthy stretch of time in the Guard had given him plenty of tools to make his way around inefficient, crowded, twisty places like this. It didn’t take long before he reached where he was going. Aside from the resident Rancor Battalion, there were often troopers on Kamino from various groups throughout the GAR. They stayed out of the way of those training in separate wings of Tipoca City, and right now, Sevenset was very keen to speak to a visiting commander.

He slipped into a lift with two other troopers--visiting, by the looks of their battered armor. Luckily, they were too engrossed in their own conversation to really notice him, despite his rather colorful tattoos that usually made him stick out. But it was for the best this time. He got off at the level above and started down the hall, reading door labels as he went, searching….

Ah. Here. He pushed a button to open the door, but it was locked. Not entirely surprising, but… now what? If his internal clock was still fairly accurate, he had about ten minutes before he needed to be back for the next training block.

“It’s locked for a reason.”

He whirled, his body almost automatically snapping to attention at the low voice behind him.

Commander Sixes (AKA Commander Death, remember) surveyed him with a disturbing lack of expression. He was tall, for a clone. Probably closer in height to some of the Alphas than to Sevenset. His black armor stuck out like green plants on Coruscant in the brightly lit halls of Tipoca City, making him somehow look even bigger. Even more unnerving, he still had his helmet on, the visor lit with a dull green light, and fixed pointedly on him. Sevenset hated not being able to read people...

Sevenset hadn’t planned for this. Come to think of it, a lot of the “plan” he’d concocted relied on a few assumptions, and all of them seemed to be fading. One of them had been that he would have no problem talking to a CO--he never had before. “Sir, hi--hello--I was uhm…” He managed to clamp down on the first coherent thought to float through his head, so instead of blurting, “You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be,” he stumbled upon, “It’s a nice room you’ve got. From the outside,” and immediately wanted to bash his head in on the wall.

The commander’s helmet never moved, just kept staring him down. “Get out of my way,” he finally growled, taking a step forward.

Against all better judgement, Sevenset stood his ground, although he squished himself a bit closer against the door. “Yessir, of course, just--one thing, really quick thing, I promise.” When the commander didn’t kill him or rip his arms off or something, he went on, finally finding his words were cooperating with him. “So, you’re CC-6666, naturally. I happen to be CT-7777--Sevenset, I’m Sevenset. There’s a group of us, see, sir--with the repeating numbers, and we have little meetings--”

“No.”

“--is what I thought you’d say, but just--” he paused, fumbling a bit to pull a piece of flimsi out of his pocket. “There’s the frequency, there’s the date of the next meeting,” he said, holding out the flimsi scrap. “I’m sure the other boys would love it if you dropped by.” The end of his final sentence shriveled into an undignified squawk when Commander Sixes reached out, grabbed his collar, and shoved him bodily out of the way of the door.

“Get back to training before I have some of my boys drag you there,” he said, entering the door’s access code.

“I’ve got six minutes--”

The door slid shut in his face. Well. He was still alive. So… that counted as a success. Perhaps not a resounding success, but a success. He stood in stunned silence for a moment, still clutching the scrap of flimsi in his hand, wondering if he should stick it in the door so the commander would find it later. However, he had no trouble believing the commander’s threat that his men literally would drag him back to the ARCs if he told them to, so it was probably best not to linger.

Sevenset jumped to attention for the second time that day when the door slid open again. He just stood there, dumb, as Commander Sixes stepped out, plucked the scrap of flimsi from his fingers, then returned to his room with about as much ceremony as befitted dumping pebbles out of a boot.

Oh, yeah. Definitely a success.

---

The first thing Sixes did once back in the privacy of his albeit temporary rooms was remove the top half of his armor, only leaving the gauntlet with his wrist comm. Turning his attention to said wrist comm, he entered Colt’s number. There was a short wait before the other commander answered it.

“Everything alright over there, Sixes, sir?”

“It’s about one of the ARC candidates.”

There was a pause. Understandable. The ARCs weren’t supposed to be in this wing of Tipoca City. “Which one?” His tone suggested he already had his suspicions.

“Calls himself Sevenset.”

He heard inaudible muttering on the other end. “What’d he do this time?” Sixes had suspected as much.

“Quite a pair he’s got on him, hasn’t he?”

Colt laughed dryly. “Yeah, sure. Hopefully, he’s worth the trouble.”

Sixes looked over the scrap of flimsi in his other hand. “Yeah… I think he might be.”

~+~

Leaning back in his pilot’s chair, Do-si-do watched the little light on the ship’s holoprojector, waiting for the others to join the meeting. He always took the calls in his ship. It was more private than his bunk most of the time, and frankly, the audio quality was so much better than on the hand-held devices.

Trees was the first to join, punctual as usual.

“Hey, Trees,” he smiled.

“Have you heard from Sevenset yet?” he asked.

Do-si-do shook his head, combing strands of his bleached curls out of his face. “Nah. Figure he’s been too busy. Graduation was supposed to be a couple days ago, right?”

“Three, yes.”

Loops’ holographic miniature appeared beside Trees’. He looked exhausted, but awake. His long hair was down from his signature twin buns, and he leaned his chin on his hand, fingers resting just over the infinity symbol tattoo on his cheek.

“Loops,” Trees greeted him.

“Mph.”

“What happened to you?” Do-si-do asked.

“Supply shipment,” Loops sighed. “General Koon’s having skeleton crews tonight so we can get some sleep.” After a stifled yawn, he asked, “Is Sevenset dead yet?”

Do-si-do smiled. “Trees asked the same thing, and I have no idea.”

As if on cue, a third hologram popped up on the ship’s control panel. Sevenset beamed at them, his new ARC pauldrons proudly on display. “Guess who’s not dead, fellas!”

“Hey hey! Look at you, ARC-7777,” Do-si-do grinned, leaning forward in his seat. “How’s it feel?”

“I really love the kama, gotta be honest.” He was only visible from the waist up, but they could see him sway his hips back and forth, clearly enjoying his new gear.

“Show us the paint,” Loops demanded, as firmly has he could demand it in his half-asleep state.

Sevenset obliged, setting down his holoprojector--his personal one, now he had graduated--and stepping back so more of his body was visible. The paint job was fairly similar to his previous armor--the sharp edges, the circle on his right shoulder bell holding four stylized sevens--but the new armor on his chest and arms had forced some alterations. They could see just about all of the kama now, the bright red sevens standing out against the dark grey fabric. Predictable, maybe, but still eye-catching. That was Sevenset’s main goal, if it weren’t already clear from the tapestry of tattoos on his bald head that ran down his neck under his blacks, and the several glinting piercings in his ears and nose.

“It’s definitely you.” Trees, bluntly.

“They let you keep the red paint, huh?” Do-si-do said. Sevenset had previously been assigned to the Coruscant Guard. After proving a bit more trouble than the Guard could take, and catching some CO’s eye, he’d been shipped back to Kamino a couple months ago to join Rancor.

“Hey, if Commander Colt can have it, I guess I can too. No one stopped me.”

Without warning, a fourth hologram appeared beside the others in front of Do-si-do’s eyes. A trooper--a big trooper, even in miniature--and in dark armor, helmet included. His brows scrunched together as he studied the person, failing to recognize them.

Sevenset did. “Commander!”

“I see Colt decided against tossing you overboard.”

Oh, no karking way. “Commander Sixes?” Do-si-do blurted.

At the same time, Loops made some unintelligible noise and suddenly disconnected, and Trees froze like a lizard when a hawk flies overhead, his eyes gone wide, one arm half-way to a salute. Frankly, Do-si-do could understand their reactions. Commander Sixes--like many of the CCs--was legendary. His wing of Star Fighters had fought through some of the toughest space battles so far, and always came out of it. As a pilot himself, Do-si-do had heard story after story about their skills. The fighter wing and the commander now wore the nickname Death, thanks to their brutal but effective tactics.

There was a brief and painfully quiet pause before the commander said, “Pride of the GAR, this lot.”

“Eh, they’ll get over it,” Sevenset shrugged, his hologram appearing to zoom in as he came closer again. “Right, Trees?” he added with a grin. Their friend was still in shock, it looked like. “Might have to tell him to relax, sir.”

The commander’s helmet turned towards Trees. “At ease. Take a breath before you pass out.”

Trees blinked, lowering his arm. “Yessir,” he said quietly, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll try to get Loops back,” Sevenset said, a datapad appearing in his hands. Damn, ARCs really did get all the good stuff. Do-si-do still had to share a datapad with his squad of pilots.

“Shouldn’t there be more?” Commander Sixes asked.

“Of us? Yeah,” Do-si-do answered. “I guess there should be nine of us, in theory.”

“Nine or ten,” Trees said, his tone still a bit clipped.

“Ten or eleven, actually,” Sevenset corrected, still looking at his datapad. “We don’t know if a CT designation can be all zeroes. Might have been taken out of the system, who knows.”

“It’s hard when we don’t have access to the full GAR database,” Do-si-do went on. “We have to rely on hearsay and brothers from other battalions. Sevenset and I met by chance on Coruscant.” Loops’ hologram reappeared. He looked a bit more awake now, still visibly on edge from the commander’s arrival, and with a glower on his face. “Loopy! Welcome back.”

“I hate you.”

“Whoa, hey, I didn’t know he was coming either,” he defended himself. “Blame Sevenset.”

“I’m blaming both of you,” Loops said. “You told Sevenset about him, and Sevenset was stupid enough to go through with it.”

Sevenset, his attention off his datapad and back on the meeting, put a hand over his heart. “Stupid enough?” he repeated, doing his best to sound utterly wounded. “I think you mean ballsy enough.”

“He meant stupid enough,” the commander replied immediately and without emotion. “And I agree.”

Do-si-do snorted a laugh at the look of utter indignation on Sevenset’s face. Even Trees relaxed a bit more. “Okay, I can get used to having a CC around,” he grinned.

“Finally, someone with the authority to tell him off,” Loops said, expressing Do-si-do’s feelings exactly.

The recipient of their mocking pouted at them, folding his arms as best he could with his new armor. “Now I just feel unloved.”

“Why do I get the feeling Commander Fox was only too happy to get you qualified for ARC training?” the commander asked, his tone remaining impassive.

“For your information,” Sevenset said, then stopped, realizing, as they all had, that the commander had known where Sevenset had previously served. No one had told him this information. “How did you know I was in the Guard?”

They all turned to the commander. “I’m a commander. I can look anyone up. I looked you all up.”

Do-si-do leaned even farther forward in his seat, a huge smile on his face. “You have access to the full database?”

“You can find the others!” Sevenset completed, a similar smile on his face as well.

There was a pause. Do-si-do was starting to think Commander Sixes just liked the drama they created. In fact, judging by how he had yet to show his face and was wearing all black armor, it seemed Commander Death was fond of the dramatic in a few ways. “In theory, sure.”

“Yes! Oh, fantastic,” Sevenset went on, rubbing his hands together. “You can tell us where they’re stationed--”

“If they’re still alive,” Trees added in. He had a point.

“--and then we can find them!”

The commander’s helmet tilted, his expression hidden. “I’m guessing Fox declined membership,” he said.

Do-si-do snorted a gain, and Trees and Loops both smiled. They all remembered Sevenset’s story of trying to recruit Commander Fox to be number ten for their little group.

“If by ‘declined membership’ you mean, ‘shipped me out to Kamino for someone else to deal with,’ then yes,” Sevenset answered. “He declined.”

“Maybe you can ask him,” Loops said.

“Hey, yeah--”

“No.” The commander’s tone didn’t leave much room for argument, but that had never stopped Sevenset a day in his life, and Do-si-do was more than content to sit back and enjoy the show.

“But you’re his big brother, right? You can drag him into things--”

“I’m not a damn recruiter, ARC, now stand down.”

The effect was instantaneous. They all recognized a CO’s “talk back and you’ll be cleaning ‘freshers for the next month” voice. Combined with Commander Sixes’ already awe-inspiring reputation, his order shut them all up. Trees once again straightened to attention, and this time they all joined him, even Sevenset.

“Understood, sir,” he replied. Do-si-do could see the new training in him now. Sevenset wouldn’t be an ARC if he didn’t know when to drop the comic act, but the speed and discipline with which he’d done so just now was different.

The commander waited a second or two, then he nodded once. “At ease.”

They relaxed, mostly. It was hard to ignore the mood shift that had taken place. As cool as it was having a commander in the club… there were some obvious issues that needed addressing if this was going to remain a “just for fun” place.

Do-si-do found himself as the one breaking the uneasy silence. “But… you can help us find where the others are stationed, right, sir?”

The commander’s helmet dipped. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Can you do that… now?” Sevenset ventured.

The commander’s helmet tilted to one side, and it looked like he sighed. “Fine.” The others perked up. “But, I can only find their assignments, not their current locations.”

“We can work with that,” Do-si-do agreed, and the others nodded along. “Who’s writing this down?”

“I can!” Sevenset volunteered.

Trees reminded him, “Your handwriting is entirely illegible. Even to you.”

“Yes, but now I have a datapad. I can type all my notes.”

“I’m just going to start talking if you boys don’t figure it out,” the commander warned.

“Okay, okay, fine, Trees can copy it.”

Trees’ organization skills would always beat out Sevenset’s anyway. Maybe ARC training had fixed that, though. Trees shifted around, grabbing what he needed, then looked up and nodded when he was ready.

The commander’s helmet tipped down to look at something--presumably a datapad--as he spoke. “CT-4444 is with the Marines under Bacara. Probably has limited contact availability depending on the mission. Infrequent leave.” Do-si-do’s eyebrows raised, and he glanced at Sevenset and Loops. They hadn’t been expecting a tactical rundown of each person. But… they wouldn’t complain. “CT-27-5555 is the only ‘fives’ trooper in the GAR. He’s one of Rex’s freaks, so good luck getting your hands on him.”

“That’s the five-oh-first, right?” Loops asked. “Torrent, or something?”

“Yeah. Rex’s freaks. I’m sure he’ll fit right in.” Do-si-do smirked. He probably would. “And CT-9999 is with Ghost Company in the two-twelfth. Pretty decent chance he and number five have run missions together. Or will in the future, anyway.”

“Is there a CT-0000?” Loops wanted to know.

“What about eleven-eleven?” Sevenset added.

The commander glanced up at them, then back to his materials. “Yeah, the one-eighteenth has a CT-0000. Didn’t find an eleven-eleven, though.”

Do-si-do frowned. “Not even a casualty report?”

“No.”

“But… he could still be on Kamino, right?” Trees said. “Cadets don’t show up in the main database until they graduate and deploy.”

The commander nodded. “He could be a cadet.”

“I could look,” Sevenset offered. “I mean. I live here now, so I should be able to find out if a CT-1111 exists. It’ll just take a bit longer.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” Do-si-do nodded. “In the meantime,” he continued, leaning forward, “who’re we going after first?”

Ta-daaa!! @blsmjoon @nintendolover13-ts4 (I couldn’t tag your side blog sorry) @alamogirl80 (idk why I can’t tag you either ;-;) @23-bears @theultimatesandwich

#my writing #my fanfic #clone ocs #number lads #numbers gang #tcw fanfic #sixes my beloved #I love how min started that tag #and like #three other people have started using it #sixes bein all mysterious oooo #not taking off his helmet ooooo #I finished this #then realized #I've put sevenset and fives #right in the battle of kamino #WHOOPS #lol

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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Whoo boy, been a little bit. I can’t really say much besides IRL sucks, so. Back to something that doesn’t suck, which is BNHA. This chapter is dedicated to the good bean Tenya, especially his little smile which forced me to change my pfp on discord because I just couldn’t.

I was kinda planning on doing arc summaries between sections, but honestly, the BNHA wiki already has those, so if you don’t want to go back and read through all the posts I’ve done for the pre-USJ chapters, just head over there and do a skim of the summaries there, I guess?

[No. 12 - Yeah, Just Do Your Best, Iida!]

I just love how his hand gestures are actual effective tools against enemies, I cannot even. Also, a good and friendly reminder that carbonated drinks stall his engines! I have never seen that used in fanfic, whether for crack or whump purposes… a shame.

We head right into the next morning from that battle training, with the kids being held up by the media as they ask about All Might. Izuku is a bundle of nerves as he awkwardly excuses himself to the nurse’s office, Ochako is a darling who describes All Might as super muscly, and Tenya goes into a whole ass speech with a lot of fancy language to explain the honor of being at UA and learning under All Might.

(Honestly, I find it hard to determine whether this is genuinely earnest or if he’s picked up media warding skills from his parents and older brother. It’s probably genuine, but I just love the idea behind low-key troll master Tenya who learned from the best, aka his older brother.)

Katsuki, unfortunately, is still known as ‘the kid from the sludge incident’, which I mean. I am so fucking baffled at how long the media in this have held onto that 'sludge incident' thing, like, you'd think they'd have moved on to other things by now and don't really think about it much.

It’s the same with the general public (as seen in chapter 3), like, yes, I too would have a fucking complex and anger issues if all anyone thought about in relation to me wasn't my high grades or my skill in combat or anything, but that one time a year ago where I was almost suffocated to death while the people who were supposed to save my life did fucking nothing. I mean, Katsuki has always had a complex, but This Didn't Help.

Moving on, we see the media wondering who the fuck this messy looking dude waving them off is, while Aizawa just. Fucking shoos them like they’re dogs or kids or something. His words seem like a vague attempt at being polite about shooing them, but with the hand gesture, well. Basically comes off more as a chastisement.

...honestly, this feels so weird that no one knew about it even though the kids who got in got a message from All Might saying he’d be teaching there. The only thing I and the others can assume is that there was an NDA on him teaching until it was announced to the newspapers on the first day of classes. Which would explain why it didn’t hit the news until said day…

Whatever, it’s weird, let’s just move on.

One of the reporters steps forward, asking/demanding a chance to speak to All Might about his sudden shift to teaching, only for the guy behind her to try and call out a warning - just a touch too late, as the sensors over the gate react, causing the daunting hunk of metal serving as a gate to slam closed right in front of her. Gonna guess she’s new to the reporting scene. The guy explains that the UA barrier locks down if someone without a school ID approaches the gate, and that supposedly there are more sensors throughout the campus.

The panel gives us a diagram of the three ‘levels’ of sensors - the gate/wall around the school, the walkway to the school, and the school itself. Which I think correlates to the security levels that come up later, since it’s a ‘level three’ breach, which means the school was broken into. Was it… always that fucking simple and I just totally glossed over that detail until now? orz

While the newsfolk complain about not getting comments from UA, we get to see the back of a ~mysterious figure~ who definitely isn’t the primary antagonist of the entire series. God, you can see his individual neck vertebrae.

Horrifying.

We transition to 1a’s homeroom, with Aizawa going over the battle training as well as their grades / evaluations. Aizawa calls out Katsuki and tells him to grow up and stop wasting his talent, which Katsuki grudgingly accepts. Izuku jolts at being called out next over his broken arm, and accepts the chastisement of learning to control his quirk, because trying isn’t going to cut it. Aizawa does soften the blow, however, by repeating that Izuku has potential, assuming he overcomes that issue.

With that done, Aizawa ‘Plus Extra™’ Shouta gets the whole class tense by drawing out the next class announcement. While I think it’s a translation error, the whole class sweating as they wonder whether it’s another brutal pop quiz is hella funny. (I’m guessing it was meant to be ‘test’ which would reference to the quirk assessment as well as the battle training, but ah well.) The whole class sighs in relief as one as Aizawa finally reveals that their task for the morning is to choose a class president - a normal, school-like thing in comparison to the past two days.

Pretty much the entire class has their hands raised to volunteer for the position, with Katsuki being particularly aggressive about it (as per the norm). Even Izuku has his hand shyly lifted up from the desk, while his narration notes that the position in normal schools entails mundane tasks, but in UA’s hero course means leading the group - a position suited for a top hero in the making.

Tenya calls for them all to quiet down, drawing attention as he goes on to explain how leading people is a task of heavy responsibility, but that ambition is not equal to ability. He is so intense it’s hilarious as he explains how the office demands the trust of its constituents, and that if it’s to be a democracy, then he puts forward the motion that they choose their leader through election.

Seriously this is just so fucking hilarious, I love this boy so much. And I love whoever it is that calls out that this is a classroom, not congress.

Tsuyu points out that the class hasn’t known each other long enough to build trust, and Kirishima notes that everyone will vote for themselves. Tenya points out that that is precisely the reason that anyone who gets multiple votes will be the best suited for the job. He then checks with Aizawa if this is allowable, which the teacher agrees to so long as it’s quick. And a quick transition, we reveal the winners-

Izuku with three votes, and Momo with two.

Everyone else, it seems, still has one vote, which was their own (as predicted). Izuku is shook. Katsuki is shaking in anger as he demands to know who the hell voted for Deku. Ochako is whistling and looking away, thinking that she’d better not let Katsuki find out.

(Also of note is that Sero is already approaching Katsuki and making a joke here about it being obvious Katsuki wasn’t one of Izuku’s votes, and then seemingly laughing a bit when Katsuki’s temper turns on him?

Hard to say for sure, but it seems Sero is the first of Katsuki’s future friend group to approach him and get away with poking at his temper. Which I feel is something very much overlooked by the fandom in favor of Kirishima for fairly obvious reasons.)

Tenya, meanwhile, is in a funk as he notes he has no votes, and that that is the harsh reality of office. Momo is concerned as she notes that zero votes meant he voted fro someone else, while Sato points out that Tenya was the one to suggest the election, so what did he seriously want? Izuku and Momo go to the front of the class - Izuku a nervous wreck while Momo’s just exasperated with the situation. Aizawa confirms their positions as he gets out of his sleeping bag, and the class talk a bout about the suitability of the chosen pair while Tenya continues to sulk in his seat.

With that, the first half of the chapter is done, so I’ll call it here. I can certainly say I learned a thing or two today, and I hope y’all did as well!

#readthrough #chapter 12 #usj arc #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #Iida Tenya #aizawa shouta #good to be back #real life is a pain and a half #I would have worked on this yesterday #but the manga site broke #also more food for the sero baku friendship fans

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nagiscap · 4 years ago

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chapter 123 - number one in the world review!

this chapter was heart breaking also sorry for being so inactive i got sm drabbles to finish so if you sent an ask just know it might take me some time! anyway i hope you enjoy my review of this chapter it is really long i had a lot to say WARNING!!! there will be SPOILERS!!! ahead!

this panel is precious is so many different ways ikko is focused on the second half the real bakugo impersonator aka jingo is out here screaming abt jyubei and jyubei is being a narcissist

the way reo know seishiro that well pls i cant take this today like theyre so toxic i dont need this in my life bc now it got me rooting for the toxic besties to be besties again

like stop reo stop simping seishiro dont treat u right king move on u dont need this I DONT NEED THIS i cant keep trying to defend nagi when u always make him look like a jerk for dropping u

bestie is probs so mad hes not playing

i called this!! i knew they were some how going to loop isagi into this i disagree rin has carried this team to leading in the first half partially bc of sae all isagi was no shade to him was a dummy!!!

not ego giving props to yoichi like he did smth when he was literally a dummy i cant the mc loop in is too much for me sometimes

even rin admitted it like isagi was just ther jchilling like he didnt actually know he was being used as a dummy player (this is almost like if karim benzema before ronaldo left madrid didnt know he was being used as a dummy striker for ronaldo i cantttt)

ok mc do ur thang!!!

ego the vibe killer also more hints that my prediction is correct and i can see both the u20 team and blue lock 11 make it out of this bullshit tie theory pull through

yo ego knows how to kill a hype mood but interesting that there is no formation changes i think ryusei is going to shake shit up for the u20 team and also cause rin and sae to fight (more backstory!!!!) and then ego will sub in barou

hey boyfie im expecting another goal tbh reo and i are manifesting

i am thinking many thoughts i mean look at him but also backstory time!!!!

SAE HASNT CHANGED i srsly dont understand him like where is the joy in football but maybe like losing for him is what he is passionate abt idk or maybe hes yearning to play with someone on his level kindaaaa live bachira???

god of being an asshole since day one no change kind do ur thing

no one hit me up this is so cute goodbye what went wrong i need to know bc this shit honestly hurted me

new expression unlocked! sae angry but with more facial expression. also not rin saying his brother is nice lmaoo what was the reason for the switch up bc it constantly shitty brother this and that now

maybe rin beat him and that bruised sae’s ego or maybe sae no longer saw rin as interesting and deemed him worthless and that deteriorated their relationship bc other than that i have no clue what sparked their split

WAIT PAuSE maybe i wanst paying attention but i have never seen sae make this face like he is putting in the work like hes trying pause also rin is adorable this is precious i mean it was obvious rin was sae’s biggest fan even from the beginning all that obsession can only mean one thing #fanbehaviour

genuinely thought sae was going to bully the shit out of rin but also can we talk abt how sae has shown zero respect for any of his teammates maybe oliver if u squint (they share that roleplay dynamic) but everyone else he is a total jack ass

no one hit me up this shit is making me cry... it’s so unfair wtf they are so precious

NUMBER ONE NICEST OMG GOODBEY I CANT DO THIS THIS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL WTF like no wonder rin is sae’s biggest fan bitch if he said this shit to me id be the same and if he dropped me id be bitter af i cant lie im starting to understand rin more these days

#bllk #blue lock #itoshi sae #itoshi rin #seishiro nagi #mikage reo #yoichi isagi #barou shouei #jingo raichi #ikki nikko #aryu jyubei #chelsea’s thoughts #chapter 123

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archivingspn · 3 years ago

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Variety- “‘Supernatural’ Team Talks Doing ‘Justice’ to Show, Characters and #SPNFamily in Final Season”

As “Supernatural” prepares to sign off this year, the men behind the show are trying not to let “the weight of what this season is creep into” their daily work on-set, series star Jensen Ackles said at the farewell panel for the CW demon-hunting drama at the Television Critics Assn. press tour Sunday.

Instead, they want to focus on the work, doing what they have done for 14 seasons, rather than try to “reinvent the wheel,” added Ackles.

“I want it to do justice to what we’ve built for the past 14 and a half years, and right now I think the game plan we have is going to do just that. You’re not going to please everybody — you just can’t — but for the majority of the fans that have been with us on this journey, it’s going to feel right and it’s going to feel good. I know that’s how I feel and I’m still excited to tell that story,” he said.

In the show’s earliest days, “Supernatural’s” future was not so certain. Series star Jared Padalecki admitted that he originally thought the show would simply end when they closed the trunk and said, “We have to work to do” in the pilot. The show had not been picked up to series yet, and the pilot process is “such a bizarre thing,” he said.

The show did get picked up, but in its earlier years it was very much a bubble show, filming (and often airing) a finale without knowing if it would see more life. In the later half of the show’s life, that began to shift, with the CW granting the series early renewals.

“One of the blessings, I feel, has been that we’ve known that we’re carrying on so we don’t have to create a false ending every season,” Padalecki said.

Over the seasons, a couple of spinoff ideas were attempted at the network, as well, but they did not go. Earlier in the CW’s TCA tour Sunday, network president Mark Pedowitz admitted he was not looking at other ways to continue the world without Ackles and Padalecki right now.

“There is something very, very humbling about the fact that this show keeps going. We do see a lot of spinoffs on our networks and other networks and in movies, and it’s humbling to think still want us to be a part of it,” Padalecki said.

Added Ackles: “When you have a show that is so anchored, not in a world but around two characters, it makes it difficult to tell the story without those two characters.”

(...)

The boys and Castiel (Misha Collins) are stuck in this temporary shelter, and although “it’s a triage situation first,” Padalecki told Variety to first stay alive, “there are undercurrents of anger, of tension, resentment [that] we’ll get to when we get to.”

Added Collins: “At the outset of the season [Castiel] is working with the boys but also not feeling emotionally integrated, if that makes sense. We have a fight to fight here, but I think there’s a detachment there, too. And that’s hard, and that plays out later in the season.”

The reason for this, he continued, is that “This is an instance in which Jack’s death is so hard on him, but he’s also dealing with Dean being mad at him about Mary’s death, and I think that Cas doesn’t really feel responsible for that: I think he feels he did his best — he was trying — so it’s a rare instance of him not taking the full burden of something.”

Those pieces of the story come in the second episode, although all three men (Ackles, Padalecki and Collins) admitted they hadn’t thought about how much animosity might have been caused by the fact that Chuck aka God answered Castiel’s prayer in the Season 14 finale, after he had failed to answer the brothers’ prayers for so many years.

“I don’t think they’re there yet, to complain about that,” Padalecki said. “I think Sam and Dean, certainly Sam, is more like, ‘Have we been hamsters on a wheel the whole time? Rats in a maze? What have we done?’ I think we then start dealing with questions of, ‘What is free will? Is it all predetermined? Why try hard if it’s all going to turn out the way Chuck decided it’s going to turn out?'”

Added Ackles: “Basically, is everything we’ve done our whole lives now erased — eradicated — because these things are back? All of that work is essentially gone.” This will lead the brothers — and the show — to “tackle” why one should keep fighting if nothing they do matters, to which, Ackles said the ultimate answer is, “This is what they do. Any excuse to give up is not an excuse good enough for them. This is who they are.”

Although Dean and Sam would be willing to spend “years and years and years” fighting all of these things again, as Ackles put it, maybe the bigger question is how to handle Chuck. After all, if they can get rid of the big bad that brought back all of these foes, wouldn’t that ensure the little bads stop coming?

“The season hasn’t been written yet,” Padalecki admitted, “but I feel like we’re after Chuck. We’re trying to get answers. We’re trying to earn our free will, so to speak. So I feel like what’s been really important to Sam and Dean for many, many years was, ‘Hey, we’re making decisions to make the world a better place — to help the people who can’t help themselves.’ And now we’ve been told, ‘You’re just a story I like to watch,’ and now we’re trying to fight for the privilege and responsibility of actually having free will.”

Executive producer Robert Singer noted that in previous seasons, they would always end on a cliffhanger, but in developing the final season, “it’s a different experience.”

“It’s a true ending,” Dabb added. And “in a true ending, people can’t keep coming back over and over again. They’re going to be facing life or death — this time it’s for real.”

Collins was one actor who admitted that he didn’t feel his character needed to survive the series. “It’s funny, but from the very beginning I’ve always imagined that Cas would die right before the end, because I feel like the show somehow needs to end with Sam and Dean alone,” he told Variety. “But I don’t see a lot of people living at the end of ‘Supernatural’ because I think it needs a kind of closure that only definitive death can bring. That’s very morose, but true. I don’t think we want a ‘Game of Thrones’ ending on ‘Supernatural.'”

One thing Collins did say he wanted before the series ended, though, was to see Castiel truly express his loyalty to the Winchesters. “I would love to see him just be able to say, ‘You’re my people. You’re who I care about that.’ I’d love to see him make a sacrifice,” he shared.

The reason they wanted to go out now, Padalecki shared because they didn’t want to be “the last guy at the party.

“This show is going so strong. It’s going so well right now,” he explained. “We’re such a well-oiled machine, we thought it would be almost poetic and indicative of what ‘Supernatural’ is about to say goodbye too soon.”

However, while “Supernatural” as a long-running drama will definitely end in 2020 after the 20-episode 15th season, Ackles said he felt the culture the show has created and the experience of the show is “a long journey that I don’t think is ever going to be over. I just think we’re going to go away for awhile.”

Does this mean the “Supernatural” cast and crew would be open to a limited series revival in a few years or some kind of movie?

“I’m never ever ready to close doors or burn bridges, I think that’s foolish. Am I saying there’s conversations? No. Am I saying I’d be open to conversations in the future? What’s the harm in that?” Ackles said.

[source]

#2019-Aug #2019:August4Variety #*SMT #*BOG #*TOF #c/m saved the show #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #Misha Collins #Andrew Dabb #Robert Singer #author: Danielle Turchiano #Variety

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lemongogo · 4 years ago

Note

In the chapter where shigaraki's abt to wake up and his family tries to stop him from accepting afo, is it like explained where do they come from? Like are they ghosts? Hallucinations? If it's the latest would it mean tomura is aware that his family would not want him to do that, or is it like thoughts from his own subconscious? Is he trying to reject his own doubts abt afo or his dead loved one's will?

i keep typing it out over and over in the hopes that my wording will be more concise but . HAFJKDS ive spent more time on this than i hoped 2 so hopefully. this is understandable SKSKF

but !! i think it’s a mix of both, honestly. i don’t know if bnha has ever established an afterlife outside of one for all, but i don’t think its out of the realm of possibility. the way that his dreamscape is constructed leads me to believe that the first half, at least, is more subconscious representation and memories at play. for instance, much of the imagery is representative of conversations he’s had with nao and hana from ch.235 , all of which are exaggerated by hk in the way they’re portrayed (nao and kortaro being these huge figures, hana and part of the house floating in chunks of decay, etc). and it’s cool bc it’s almost as if we’re seeing him finally process them for the first time since he’s unlocked them in mla. seeing his responses are really. AAA :”( sad

however, the last few interactions they show of tomura with his family pulling him back suggest that maybe they are some form of conscious afterlife?? i think at least hm. especially given the context of what was happening; how they were all sized relative to himself (unlike before) and consciously reflective of what was playing out in real time. idk something about shigaraki being clinically dead @ that point leads me to think that there was some active intervention involved. unless proper afterlife junk is only reserved to one for all , and its just applicable to nana. because the way that she looked at him once he made his decision was rly like. Seemed to be her actual self u know? and i guarantee that her connections between ofa and afo make her interactions w shig tangible

so yeah , it feels like an amalgamation of the two imo, with the first part being more shig’s memories and subconscious and the later being more like. ghosts in the sense that ur talking about (though it’s definitely open to interpretation 🤔)

as far as the meaning behind it , i personally think its a combination of resignation/fate played into all of afo's abuse and grooming whilst also being like . some internal .idk how 2 say but like. solemnity of lacking the familial support nd structure he needed when he was 5 yrs old nd reaching out for help. and the part that strikes me as interesting is that he didn’t rly show much rejection or reaction to when nao, hana, his grandparents, nana, etc. pulled him back but once kotaro appeared it was like. That was it you know. and i think seeing him again served as a reminder of what all for one and kotaro both instilled in him, which all turns back to that idea of him being resigned to his fate. in other words, being led to believe, for the past 15 yrs of his life, that what happened to him & his family that day was a result of him being “intrinsically evil” or like. "made to destroy”. which isnt True and anyone who read his origin Knows that , but he doesn’t know that. all he’s been taught to do is internalize his emotions and weaponize them in a way that has led to where he is now ,, including the acquisition of afo. its so messy 2 deconstruct but i get both of those vibes from what u mentioned. like a base rejection of his family’s will (though i’d argue he’s never had a chance to realize what they Are--fuck gran torino) through his affiliation to afo and afo’s teachings but also . some manifestation of his inner turmoil and callback to his childhood and inner desires.

AAH theres so much more i could say if this were like an open conversation but i hope thts not like. too confusing. i feel like my paragraphs r very much “yes but no but yes” ASJSKJ also here are some panels that i think r really important:

THIS AS FAR AS THE RESIGNATION GOES.. THE DONT REJECT WHO I AM ! DIES .. like he Literally believes this is who he Is and Was Meant to be , and that him following afo’s footsteps is inevitable. and required of him in a sense. like he feels that his affiliation with afo and afo’s quirk is who he is and htts. SO fucking sad wtf

AND ALSO LOOK AT . THE THING I WAS TALKING ABT KOTARO. LOOK AT HOW KOTARO IS EMERGING FROM AFO HIMSELF. i think subconsciously he’s aware of like the restrictions and the limitations of what all for one and kotaro have placed on him compared to his family (aka the ideas of being bad, destructive, etc) but . isnt that wild like. it was when he saw his dad , the one he associates w like. intentional decay nd like . the switch in his life, that he rejects the rest .and interesting how its within all for one that kotaro comes from . and how shigaraki later says to hell with all for one’s intentions. GOD the msging is my favorite

and also nana . w how shes like. giving that final look as she’s decaying from the dreamscape. i believe w my full chest that’s the real nana . the one that midoriya is acquainted w bec of the ofa/afo bridge. AA I WANT MORE NANA & TOMURA INTERACTIONS PLSPLSPLS

i .combusts.implodes. dies. runs in2 traffic.want to talk about this chapter alone for the rest of my life i love it so os so much. i think its so revealing of his conflicts nd how they contribute to his character, both overall nd subliminally

#Anonymous #asktag #lgtext #shigaraki #bnha #bnha 270 #SRY FOR HOW LONG THIS IS LMAOO

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mcrmadness · 4 years ago

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Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.

A few months ago I posted here this comic:

CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)

And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.

Let’s start with sketchbook things...

So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.

This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:

This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.

I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:

COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)

1. The phone is ringing. 2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ? 3. B: “Farin wtf?” 4. Farin walks from another room. 5. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“ 7. B: *wtf* REPLAY:

1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere. 2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand? 3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!” 4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?” 5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“ 7. B: “WTF”

So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.

***

I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.

So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...

I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:

Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.

And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.

Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.

Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:

Time period -> 1996-1997? 1998 I’ve never drawn 1999 is not that much fun to draw 2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw. -2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?

I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:

Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.

Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors.

So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:

This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.

And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:

Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.

You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.

So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.

Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:

I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:

Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.

As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.

I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:

The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.

The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.

A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)

And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:

Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:

They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.

After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:

I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)

So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).

Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.

And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D

And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.

Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.

And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:

Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.

#mcrmadness draws #mcrmadness draws: behind the scenes #my comics #dä fanart #die ärzte

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thecosmicsen · 4 years ago

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🎂 happy belated birthday month to fellow ghosty boy, aka the soft boy Jaewoo is stuck to in any AU, the one and only @phantombs ! 🎂

* : ✮ ┆ the one in which they both bond with the afterlife .

call it the synchronisation of two backgrounds harmonising that cultivated this very moment of Jaewoo enthusiastically bursting through Cường’s front door. the trust that Cường has in him to provide key access speaks volumes of unfathomable confidence despite the striking contrasts between what the two deem as amicable greetings. typically, Jaewoo is akin to a sudden blast of nippy wind that tends to slap someone across the face with its sharp stinging icy breeze whereas Cường is the type to snore through category five typhoons. this indisputable fact about the elder male is what provides Jaewoo with the brazen guts to invade his home so unabashedly since he knows that nothing will stir the unconscious figure. as according to plan.

detecting the lump in the midst of the blankets, Jaewoo now enters stealth mode as he navigates his way around the bedroom. setting down the canister of helium with a slightly louder thunk, he sucks in his cheeks in horror as he tersely waits to see if it elicits a stir or two out of Cường. it doesn’t. with a smug sense of achievement, he proceeds with the first step of filling up confetti-filled balloons so he can robustly tie them in batches of three with blue ribbons. what the true finishing touch is the polaroids of the abundant pictures he has taken of Cường over the span of time they have spent together. besides the absolutely candid shots varying from Cường overlooking the speckles of freshly budded cherry blossoms to him randomly snoozing in an upright position on the park bench, the polaroids consist of vintage filtered memory snapshots ranging from . . .

one. tiny coffee puddles lingering at the bottom of almost emptied mugs. licked up cupcake crumbs. overcast cherry blossom shadows merging with the tabletop. the lining of plush armchairs overlooking the open cafe balcony. pink-tinged cheeks from the open breeze. a slumped over snoozing figure, his mouth slightly agape as he snugly fits in the width of his chair. it’s ironic really, sleeping right after a caffeine dose ? classic Cường.

two. rain-streaked panels. the lazy streaks of dusk filtering through clearing horizons. idly bustling of Cường’s back faced to him as he gently rifles through his collection of mugs. thick woolly covered socks perched up together. a low hum of a cheery tune. the cheeky grin he flashes when Cường turns around with the familiar scolding look. “ you’re going to be chilled to the bone, wrap up the blanket tighter around yourself. ” the elder male warns him and he obliges.

three. dusted piano keys. a pair of hands gliding across the ivory. the other pair patiently listening, and listening, and listening. time stands still in the air, the concept being sapped away between the gaps of the keys as Cường plays the tunes of a piece so bittersweet. reminiscing curls his lips downwards until Cường gently grabs hold of his hand and gingerly swaps it with his own. “ learn to play with me, ” he jerks Jaewoo out of his transfixed spiralling stance that threatens to plunge him into a nostalgic dimension.

four. flash. flash. flash. another piercing flash. it washes him out, bringing out the sallow side of his physical manifestation. he’s suddenly very self-conscious. all he is doing is walking along the river, breeze tickling through his hair. the only person he notices is Cường with his mobile phone pointed in his direction. “ wait, I’m not ready for a picture. ” Jaewoo protests, immediately raising his hand up into a peace sign with a chirpy grin. Cường snaps a few more before shaking his head, a fond smile taking over. “ you silly boy, does the sun ever need to prepare its shining brightness ? nor do you. ”

five. buzzing electric hums crackle. indignant yells from preteens cause a crease between Cường’s brows. blaring beeps and glowing neon signs cram up any leftover space in the arcade. they promise many bountiful rewards. get your hands dirty, you might win an oversized stuffed narwhale. Jaewoo rubs his hands gleefully, akin to a persistent fly about to dig into a tasty feast. “ I know just the thing you need on the days you sleep for fourteen hours. ” pivoting to the flashiest claw machine with Line characters packed like sardines, he eagerly hunches over with his tongue sticking out in concentration. he will win this. inserting his leftover cash in enthusiastically, he aims the metallic grip of death to the nearest stuffed bunny. taking in a noisy deep inhale to quell his adrenaline, he jabs at the pretentiously gaudy red button for the claws to suffocate the bunny to victory. it works ! he didn’t expect it to in full honesty but now he can smugly brandish it to the amused male. “ let’s call him Lele. now you will never be alone. ”

. . . a shrill whistle sounds from Jaewoo as he clambers towards Cường’s bedroom window. a hoard of worn out older dogs struggle to float up to the window’s height. but with the aid of Jaewoo’s awaiting palms, they are safely directed into the warm haven of Cường’s birthday setup. what’s left is the lighting of candles and the birthday. the ghost had considered buying a massive rectangular cake to fit the few hundred candles on it but he reckoned that Cường wouldn’t be up for using all of his lung power on blowing out that many candles so he settled for placing fifty seven instead. not a jibe to the other’s age at all.

clapping his hands together, Jaewoo motions at the expectant dogs to go huddle up against the sleeping figure in bed. beyond eagerly, they all contentedly clamber besides Cường as they are familiar with the man and his previous visits to the shelter. the wholesome sight warms his heart and he hurriedly moves to snap a picture of the cosy sight before Cường can object. by the looks of it, he still hasn’t fully stirred from his slumber yet so Jaewoo takes the cue to finally begin the slow singing of the birthday cheer.

“ happy birthday to you, happy birthday Choi Cường, happy birthday to you. ” the dogs happily grumble along to Jaewoo’s trilling voice in an unique harmonisation to celebrate the cheer of Cường entering another year of life yet again.

Cường finally arises with groggy eyes, hair sticking out in random tufts and incomprehesible noises that only those fully acquainted with deep sleep can fathom. Jaewoo approaches him with his birthday cake, eyes glazed with delight.

“ make a wish ! ” Jaewoo shoves the cake in front of him and Cường indulges him by huffing out the candles in three goes before tugging him onto the pile of puppies on the bed. “ please don’t tell me you wished for more sleep. ”

alas, Cường has already fallen back into a half-drowsy state but it’s okay. the cake can wait.

* : ✮ ┆ the one in which they both bear the weight of the crown .

huff puff. huff puff. huff puff. look at what lengths the young prince goes to. it takes a lot of cautious scrambling on the ivy-clad bricks. it surely would have been a call for an immediate plummet to death. had the prince not been thoroughly experienced with years and years of experience in exiting the castle grounds for invigorating quests for adventures, he wouldn’t have made it beyond a single ledge. as lithe as a cat, he even managed to maintain his hold on a staggering wide window ledge that showcased an approaching candlelight, presumably one of the many patrolling guards. security had greatly intensified ever since that eye-opening hectic night of ultimate meetings of meetings. the only leeway he was able to breakthrough and finally make through the fortress was through months and months of extensive study with the aid of prince Cường’s silent cues on illustrating ways on how the other may keep visiting him in his lonely desolate tower.

evidently, the legwork pays off since Jaewoo is able to navigate his way through the labyrinth of tenacious security personnel. it’s extraordinarily exciting to be going through such leaps and bounds to visit your secret werewolf best friend, son of the rival kingdom that your family swore an oath against !

entirely pleased with himself and his progress, the young prince proceeds with his voyage to the grand tower window after ensuring with a peep that the patrolling guard has moved on. he makes a quick mental note of how the fourth floor garrison seem to take around seventy five seconds for a quick sweep before moving on with his cat climb.

it must have been a nasty shock for Cường to have his grand balcony doors thumped on frantically in the dead of the night. Jaewoo can faintly make out the startled grunt followed by groggy scuffling towards the set of gold-plated doors. the sight that Cường is faced with upon opening the doors with hesitance is one straight out of the many books that he’s read with Jaewoo in their more relaxed princely hang out sessions. the moon crescent gently laminates Jaewoo’s tall and proud silhouette with its sheer pearly luminescence glimmering off the many encrusted jewels on his figure.

“ prince Cường, head of all mythical protection, the defender of deep sleep and all other his realms, you have officially lived to see and enter another blessed year ! ” Jaewoo enthuses, his eyes dancing wild in delight with his self-perceived inspirational opening. “ despite the beast inside, quite literally if I may add, you have persisted and floated through the face of adversity. a very very joyful and happy birthday to you. as my gift to you, I must insist on you going out with me on this clear mid spring evening. ”

to be expected, Cường stares at him incredulously before opening his mouth to come up with a gurgle of excuses ranging from it being too late and the best birthday gift he can give is to have the longest nap. this is all naturally dismissed by Jaewoo with a wave of hands although he switches up his tactic with pleading beseeching eyes.

“ I swear in the name of all things that I love, this will be a minimal effort journey for you, your highness. ” Jaewoo holds his hand on his chest to declare his oath. “ outside your grounds, I have brought a sled with a comfortable makeshift that I specially made for you. please please please. I shall carry you along the entire time. you only need to walk the distance to and from your bedroom to outside the grounds but even for that, I can piggyback you for when we are out of sights from your garrison. ”

Cường sighs in defeat, knowing that it takes far more energy to Jaewoo who doesn’t take no as an answer either way. the duo had been continuously going out for either one of Jaewoo’s gutsy expeditions in his quest for seeking fantastical legends or heading for a cosy hangout in his secret shed hangout. so it is a familiar cause-and-effect process that Cường has grudgingly gotten accustomed to.

soon enough, the two are bundled up warmly and exit their usual and lesser dangerous route from within the castle instead of dangling off precariously on tower walls. as they veer near the edge of the perimetres of the castle grounds, Jaewoo begins to piggyback him as promised. with Cường’s thick plush cape enveloping his body too, Jaewoo enthusiastically leaps towards the awaiting royal sled concealed underneath the moss of an oak.

“ see, I made it like almost exactly like your real bed which you love to lay in so much ! “ Jaewoo gingerly lowers down Cường after ensuring every speck of leftover moss is flicked off. almost immediately, Cường nestles himself underneath the main heavyweight blanket with his eyes flitting shut which is a sure sign that Jaewoo must have accurately devised a mobile sleeping quarters for the lethargic prince. with the toothiest grin, Jaewoo leaves his nap to him in peace before securing the sled to his armour.

as they traverse through the grounds, a route that Jaewoo deliberately scoured for its even ground to avoid jilting Cường too much, the night begins to sink in deeper. an expert in creating handheld torches, Jaewoo lights the way for himself and his drowsy reluctant companion through the sweeping grand grounds of eclipsing trees. thankfully, the destination in mind for the birthday isn’t too far off so much of the night isn’t wasted on the journey time itself.

they arrive to a clearing that opens up the dull moonlit night with a large lake in sight. there is already a boat awaiting for them ( a product of Jaewoo’s meticulous birthday planning ). the barely illuminated body of water does not do justice for the usual daytime blue-green depths as the night overcasts its murky shadow. in fact, it would have been totally understandable if Cường was to believe that Jaewoo dragged him out in the midst of the night to kill him in this open valley. ironically, the birthday boy does reflect similar sentiments as he questions Jaewoo as to why they have come here but he does thank Jaewoo for bringing him out in the open air.

“ behold my dear friend, you shall see why I brought you here. ” Jaewoo holds out a hand in plea before sticking the burning torch into the ground near the docked boat. “ I’m going to transfer you to the boat now. I made it extra comfy for you, do not fear. ” admittedly, the wooden boat does look slightly shabby from what the torch’s amber lighting shows up. yet the confines of the boat are layered thick with nothing but fleece plush-lined winter blankets and opulent feather pine-stuffed pillows directly from Jaewoo’s palace.

transferring Cường to the boat takes no more than a second, the birthday prince not weighing more than mere grapes to Jaewoo who is amped up on adrenaline. blowing the touch out, must to Cường’s skepticism, he hops into the boat eagerly before grabbing the oars to paddle them out and away from shore. the atmosphere drastically dips to an eerie cloudless night with not a source of light to be found yet Jaewoo keeps on paddling and paddling and paddling.

“ what do you bring me here for ? ” Cường questions yet again, sounding helplessly bewildered. Jaewoo swats at him.

“ ssshhh, you’ll see in a moment. don’t be too loud now ! ” Jaewoo playfully jibes despite being several pitches higher than Cường. setting the oars now with definitive decisiveness, he stops paddling as he opts to shoulder another blanket around himself. “ any moment now . . . ”

as if just to vehemently rebel against Jaewoo’s words, the pair are left in the sweeping frigid silence in the enveloping darkness. the lake is completely still. the air almost stagnant from its lifelessness. Jaewoo frets about Cường falling asleep again. before he can reach out for Cường’s arm to harshly pinch. it begins to appear.

the fireflies begin to leisurely appear. each warm glow emitting slowly one by one until it begins to reflect against the clear lake depths, stark in its crystal clear glowing luminescence. it starts off with ten good fireflies darting around until a few hundred more show up to entirely brighten up the entire body of water like one of the radiant lantern festivals celebrated in the kingdom. some begin to glimmer near the boats which causes a cascading effects of pale yellow to light up all around them. finally Jaewoo can glimpse the entirety of Cường’s face who looks utterly in awe. he gently holds a finger out, witnessing how a firefly immediately beckons to his fingertip. it warms up the features of his face significantly.

this once, Jaewoo remains serenely silent as he soaks in the magical sight of the fireflies and their endless etched out glittery reflection on the still lake’s surface. glancing back to Cường, he brings out the hidden sack of pastries so he can gingerly stuff one in his mouth.

“ happy birthday, your highness ! ”

* : ✮ ┆ the one in which they are both reliant on coffee and stacks of books .

yeah, birthday, it's your birthday. if I die, bury me inside the Louis store, they ask me what I do and who I do it for and how I come up with this shit up in the studio. all I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe !

it is six in the crisp fresh early morning. the scatter of April’s cherry blossoms softly breeze past the windows. in the far off distance, the blue buses agilely shuttle to their timely scheduled stops. what is there to greet the overambitious joggers is the bountiful stretching of the clear blue skies and its cheery sunshine companion. what a landscape of utmost urban tranquility.

skrr, skrr, wrists movin, cookin', gettin' to it cookin', I'm in the kitchen, yams everywhere !

this lyric accurately reveals where the culprit of the booming bass music is located. what should be another college boy routine of panicked last minute waking up, rolling out of bed, brushing teeth and forgetting to comb before running out of the house is not happening. it’s pulverised along with the vibrating bass that resonates through the tight budgeted walls.

ah, Yeezy, Yeezy, how you do it, huh ? it's my birthday, I deserve to be greedy, huh ?

whether the actual birthday boy is begging for the chance to be greedy or the chaotic sound source in the kitchen is debatable. the April birthday boy is was soundly fast asleep in his bedroom underneath the newly gifted weighted blanket and he must be too groggy with early morning drowsiness. he groans as the bass violently shakes his bed before waiting a few moments to see if the music will miraculously switch off. perhaps this spring day will bless him with a power shut off to banish the ruckus.

I show up with a check to your work place then hand the valet the keys to the merces. tell the DJ play your song, this shit come on. what I'm seeing from the back I can't front on. they ask me what I do and who I do it for !

as fast as Cường’s lethargic feet will transport him to the kitchen despite it being a mere few steps in their apartment, it feels like eternity to him. as he languidly inches towards the kitchen, the deafening birthday song begins to ring his ears. it elicits a slight grimace out of him. his only plan is to lower the music volume to five before noiselessly dragging himself back to bed to flop down to prolong his sixteen hour nap.

however, his plans are rapidly crushed to itty bitty microscopic bits the moment he stumbles across the sight of Jaewoo haphazardly dancing along with ardent strong passionate strokes in the midst of the glammed up kitchen. stray confetti and metallic balloons litter the countertops and corners. a stack of presents line up on the island as a standout centrepiece on the counter set up for two. the warm scent of fresh souffle pancakes fill up the air and berry compote compete to overwhelm senses along with the brewing green tea. when Cường is set to open his presents after breakfast, he will come to find out that Jaewoo has purchased a drawstring hoodie pillow, an interesting choice of a pillow, another ostrich pillow for classes, an aromatherapy eye pillow, microwaveable slippers, a book light for philosophical bedtime reading, a golden ratio notebook, a poster, and a self-heating coffee mug.

“ finally, I was beginning to wonder how long it would take to bait you out of bed ! ” Jaewoo chirpily waves at the dopy figure in the middle of his twirling hands up motion, who is seemingly flabbergasted. it’s an overload of various stimuli to all take in at once at six in the morning. but to his credit, Jaewoo begins to lower the volume to a decent level that won’t burst eardrums.

“ who are those presents for ? they better be for you. I told you, you didn’t have to do anything for me. silly boy. ” Cường finally remembers how to vocalise after awakening slightly.

wiggling his finger at him, Jaewoo jubilantly shakes his head with a smug smile before grabbing hold of the other’s shoulders to steer him to sit down on the island stool. “ so you are allowed to do whatever you want for my birthday but I can’t do the same ? if you do not accept these presents then I will have no choice but to start playing Tinashe at full volume. you know how her songs get me going. ”

it appears to be that Cường receives the message so he expectantly grabs his chopsticks. with a triumphant grin, Jaewoo pours out a cup of green tea to him before pouring out a bowl of seaweed soup for him. “ eat up birthday boy, live a very long healthy prosperous life. who else will I take to astronomy club ! I need you alive ! ” with his eyes sparkling mischievously, he then whispers out one final. “ happy birthday Cường. ”

#ok so at least it is still April where you are so #hAPPY BIRTHDAY MONTH CUONG #this is super late but it's here .#this may be slightly chaotic #proceed at your own cost #there's like so many reoccurring themes no matter which au they are in JSOIFJSKPFFK #just don't judge<3 #phantombs #* : ✮ ┆ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 (𝐶𝑢𝑜𝑛𝑔).

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schmokschmok · 4 years ago

Text

a series of events

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Mikaele Salesa, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker & Sasha James

Characters: Mikaele Salesa, Getrude Robinson, Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 5,314

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Missing Scene

Canon Compliant

Vignettes

Summary:

It's not a tragedy. It's not a comedy either. It's a series of unfortunate events and their rather anticlimactic end.

aka What do Mikaele, Gertrude and Tim have in common? A gun!

Contains spoilers up until MAG 115

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205352

CN: Guns (discussed), Murder (mentioned & idiomatic) Entities alluded to: Buried, Corruption, Flesh, Slaughter, Stranger

Exposition

It starts with a plain looking flintlock pistol and a few percussion weapons. After he had copied Jürgen’s client list, he had studied every last name on it relentlessly until he found one that he was sure enough he could sell to without having Jürgen with him. Then he tracked down a lass in Sunderland who liquidated a relatively sumptuous collection of antique weapons.

Now he’s standing in front of a door belonging to a block of flats which doesn’t look in the slightest like a home for antiques. Mikaele’s used to much too big houses, creaking with old age and looming over him like the head of a giant monster sleeping underneath the earth. He knows brass doorknockers and intercommunication systems at iron gates separating the wide-spreading garden area from the street. A simple intercom at the door and several flights of stairs towards one of half a dozen identical looking doors is unfamiliar territory and sends a rush of adrenaline through his whole body.

After drawing a final breath to brace himself, he rings the bell and waits for the steady thrum of the buzzer inviting him into the whitewashed house with its light grey louvred blinds. His feet hit tiles and then stair after stair until he’s in front of a door with inlaid glass. The sight through is blocked by what seems to be a curtain made from Nottingham lace.

Drawing another breath, he raps his knuckles curtly against the wood of the door and takes a step back. While he listens to shuffling footsteps coming closer, he swallows drily and plasters a sly grin on his face, even though he doesn’t feel like it. He has seen Jürgen interact with dozens of people over the years and had a fair share of interactions with tedious clients himself, so he knows that confidence is the first step to success. If he thinks he can make a deal, then he can make a deal. It’s easy, he tells himself.

The door swings open and a woman in her thirties studies him with tired eyes. She says: “Mr Salesa, I suppose?”

He nods, accompanied by verbal confirmation and greeting, and extends his hand for her to shake, and it only takes an imploring look upon his hand until she grabs hold of it and welcomes him into her small flat.

“It’s in the backroom,” she says as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. “Found them while cleaning out my Da’s cellar but hadn’t had the chance to get them looked at. What with all the funeral preparations, you know?”

Mikaele doesn’t because he never had to take care of such thing, but he makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and offers his condolences because it’s the polite thing to do. She thanks him in a detached voice, as one does faced with superficial, sympathetic words.

“It’s a whole chest of them,” she continues while opening the door to a small pantry which is filled to the brim with shelves displaying tinned and pickled food. The floor area is covered with cardboard boxes, two wooden chests and a few rolled up carpets. She gestures towards the chest on the left and steps back to make room for him. He thanks her.

“I don’t know if they’re worth anything at all,” she says, leaning against the doorframe and watching him step closer until the fingers of his outstretched hand touch the copper key of the chest, and sink to his knees. A part of him wants to explain to her that she’s setting herself up to get stitched up like a kipper. But it’s not his problem, is it? Actually, it’s rather his fortune.

Mikaele opens the lid and takes a look at the percussion weapons, eight of them in total. Six percussion rifles and two guns. And right on top of them lies a flintlock gun with a wooden handle. He’s not interested in that, so he takes it out and lays it down next to him on the floor with great caution.

“So, you’re taking them?” She asks and he can hear her shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got two other potential buyers. But if you want them, you can have them.”

He doesn’t know why she’s so eager to get rid of them and uneasiness settles into his midriff, constricting his breathing in an almost imperceptible way. So, he tells her that he can’t decide without taking a proper look at them. And then he asks her about deeds of ownership.

“Everything I’ve got is in that chest. If they don’t have a deed of ownership, then I haven’t either,” she replies while he takes one percussion gun out of the chest, examining the caplock mechanism and pulling back the hammer, only to be greeted by the strenuous sound of a screw being used for the first time after a long period of inactivity.

Cautiously taking out one musket after the other, splayed around him like sunbeams, the bottom of the chest reveals nine deeds of ownership and even a documentation of the last purchase agreement.

This is too good to be true, Mikaele thinks. But what he says is that he is going to buy them and that he can guarantee her an adequate payment, he can’t, however, say anything about the price just now. He must test if they work, he apologises, then he promises that if they’re usable he’s going to pay her even more. Even though it doesn’t make a difference for his potential buyer. Mikaele will get the same amount either way. But she seems like she could use the money, and this is his first buy all on his own. He can be a little generous, he can be a little accommodating.

“I don’t care,” she says, levity coming back to her and lifting her shoulders as if up until now she had been pressed down by a weight he hadn’t noticed. “I just want them gone. So, if you could take them with you today, that would be appreciated.”

After taking out the documents, he nods absent-mindedly and places the weapons back inside the chest. When he turns towards the flintlock pistol, he asks where he should put it.

“You can have it,” she rushes to say, involuntarily taking a step back and raising her hands in a display of defensiveness, palms spread wide open. He tells her that he doesn’t necessarily want it, but she dismisses his objections. “I don’t want it.” He opens his mouth again. “Look, take it as an eight plus one deal, okay? I don’t want them. Not any of them.”

He nods as if he understands what she’s trying to say. He doesn’t, but does it make any difference?

Together they lift the now locked chest after and they carry it down the stairs, through the small front yard and into Mikaele’s waiting car. As she steps back from the boot, he thanks her for her generosity and extends once again his hand to meet hers.

“Thank you,” she says as if she hadn’t singlehandedly conferred the possibility for his career beyond horror and threats on his life bound in leather. So, he thanks her, too, and as he drives away, he can feel the uneasiness melt from his ribcage into a small puddle of contentment right above his abdomen.

This is the start of something new.

Rising Action

It hadn’t been the start of something new, Mikaele realises when he sees the now familiar chest again. It had been a continuation of misfortune and horrible, sleepless nights. At least until Jürgen’s list began to seek him out to sell him the objects Jürgen wouldn’t take.

It’s a mule chest made of oak, a warm reddish colour and with a beautiful patina spread over the copper of the escutcheon, handles and applications that speaks of a long history of utilisation. Nice to look at with its octagon panelling and its visible age rings and veins of the wood.

But Mikaele knows there’s something inside besides the eighteenth century’s weaponry he held for the first time over twenty years ago. Something that, if it would live in a book, would be in Jürgen’s métier.

Despite his knowledge of the danger that lurks inside this chest, Mikaele had sold it multiple times to all kinds of different people. He thought, a meat grinder, an antique syringe, a wooden crate, a wooden chest – when it comes down to it, it’s all the same.

Slowly, word spreads. Especially in a social circle as small as the one Mikaele operates in. People talk and its hard to bring something to a market that has learned by now that the thing will get them killed. (Of course, there are always the outliers, the unpredictable variables of heedless rich men who think they can withstand temptation, only to fail. Mikaele, however, is not a heedless man and if he knows one thing, it’s that dead men can’t spend money anymore.)

So, he almost got restless at the prospect of owning a chest filled with death impossible to market again, when he remembers the small business card in his middle desk drawer that reads in small capital letters The Magnus Institute.

He calls.

Mr Bouchard welcomes his offer with the generosity of a Lukas and asks him to drop off the chest as quickly as convenient. So, he gets into his car roughly two days later and takes the trip to the institute himself as the loss of Cook is still somewhat thrumming beneath his skin. (He gives the others a few days off, tells Leigh to stock up on supplies, so they can set sails as soon as he gets back.)

When he gets out of the car in the parking lot of the institute, he realises belatedly that he has no chance of transporting the chest all on his own, so he locks up the door and heads up to the institute, a certain spring in his step and something akin to giddiness in his soul.

“Rosie,” he greets the woman sitting at the desk in front of Mr Bouchard’s office and she offers him salutations with a smile as wide as the Thames. “Mr Bouchard awaits me. A delivery for Artefacts that I could not possibly carry alone.”

She tells him that Mr Bouchard is in a meeting with a Lukas, and she says it with a wink and a smile, and even though Mikaele doesn’t quite make heads or tails of her words, he understands that she can’t ring him up until he gets out of his call, so he asks: “Would you mind calling Artefacts to send a helping hand?”

Telephone handset already in hand, her manicured fingers dial a three-digit number, and she waits patiently for the other person to pick up.

Meanwhile, Mikaele studies the stone tiles that could almost look like marble, and the dark, oiled wood that forms the intricate details of the desk she’s sitting at. The surface is covered in paper and sticky notes and handwritten reminders and dates, almost contrary to the planner lying next to her keyboard that is colour-coded and in a minimalistic beauty that Mikaele wants to envy but finds to be incredibly annoying.

Although Mikaele’s clearly occupied studying her surroundings like the engaged columns that bestow texture upon the too white walls, ending in abstract art nouveau capitals that could be worthy of note but only exert tristesse in their colourlessness. It’s a shame, Mikaele thinks, that this is what Jonah Magnus chose to express the prestigiousness of the institute with.

Suddenly, someone’s standing too close to him; entirely unexpected in his line of vision. He startles, ripping his gaze off the columns, and is met with an expressionless look of a woman. She narrows her eyes when he takes a step back to bring distance between them and apologises in a stern voice that doesn’t speak of remorse.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replies, interlacing his fingers behind his back.

From the other side of her desk, Rosie informs him that someone from Artefacts will soon be with them and if he would mind waiting for a bit. He shakes his head in answer, but his attention lays on the gaunt woman before him. She’s one part tenuous and two parts careworn wrapped in white hair and wrinkly skin only broken by thread veins and purposeful inexpressiveness.

She introduces herself as Gertrude Robinson, the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, and asks him for the cause of his visitation. So, without his own volition he tells of the chest and its malevolent contents. He tells of violence and strife and death. And when he’s done, all he can do is blink at her in owlish perturbation.

Adversatively, her gaze is unwavering, examining the parts of his being that he himself is not entirely aware of. With a blink of her eye, he feels like he can breathe again, but her carefully worded question, if he had anything else to say to her, tries to gently pry words from his mouth that he hadn’t previously known existed. He swallows them all down, phoneme for lexeme for root, almost choking on the pre- and inter- and suffixes.

He says: “Beware of the splinters. And always wear gloves.”

Though he thought she’d be displeased, her eyes glow in satisfaction and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips makes uneasiness rear its ugly head like he’s still a twenty-something in the middle of Jürgen’s library.

Climax

Michael’s standing in the doorway even though she has told him a hundred times not to lurk. He’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and the look on his face can only be described as discontent.

“I told you,” she says, weariness settling into her bones, “that it’s an act of utmost discourtesy to earwig my recordings of a statement.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his weight and leans against the doorframe like a scallywag assessing the possibilities to wreak havoc. With a sigh coming from the depths of her soul, she attempts to find chagrin between fatigue and impuissance, but she comes home empty handed.

“I know,” she concedes, “this is of personal interest to you. And I can assure you, I won’t keep you in the dark in regard to research. However, I find myself in the unfortunate position of putting the development of the case before your personal interest. Which, ultimately, should lead to your satisfaction, too.” She interrupts herself in hope that he says at least something. He doesn’t. “Emma is currently tracking down Mikaele Salesa and should return with him and his extensive knowledge of the artefact as soon as possible. A research assistant is accompanying her, for her own safety and the insurance that Mr Salesa will come back.”

Michael narrows his eyes, still rigid and tensed up, every fibre of his body tight-drawn.

She has never seen him like this, without his languid smile and crinkling eyes, without the casual ‘swagger’ of his step and his restless fingers in search of something to hold on to. This is the first time she has ever seen his face in severity and earnest, almost distorted in its unfamiliarity.

“Michael,” she says after a while and she can’t keep every notion of defeat out of her voice. Three words sit on her tongue, heavy and strange, a combination of egoistical self-sorrow and wrong-worded sentiment. An attempt of retaliation, of connecting broken pieces and lost connections.

But her mouth remains empty, her teeth blocking the path separating herself from vulnerability and violability.

It's nothing personal, she thinks to herself, Michael's as good as they come. But here inside the walls of the institute every word is a weapon shock-sensitive and ready to explode. (The shock comes in many forms, most prevalently and most dangerously in the shape of grey-green eyes and blasé smiles that turn benign concerns into malignant worries. The shock comes in bursts, circling into waves that drown out every other thought.)

So, she breathes around three words that Michael deserves and that she would willingly give if he were anyone else, anyone unknown.

Time goes by in little droplets of apprehensiveness, pulling together into a flow of disquietness. But Michael’s not moving, just staring at her demandingly, his jaw locked and his knuckles turning white.

For a moment, she must avert her eyes, cannot take his open display of discontent anymore, and her gaze falls upon the wooden chest, neatly tucked into the corner of her office. A feeling of I can’t believe an unimpressive thing like you could do such harm, but deep down in her core she knows it not to be true. She has had enough artefacts in her hands, only separated from her skin by a thin layer of latex, to know that nothing ever seems as ill-natured and pernicious as it truly is.

Her eyes snap back to him, and she needs him to break the silence. (Needs him to spare a smile to reinforce something resembling normalcy. Although she Knows it to be true that Michael can’t do anything about this situation. He’s bound to the laws of physic, too, and he can’t tilt the world back into its normal position. And Gertrude shouldn’t expect him to do it if she herself can’t do anything about the world.)

“Michael,” she says again, breath catching at the edges of a four-letter word still sitting discomfortably in her throat. “Sometimes the right thing to do and the easy thing to do are two different things.” He continues to stare, vulnerability brought by wholeheartedness. “And the right thing is concentrating on your work so that Emma can do hers.”

Softly, Michael says that they were his friends. His shoulders dropping, weighted down by the acknowledgement of defeat. The start of a sentence escapes his lips, but he struggles to force it out completely, and interrupts himself. He draws a shaky breath. Voice trembling, he tries again and states that one of them did this, and she feels like he should make an all-encompassing gesture, drawing in not only shaky breaths but all the weak-kneed wrongfulness of this place.

He doesn’t know, she thinks, he doesn’t know a thing.

“Sometimes,” she says and lays her hand flat atop the desk to stop them from pushing her upright, “bad things happen. And we must deal gently with them.”

A broken-up sentence that he is just, that he is. But he can’t go on and he swallows the fire in his chest, chokes on the flames and sobs up a few sparks. He says that he’s so, so very angry. And the taste that his words leave in her mouth reminds Gertrude of bonfires and sun storms and the sound of cracking wood. (It reminds her of her adolescence, of nights spend only illuminated by the moon and the flames licking into the sky.)

She nods and presses the palms of her hands on the wooden surface with as much strength as she can conjure. She says: “Anger is a dangerous place. You must tread softly, or it swallows you whole.”

They fall back into silence, the quiet thrum of the air condition a white noise for his grief.

Then his arms fall down, and he tries to smile at her but it's a vain attempt at best. (She knows how his smile looks by heart. And this is only the caricature version of Michael himself.)

Michael's as good as they come, so she settles on: “Trust me, Michael.” And she can see that he does.

Falling Action

In the end, Gertrude is alone in the Archives and she’s buried beneath statements and rituals and eyes that follow every step she takes. Maybe she’s growing paranoid in the wake of a catastrophe she can’t even fanthom the momentousness of. Maybe she’s in her right to collect explosives like wrinkles on her skin. However, she’s still in need of more, more, more. (More certitudes, more dependability, more apologia.)

So, she starts a little fire. Nothing major, just a small one. On the other side of a room that contains a wooden chest that has brought so much grief upon the institute.

Nobody’s in danger of getting hurt, she reasons, every artefact destroyed is a blessing bestowed upon humanity. She only needs them to clear the room, to lose sight of a few things like maybe a Gorilla Skin or a wooden chest full of weaponry.

And the impossible thing is that it worked. Or semi-worked at least because the Gorilla Skin is not in the institute, has never been, and Gertrude’s not any closer to finding it, but she’s got a hold onto the chest, offered by Sonja in an attempt to safe what can be saved.

Time runs out, the Unknowing comes closer, creeps into every waking thought and tries to strangle her into submission. But Gertrude’s not done. She’s almost entirely alone and her hands may be shaking like aspen leaf, but she’s not done.

Shoulders squared and cardigan wrapped around her thin frame, she walks into Research and politely requests help moving an artefact into the Archives. A young man she has seen a few times in the hallways offers his help and she assures him that there will be a sack barrow in Artefacts when he asks if she needs more than one pair of helping hands.

“That will do,” he says light-heartedly and opens the door for her to step through in front of him. It’s a nice gesture and Gertrude enjoys Tim’s joviality as long as it lasts.

They walk in silence for a moment, their footsteps being the only noise they produce. They echo inside Gertrude’s ribcage and for a moment she thinks fondly of Gerry who’s just waiting for her to get started on their trip to the other temples of the beholding. (She won’t think of it as a capital B, she’s been resisting for so long, she won’t cave now. The pressure to give in and paint her dreams with atrocity is big and strong and all-consuming. Just a flick of her tongue and an almost imperceptible strain on her queries and the knowledge of the world would lie at her feet, waiting for her to be crowned and bestowed a gift that she had always declined politely.)

“Tim Stoker.” The research assistant breaks their silence and her train of thought. Blinking through her dusty glasses, she turns towards him without a falter in his steps. “Pleasant to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Robinson.”

Meeting her stern gaze with a friendly one of his, he smiles at her with something more akin to geniality than politeness. (All of a sudden, she’s standing in front of Michael who laughs with an edge of nervousness shortly before she sends him off to find the door. Unexpectedly, she sees Emma in the way he drags his left foot a little more than his right. Without intention, she sees Eric and Fiona in the freckle-constellations on his bare arms.)

She must avert her eyes, forcibly shaking off the images of trust and anger and disappointment dressed in faces she had known so dearly. So, she attempts to focus on their differences, on his height and cadence and the way that he says her name with distant respect like she’s worthy of note.

“Originally, I applied for a position in the Archives,” Tim says at this moment and Gertrude is present again, emerging victorious from the fight with her demons. (Victorious for now.) “But there hasn’t been an opening in quite some time.”

Nodding in thought, she tells him that the Archives is crewed with only her since 2011 and that she doesn’t intend on changing the way that she works. (Gerry’s not employed by the institute, so it’s safe to be in his company for now.)

“Not going to lie, I’m a bit disappointed at that prospect,” Tim retorts without showing any sign of frustration or letdown. And this is the thing that tips Gertrude off, makes suspicion rise in her gut like the tide after moonrise. Tim Stoker is a strange man with unclear affiliations who explicitly applied to be part of the Archives, part of Gertrude’s team. And who, upon dismissal, took work up in the institute anyways. As if he’d like to keep close, take an eyeful of the progress she’s making.

She studies him again, out of the corner of her eye this time, and asks what persuaded him to apply to the Archives in the first place, carefully keeping the compulsion out of her voice, and he says: “I’ve been working in publishing for a long time but in college I used to work as a research assistant in an archive. I guess it’s work I liked doing.”

The lie slips from his skull directly into the hollowness of her chest, and she can feel the draw of the eye to dig deep into the hidden space behind his heart. But she swallows it down, like she always has, like she always will. Pushes it into a corner not to be touched ever again. (It’s going to rear its ugly head time and time again, but hope is a frail thing with sturdy bones and Gertrude is hell-bent on keeping it alive.)

She tells him that she thinks he would be perfectly suited for the Archives, and she apologises that she can’t offer him a position. But he waves his hand dismissively, laughter in his voice and a quick pip on his tongue: “There will be other times.” But she sure hopes there will not.

Denouement

Upon entering the storage room, Tim tells her that he doesn’t believe her, that Sasha James is a liar, but he laughs right with her, holding the door open so she can come inside, too.

“I’m not lying,” she replies, breath still caught in her throat. “Jon really did! I saw it with my own two eyes!”

Tim, however, is not listening anymore. He’s mesmerized by an oak chest in the far corner of the room. A curse falls from his lips into the dusty air of the room and it only takes him a few bee-lining steps until he’s right in front of the thing.

“What’s that?” Sasha asks, following him until she’s standing right beside him. Shrugging his shoulders, he tells her that its from Artefacts and Gertrude Robinson asked him to bring it down here for a time being. (A time being that is long over since Artefacts has been renovated and Gertrude Robinson went missing.)

He kneels down to examine the chest because he distinctly remembers Gertrude telling him to not dwell on the contents for too long. Cautiously, he reaches for the escutcheon of the lid, tinged green and matted by disuse.

Sasha catches his hand mid-air. “Should you be touching it?” The levity of their prior conversation is forgotten, a tension hangs in the air between them, filled only by the muted footsteps of Martin and Jon in the hallways. “If it’s an artefact, it could be dangerous.”

Mischievously grinning, he asks her if she’s as thorough and careful in her daily life as she is with the looming possibility of spooky encounters.

Even though her aim is pretty good, he dodges the jab with a laugh he’s sure causes her to smile at least a little. He tells her to live a little, be great and beyond.

“If you had seen the artefacts we were dealing with,” she says, “you wouldn’t be as careless. You’ve read the statements. You’ve worked in Research.”

He sighs and a constricted look settles on his face, almost mirroring the flood of memories knocking him down, only simmered down to something he can actually display within the boundaries of his flesh. She’s right and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to voice it out loud, so he settles on the one thing he always knew best: Deflection.

Making a pained sound at the back of his throat, he laments his choice of occupation without acknowledging the true intent of it. He tells her that, when Jon had asked him to move down into the Archives with him and Sasha, he hadn’t thought about it twice, had deemed working with his friends favourable to Research where Conrad works, of all people. He had thought, so he says, that working inside of an archive again would feel like home for an anthropology major like him. Field work may be wonderful, he continues, but he loved working nose burrowed in books.

More quietly, he admits that he misses publishing. Misses reading into the late hours of the night, entranced by academic works filled with hypotheses and argumentation. Misses tweaking phrases and correcting spelling, omitting thoughts only worthy of footnotes to force papers into their linear trickle of thoughts. Misses communicating with people beyond horrifying experiences and lived nightmares.

“This really is an awful lot like Research,” Sasha agrees, still eying the chest just like he is. “Artefacts is much the same, really. Just with the additional splash of weariness of life.”

In as much confidence as they can find in an open room, too close to their colleagues, Tim says that the Magnus Institute is the worst academic facility he has ever seen. That if he has to see Sasha staple documents together one more time, he’s going to pull his hair out and quit.

“I don’t understand your problem,” Sasha replies dismissively. “What the hell is wrong with stapling. It’s fun!”

He stares at her incredulously. Then he tries to explain to her why stapling sensitive documents that they are supposed to keep safe and away from harm is most decidedly the opposite of their job description.

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

Pointing at his face, still on his knees in front of her which means that he has to strain his neck to be able to look at her, he asks if he’s even apt to overthink. And once again she tries to shove at him. This time, though, she succeeds but she doesn’t reckon him trying to hold on to her legs to keep himself steady and upright, which only leads to them falling into a heap on the floor.

Laughing and a bit out of breath, she shoves at him again, trying to free herself to get standing again.

When she manages to upright herself again, she says: “You should stop being quite as overdramatic.” He points at his face once more and mouths Who? Me? at her, feigning a look of innocence. “And you should call Artefacts, so they can come and collect their cursed chest or whatever.” Still pointing at himself, he mouths again Who? Me? This time, however, with fake indignation plastered over his face.

“Yes you, yes you, yes you,” Sasha singsongs, shoving at him for the last time, pressing him into the floor, before she finally gets up and starts to head for the door. “And because of your blatant neglect of your duties,” she’s gesturing towards the chest over her shoulder which, admittedly, looks rather silly, “and your implication– no, your malicious defamation of one Sasha James, I’m going to leave you to rummage through these boxes all on your own.”

She leaves the storage room, and he can hear the echo of her footsteps, while he loudly mourns her absence and begs for her to come back. The laughter, however, that rings out of the hallway, makes it absolutely clear that he has no choice but to suffer on his own.

(If he’s nice enough, and Tim’s confident that he is, then Martin may have mercy with him and join him on their combined quest to conquer the Archives.)

#the magnus archives #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #mikaele salesa #michael shelley #sasha james #fanfiction #schmok writes #missing scene #never posted this here #time to AHHH about tma finale

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