#also I have definitely used the snippet from 'yellow' before but I am actually in love with it so. oops.
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pepsi-maxwell · 2 years ago
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happy birthday to me!! premier league cmjf that is going NOWHERE. this is IT. just a snippet that will not be continued EVER
cut for length, sfw, ~870 words
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» Stop chatting shit about my pass rate, you talentless hack. Just because you're not on the field anymore and your jealous
Punk looks at his phone. Looks at the timestamp on the message; 1:06am, and the time on his phone, 5:52am, and then wonders how the fuck Friedman got his phone number to send him this directly.
He recites an internal mantra about professionalism, impartiality, and conducting himself well in any work done outside of the TV studio, and then ignores all of it in favour of composing a reply.
« Don't think I won't block you here as well as twitter. You're on a team, not a one-man show, and I know your coaches have told you about this
He hits send and almost immediately regrets it because the kid does have coaches to teach him this, and he isn’t one of them. His current job is to give post-match analysis on a fucking football highlights show, be a pundit playing off a couple others, not to have every word he says about City’s, admittedly, top centre-forward be dissected by the man himself.
The universal symbol of a furiously typed response appears, and Punk cuts him off with a quick message of his own.
« Go to sleep, Max
Hopes the use of his first name might actually encourage it, but instead, five minutes later, his phone vibrates.
» Fuck OFF, Takeshita wasn't in position to receive and we would of gifted it to Zayn if I passed it which I'm sure you would be THRILLED [1/2]
» about, you're biases for your old team are showing yet again you old dickhead!!! [2/2]
He presses his hand to his face, rubbing at his closed eyelids because he isn’t getting into an argument with City’s fastest rising star at arse-o’clock in the fucking morning, but apparently, he is.
…Well, if he’s going to get into it, he can at least do it caffeinated.
He pushes himself out of bed, tests his weight on his bad knee, the same way he does every morning. Larry stirs, hopping off the bed, probably in hopes of a walk, and Punk looks out of the window at the sheets of rain pouring from a sky that would be slate-grey if the sun were up. Thinks, maybe not this morning, bud.
He makes for the kitchen. Scoops out some ground coffee, tamps it down in the portafilter before mounting it in the machine, checking the water in the back, and pressing the button.
By the time he’s done all that there are another 3 texts in his inbox.
» Just because you were one of the greats before your decrepid body have out on you, don't think you know how the game has evolved in the last [1/3]
» seven years, I'm the past present and future of this fucking sport I don't need to pass you daft twat I just need to score goals and I've [2/3]
» scored more than you in less games, more goals + more possession + less games means I am BETTER THAN YOU. [3/3]
Punk rolls his eyes. It’s a good thing he’s a quality player. If it weren’t for his nightmarish attitude at times, he could be truly great.
Punk thinks he’d have done well in the game back in the nineties. A throwback to the old days of booting the ball down the field, rather than the more technical back and forth of the modern game.
The lax attitude to rules and on-pitch violence wouldn’t hurt, either.
« Record for number of yellow cards in a season too. Maybe you should try harder to not have your gorgeous fouls observed
He hits send and immediately realises his autocorrect mistake.
« Horrendous**. You could have shattered Garcia's knee, it was a disgusting tackle, and I see you didn't comment on me saying that on motd
Too late.
» "Gorgeous" lmao your such a fucking creep. Bet you get off on watching your own old tackles you freak
Another eye roll. This conversation is going nowhere, and as much as he wants to insinuate that Friedman has definitely got off watching Punk’s old matches, because he’s also seen those interviews, Punk’s poster on his wall, favourite player growing up and all that, those aren’t the sort of messages he wants to have to answer to on his next Match of the Day appearance. These are damning enough as they are.
« Stopping this here. Go to sleep.
He gets a 🖕 in response, but nothing else. Breathes a sigh of relief. Grabs his coffee and sits down at the kitchen counter, sipping at it, watching the rain belt at the patio doors.
His phone vibrates again on the table and he thinks, what now, before he sees it’s an email this time, and his heart jumps in his chest.
Skim-reads the whole thing, and then reads it again, in detail.
We look forward to you joining the team.
As a coach.
For Manchester City.
He isn’t thinking about Friedman. He isn’t thinking about Friedman at all, and he certainly isn’t thinking of the lessons he can teach him on actually being part of a team.
Isn’t thinking of having to deal with the little shit in person on a daily basis.
... it definitely beats Match of the Day, though.
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novantinuum · 1 year ago
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Finger painting, cricut, film?
Ohohoh the first one is going to be interesting indeed... *eye emoji as I look at this list...*
Thank you so much for sending one in, fren! :D
Writer/OC ask meme source
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Finger Painting- Share a small snippet from your earliest work (or the earliest that you can get back to). How would you rewrite it today? Either share the rewrite itself or just describe how you’d do it.
Hmm... so, I'm only going to go back to my earliest Gravity Falls story, because to go any earlier would be to lose my sanity. Let's look at "Stanford in the Looking Glass."
Interestingly enough, I already AM re-imagining this fic! It's a series of thematically interconnected one-shots about Ford and his reflection throughout his life. I'm definitely not finished with this re-write yet, not enough to start posting what I have in full, but I can definitely share a small snippet.
Original, written in 2016:
When Stanford Pines returned home from school that day, his father was miraculously nowhere to be seen. "He just left for a- a breath of fresh air," his mother said when he asked about it, and that was that. Didn't even bother to shed a single glance at him. Her eyes were glued to the pages of her book instead. She’s trying to distract herself, he realized. It hurt, but he was used to it. "...Oh." He wasn't entirely sure what else he expected. Suddenly feeling much smaller than he really was, the young boy shoved his scuffed hands into his overall pockets─ too-narrow pockets, which were definitely not made to hide more than five fingers─ and timidly shuffled away.
Re-written in 2023:
When Stanford Pines returns home from school that day, Dad is miraculously nowhere to be seen. "Your father?” his mother says when he inquires about it. “He just left, for uh- a breath of fresh air.” And that’s that. Not a single word more. She doesn’t even bother to spare an empty glance at him, her focus too caught up within the crinkled, yellowing pages of her latest novel. (He flipped through some of her books once, out of idle curiosity. Her tastes aren’t anything to his interests. All she ever reads about is boring historical romances, where the men sweep the women off their feet and everyone lives happily ever after.) "...Oh,” he mutters, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s not entirely sure what else he expected, asking this question. Still, Ma’s scattered lack of attention stings more than she probably realizes. Circumstances suddenly making him feel much smaller than he really is, the young boy shoves his scuffed hands into his overall pockets─ too-narrow pockets, which were definitely not made with more than the typical number of fingers in mind─ and timidly shuffles away.
Cricut- Are there any characters you’ve had to “cut” from a story? Are there any moments/chapters/stories you’ve had to “cut” entirely?
So, I've cut moments from my stories- like, a few paragraphs at most- but I don't think I've ever had to resort to fully chopping a chapter, let alone a character. Mostly that's just because I write 100% for hobby, and am not looking to make this feel like a job. I like trying to ensure my work is as decent quality as I can muster, but also... there's a limit to how fervently I'm going to edit before I throw something online. I don't want to stifle my creative spirit by starting to give myself rules, y'know?
That being said, I keep all of my cut scenes just in case I ever wish to go back and recycle any metaphors or phrasing from them. I think one of the largest scenes I've ever cut was from an early chapter of The Ballad of Aryll. The moment just wasn't working, and I ended up having to approach it from an entirely different angle before I was satisfied with the direction. It was actually a kinda rare moment for me, usually I'm able to wrestle with my words until they slot into place, but that time I had to physically delete around 700 words before I could continue.
Film- Which one of your fics do you think would work best if turned into a movie? Who would direct it?
Oh god... Uhhh... does picking a storyboarder team work? I can think of one SU fic I'd love to see as a boarded storyline, and that's my four chapter misadventure "Contact," in which Steven accidentally cracks his gem on a mission and his family has to reckon with the genuine possibility of his death before finally sourcing the cure for it at Rose's fountain.
In the 100% hypothetical universe where this happened, I think this story would translate to an animation best with the talents of SU storyboarders Raven and Paul IMO, because I feel like their style always provides really good, exaggerated expressions at wham moments- perfect for providing contrast between the mundane and the delicate, and then the distressed, painful moments of this story.
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Find the Word Tag Game
(Double Feature/ROY G BIV Game)
tagged by: @sylvar-writes-fantasy & @druidx!! my words: hunt, freedom, trust, hate, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet tagging: @sleepyowlwrites, @drabbleitout, @drippingmoon, @ashen-crest, @zmwrites, @athenswrites, anyone who wants to, and the Sims 2 for being, arguably, the superior Sims game. your words: danger, dry, dive, dare, drive, dust AND/OR ROY G BIV
hunt search (Rebirth)—
"You good?"
[Warren] glanced at the man helping himself to the chair across the table and nodded. "Yeah, I’m..." He did a double-take.
He almost didn't recognize him—he wore smoky kohl blended into a rainbow of neon eyeshadow that amplified the clear blue of his eyes, and the three rows of tight braids on each side of his head. The rest of his sable hair had been teased into a pretty bouffant mohawk, and he had a scar that looked to have been old yet never fully healed, shaped like an upside-down triangle on his right temple.
The man was definitely Guetry Sympa. It was hard to miss the same mischievous air around his calm expression that existed in his dossier photo.
Those clear blue eyes looked a bit shifty as he settled into the chair and searched the surrounding atrium crowd for something. He placed his hands on his crossed legs with elegance he otherwise did not possess. His nails were, surprisingly, chewed down to the quick. "You look like you're about to pass out."
Warren noted the silver cigarette perched between two of Guetry's fingers and the long black coat with a high collar that made him look like a hitman from a movie. "I'll be fine."
freedom (Rebirth)—
"They're impressed," Thrive said, moving to the comm. "Camps all over Voka are following the lead of the Ogsh Mines, rioting and reclaiming their rightful territory and their freedom."
"Those two graha are still in the engine room," Alec said. "Where are we taking them?"
"I've actually just gotten off a call with the sanctuary a few moments ago."
"Heredes," Varussa said. "One of ours."
"I have visited before," Osillo mused. "Full of beauty and serenity the graha normally would not understand."
Thrive allowed himself a quick and curious silence. "They will now."
trust (Meridian)—
Warren glanced up from the floor of Thrive's Leviathan office, tablet laid out on his lap with his comm device in hand, tilting the screens away from the door. He'd been scheduling and taking notes for Thrive's percolating rebellion, and they wanted to keep track of who they could trust out of their friends and contacts so they could know who would be on their side.
Atoa didn't even notice the devices. He bowed low at the door. "You've received a call from the Consortium."
Warren rolled his eyes.
"What did they want?" Thrive asked from the desk.
"Veneve's star is showing signs of an impending supernova, sir."
Thrive moved around to Warren's line of sight. "...That would be infinitely worse than what's happened to Efthim."
"What? Why?" Warren looked at him, instantly realizing why. "Oh, shit...Veneve Ten."
"Should that star die," Thrive explained anyway, "it will destroy Veneve Ten, which could spread its radiation throughout a large portion of the galaxy."
hate (Rebirth)—
"Fuckin' ouch," Guetry said lightly. He visibly steeled himself as Alec barrelled through the crowd to grab him in a tight hug. "Girl, my ribs…!"
"Stupid bitch," she cried. "I hate you so much."
Guetry nodded into her shoulder. His eyes reddened and Warren could see the strength he mustered to keep his lip from quivering. "Yeah, I know."
She held on for a while before wiping a tear from her own cheek and pulling back. She booped him on the nose. "I'll keep your beat guitar warm for you."
Guetry inhaled deeply. "Thanks."
Alec sank back into the group and Guetry turned to Warren, who didn't realize until then that he was biting his cheek hard to avoid an overshow of emotions.
"I love you, Cougar. Since day one."
Warren snorted. "You're so gross." He sniffed heartily. "...But I love you too, man."
red (Aurora)—
Warren glanced around at everyone, and then at the nebula. At its crimson gaseous clouds. So red...so angry...and it crawled up the back of his neck like a spider. The sheer magnitude of the nebula, the arrogance of Torris being a rogue planet, the nerve of the Emmuli to think the universe belonged to it. The nerve of an entity dominating life to such a degree. How utterly fucking dare it.
He'd lost everything. He'd lost everything.
A black mist gathered from a shadow in the corner of the room and Warren snatched the rifle from Emnophene's hands, unloading the clip into the vaguely bipedal form until it disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
"Fuck you!" He shouted in the ensuing silence.
Guetry turned a pair of exasperated eyes onto the viewscreen and sighed. "Uh-oh."
A fist of smoke bashed into the window, grinding the ship to a halt and throwing everyone off their feet. The twins regained their stability first and threw shields at the Emmuli, who knocked them aside and barreled like a comet directly at Warren. He aimed the rifle and fired, kept firing until the smoke parted and funneled around the bridge into humanoid shapes launching into individual attacks on everyone else.
orange (Rebirth)—
Something around Thrive's hands caught [Warren’s] eye. A faint orange mist, barely noticeable, diffuse and wispy, swirled around them, between his fingers, caressing his knuckles. Thrive didn't seem to notice.
Hondris gasped, as if it only then fully sunk in. "———…"
"I lost them ten minutes ago," Gouna muttered from the steps. "I...I did everything I could."
"Right," Thrive said. He sounded far away, numb. "...We'll...have to put together a rite, I'll...have to send them to the Sky…"
Warren reached out and touched Thrive's arm though he was numb as well. "Turn it off for a second."
Thrive's face twisted but he remained rigid otherwise, not allowing anything else to break through his outward emotional barrier.
yellow (Eternal)—
Muffled vibrations shook the Laiori R'si as the eliyi dreadnought opened fire, and Thrive did little else but level the Headmaster with an intense stare even as a low red strobe bathed the bridge in an eerie light, indicating his own vessel was under attack. 
It was almost hypnotic; Thrive's natural form staring the Headmaster down as if he could reach into their brain from where he stood, and Warren wondered for a moment if that wasn't what he was trying to do.
More blasts of unfortunately familiar yellow energy went off against the outside of the viewscreen, deflected by a shimmering barrier protecting them. Thrive shifted his focus to the dreadnought just past the image of the eliyi spitting in their attempt to scream him into submission, and he remained the picture of calm.
green (Eternal)—
"You better eat all of this, because it's going to be impossible to feed you again for another several hours," [Guetry] said. "I was almost caught trying to bring you food once already."
"This is so stupid," Warren grunted, pulling himself to a sitting position and gratefully taking the plate. He took a bite—greens, potatoes, and something like beef, but slightly off, not quite from Earth. It still tasted amazing and Warren shoveled down as much as he could within the pause between his thoughts. "If you asked me five years before ——— if I'd ever love someone enough to stowaway on a starship for them, I'd have a direct line to the fucking police before you even finished talking."
"I know," Guetry said, already halfway to the door. "And I'm sorry. This is a mess to begin with. But it'll go by fast, I promise."
Warren rolled his eyes but said nothing else.
Mercury brought him his second and last meal before they arrived at the Ingress Gate, and Mercury informed him that they were ten hours away, which brought a deep relief to Warren he hadn't felt in a long time. At least one thing was reliable; Thrive, ever the workaholic, didn't come into their quarters once.
Except for when he did.
blue (Aurora)—
"Why would I be just as big a threat to the Emmuli…" Warren paused, mid-gesture, and his stomach lurched. "...Is this because of why I'm the Most Important Human Alive?"
"Yes."
"Wait," Warren said instantly. "Wait. I've waited ——— for this. Make the reveal as dramatic as possible."
The lights in the room shut down and a spotlight beamed on him and Thrive, a sea blue rising from under the floor. Warren heard Sussa and Guetry shifting around somewhere behind them.
"I really didn't think that would work," Warren said. More seriously, now, he turned to Thrive. "You know, don't you?"
"I have my suspicions."
"I want you to tell me."
Thrive's eyes sparkled under the harsh spotlight with a hint of cheekiness. "With the caveat that I'll be corrected if I'm wrong."
indigo (Aurora)—
"Did I miss it?"
"Yes," Gouna said, barely acknowledging Warren jogging into the lab. His nose was buried in a tablet, the other hand tapping away at the nearest console to the gestation tank, which still had the metal casing around it keeping it protected from the light. "You've just missed their entu'borah."
"Ooh," Corin piped up from his place hidden behind the tank. "We've got sarcasm today."
Thrive—also hidden behind the tank—stepped into view and, with Corin's help, removed the latches locking the casing in place. "That's extremely humorous coming from you," he grunted as the latches popped apart.
Gouna hooked his fingers into a slot in the side of the casing and pulled it off the tank, revealing the somewhat cloudy amniotic fluid and saturated indigo embryo floating inside, twitching at the sudden exposure to light.
Warren took a step closer, peering inside the tank with wide eyes. "Whoa…"
violet (Meridian)—
"Okay, this is it." Warren sat in a chair across from the chassis. "Harmony's got the code queued up and ready to send to the body."
She nodded at the computer. "Sending now."
The chassis hunched over, as if losing the strength to hold itself up, and the head twitched mechanically from one side to another, but then it went still.
Thrive moved closer to the hunched form, glancing in Harmony's direction. He waited for a couple of digital ticks, inching his fingers somewhat involuntarily toward the figure's shoulder. He inhaled as if prepared to speak, but he said nothing.
Warren thinned his eyes, unsure if he could take the anticipation much longer. His own words died in his throat upon the figure's head angling up and staring directly at Thrive.
Copper eyes blinked and neon violet swelled within the irises, swallowed by a hazy glow. They blinked again, cold, emotionless—settling on a more natural tint of purple, if that could be believed—and snapped to Warren.
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brewing-radianite · 3 years ago
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I just discovered you and i think im in love please bless us with more brim/sage/viper content m’lady.(i thought i was the only one who shipped this before i found you)
firstly, anon, you keep talking to me like that and i might start blushing... i might even kiss you 😳
secondly, i'm so glad you like the ship! i know sage/viper is like... decently popular? mid-popular fandom wise? like it isnt as big as say, reyge or nanobomb, but people have heard of it. brim/viper was actually introduced to me by @/ninadrawsstuff and @/silver-s-blog. sooo then my brain was like, "well, if you like sage/viper and you like brim/viper, and you already see sage and brim as the parents of the protocol, it only makes sense to put them together!" and thus, my first ot3 of valorant began. i dont have an official name or clever title for them; i just refer to them as the Tired Parent Trio. (if you have any better suggestions, by all means, feel free to use them though!)
more under the tag
in terms of content, this is like, genuinely one of my favorite and most consistent ships. each character is so interesting to me individually and their dynamics are awesome. i have a few more brim/sage/viper wips in my google docs (coincidentally, i was just working on one last night)!
i had thought about doing something multi-chaptered about them first falling in love or smth but idk. you should make content for yourself but the ship isnt popular and i also dont want to write like 20k+ words for like, maybe 5 people to end up liking it at most. maybe after i wrap up the current multi-chapter ones i have with the exception of my latest work, i may just. it's a ship brain rot and if i want content for a rarepair (raretrio?) i have to take matters into my own hands! and i definitely want to see more of them.
my only current ot3 work is, "Setting the Guidelines," which highlights their relationship and clashes with the, "no fraternization," rule. i am working on the 2nd chapter now. it was meant to be finished a month ago, but time got away from me and then i caught writer's block on it. i had over 2k words written for the 2nd chapter but it just... didn't feel right. i wasnt vibing with it. im doing it from scratch rn and hopefully making it smth better. here's a snippet of what i plan on using for its summary/teaser/advertising excerpt though:
"Haven has a unique beauty to it, all things considered.
Lush, lively green grass to crunch underneath the soles of boots and sneakers, ever-blooming branches of vibrant blossoms and leaves dangling overhead like mistletoe. Even with the abandoned, time-worn, and war-worn buildings set before backdrops of sizzling flames, peppery black smoke, and towering radianite that’d caused all this damage to begin with, nature still flourishes. Never stops for anyone. In a way, it was calming to see that no matter the damage men cause, the world will still keep breathing one way or another. 
Between the plants, buildings of crumbling debris and forgotten graffitis plastered on the walls sat still. Muted pinks and purples, silenced yellows, sullen blues from where an artist who had once seen a vision was forced to leave it all behind. They had soul, but no life anymore. Where the crisp air would refresh the mind and body at a time like this, only the tainted smell of smoke burns in the lungs and elicits a small, searing cough from the chest. Fallen specks of stone and cinder are crushed beneath their shoes as the team traverses onto each site; two on A, one on B, two on C, just as they’d planned. Just as they’d recited, and written, and marked up on the board in the debrief. Just as Brimstone had reminded them over their earpieces once they’d arrived and began to disperse into their established places. Things were easy when kept to simple plans, down to a T. 
They weren’t so easy anymore when plans went wrong.
 Brimstone hadn’t accounted for how much room he left for things to go wrong."
and i shall leave you with that! thank you for your ask and thank you for your hype for this ship! if you ever want like headcanons or smth on them, i'd be happy to provide those as well :)
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merry-thieves · 4 years ago
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Possible meanings of Chain of Iron snippets
Yes, this is going to be a long post. 
I didn’t put all teasers here only those where I could actually come up with something.
Alastair looked amused. “Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world.”
So, Alastair is definitely speaking to one of the Merry Thieves
probably James, since Al and Matthew aren’t on the best terms and conversations between Thomas and Al would go in another direction (either fighting or with way more feelings)
it seems like James and Alastair are on quite good terms here if Alastair isn’t snappish and shows his true (happy) emotions
Anna was fortress-surrounded by her friends: tall, handsome Thomas; Christopher, who shared his sister’s stern delicacy of feature, peacock Matthew, who always looked as if he’d just rolled out of an unmade bed piled with silks and velvet. And Eugenia Lightwood, who hadn’t bothered to take off her canary-yellow gloves or hat, as if she were ready to run out the door any moment.
They all eyed Ariadne suspiciously as she approached Anna. Anna didn’t seem to see her at all; she was leaning back with one booted foot braced on the wall behind her. She was all lean black and white lines, her close-fitting jacket following the outline of her slim curves, her head thrown back as she laughed. Her ruby pendant glimmered in the hollow of her throat.
Keep your head up, Ariadne, she told herself. You can do this.
“Hello, Anna,” Ariadne said.
First of all, Eugenia is in this group which is interesting regarding the main characters in Chain of Iron
Is Eugenia part of the main group? Has she an important role to play? (we are supposed to find out the reason why she is disgraced)
We have Ariadne’s pov here, so she might play a big role too in Choi, at least we will have more of her and Anna’s relationship
Also, she calls Matthew “peacock” which is so accurate and funny!
Alastair’s gaze flicked to Matthew. “Why,” he said, “are you not even wearing a hat?”
“And cover up this hair?” Matthew indicated his golden locks with a flourish. “Would you blot out the sun?”
Okay, Matthew and Alastair aren’t brawling which is a good sign
Also, where are they? There has to be a good reason if both of them are attending and standing next to each other
I’m guessing they’re outside since they’re supposed to wear hats 
The brave princess Lucretia raced through the marble halls of the palace. "I must find Cordelia," she gasped. "I must save her."
"I believe the Prince holds her even now, captive in his throne room!" Sir Jerrod exclaimed. "But Princess Lucretia, even though you are the most beautiful and wise lady that I have ever met, surely you cannot fight your way through a hundred of his stoutest palace guard!" The knight’s green eyes flashed. His straight black hair was disarranged, and his white shirt was entirely undone.
"But I must!" Lucretia cried.
So, the main thing I want to point out here is that Lucie is crushing so hard on Jesse!
and does she picture him with an open shirt or am I reading too much into this?
James spoke at last, and there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.”
Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he think —“
Soooo, James and Alastair are friendly now? (please, please, please)
And who does Alastair have to give time? Matthew or more likely Thomas?
Also, James is one eloquent babe
“I know that you’ve been doing something — something you’re keeping secret. I’m not angry,” Cordelia hastened to add. “I  just wish you’d tell me what it is.”
Lucie tried to cover her surprise.
it was about time that those two speak about all their secrets! They want to become Parabatai for Raziel’s sake!
but I have the sneaking suspicion that Lucie is going to deflect the question or is going to make something up to avoid telling the truth
(please let me be wrong)
“Alastair! Cordelia!” A familiar voice bellowed up from downstairs.
Sona went white and laid a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Elias?”
I’m not sure about you guys but going white and bracing oneself against a wall doesn’t seem like someone is happy
So, I guess Sona isn’t really happy that Elias is back
is there another reason besides the drinking why she isn’t
and is Elias mad at his children? I mean he is bellowing
also why is Elias mad at all? All his charges were dropped and he is a free man once more
Cordelia shivered a little, though it was not cold in the room. “There is something weighing on you, Matthew,” she said gently. “A secret. Will you tell me what it is?”
She saw his hand go to his breast pocket, where he often kept his flask. Then he lowered it stiffly to his side and took a deep breath. “You do not know what you are asking.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “I am asking for the truth. Your truth. You know mine, and I do not even know what makes you so unhappy.”
Cordelia told Matthew everything about her father and maybe about her feelings for James
if we’re lucky Matthew tells Cordelia about the poisoning and someone can finally help him (I think CC said that Matthew would tell Cordelia everything in Chain of Iron, hopefully that’s true)
also, Matthew doesn’t want to drink after Cordelia told him the story about her father
Matthew also found out why Alastair had been so mean in school and that Matthew can't really partially blame him for what happened with Charlotte
Jesse glanced out the window. They were passing through Piccadilly Circus, nearly deserted at such a late hour. The statue of Eros in the center was lightly dusted with snow; a lone tramp slept upon the steps below it. “Don’t have too much hope, Lucie. Sometimes hope is dangerous.”
“Have you said that to Grace?”
Jesse shook his head. “She won’t listen.”
is there a possibility that Lucie won’t try to raise Jesse from the dead and instead tries to stop Grace from doing so? (the parallels between this and qoaad are uncanny)
I don’t think that there is anything that will stop grace from trying to perform necromancy other than force
“I’ve been trying to hate you,” Thomas said quietly, “for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”
Alastair’s dark eyes glittered. “It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your father, too. You know it. So you don’t have to—to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”
he is calling him Thomas!!! Ahhhh! (so they’re probably alone)
Thomas doesn’t really hate Alastair at this point but also hasn’t fully forgiven him
at least he hasn’t thrown Alastair into the themes 
maybe Thomas is trying to suppress the fact that Alastair also wronged Thomas’s own family and it’s easier for him to direct his attention to Matthew’s family?
His golden eyes were fixed on her, fierce as a hawk’s gaze. She said, "It doesn’t matter what I said. I wanted them to leave you alone —"
"I don’t believe you," he said. She could feel the slight tremors running through his body — tremors of stress, that meant he was holding himself very still. Holding himself back. "You don’t say things you don’t mean, Daisy —"
Okay now, what did she say? I’m guessing something quite flattering or that she loved him maybe?
also, who didn’t want to leave James alone? Some bigoted Enclave members?
is James trying to fight against the bracelet’s spell? Or is he breaking Cordelia’s heart yet again?
James closed his eyes. Against the back of his eyelids, he could see the city take shape—the minarets flung darkly against a blue sky, the silver river. Cordelia’s voice, low and familiar, rose above the clamor of his nightmare. He followed it out of the darkness, like Theseus following the length of thread out of the Minotaur’s labyrinth. And it was not the first time. Her voice had lifted him out of fever, once, had been his light in shadows. . . . A sharp pain spiked through his temples. He blinked his eyes open: he was firmly back in the present, his friends all looking at him worriedly. Cordelia had already moved away from him, leaving behind the lingering scent of jasmine. He could still feel where her fingers had rested against his shoulder.
JORDELIA! (Sorry; I just had to get that out)
What city is this? One in a demon dimension?
And does James have some kind of visions now? Interesting...
I love the connection between James and Cordelia
Apparently, the gracelet is trying to suppress James's feelings and memories of Cordelia...but please tell me he notices here that he is in love with her?
Also, Cordelia is trying to stay away from James :(
Hands caught his wrists; he was hauled up roughly, an arm around his back. he smelled brandy and cologne.
“Matthew,” he said, in a dry voice. “James needs water,” Christopher said. “Do we have any water?” “Never touch the stuff,” said Matthew, settling James onto the long sofa. He sat down next to him, staring so intently into James’s face that, despite everything, James had to stifle a laugh. “I’m fine, Matthew,” said James. “Also, I don’t know what you expect to discover by looking into my eyeball.”
Okay WHAT IS UP with James in the latest snippets?!? I NEED answers!
Is James follwing in his father's footsteps? Regarding drugs you know...
Also, Matthew has a tendency to stare into Jame's face (not that I blame him)
Christopher!
Okay, I'm devestated that James knows it's Matthew because he smells of alcohol. I'm NOT okay!
Also, what kind of stuff is this?
“You should have told us,” said Thomas. “We would have helped you move your things. I’m exceptionally good at carrying large objects.” “And think of all those hairbrushes you would have had to relocate,” Lucie said. “Haven’t you got six or seven?” Matthew glowered at her affectionately. “I try to be at least as stylish as our local ghosts.”
I think it's clear that Matthew just moved and didn't tell any of his friends of his plans...Why Matthew, why?
Also, Thomas and Lucie are just so wholesome how they try to brighten the situation with their comments
Sooooo, is Thomas also good at carrying people *cough*Alastair*cough*, just asking...?
How many Hairbrushes does one need? Seriously, what kind of purpose do seven hairbrushes serve?
Don't worry Matthew, only Magnus can beat your stylishness
That’s all for now! Should I add anything else in your opinion?
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childrenofthenightt · 4 years ago
Text
only the black rose (chapter 4)
pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)
warnings: bordering on nsfw, a little fluff, and yet another pretentious description of a zep song :)
words: 3.9k
summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.
author’s note: i blushed countless times writing this chapter. also things are heating up folks!!! not beta’d as always! hope you enjoy!
masterlist
playlist
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
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The dressing room of the Rotterdam Ahoy was certainly not a palace of luxury, with its plush navy couches and line of chairs pushed against the wall, next to a long folding table packed tight with refreshments. A full-length mirror sits in the corner, casting refractions of faint yellow light onto the off-white brick walls. John Bonham lounges on the loveseat, drumming out an intricate rhythm on his knees, brown eyes far away as he stares off into the distance. John Paul Jones perches on the chair nearest to the door, strumming a tune reminiscent of rockabilly on a beautiful mandolin, nodding his head to keep the beat.
Looking up, Jonesy spots Jimmy across from him, occupying the couch next to Bonzo. Jimmy is tuning up his acoustic guitar, no doubt the precious gift he had received just days before. Every so often, Jimmy would pause in his focused tuning to shift in his seat with a wince, stretching out, before finally resuming.
“You okay, Pagey?”
“...Hm?” Jimmy grunts out, concentration stolen completely by the beautiful guitar in his hands. Heavenly notes swirling around the small room, mixing seamlessly with the sharp harmonies of the mandolin. Jimmy did always preach about unity, after all.
“Are you okay? You keep wincing, and you’ve shifted in your seat about 20 times in the past two minutes.”
“My back is a little sore, I must have slept in an odd position. Nothing serious.” This is punctuated by a crackle as Jimmy stretches once more.
“Well, you did have a nice pillow though, didn’t you?”
“Jonesy—”
“I hope you know that Robert has pictures, Jim.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope,” Bonzo chuckles, popping the P, and smirking at the man across from him, who has finally stopped plucking the strings of the guitar. Jimmy wrings his hands together, stopping only to thumb at his nose. “No need to be nervous, Page. I’m sure he’ll only show a couple of them at the wedding, which reminds me. We need to know her ring preferences. Stones are important to girls, or something.”
“He took more than one? Wait… Rings? We’re not… I’ve known her for like, 5 days! Marriage? She doesn’t even like me like—”
“Who’s getting married?” Layla questions, voice floating through the open door as she walks in, arm in arm with Robert, who is sporting a cheshire grin. The blond sends a subtle wink at Jimmy, strolling further into the room.
“Layla, quick question.”
“Oh no. Should I be scared?”
“Only a little bit.” Jonesy cuts in, chuckling at the helpless look on Jimmy’s face.
“Bonzo, I-I really don’t think—”
“Pagey, shush,” Bonzo interrupts the guitarist, who splutters, dumbfounded at the exchange taking place. He moves to stop Bonzo from speaking, but Bonzo shoves him back onto the couch behind him, Jimmy landing with a huff. “Now, birdie… What is your favourite gemstone?”
“Garnet. Do I want to know what this is about?”
“Probably not.”
“Great. Well, as fun as this has been, I’ve got to go find Peter, he wanted to talk to me about something,” Layla drawls, a smile just evident in the slight curl of her lips, painted a pretty pink in the artificial light of the room. She catches Jimmy staring her way, and her smile grows wider, taking in the stunned expression on his features.  “I just thought it would be a good idea to rescue Robert from the horde of groupies that had him surrounded first.”
“Very smart. It would be rather hard to play without our frontman. Unless… Bonzo, how quickly can we get Coverdale in here?”
“Jonesy, I’m hurt. You know my voice is better than his.”
“Every single day, I am astounded at how humble you are, Robert. Truly brings a tear to my eye.” Layla laughs, turning towards the door, when a soft voice pipes up from behind her, paired with the sound of footsteps, muffled by the carpet under their feet.
“Mind if I join you, petal?”
A soft smile graces the woman’s lips at the sound of Jimmy’s dulcet voice, and she turns around to face him. Gazing up at him almost shyly, she nods, and they walk out together, Jimmy’s arm comforting around the woman’s shoulders. As they exit the dressing room, Robert pokes his head out, a mischievous smile growing slowly.
“Use protection, you two. Can’t have any little Page-Porters running around the venue.” Before the duo could retort, Robert retreats into the dressing room once more, his golden curls and the sound of his cackle following. Embarrassment colouring his face, Jimmy releases his hold on Layla, but is stopped by a hand at his wrist. Forest green and golden brown meet once more as she nods lightly. Jimmy, confident that Layla is comfortable with his touch, wraps his arm around her shoulders once more, as they walk through the venue in search of Peter Grant.
“For a man of his stature, I hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to find him.” Jimmy laughs, which causes Layla to look at the man. His laugh may just be one of her favourite sounds, she thinks. Jimmy, sensing Layla’s eyes on him, looks down at the woman, whose head dips shyly, so different from the sassy exterior she lets people see. He lets his gaze linger, taking in the unruly chestnut ringlets that frame her tanned face perfectly. Her brown eyes hold unimaginable depths, and he is frightened by how often he gets lost in them. Her lips, the colour of lovely flowers in the bright morning light, are bitten cherry red out of nerves. Layla looks up at him then, and instead of shying away, this time he holds her gaze.
“Jim, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course petal. Ask away.”
“I’m just… a little curious,” Layla says, smiling as she stares right back, biting her lip for an entirely different reason now. “Why exactly do you call me petal?”
“Because I can make you blush the colour of a rose in bloom.”
“...That was so cheesy. I hope you know that, Jimmy,” Layla says, a giddy laugh bubbling out past her lips. “You know, I need a nickname for you now, so we’re even.”
“Oh, is that right, petal?”
“It is, actually. How about… angel? I mean, just look at that face.”
Jimmy’s breath hitches, audible even through the bustle of pre-show preparations. His free hand moves up to scratch at his neck once more, a nervous tick, of which he has many, that Layla is now accustomed to. Recovering quickly, Jimmy smirks, eyes glinting mischievously.
“Actually, petal, I think I might be a devil in disguise, but that’s something for you to figure out.”
“Right, because a devil would definitely check up on me, and help me when I was drunk out of my mind, and make me morning coffee exactly the way I like it.”
Knowing he’s been beat, Jimmy’s gaze falls to his feet, suddenly very interested in a particularly deep scuff mark. Layla chances a look at the man, and smiles softly at his reaction. Stepping in front of him, she puts a hand to his shoulder, wiping off imaginary dust from his shirt. His eyes follow her fingers, which finally land on his chin, lifting his head to face her. Layla moves in closer, tucking the hair falling into his face behind his ear.
“I appreciate your help trying to find Peter, but you have a show to get ready for, don’t you, angel?”
“I—”
He is interrupted by the whisper of soft lips brushing his cheek, and the fading scent of the woman’s perfume as she slips past him.
“Damn, she’s good…”
----------
Maneuvering through the maze-like hallways of the arena, Layla finally spots Peter, who is in deep conversation with a stage-hand, back turned to her. Moving closer, she can hear snippets of conversation detailing stage lights and lasers, and she wonders just what she had gotten into. Peter, hearing the padding of Layla’s footsteps approaching, finally turns around, grinning the moment he sees her.
“Layla! I’d like to speak with you for a moment, if that’s okay?”
“Of course, Peter! In fact, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Layla exclaims, falling into step with Peter as they trek through the long hallways once more. “You had said you wanted to talk to me earlier?”
“Right, yes. You had expressed interest in helping out in the wings during the tour,”  Peter says, leading the woman with a paternal hand at the small of her back, ensuring she doesn't get lost once again. “But I was wondering if you had wanted to maybe experience this show in the audience? I only ask, because the experience is much different from the crowd, and I wouldn’t want you to miss out.”
“I would love to, Peter, but if you do need help…”
“Go have fun, dear. A front-row view at a Led Zeppelin show doesn’t come very often, after all.”
“Thank you so much, Peter!”
“It’s my pleasure, Layla. Now, we’ll be on in about 30 minutes, so we better get you to your seats sooner rather than later.”
Peter riffles through the pockets of his blazer and produces a rectangular piece of paper, no doubt the tickets themselves. Layla is led to an usher, and Peter, with a wink and a smile, turns on his heel, walking away, no doubt to check on his boys. The usher leads her onto the floor, right in front of the stage. Layla thanks them, a gleaming smile making her glow.
The venue is already packed to the brim, and with a glance behind her, Layla spots an ocean of faces, eyes glued to the stage in anticipation. At the sight of this, Layla can’t help but reciprocate these feelings.
“Hell,” Layla mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly. “I’ve seen them play in the studio… How much better could it get than that?”
In the relative darkness of the large room, she can see shadows moving out from the stage wings, the hollers of the crowd growing deafening.
Here we go.
A booming voice erupts out from the speakers scattered around the stage.  Layla can’t help but join in, letting out some cheers of her own, wide smile nearly splitting her cheeks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Led Zeppelin!”
A soft click cuts through the sea of white noise like a knife, and the stage is illuminated by a giant sign reading, ‘Led Zeppelin’ in bold, lit letters, which ignites the flame of excitement once more. A smug look passes between them and the band starts to play, catching the audience off guard. Bonzo’s sharp drumming serves as a count-in for Jimmy and Jonesy, their combined excellence creating a solid wall of pure sound, only penetrated by Robert’s masterful wails. Jimmy, gleaming in a suit accented with shining panels of silver, looks absolutely decadent, enraptured by the music he is playing. The chorus sounds, echoing slightly, across the great sea of faces, who are relentless in their fiery adrenaline. Robert glides across the stage, singing as if the crowd were snakes and he was a charmer, entrancing them with his stage presence and golden voice.
“It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely... time.”
Finally, the last notes fizzle out, Jimmy improvising a run under the blanket of unity courtesy of the rhythm section, and the crowd’s screams grow thunderous, a reward for the incredible first song. This trend remained throughout the entirety of the concert, every song fueling the fire.
Layla is completely in awe, eyes blinking rapidly in hopes of comprehending exactly what she had just witnessed. She had known exactly how talented every one of them was, she had seen it just days ago when they had played in the studio, but what she hadn't anticipated, was just how much the stage lights and the crowd brought them to life. They looked holy, faces painted with pure concentration and confidence. Throughout the show, she couldn't help but hang on to Jimmy’s every move. Up there on stage, bliss apparent in the uptick of his rosy lips and eyes full of ecstasy, he was hypnotising, beautiful strong fingers tickling the fretboard in hopes of squeezing ethereal notes from it. The woman wonders what it would be like; for the guitarist to touch her like that. To make her whimper like the guitar he manipulates every night. She wonders what it would be like to touch unmarked, alabaster skin, to bury her fingers in jet black hair as perfect, pink lips rock her world. The touch of callused fingers making her skin tingle and hum and burn in euphoria.
“Layla, you’re going to start bleeding if you keep biting your lip like that. Are you alright, my dear?”
Looking up abruptly, Layla is met by the whiskered face of Peter Grant, smiling softly as he looks down at her. She shakes her head to banish the illicit thoughts, curls flying wildly about her head.
“I’m… Peter, that was incredible!”
“Why don't we sneak you backstage so you can tell the boys what you think?” Peter says, smirking at the astonished face of the young woman in front of him. “They've been asking about you ever since they got off stage.”
“Lead the way!”
The two make their way to the dressing rooms, idle chat between Layla and Peter the soundtrack. Walking through the dressing room doors, she sees the boys facing away from her, celebrating a job well done. Robert is reclined on the couch, two beautiful blondes on each side getting his full attention. Bonzo and Jonesy are chatting in the corner of the room, sipping on bottles of whatever liquor they could find. Jimmy stands alongside them, laughing softly, dimples rising on his cheeks. In the harsh light of the dressing room, the sweat dripping from Jimmy’s body makes him glow, and Layla can’t help but stare.
“Boys, it seems we have a guest.”
Four pairs of eyes lock on her, and she smiles winningly, the beginnings of a giggle bubbling up her throat.
“Excuse me, ladies,” says Robert, as he extricates himself from the arms of the blondes, smiling apologetically. “But I really must greet the little dove.”
Immediately, arms surrounding the young woman, and as bad as the boys smelled, impressively sweaty after such a wonderful show, she was too excited to care. Pulling back finally, she gives her friends a megawatt smile.
“Guys, that was… That was truly amazing! I don’t know how you did it,” exclaims Layla, hands flying every which way to prove her point. “But you completely exceeded my expectations! I thought your little studio performance was excellent, but… This!”
“Wow, Layla. You’ve got such a way with words.” Jonesy jokes, putting an arm around the woman, leading her into the post-performance chaos. Bonzo pours her a shot glass full of something unidentifiable, vodka perhaps, and Layla tips it back quickly. Liquid courage firmly in place, she catches Jimmy’s eye. Wrestling out of Jonesy’s arms, Layla struts over to the raven-haired man and guides him to the corner of the room, a small hand slipping into his.
“Petal—”
“Shush!  Jim, that performance was… I don’t know what to say! Everyone had a great show, of course, but your guitar,” Layla rambles, speaking so quickly that the guitarist can barely hang on to a word the woman is saying. “... And Stairway. Oh my god, I don’t think I looked away once during the whole song! And—”
“Layla—”
“... Communication Breakdown ended way too soon, but the way you moved your fingers so quickly across the fretboard. I just don’t even—”
“Petal, please calm—”
This time, Jimmy isn’t interrupted by the ranting woman, but rather a set of slightly chapped lips on his, and a soft hand cradling his cheek, the other a warm weight on his shoulder. Layla is… kissing him. As soon as he makes this discovery, the lips against his turn down into a slight frown, and begin to pull away. Frantic at the thought of Layla pulling back, Jimmy brings a hand to her face, the other threading through her unruly curls to land at the back of her head. Deepening the chaste kiss, Jimmy’s eyes close. If he had been less preoccupied, he would have seen Bonzo, phone in hand, calling home in hopes of talking to his lovely wife. He would have seen Jonesy, laughing and pressing ever-closer to a beautiful brunette, a hand pushing back her long wavy locks. He would have seen Robert walking closer with a smirk set on his lips.
Jimmy finally pulls away, staring deep into Layla’s chestnut eyes, glazed over slightly as she blinks back at him, lips a luscious red from the heated kiss. Jimmy opens his mouth to speak, but another voice beats him to the punch.
“Goodness, little dove, if I knew you were handing out kisses like that for a good performance, I would’ve walked off before Jimmy. Hell, I’d’ve shoved him to get to you.”
Layla scoffs at the blond’s words, her hands twined around the guitarist’s neck. “Sorry, blondie, I’m not handing those out to just anyone. Besides, don't you have two beautiful blondes looking to take a bite out of you?”
“Ah, you're right, little dove. Excuse me, but I must get going.” Robert says with a wink, strolling back over to the two women.
Layla looks back at Jimmy, to find him staring at her. They remain there, gazes locked on one other, until Jimmy finally looks away, scanning the room.
“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, hm?” Jimmy whispers, taking Layla’s hand in his and leading her out the door.
Walking through the maze of hallways, hand in hand, Layla is struck by the parallels of the last time her and Jimmy were here. Only this time, she hadn’t just kissed him on the cheek. Her cheeks flush a dark scarlet at the thought as she is pulled into a deserted room, hand still linked with Jimmy’s own.
“Layla, I…”
“That was…”
The couple speak in unison, nerves taking over. Jimmy takes a deep breath, gripping Layla’s hands tightly in his, as he looks down at her, green eyes twinkling like stars in the midnight sky.
“Are you,” He starts, clearing his throat as he gazes down at Layla, who is looking up at him in reverence, reminiscent of the look she had given him on the plane. “Are you okay, petal? You don’t seem like the kind of person to just… kiss someone like that.”
“Honestly? Angel, I’ve been thinking of doing that for a while. Since the moment I first saw you, really.”
“Well… The feeling is mutual, but I mean… I think we should talk about this.”
“Jimmy Page, always the pragmatist.”
The man chuckles, smirking at the woman, places a hand beside her head on the wall, leaning in close. “Hey, you’ve never complained about it before, so why start now?”
“Maybe I did, behind your back. You would have no way of knowing, would you?” Layla says, a sweet smile on her lips as she bats her eyelashes; the image of false innocence.
Jimmy smiles at the woman, until it slips off his face, his downcast eyes troubled. He reaches up a hand to thumb lightly at his nose, and she realizes that he’s nervous. Tilting his head up with a finger at his chin, she meets his eyes.
“Jim, what’s wrong? Did… Did you not like it? The kiss, I mean?” Jimmy startles at this, quick to reassure her with a hand at her cheek, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles along her cheekbone.
“Of course I liked it, petal. How could I not? I just… I want to do this right, Layla.”
“Mhm.” Layla hums, moving closer to the man, smirking softly at the nervousness that plagues the guitarist.
“You’re not just… You’re not just some groupie to me, y’know?”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t want this to be just a one night stand, or… or a fling, or a friends with benefits situation, Layla. I want you.”
“Right.”
“I think we should take this slow, and see where… When did you get so close to me?”
Layla leans forward, placing a peck on his lips, and pulls away, leaving him stunned. He shakes his head, and tries again, brow furrowing in determination. “Layla, I’m serious, I really—”
This is met by yet another peck of the lips. Jimmy opens his mouth to speak, trying once more, but he is thwarted by yet another sweet kiss. Finally giving in, Jimmy deepens the kiss, hands landing in her hair. He spins them around, and crowds Layla against the wall, pulling back briefly, which elicits a soft whine from the brunette.
“Jimmy—”
“Are you okay with this, petal?”
“... Get over here.”
She pulls him in once again, and they resume where they left off. Jimmy laps at the opening of Layla’s bottom lip, asking for entrance, and his request is granted. The couple battles for dominance, their hands roaming anywhere they could reach. Jimmy’s palm slides down to rest at her back, dangerously close to slipping lower. Layla smiles against his lips, and pulls away, breathing heavily. She presses one more breathless kiss to Jimmy’s lips, and smiles widely, taking in the man before her. His hair is a mess, his lips are swollen, and his eyes are locked onto hers, searching her face with a hint of a smile. She wants this to work; for them to work.
“Angel, I want to take this slow too. I don’t want to lose you to someone else, just because we rushed this. I do, however, hope we can still kiss like that on the regular.”
“We’ll see, petal.” Jimmy laughs, winding a familiar arm around her shoulders, as he presses a kiss to her cheek.
“Oh, how the tables have turned… I’m usually the one dishing out cheek kisses.”
“That may just have to change, then.”
“Be careful, I could very well just go and find Robert right now. You know, maybe I'll go steady with him instead…”
Laughter follows behind them like a shadow as they walk back to the dressing room to find the rest of their crew. Jimmy’s arm still rests around the shoulders of the woman, and as they enter, the band take in the disheveled state of the couple.  
“Oh my god—”
“Come on, boys, we have a plane to catch!”
“Actually, Pagey,” Jonesy interjects, smiling at the couple, eyebrows waggling. “We still have a few minutes. What happened while you were gone?”
“Did you guys, like… have a quickie in the custodial closet or something?”
“God, Bonzo, we—”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Bonham.” Layla interjects, kind smile cutting through the sarcasm of her response. Bonzo smiles back, clapping Layla on the shoulder. Robert pouts playfully, curls bouncing as he lowers his head slightly.
“That should have been me…”
Peter chooses this moment to walk in, alerting them that it’s finally time to leave. One taxi ride later, everybody piles into the Starship, making themselves comfortable. Jimmy and Layla take a spot on the comfortable loveseat, and fall asleep right away, leaning up against one another.
If they wake up, backs sore once again, it’s worth it to them.
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taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 (let me know if you want to be added!)
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katnissmellarkkk · 5 years ago
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AN: Hiiiii, alright I’ve been working on this story since I posted my first chapter and, as it turns out, no surprise, this is gonna be longer than I originally expected. Probably like five-ish chapters? I’m not re-writing every chapter or part of Mockingjay if Peeta wasn’t hijacked, just snippets of the essential plotline and events if Peeta hadn’t been hijacked.... did that make sense? 
Alright, anyways, I wanna also take this time to say I definitely did not expect the amount of love I received on the first part of this and omg I’m so honored and touched. I really wasn't expecting you guys to be so supportive in this fandom. Thank you all so much, for liking, commenting and reblogging. It really made me so happy <3.
Also if you didn’t read part one and you want to, here’s the link. 
I hope everything’s going well for all you reading this! 
Also I need a title for this so any suggestions are more than welcome alright buh-bye.
Shattered Pearl
| Part One |
/
I know I've been shot. I felt it hit me, right underneath my chest. If I didn't vaguely remember standing in the tunnels, appealing to and pleading with the District Two men, trapped inside the Nut, the gunshot of a man standing behind us in the crowd, too cowardly to come closer and confront me to my face, if I didn't retain the image of seeing myself shot on television, I'd swear I'd been hit by one of the Capitol trains that once took me and Peeta district to district.
The thought of the train brought back memories I'd long held close to my heart. I had never spoken of nights shared between me and Peeta on the Victory Tour and prior to the Quarter Quell. Not to anyone. Not even Prim. It felt too personal and too vulnerable a memory to let anyone else claim it. For so long it was all I had to cling to, with him presumed dead and then only seen on Caesar's talkshow, tormented and a shell of the boy with the bread.
I miss him now, as I lay despondently, wherever I am. I feel a jabbing pain right where I predict I was shot, the injury feeling closer to a brutal beating than a penetration.
My mind whirls and flies and wracks itself up and down, backwards and forwards and side to side and somehow I can't remember even a split second where I felt the bullet enter into my body.
I feel my consciousness, my awareness, growing stronger now, slowly crawling in an upwards motion, like I was lying on the bottom of a lake and I'm only now floating to the top.
When my head breaks the surface, there's a bright, ugly, glaring light stinging my eyes and my first thought is one of comparison. Does Peeta experience this too, when he wakes up in his recovery room? Do they actually think that'll help anyone recover here, blasting unsettling yellow colors into their eyes as soon as they crack open? Is it their idea of a luxury, since everything and everyone else is so void of color here in Thirteen, like one of Peeta's drawings that have yet to be painted.
"Disorienting, huh?" I hear a familiar—so familar—voice laugh quietly. "I think Thirteen believes the more the lights hurt your eyes, the less we'll use them and the more energy they'll save in the end."
"Peeta?" I mean to murmur but instead my voice comes out in a whimper.
"Shh," he whispers, his voice all gentleness and sweetness now. The teasing, conversational edge is gone. He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my sweat covered forehead, hoping the ministration will soothe me.
It takes me longer than it should to place, but it strikes me after a moment that his voice now reminds me of a different foreign place and a different wound and an altogether different time.
The confusion. The comforting, appeasing voice. The soft, tender gesture. It eerily reminds me of waking up in the cave, after having bled out from my head, only to find my body weak and Peeta's shockingly strong and the tables turning and him taking care of me.
My hands act to their own accord and cannot be stilled, no matter how comforting Peeta's fingers feel, sifting through my hair.
I fumble roughly with the bandages covering my left side, where the bullet must have hit, and I force my eyes wide open now, in spite of the still disturbing light overhead.
"What am I still doing here?" I ask before I can really register what I'm saying. At his confused and—now I can see his features better, with my eyes adjusting to the brightness—exhausted face, I clarify. "The bullet didn't kill me?" I look to him for confirmation.
"No," he promises smoothly, understanding my puzzlement now. "No, I promise you, the bullet didn't kill you."
"What happened?" I ask, my voice and body both still far weaker than I'm in any way comfortable with. "I think I blacked out after I was shot."
Peeta forces himself to give me a faint ghost of a smile. "Yeah, I imagine that happens when a bullet hits you in the side." He takes my hand in his and begins to softly kiss it, repeatedly. Finally he replies, "you were shot on live TV and everyone in the country saw you go down. Coin and Plutarch decided immediately to spin this and fake your death. But Cinna made your Mockingjay outfit bulletproof. The bullet never touched you," he assures before adverting his eyes as they grew watery with his words.
"Peeta," I start, my voice raspy as it's ever been.
"I don't think I was that scared in the Capitol," he blurts out as if I didn't speak. "Snow knew, he always knew, that you getting hurt would have been worse torture than anything else he could have ever done to me."
"How do you think I felt when Snow and his guards had you prisoner?" I shoot back before I can stop myself. His torture was harrowing enough without me making it all about myself. He flinches slightly at my words but tries to mask it, for my sake, no doubt. I reach out and squeeze his hand, my body's grip embarrassingly lame and in no way soothing. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."
"No," he automatically refutes. "Don't apologize to me. You have enough people putting their burdens on your shoulders without adding me to that list."
I swallow hard now, my memory starting to piece everything together and I remember suddenly that this is the first time I've seen Peeta since Coin's men had essentially interrogated him into hysteria.
I hadn't told him I was even going to Two. I didn't even tell him how long I'd be gone.
And then I got shot on camera. And—as I should have predicted—the rebels used this opportunity to their advantage.
I can imagine what that felt like for him. I remember on the hovercraft to and for the first few weeks in Thirteen. Refusing to eat. Refusing to speak. Hiding in closets and sleeping only sporadically. Picturing every single time I closed my eyes Peeta being beaten to death, Peeta being abused, Peeta crying out helplessly.
I wait for him to blink back his tears again before final speaking. "Can I apologize for not telling you I was going to Two in the first place?"
Something new crosses his features and in place of the fear, the agony, the pain, comes an almost sarcastic, satirical expression. "Please do, Sweetheart."
I roll my eyes instinctively when he calls me sweetheart. He'd only ever called me that in the past to get on my nerves or irritate me. "You sound like Haymitch," I can't help but point out.
"This isn't sounding like an apology for lying."
"I'm getting there."
"I've been waiting for days."
I raise my eyebrow mockingly. "So that's why you're here by my bedside?"
"Only reason. I'm out as soon as I get my reparation."
"Well in that case," I trail off, shrugging—and inwardly cringing at the movement before bringing his hand to my lips now and planting a kiss there. "I'm not apologizing then."
He laughs and I pretend to be put out, which works until I try to cross my arms in false indignation and involuntarily eject a loud gasp of pain from the way the motion upsets whatever is broken inside of me.
Peeta drops the ruse then too and stand from his chair, sitting on the side of my bed to get closer to me. "Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, cupping my cheek and turning my distressed face towards him now. "Breathe," he commands genially, leaning his forehesd against mine. "The pain will go away, Katniss, just breathe."
I let out a large breath but it only makes the pain worse and eventually I just grip the hand cupping my face and squeeze with all my might. The lame grip I felt ashamed of minutes before is now replaced with an adrenaline rush of strength and I nearly break Peeta's hand in my much smaller one.
He doesn't complain and begins to rub my back to calm me down. When the searing, paralyzing discomfort subsides, the first thing I utter is, "so if I never got actually shot, what is going on with my body?"
He strokes my face affectionately. "You have a bruised lung. Bruised ribs. And your spleen was ruptured so they removed that."
"So I'm without a spleen?" I realize, my voice raising involuntarily. For some reason, I'm petrified that a whole organ was taken out of my body and I had no say in it whatsoever.
"You don't need it, Katniss," Peeta quickly reassures.
I deflate then, not sure if I feel any better or not. Peeta's words suddenly come back to me.
"Katniss, these people aren't too different from the ones in the Capitol."
Would I trust Snow or his guards to remove my spleen? No. So should I be okay with Thirteen operating on me?
I shake my head, knowing this is redundant and ridiculous. My spleen was ruptured. They'd saved my life. I was being paranoid for nothing and I couldn't afford falsely accusing the very people I needed to survive. Especially not when they likely are what saved my life.
Peeta sees my face contort and the disheartenment etch itself across my features. Still remaining tender and cautious, he leans his own wounded, beaten face down and places kisses against my cheek.
I try to hold off but his lips bring a smile to mine, and even with all the confusion bubbling around my head, all the disbelief and uncertainty, in regards to my feelings towards him, Gale, Coin, this war and the Revolution itself, I still can't help the feeling of hope spreading across my chest, filling my heart up in a way I never let myself consider it could again.
"Peeta?" I whisper then and he pulls back from planting kisses on my face to look at me.
"Hmm?"
"If my lung is bruised, why did you tell me to breathe deeply to stop the pain?"
He freezes for a second, contemplating and considering before a slightly bashful smile crosses his mouth. "You're the healer here, not me," he finally teases. When I smile back at him, he leans in simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the word, and kisses me full on the mouth.
The kiss catches me off-guard but only after the fact. In the moment it feels right and tingly and reassuring and I'm lightheadedly happy and I don't even know what to make of how I feel on the inside.
"I'm not a healer," I remind with very little passion for the correction in my voice.
He laughs again lightly but then bites his lip and brushed my hair back. "You did say that to me in our first games, right? Real or not real?"
I hesitate for a full ten seconds before I respond, my face scrunching up. His words almost seem like an already formed game that no one had explained the rules of. "Real," I finally answer.
He's already elaborating before I can ask. "Finnick came up with it. He said it works for Annie and I should try it. If I'm ever unsure about anything that happened or what the Capitol tried to make me believe, I should ask." He shrugs then, slightly abashed. "It's repetitive-"
"It's actually a really good idea," I encourage, grabbing his hand in mine again and giving him a reassuring squeeze. And he looks at me then and gives me a grateful smile and his eyes are lighter now than they were when I woke up and I don't know where this is even going between us or if it's even going anywhere and I don't know where Gale stands and I really can't focus on my feelings right now because I'm a symbol of an entire revolution, whether I asked to be or not, and it may be selfish or immature, but I push away all my other conflicting thoughts and pull the boy with the pretty blue eyes down towards me.
He goes willingly, wrapping his body to me, only placing pressure on my right side, and I feel his face burrow in my neck. When his lips press to the sensitive skin there, like he's done dozens of times before, I shiver instinctively and close my eyes against him.
For the first time in forever I feel, for a fleeting moment, safe.
//
Prim and my mom interrupt not too long after that, but for some reason—other than Prim's cheerful smile—they don't comment on the compromising position they found us in.
Peeta promptly moves back to his previous chair and remains there for the duration of the day.
Haymitch joins us not even five minutes after my mom and sister, and he brings boiled cabbage stew from the cafeteria in tow.
"Here you go, Sweetheart," he says with a large smile, looking at the disgusting concoction with excitement now.
I look at the bowl, wishing I had more of an appetite so I could actually feel some desire to eat it. In spite of Haymitch's jokes, the cabbage stew would have been a luxury to me once upon a time, when all I could find to fill my screaming stomach was mint leaves and, if I were lucky, the roots I was named after. "How'd you know I'd be awake?" I inquire, turning the spoon around in the bowl.
"Oh I didn't," my old mentor quickly replies, plopping down in a chair against the wall. "It was for the boy." He gestured towards Peeta, who's running his fingers softly along my spine, inconspicuous enough that not even Prim catches on. "But I figure you deserve it more, since you're the one in the hospital. Speaking of that, why did you two switch places?" He asks, brash and wry.
My mom glares at Haymitch, disapproving of his callous comment, which catches me completely off guard.
My mother usually ignores all chatter between me and Haymitch and Peeta, only chiming in if Haymitch is speaking of something from Twelve that I'd be too young to understand.
I remember then watching Haymitch's tape on the train with Peeta, realizing he and my mom shared a permanent tie labeled Maysilee Donner. I look between them for a hint of familiarity I didn't see before and quickly realize Peeta's doing the exact same thing.
My mom quickly turns back to me, and gingerly but vigoriously, coaxes the stew into my stomach, even when I try to refuse because my ribs ache and using any of my muscles leaves me feeling irritable and shaky and hot inside.
"Just a little bit more, sweet girl," my mom murmurs, forcing me to finish the entire bowl, and it's only when Prim looks at me, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, that I realize my mom had used a long forgotten term of endearment. One that I'd rejected since her bout of deep, delbilitating depression.
I didn't comment on it and I don't think my mother even realized, but I avoid Peeta's eyes because evidently, by the looks of his smirk, even he knew the exchange was rare and hard to come by.
Just as I all but lick the soup bowl clean and my mom's whispering mournfully she has to go back to work and was only allowed to come see me for lunch. I am caught off guard once again though, when she kisses my forehead and whispers, with audible tears, that she loves me so much.
I feel like a monster all of a sudden, for the absolute hell I must have put her through.
I squeeze Prim's hand as tight as I can as she takes our mom's seat and scoots it even closer to my bed. "Hey, little duck," I greet in my most comforting voice. "How're things while I was gone."
Prim, as usual, puts up a-albeit, very weak-pretense in order to make me feel better. "They were okay for the most part." She pauses and bites her lip, contemplating to herself before adding. "It was just hard because we didn't even know you were leaving and then we watched you be shot on live TV."
"I know," I murmur apologetically, because it's all I can do. "I'm so sorry, Prim."
But my sister's shaking her head before I can finish and I swear Peeta and Haymitch roll their eyes at the same moment and if Prim wasn't here, I'd be telling them both off.
"No one's mad at you, Katniss," she promises, like that's my concern. People I love being angry, not people I love going through absolute turmoil. "Just... next time could you let us know?"
I nod automatically, because I want my sister to feel better, even though I'm unsure if I can even fulfill this promise. "Yeah, of course."
Prim just stares at me for a moment. "You're such a bad liar," she finally calls out.
Haymitch noisily laughs from across the room, but Peeta remains completely stoic now, and I want three sets of eyes so I could focus on multiple people at once.
I choose to keep my focus on my little sister. "Prim," I start, my voice still unconvincing. "I just... I never know what's going to happen next, so it's hard to know ahead of time what I'll do. The last thing I want, that I've ever wanted, was to worry you and mom."
"Yeah, but, Katniss," She refutes even and diplomatically. "You not telling us only makes it worse. Finding out from strangers you and Gale disappeared off to District Two on a secret mission with the rebels? Only to watch them fake your death? It was as bad as watching you in the games."
I feel my chest constrict and the breath fly out of my aching lungs as I swallow down the lump formed in my throat. "Prim, I never meant-"
"She knows, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, his hand sifting through my hair once again.
Prim looks at Peeta—with more familiarity than I've ever seen between them before—and then back at me. "He's right. I know you never meant for that to happen but... if you could just let us into the loop a little more, it'd make things a lot more bearable."
I nod, meaning my promise to keep her and our mom more informed now. I squeeze Prim's hand again and ask quietly, "how bad was mom when I was shot?"
Prim's eyes shoot to Peeta almost intractably. But I catch it and I press it before they can pretend it didn't happen.
"What's going on with you two?"
They both look at me in utter shock. Or is that the look of getting caught keeping a secret?
"Nothing," Prim immediately covers. Peeta, on the other hand, doesn't react so quick, and instead chooses to just shut his eyes to avoid looking at me.
There's something more going on that they want to avoid telling me. And instinctively, I don't think it's about my mother. Even without him meeting my glance, I can tell Peeta's embarrassed about something.
"Prim," I say evenly. "You're a worse liar than I am."
"You actually are, kid," Haymitch adds. "Didn't think that was possible."
"What happened when I was shot?" I ask again, my voice closer to a threat than a comfort now.
"Let it go, Katniss. It's not important," Peeta urges, his own voice more worn and irritated than I'd heard it since the last games.
"When has she ever let something go?" Haymitch ponders, unfazed by our whole exchange.
"Katniss," Prim starts but I cut her off. I can tell she was going to placate me, like getting shot turned me into our mother.
"As your older sister, you're not allowed to lie to me."
"C'mon now, Sweetheart. That's not being fair."
"Then you tell me, Haymitch. What happened when I was shot that they don't want me to know?"
Our old mentor sighs deeply but I can tell he's relenting. If I couldn't see the resignation on Haymitch's face, Peeta's whole body tensing up in anticipation would be a dead giveaway.
"The boy had a meltdown when you were shot," Haymitch finally states. He gives Peeta a long, measuring look before continuing. "He basically went ballistic and lost his grip on reality." He moves his eyes to train them on the floor of my hospital room. I know he's trying now to avoid Peeta's furious eyes, full of betrayal.
"What?" I turn and look at the boy beside me, remorse overtaking my entire being. I reach out and touch his face but he won't look at me, even when I try to force him.
"He was frantic for days. Couldn't tell the difference in reality and the lies the Calitol fed him. He was only released probably an hour before you woke up. So I guess you guys have good timing," Haymitch adds, trying too hard to lighten the mood.
"Peeta," I whisper after a beat, pleading with him to just look at me, talk to me, but to no avail.
"Peeta, talk to her," Prim begs on my behalf.
"It wasn't that severe," he finally states, his voice extremely muted now as he speaks in a hushed tone, only to me. "I didn't want to tell you because you don't need anything else on your plate. Especially not about me. And it was barely worth mentioning."
"I think it was worth mentioning," Prim chimes and Haymitch points at her and nods.
"She's got better sense than both of you."
Peeta ignores Haymitch. "Prim," he groans with an air of affinity that still boggled me. "Stop. It was fine."
"You were so upset though. And she should know, since she's the one the Capitol wanted to hurt when they tortured you," she advocates, impressing even me with her reason. "And I think we should all stop lying," my pure-of-heart little sister tacts onto the end.
Haymitch nods affirmatively towards Prim again, and I see something akin to wonder now in his eyes as he looks at her, and it takes no more than common sense to realize he's imagining life with Prim as his victor and how much easier that would have been.
"I just don't think now is the time to be talking about this, Prim," Peeta tersely states.
I can't help but interject now, after having witnessed their exchange this whole time, "I'm sorry, but do you two know each other?"
A look is exchanged between all three of them and I'm so tempted to ask if they'd like me to leave so they can freely converse in private. Finally Prim informs quietly, "me and mom were there with Peeta when he got upset. He actually helped mom because she had somewhere to focus all her own emotions. You know how she is, Katniss. When things get rough, she puts all of herself into her healing."
"Glad of be of service," Peeta mumbles despondently and I can see in his troubled eyes, he's blatantly ashamed of himself.
"Peeta," I murmur softly, taking his hand against his will—he tries to fight me from even picking it up—and bringing it to my lips.
He sighs deeply and offers me a half smile. "My being a lunatic doesn't disturb you?"
"Of course not," I quickly dispute. My mind is still processing all of this though. "So you and my family... bonded after I was shot?"
Peeta outwardly groans, dropping my hand. "Let it go, Katniss."
"I just never considered it a huge connecting technique. You know, I could have gotten shot a long time ago-"
"That's not even funny," Peeta chides and there's nothing humorous in his voice now.
I shut up instantly, feeling the mood of the room drop. Even Haymitch falls silent and adverts his eyes to the floor.
"I'm sorry," I finally whisper and I don't know who I'm apologizing to, Peeta or Prim. I'm know I'm not saying sorry to Haymitch, who is still lolled in his chair across the room. Although maybe I should, since he was undoubtedly as scared as the rest of my family. Not that he'd ever admit that to me.
Peeta shakes his head and his expression softens. Leaning in closer, he gently brushes his lips to my cheek, very lightly and very chaste, considering Prim's proximity.
"Just don't lie to us again," Prim pleads, taking my other hand firmly. "No matter how much you want to protect us."
I nod obligingly, maybe more to relieve my guilt than anything else but I do actually mean my promise. "Okay," I swear.
Peeta pushes back my hair soothingly before running the back of his hand over my cheek. "Okay," he finally repeats, only loud enough for me to hear.
And I know then that he's forgiven me.
///
Within an hour, my mom, Gale, Boggs, Plutarch and my doctor all join the party inside my hospital room.
"Isn't there a limited amount of people allowed in one room?" Haymitch retorts gruffly, unhappy about being squished into the corner and unable to spread out the way he was before.
"Oh there usually is," Plutarch confirms, his tone more joyful than I find appropriate, given my situation. And the state of the rebels now. "But I asked Coin to make an exception for Katniss."
"Can Coin make an exception and give Katniss a bigger room?" Gale mumbles under his breath.
I laugh at his sarcasm and his disgruntled expression. We'd made amends on the way to District Two, not wanting to be in potentially dangerous territories and still on the outs with each other. I expected the issues that made us clash—and whatever feelings that still lied between us—would all come to a head once we returned to Thirteen, but we unexpectedly took longer than anticipated in Two and now I was wounded. And even Gale can't deny he was scared out of his mind when I went down. Even he isn't in the mindset to wrangle with me.
I squeeze Peeta's hand in my own and pretend I don't see Gale's envious eyes staring at our interconnected limbs. I don't feel the same guilt I usually do when it was apparent Gale was upset by me and Peeta, and I wonder, idly, in the back of my mind, if this isn't because of the morphling I'm pumped full of.
My doctor is one of the same people who checked Peeta out after he was rescued and I realize I don't even know his name. It doesn't seem like I'll learn it now either, as he barely speaks. I'm half inclined—though I know it's impossible—to think my own mother is the one who operated on me, from the lack of insight the man provides.
In any case, the doctor doesn't seem concerned in the slightest about me and slips out of the room as soon as Plutarch shifts the conversation in a new direction.
"So, I was wondering," he starts, his face still much too happy to completely sit right with me. "Maybe if you'd be up—once you're out of bed and recovered, of course—to film a propo?"
I just stare at him blankly, wondering how on Earth he expected me to have any desire to film anything right now, while I'm still currently getting pain relievers pumped into my veins.
He misreads my expression and quickly adds, "Of course Peeta would be in it! The Star-Cross Lovers need to be shown reunited. I feel that could help with the cause immensely—"
He keeps talking but I automatically tune out his chirping voice as he prattles on. I can see his vision now. The Mockingjay Lives splayed across the screen, me and Peeta wrapped in an embrace, my voice loud and strong, announcing that we're going to keep fighting to the end.
I'm not the only one looking at Platurch like he's grown a second head. The only person who's not looking at the man with distain or disbelief is Haymitch, who's expression is either mildly entertained or filled with such incredulity that he looks like he's grinning.
Peeta's reaction is much stronger than I expect and it's only after he looks like he's grown nauseous from disgust or is planning on throwing something at Plutarch's joyous face, that I realize Peeta has no real experience with the Gamemaker.
He was in the Capitol the entire time I've really gotten to know Plutarch and the man's antics must seem completely foreign to Peeta.
I squeeze his hand before he can say anything and shake my head in Plutarch's general direction. He isn't harmful and I don't want Peeta to waste the energy he needs to recover.
But he has trouble swallowing down his obvious repulsion and his hands begin to shake and his eyes are far angrier than I would have expected in these circumstances a few months ago.
It's my mom who is murmuring about Peeta needing to check in with his doctors and how she'll walk him down there and she waits expectantly for him to get up and part of me faintly envies him for some reason. And I realize quickly that it's the way she talks to him—it's the way she speaks to all patients of her's, really. It's a firm tone, that's still kind but is very direct. Maybe a little authoritative and unyielding. And I realize at once it's a tone I almost never heard again after my dad's death and I took over caring for the family.
And I miss it. Despite everything. Despite my lack of trust in her and my fear she'll retreat back into her shell one day and leave me and Prim behind all over again. Despite my instincts to never put my faith in my mother again, a big part of me still misses the days when she parented me.
Peeta sighs, seeing through the ruse, and kisses my nose before heading out the door behind my mother.
Plutarch follows too, blatantly unaware of what he set into motion, and saying he was needs to review the film of the other Victors for their propos. I'm still appalled he wanted to parade me out while I'm lying in a hospital bed, but I do feel a bit more at ease knowing it's not just me and Peeta he wants to exploit for the sake of the rebellion.
I wished to myself I could actually go to where the fight was. That I could actually have a shot of getting close enough to really be involved in taking down Snow and his supporters, rather than being filmed as a icon to motivate other people to fight in this war.
I kept this to myself, as my even being in this bed was proof of what happened when I was a more central part of the fighting. And even then, I somehow managed to get shot while they were essentially using me as a talking piece for the other soldiers.
But there was something else on my mind and I turned to focus onto Gale now. Only he, Prim and Haymitch remained in my room and Prim was telling my old mentor about the medical uses of alcohol. I don't know what she planned on accomplishing with that, but it worked as a diversion for me at the moment.
"Okay, so what happened?" I press Gale in a hushed voice when I know Prim isn't listening. He gives me a quizzical look and I quickly clarify. "With Peeta and my mom and Prim?"
Comprehension fills his eyes and he sighs before continuing. "I wasn't there for the beginning. Obviously. I was with you in District Two. But I know that he was watching TV when you were shot, and he completely lost it. Apparently it triggered some kind of flashback to something they used to do to him in the Capitol. He was still yelling when we arrived back. I heard it when I passed his room while you were in surgery. Whatever Snow did to him-"
He's promptly cut off by a new but familiar voice joining the room now. "Ah, yes," Johanna Mason shoves back the curtain separating my cubicle from the one next door. Her's, I guess. "Fond memories you mention, Handsome." She winks at Gale. "One of Snow's favorite methods of torture. The old 'make Peeta watch a thousand fabricated video simulations of Katniss being brutally murdered, on repeat. Don't let him sleep. Beat him. Water him down and beat him some more. Make him watch the Katniss Dying Simmulations again', until he can't even tell you what's real and what's not."
I just stare at her, my heart sinking in my chest rapidly. "What?" Is all I can manage to say, my mouth drying up fast.
"I mean, there were worse forms of torture Snow and his men liked to use on me and your fiancé, but I was told you needed to be kept in the dark about those," she state cheekily, obviously trying to goad me.
"Who told you to keep me in the dark?" I snap, my eyes shooting between Prim, who's now looking right at me, and Gale.
Johanna, much to my surprise, points to Haymitch. The older man is still laid out in a chair in the corner of the room, having made himself comfortable again, but at least now has the decency to look sheepish.
"Listen, Sweetheart," he immediately defends. "You and the boy have your own separate issues, alright? You both don't need to take on the other's all the dang time."
"Haymitch-" I start to growl but am caught off guard by a completely unexpected noise. Johanna's hysterical, dark, morbid laughter.
"I can't believe you were rescued and I was tortured, and I'm expected to protect you from the truth."
I don't blame her. No one could honestly. She was tortured because of me and the rebels. She could say and do whatever she wanted at this point, and no one had the right to tell her differently.
"Johanna," I start but let her cut me off once again, becoming accustomed to the feeling.
"And don't worry about Peeta," she says but the resentful shake of her head doesn't fill me with hope. "Your mom made him her project once they informed her your suit was bulletproof. Her and your sister basically walked him off the ledge."
And because I know she's the only person who will be completely uncensored—something I can't even say about Haymitch these days—I blurt out my next question. "What was Peeta saying? When he lost it?"
Her response is immediate and I get the impression she enjoys telling me, for some sick reason.
"Give me back to the Capitol. They'll find a way to revive her if you give me back. I want to go back. I'll trade my life for her's. Please, let me go back."
As soon as the words sunk into my brain, I wanted to puke.
So I did.
////
Johanna wasn't happy about my vomiting a literal foot away from her and she was downright livid when no one else appeared to be irritated with me but she reached a breaking point when both Peeta—who returned upon hearing my loud gagging—and Gale comforted me.
It was an odd sensation to be in not just conversation with both Peeta and Gale but to have them both be so sweet to me, at the same exact time. Without even so much as looking crossly towards the other one.
Gale held my hand and told me to calm down in a gentle voice he only ordinarily used for one of our sisters or his mom. Peeta was sitting opposite him, on the edge of my bed and telling me softly to just relax as he stroked my hair tenderly. Even Haymitch had gotten out of his seat to call an attendant to clean up my vomit and Prim and my mom were standing at the end of my bed, looking worriedly onto the scene.
Johanna's voice was biting as she took us all in. "How much hand holding does she need? Considering she was apparently strong enough to be the face of our entire cause."
"I shouldn't be," I instantly agree with her. "You should be. No one has to push you or tell you what to say."
"No one likes me, brainless," she says snidely, a leering smile spreading across her face.
"That's because everyone's afraid of you," Prim chimes in timidly, and I drop Gale's hand to reach for my little sister's, almost on instinct upon hearing her scared voice.
But Johanna has the decency to not swipe at Prim and instead gives her a sympathetic look. As if to say you don't have to be scared of me.
Her compassion evidently only extends to the thirteen-year-old, as when Finnick and Annie join the room right on the heels of Prim's words, Johanna barks out a cruel laugh. "Really? More people? Are we having a party to celebrate Katniss?" She gives everyone a mocking look around the room. "Well, I wish someone would have told me. I forgot to bring my streamers."
For some reason her tone suddenly forces back a memory of the last night in the arena. Her cutting my arm open and my red, hot, sticky blood gushing everywhere. My understanding at the time being that this was an attempt to kill me. I know now that this was the rebels' plan and she was really cutting out my tracker but the sense memory can't be so easily rationalized away.
I flinch outwardly and both Gale and Prim's faces silently ask if I'm alright. But I'm quickly distracted elsewhere.
I'm, once again, wholly surprised by Peeta's reaction.
"Don't you have anything else to do, Johanna, besides bug Katniss?" There's a strong irritability in his voice, one I'd only heard from an outsider prospective in the past. On the off occasion I'd witnessed he and his brothers in any sort of conversation. Their relationship was tense at times but they were still siblings and extremely close in age. That made for a lot of squabbling and a lot of fighting and a lot of sparring with each other. And a lot of aggravating each other, causing Peeta to behave in a way I'd never seen him otherwise.
"I don't know?" She shoots back, not even missing a beat. "Didn't I have better things to do than cuddle you after Snow's guards were done for the day? And yet, who's shoulder did you cry on? Who held your hand through our adjoining cells?" She smirks and it's obvious she's speaking for the rest of us to hear.
Annie makes an animalistic squeak and covers her ears. Finnick quickly wraps an arm around her and shoots a glare at Johanna.
"What?" She snaps. "Annie was there in the Capitol, Finnick. She know what went down."
"Doesn't mean you have to remind her of it," I state, my voice grave as I watch the mad girl Finnick loves more than life itself retreat into her own psyche.
And for some odd reason, I relate. To both Finnick, who's doing everything he can now to bring her back from the dark depths of her own mind, and Annie herself, who is buried beneath the ruins of a trauma she'll never be able to escape and is visibly struggling to dig her way back out.
I look to Peeta then, almost imperceptibly, and he just gives me a knowing, almost satirical glance. He was undoubtably thinking the same thing.
Johanna is ready to spit in my face, and she probably would, no doubt, if it were just the two of us. "You have no idea what went down after we were captured," she seethes, growing closer to me, and Peeta places an arm in front of her, blocking me from her reach, but I note the gesture isn't rough or hostile.
Gale and my mom both look like they're going to intervene. Finnick is busy with Annie now. Prim looks shell shocked and Haymitch seems to have lost interest in watching us.
For some reason, maybe it's the morphling, maybe I just feel safe surrounded by so many people who would stop her if she lunged for my throat, but I decide to reply. "Is that why you hate me so much?"
Her violent demeanor dissipates but she still has a spiteful glint in her gaze. "That's part of it. And partially because everyone is so obsessed with you. I've never seen anything about you that's so good or special."
"I agree with you about that," I say quietly, knowing it'll do nothing to mend fences with her.
Haymitch, who out of everyone I thought would agree as well, is the one who speaks up. "There's plenty good in that girl," he retorts sharply, his grey eyes hard as he stares at Johanna.
That caught me—and Peeta, by the look on his face—more off guard than anything Johanna had said thus far.
But it's Johanna's words, which aren't even directed at me, that send a chill to my spine. "Careful, Haymitch. Remember, I'm the one who's always there for the victor you constantly forget about. Or was that you who held his hand while the doctors and Mrs. Everdeen had him strapped down for two days?"
Gale is the one who responds, much to my surprise. "Okay, stop. I know you've been through—"
"Handsome," she cuts off, her voice clipped and snarky but she still bats her lashes in his direction. "You don't know anything."
"Johanna, please," Peeta murmurs now, his tone softer and a lot more understanding. "Please go back to your cubicle. I'll tell the doctors you're complaining of massive pain and need more morphling."
She stares at Peeta, her eyes softening the same way they did for Prim only minutes before. Finally she says, "it's the least you can do. Considering you wouldn't share your fiancé's with me."
And, as soon as she appeared, she had evaporated behind the curtain.
And I feel like somehow, I'm the only person who is left reeling in her absence.
/////
My mom was called back to work once again—and this time, she was made to stay there, my condition apparently too stabilized for them to be letting one of their better healers cut back on her hours—and she took Prim with her. I don't know if it was because Prim would be of use or if she just thought I needed alone time without worrying about my sister overhearing too much.
It occurs to me how much my mom is trying now to wordlessly look out for my needs. I decide to make a point in finding a way to say thank you to her. Even if our relationship will never be what it could have been, had there never been corruption or games or mine explosions. Had there been proper help to those suffering and in need.
Finnick chats with me and Peeta for a moment—and entirely ignores Gale but I suspect that's less about being intentionally rude and more about never knowing what to do with my best friend slash fake cousin—before escorting Annie away. She still looks shaken up and I wonder what happened to her in the Capitol. Or if she was already this unstable. I scarcely remember anything about her or her games, prior to what Peeta reminded me of in the Quell.
"You look tired," Peeta notes, brushing my hair back from my forehead. I smile lightly, about to kiss the palm of his hand before noticing Gale's eyes. They are quite apparently envious of Peeta's affection towards me and my acceptance of it, of how naturally Peeta can touch me, of the innate intimacy between the two of us that I never shared with him. But he tries his best to mask it and for that, I feel even worse.
I look to Haymitch without realizing it and somehow the older man understands without me even consciously thinking of asking.
"Boy," Haymitch grunts, putting on a good show as he stands up. "Let's go get some real food from the cafeteria. I hear if we say we'll participate in Plutarch's Propos, we can get better grub than the rest of Thirteen."
Peeta nods, his eyes gently running over my face, as if memorizing it in his mind. "Will you be okay-"
"Okay, Johanna was right," Haymitch barks now, grabbing Peeta by the back of the shirt, his grip much too docile to pass as normal though. "She'll be fine. Let's all stop hovering. She'll be up and tormenting us in a day."
I roll my eyes at his antics but smile meagerly at him as he guides Peeta out the door.
"Well," Gale breathes out as they leave. "That was subtle."
I laugh loud enough that I hear Johanna hiss from the cubicle next door. "I wanted to talk to you privately."
Gale chuckles. "Gathered that."
I know I have a limited time before Peeta returns and honestly I'm not too mad about that fact either, as I somehow, chessily, long for him now whenever he's gone. I inwardly cringe at myself before shaking it off to hurry this conversation along. "I wanted to apologize for me and Peeta. For how we can act. For..." I trail off, realizing too late I didn't pre-plan my words.
Peeta was right when he'd spat at Haymitch on the Victory Tour, "we all know I'm better on camera than Katniss. No one has to coach me on what to say."
I wished for his ease and talent with words now as I fumble around, trying to convey my message to the person who's been my best friend for years now.
He understands though—thankfully—and needs no more explanation. His tone has become solemn when he speaks. "You're really not faking it anymore, are you? Being in love with him?" His eyes are full of pain and he quickly downcasts them. "You fell in love with him in the Quarter Quell," he says as a fact, not a question.
"I don't know, Gale!" I exclaim, quick to defend myself here, like I'm being accused of something horrific. In truth, I feel like I am. I feel like I am, when I see how much it hurts him when me and Peeta are together. "I don't know how I feel. I just know I feel a lot for both of you."
"That's not good enough, Catnip," Gale whispers, shaking his head. But he uses my old nickname and that gives me hope. Hope that he won't hate me for not being able to give him what he wishes. Hope that I won't lose him entirely by the end of this war. "You really do need him."
I open my mouth to say something, anything, to try and rectify this. But I can't because it's true. Those are my words he's repeating back to me and they completely true. I do need Peeta. Maybe in a way I'll never need Gale. I don't know. I can't know. Not with all that rests on my shoulders already.
"What if I made you choose?" Gale presses now, leaning in closer. "What if I begged and pled and promised I'd find a way to make you happy? Would you pick me then?"
My mouth still hangs open, unsure what to say that get me out of this. I look towards the door, wishing Haymitch would reappear, that Peeta would burst through with his loud footfalls, that Johanna would pop back in and rub some salt in everyone's wounds.
All that would be preferable to this right now and I wonder why I ever wanted Haymitch to take Peeta away.
Gale shakes his head now though, having recieved his answer. "I thought so."
"Gale-" I start, not knowing where I was planning on taking the exchange but before I can even make a redundant attempt to mend whatever broke between me and him a long time ago, he's leaning in and his lips are pressing to mine and after half a second of shock, I'm giving in.
After everything I'd denied him, after all that he'd done for me and for my family, after how much he'd been there for me while Peeta was in the Capitol, I let myself give in and kiss him back.
His lips are different from Peeta's and I can't figure out how I feel about them. He's always been more grown, appearance wise, than Peeta and me, who both still could pass for years younger in the right clothing. But even his kissing is reeks of more experience, more practice, and somehow I find myself learning as his mouth shift under mine, as both his lips suck on my bottom lip expertly.
But it's lacking something and it's only then I realize, what I'm searching for inside Gale's mouth, is the spark that only Peeta's ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn't manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn't be attributed to lack of oxygen.
But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale's demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.
I'm not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I'm hurting someone I deeply care for.
But how I feel upon seeing Gale's face isn't even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.
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alchemist-shizun · 4 years ago
Text
Walking the tightrope
Read on Ao3!
Word Count: 6.018
Characters: Janus, Virgil, Roman, Emile, Andy. (Patton, Logan and Remus mentioned once.)
Pairing(s): Platonic Anxceit, past platonic Royality
Warning(s): Angst, shooting mention, abuse, toxic parent, yelling, death, suicide, self-harm implication, scars mention, hospital mention, overdose, major character death, funeral, panic attack mention, breathing difficulty, self-deprecation/self-loathing, crying, swearing
Summary: Janus moves into a new town due to a tragedy and makes friends with Virgil. As he learns to support his new friend, he realizes how much life sucks even in new beginnings. When another tragedy dawns on him, he decides he's going to try to prevent this from happening ever again.
A/N: Guess what? This started out as a vent fic and then turned out to be... whatever the hell that is. Please read the warnings carefully. As much as it sounds like the saddest and angstiest thing you'll ever read, I promise that it somewhat has a happy ending. I also don't know how I managed to write 6k words, don't ask. Hope you can still enjoy!
So long to all of my friends
Every one of them met tragic ends
With every passing day
I'd be lying if I didn't say
That I miss them all tonight
And if they only knew what I would say
« I know how it feels. »
« To be the new one around? »
« To be the odd one out. »
« Mh. Doesn't seem like you like it much here. »
« Oh believe me, » the stranger turned to Janus, the zips of his leather jacket clattering against the wooden table they were sitting on. « I'm going to be the first one to blow this town. »
That got a chuckle out of Janus, which made the stranger extend his arm.
« My name is Virgil and I don't usually come up to people and be all friendly, but you know, outsiders might understand how I feel better than the locals. »
« The longing feeling to just head home already when everyone else is staring at you and pointing fingers? Yeah, I get it. » the boy nodded, smiling in exchange, then he took Virgil's hand. « I'm Janus. »
« Well Janus, » Virgil wanted to laugh at the odd coincidence of roman-rooted names. « Let's have some fun in hell while it lasts. »
« Oh I already went through and came back five times. It'll be a piece of cake. »
They let their water bottles meet like they were clinking two glasses of white wine together, ready to cheer for an important occasion.
Three months into their friendship and neither had surprisingly bailed out.
« Come on, » it was dark outside and they, of all places, were making use of the kids' park's yellow light lamps. « Confession time. » Virgil sat on one of the swings and motioned for Janus to join him.
« Is that some sort of town tradition? »
« Nah, I just never got to play thirty-six questions in my golden teenage years. »
Janus got onto the swing next to Virgil, moving slowly and humming lost in thought.
« What do you want to know? »
« Anything you want to tell that comes to your mind. That's how it works. »
« This thing has rules? » Janus raised an eyebrow and watched as the other giggled to himself.
« No, I just made them up. »
He rolled his eyes, still smiling in amusement and tried to travel around his mind for any notion: as much as they had stuck together for a while, they still didn't know each other to the core.
Virgil shifted in his seat, swinging slightly thanks to his feet moving against the ground.
They started off with simple facts, how one of them had stolen candy as a kid and got away with it, how they had never watched some of the most famous movies, how they had pretty unusual interests.
Then something clicked, like a door opening for a safer, bigger space they could enter.
« I came here because we were forced to run away. » Janus let out after a brief pause.
Virgil turned to him, now all serious and focused. Careful.
« We lived in a very small town and there was a pretty brutal shooting in my neighborhood. » he sighed heavily. « They didn't catch the shooters, there were possibilities of them coming again so we were immediately gotten to safety. At least … at least the ones who survived. »
The other boy bowed his head, unable to imagine how that must have felt, leaving your childhood home without a single notice of whether your other relatives or your friends were alive or not.
« To this day we haven't gotten news from the detectives. » Janus reminisced of when he used to spend entire days with Remus and Logan. They did say they were going to hang out that day but he was too busy with homework …
He didn't want to think about it anymore.
« Your turn. » he dryly said.
Virgil got the hint and looked up at the sky as if in search of an answer; he was more debating whether or not to open up entirely like he did. Was it too early? He surely didn't want to make him uncomfortable.
Yet there was like some sort of force pulling him, pushing him to say whatever came up to his mind instantly.
He decided to play it somewhat safe.
« I have some scars. »
« Oh yeah? Childhood ones? Or surgery- »
Virgil shrugged. « More like … accidents. » that was what they were. Terrible accidents he hated but couldn't help but make real.
Janus snorted, definitely not having understood the implication. « Do you need someone to prevent you from tripping over ladybugs? »
Virgil considered it.
« Actually, yes, yes I do. »
If I could be with you tonight
I would sing you to sleep
Never let them take the light behind your eyes
One day I'll lose this fight
As we fade in the dark
Just remember you will always burn as bright
It was another one of those nights and Janus was growing sick of it.
Couldn't there possibly be a way to sneak his friend out of such a horrible home situation? If only there were laws permitting something like adopting someone your age …
His phone buzzed on the nightstand and he took it immediately, words of emotional despair appeared on his chat with Virgil.
He was just so done with life and Janus could almost feel it through their chat client.
At first it didn't seem too unusual. Virgil would give him snippets of when he fought with his dad, nothing too serious.
But then he noticed the frequency with which they happened, and Virgil started trusting him enough to explain the entire conversations they had; or, better, what his dad yelled at him for either ten minutes to half an hour before he was done and let the poor boy seal himself in his bedroom.
The worst thing was while he would feel like the worst person existing in the entire universe for the entire night, his dad would already feel peaceful ten minutes later.
In the meantime, he also destroyed Virgil's psyche with every fight that happened.
Not that he cared or even realized. He would've probably laughed at that statement.
Janus was just furious.
It had been six months ever since he'd gotten to know Virgil and there was no way someone so wonderful was being treated like trash.
He picked up his phone and put it to his hear, waiting for the other to respond.
Of course, when Virgil greeted him, he could hear his broken voice like tiny pieces of glass that were already broken, being stepped on time and time again, becoming nothing but dust.
« What the hell happened? »
« The usual. » he heard him sniff. « I simply exist, but I do it wrong. »
« Virgil there's not right or wrong way to exist. »
« I know that. It's him that does not. Everytime he comes pissed off from work he just needs to take it out on any of us back home I just can't do it anymore. I was only typing on my computer, didn't even say a word and it led to him insulting me because he saw one book on the ground. »
« This is insane. He is insane and I'm going to get you out of there. »
Janus started pacing around his room.
« Please. In any way you can find, please do it. »
His heart sank at the urgency.
He still had no clue how to help, so he simply sat on his bed.
« How am I supposed to live like this for another probably five years with all the university stress I'm already going to have? »
« Does his yelling make you less motivated in studying? » maybe grounding him, finding exactly how he was affected, could help.
« I get unmotivated at everything. It's as if a depressive episode just hit you all at once while you were having a pretty okay day. I just … » there was a pause on the other side. « I really haven't told this to anyone else because I was always scared of it. »
Janus was immobile. « Go on. »
« Everytime he even just looks at me with a hint of disgust or any general negative connotation I already feel awful. And when he criticizes me to the point of insulting me it's even worse and it's like all of his negativity transformed into self-loathing in me. »
He bit his lip: he really wanted to punch a man.
« Basically, you believe everything he says. »
« In the long run it's impossible not to have all those degrading adjectives marked in your brain. But it doesn't end there. I feel so angry at myself, not because I wasn't smart enough to prevent the fight but because I can't help myself. No matter what I do, it's always going to end bad. »
« And it's not like you can talk back either. »
« Oh no, » he chuckled sadly. « I'd make everything worse. I just say nothing and wait for him to let it all out. And then … then I leave and that's where the scary part comes. »
« You mentioned it earlier … what scares you? » Janus was afraid of the answer.
« Uh, well. You know how I said that I become incredibly self-hating? It's like this ball of anger at the pit of my stomach and it's as if something inside me were telling me to hurt myself to make it stop. »
« Hurt yourself? » he really didn't like where that was going.
« I hate it as much as you do, but it's a thing I don't control. It's this part of me that keeps screaming in my head or I won't be satisfied. So I do it, I … those scars I told you about, I did them. It's the only way I have so far that quiets down my anger instantly. And what scares me is … sometimes I don't even regret it when I truly realize it. »
Janus considered what to say, he didn't want to overreact or scare him even more than how much he already was.
« Okay, I think maybe you don't regret it because you feel better afterwards, right? »
« Possibly. »
« As for it being the only solution you have. You have already considered having a distraction but it didn't work, probably. Is that because you feel like you can't do it by yourself? »
There was some silence on the other side, so he gave Virgil all the time he needed to come to terms with his feelings.
« Alone I'm sure I can't do anything. I mean, look at what kind of conditions I'm in right now. »
Janus sighed. « Then let's do this. Let's talk like this everytime you feel like that. »
« Janus- »
« Give me a code word you can text me and I'll ring you immediately. »
« J, I already did it. Tonight, I did it, I did it before I was able to write to anyone. » his voice felt choked, like he was about to cry again.
« Hey, it's okay. I'm not mad at you. The important thing is you got yourself treated. Breathe. »
After some more words of reassurance, Janus told him to lie down while keeping his phone close.
He sat with his back against the wall instead, an idea in mind.
« You like My chemical romance, don't you? »
« This is not a good time to shame my musical preferences. » he let out a chuckle. « But yes, I do. »
« Okay then, close your eyes. »
« What, is Gerard Way going to appear in my room once I open them again? »
Janus mentally slapped his arm. « Will you just work with me? »
« Alright, eyes closed. »
The boy took a deep breath, before starting to hum a song Virgil immediately recognized.
It surprisingly worked, as he focused only on Janus's voice and the way his singing differed from the original, how it was softer due to the hour, how everything felt better when you didn't think of the world surrounding you.
« Just remember you will always burn as bright. »
Soon enough, Virgil wasn't responding anymore and Janus ended the call, settling into bed as well with one horrible thought.
How long until Virgil couldn't endure that anymore?
Be strong and hold my hand
Time, it comes for us, you'll understand
We'll say goodbye today
And I'm sorry how it ends this way
If you promise not to cry
Then I'll tell you just what I would say
He should've known.
Ever since he heard a knock on the door so late at night he should have known something was wrong.
Virgil appeared on the other side of the door, looking distraught as though there had been a ghost instead of his friend right in front of him.
« I did something bad. » it was like he didn't even believe his own words.
Janus's eyes widened. « What happened? »
And then, for some reason, he seemed to withdraw.
« It's nothing- I just … Can you come out? »
Janus stepped outside, a little weirded out by the sudden request as it was almost midnight.
Talking to his friend didn't seem to be an option; he just kept quiet, he was distressed and wiping away at his silent tears, trying to not make Janus notice as he steadied himself by holding his hand.
If only he'd understood sooner.
Virgil led him to a spot, a little hill nearby the city you could reach by walking about fifteen minutes from their little neighborhood. There was none at that time, just a lonely bench.
Yet the upset boy preferred to sit on the grass.
« Will you tell me what's bothering you? »
« I just don't want to be alone right now. » Virgil responded through the tears.
Janus felt anxiety rising in his chest as he murmured an “okay” and strengthened the grip around the other's hands.
Only a beat of silence before the world came crashing down and the sky fell on their heads.
Virgil launched himself at Janus and hugged him with all the might that was left in his body. He felt arms around him hugging him back, hearing words of concern he didn't want to answer because once he voiced reality it would have become too true and he was too scared to accept it.
Tic, tac, time was running out.
« I took some pills. » he blurted out.
He felt hands on his shoulders pulling him back.
« What? What pills? How many? »
Janus's stare was unbearable, he couldn't look up anymore, it felt too heavy. Too heavy, too much.
« I don't know, » his shaking hands wiped away a tear. « All of them! » he yelled, finally. He gasped for air right after, he thought this was because of his crying, but he sure as hell knew his body was starting to shut down.
« All of them?! » he could feel the tears in Janus's voice as his grip on his shoulders tightened.
Virgil started sobbing again and brought his hands to his face. « Please don't leave. » he murmured.
« I won't. I- » Janus was shaking as well, he had just sent a text for someone to call an ambulance. What else could he do? « How long has it been since you took them? »
Virgil shook his head violently. « Too long- too late. »
« It's never too late. The doctors will arrive soon- »
« Late. It's- They won't. Not in. Time. » he wasn't able to talk properly anymore, he wasn't sure whether it was a panic attack or his respiratory system failing him. « Almost three hours ago. »
« Three … » Janus was shocked.
He was suddenly stiff. Three hours was enough for a person to die of overdose.
« I was scared to go alone … » Virgil admitted through the tears again, not looking up, fear stuck in his throat. « I needed to see you one last time. »
Janus was took over by an uncontrollable need; he took the other's face in his hands and forced him to look at him. « You should've called me. » he retorted, trying to repress the sobs.
« I couldn't. I'm sorry. » Virgil put his hands on the other's arms. He apologized again and over again until Janus told him he didn't have to and he didn't need to be forgiven for anything.
« You're angry. »
« I'm heartbroken, Virgil. You didn't get what you deserved because of the horrible people surrounding you. That's not fair! » his voice rose at the last sentence. Yes, he was actually angry, but not at him. He was many things and felt many things at once and he didn't know how to handle those feelings again.
« I don't want you to go. » he had hugged him instantly, because seeing his face meant it was happening, while looking at the dark meant absolutely nothing.
« It's okay. »
« No, it's not. »
There were sirens in the distance.
None of them said a thing in their embrace for a whole minute, their silence broken only by the occasional sobs.
« Janus- »
He could feel Virgil's heart rate slowing down.
« No. No, no- »
The ambulance was coming, they could make it.
« I love you. »
« I love you too, just don't give up. »
« I think I will … lie down. »
Virgil's head dropped on Janus's shoulder: the other moved so he could rest part of his body on his lap.
« Hey J. When you see my dad again … » Janus lifted an eyebrow, he had been caressing his friend's hair in a state of panic for the past minutes. « Tell him he can go fuck himself. »
Janus let out some laughter that almost came off as hysterical with the state he was in.
« I will. I will, Virgil. I'll punch him for you. » he promised with a broken voice.
Virgil sadly smiled at him before closing his eyes one last time.
« Remember … » he whispered, voice low and cracked. « Take care of yourself. »
One last wish.
And he was gone.
Janus immediately doubled over himself, longing for screaming right then and there, instead he kept quiet, his face buried in a dead body.
Right after, he felt two arms lifting him up, he wouldn't have been able to register whatever had happened until the day after.
Those were the doctors.
They could make it, he had thought, stupidly.
Janus could only perfectly recall one moment of that night, when, at three a.m., as soon as he had gotten into a decent mental state to go back home, he reached what once was Virgil's household, knocking on the door.
And, when Virgil's father answered it, he punched him in the face.
If I could be with you tonight
I would sing you to sleep
Never let them take the light behind your eyes
I'll fail and lose this fight
Never fade in the dark
Just remember you will always burn as bright
Three days.
Three days is all it takes to organize a funeral.
Three days weren't enough for Janus to accept that any of that had been happening.
On the morning right after his death, his mother had commented on how there were news of a student's death and how terrible they were. Then she had looked at her son's shattered expression, his red eyes and marked eye bags.
She had frowned deeply and caught him in a long-lasting hug, understanding.
He didn't remember what happened on the second day apart from him staying in bed for far longer than necessary.
And then there he was.
All dressed up for the occasion on a Saturday morning, ten o'clock in the front rows of a building for a religion Virgil didn't even believe in.
Thankfully his family was on the opposite side of Janus's seating place.
Funerals were those types of events you couldn't miss, but that you couldn't also wait to leave; you promised yourself you wouldn't cry and yet tears would pool in your eyes at any heartfelt confession made, even the most fake ones.
Anything remotely sad is able to break you down where you're on the verge of weeping.
Still, choking back tears was the usual answer.
Janus looked up when Virgil's sister stood and walked in front of the altar, she was holding a letter and a microphone with both of her shaking hands.
She began talking about her brother and their childhood experiences, all the siblings stuff one would expect. Then she mentioned the letter in her hand.
It was a note Virgil had left before meeting with Janus. Something he knew nothing about.
She wanted to read it aloud.
He zoned out for most of it, not registering her voice like he actually didn't want to know. He caught glimpses of memories of his past and present, of the real people who cared, not one mention of his dad was made.
Then he heard his name and suddenly he couldn't focus anywhere else.
« I've only known him for a little less than a year and yet he's been better than anyone I had ever met in my eighteen years of existence. »
Janus put his hands on his face. How dare he leave him like that?
« It's going to hurt. Don't blame yourself. You couldn't prevent this. It was a choice I made alone. I know it sucks and it's selfish, but I wanted a way out. I'm glad I'm getting to spend my last instants with you and that I got to meet you in time. I'll greet you on the other side when time will come. »
She looked up at him and was met with a longing look that hoped she was over and done with that. She gave him a small nod and smile, then went back to read the conclusion.
Janus wanted to laugh, laugh and cry and curse Virgil.
The rest of the ceremony went by and it was now his turn to bid his last farewell.
He knew words were useless when it came to those situations, so instead he gently leaned in and started off humming a familiar melody.
« If I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep. »
He wanted to reach out and shake him, tell him he knew he was pretending to be asleep and it was all a big prank so he could leave his family and run away.
Janus would've gone with him.
The light behind your eyes
Virgil looked like he'd taken the form of a storm cloud.
His skin gray, almost non human. Fully clothed with a suit he would've hated, Janus could hear his usual groan in his memories, which made him sadly laugh.
He looked cold and dead and too real and he hated it.
The light behind your
Janus closed his eyes only for a second.
A second in which that whole night came back to him; he felt Virgil's arms surrounding his chest, tears soaking his shirt, panic rising in his lungs.
He wished he could hold him again, take him away and let him into a safer zone.
Instead Janus's mind took him to the instant he watched as Virgil's eyes darkened, as if you could turn off a star, as if you could turn off the sun with a click.
Sometimes we must grow stronger and
You can't be stronger in the dark
When I'm here, no longer
You must be stronger and
The Monday after, Janus felt himself pushed by an incredibly strong and ardent force.
He had gone to school no problem under the aghast stare of his parents, impatiently waiting for the bell to ring for break time. Perfect, as he dared to admit they were, ideas had started to squirm in his mind ever since the funeral.
As he had gotten out of the church, he remembered meeting Virgil's sister, she had given him a hug, showing him how there was a spot in Virgil's letter she hadn't read in which he asked her to do so.
Right after that, his mother had approached him, knowing how close they were, she had uncomfortably mentioned the school therapist Virgil had wanted to meet, doctor Picani.
Emile Picani walked right past him as Janus had started going on the search for his next class.
« Excuse me, »
The doctor turned around in no time, a calm smile placed on his lips. « May I help you? » he spoke softly.
There was no way he didn't know who he was, given that the news of Virgil's suicide had ran around pretty quickly.
« Yes, I was actually looking for you. I'm Janus Dean, from the senior year, I was hoping I could ask you a favor. » there was a sort of electric buzz in his chest as he watched Emile furrow his eyebrows in interest.
« A favor? Therapy sessions aren't a favor I do for students, sweetie, it's my job. » he explained kindly.
Yeah, he didn't get it.
« That's not what I was looking for. I need another kind of help. » he tried, this time Emile simply nodded, letting him finish so he could understand.
« I know this is not the biggest city but as we've seen it doesn't mean there aren't people who need help, even with the smallest things, especially when they're young and experiencing hard struggles for the first time, »
« What I want to try to do is organize a support group made by youth for youth here in this school. I know Virgil was too afraid to actually come to you and I know there are more kids who would rather express their issues to people their age cause that's what happens everyday with online friends. »
« People understanding each other because they're going through the exact same thing at the same time, thus they can empathize so much better and feel at ease. I'm not trying to downgrade your job, on the contrary I wanted both your help to set this up and … well, I was hoping to be able to host it by myself so I'd need a hand on how I should … behave? » he finally looked up at the doctor, breathless.
Picani was smiling the widest he'd ever seen anyone do.
« Janus you are the most incredible person I have ever met. I would love to help! But at one condition: I'm going to stay with you in the first support meetings, then, when we agree you can handle it on your own, I'll leave you be. »
Janus's face lit up with hope and excitement, he sputtered out multiple thank yous and, afterwards, they set a day to work on their project and contact the school's principal to get the permission they needed.
He started walking towards a class he'd have had in ten minutes when he heard a younger voice call him. Janus turned around and found a boy he'd only noticed once or twice in the halls, he only remembered him heading for theatre club at times while he was leaving for home.
« Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with doctor Picani. My name is Roman and I just wanted to say that … well, in short I have gone through a similar thing as you are right now, some years ago. » he looked down, reminiscing of his own experience.
Had Janus lived in that city long enough, he would've known of a middle school student's suicide case, Patton Jones.
« I always had this longing feeling to do something about it but I had felt hopeless until now. What I'm trying to say is, if you need help with your idea, I'd be more than happy to assist. »
Janus hoped that Virgil had been watching over him on that day, because that was the first time he felt like the wind was blowing his way.
« Thank you, Roman. You can already come to Picani's studio tomorrow after class if you'd like. » the other boy gave him a nod. « Until then. » they exchanges smiles and parted ways.
His project was going to see the light of day and there was nothing else he would've asked for in the world right then.
If I could be with you tonight
I would sing you to sleep
Never let them take the light behind your eyes
I failed and lost this fight
Never fade in the dark
Just remember you will always burn as bright
It took maybe a month for the support group to finally be successful: at first it was only Janus and Roman, waiting for people to show up and thus chatting along with the school's therapist.
Things started off as awkward until they worked together so well that more and more people were encouraged to show up.
Christmas holidays were drawing near and Janus was nothing but amazed at how far they had come.
He had just said goodbye to his co-host, Roman, and given Emile that session's achievements when he caught someone standing in front of the room's door as soon as he opened it.
« Oh? »
That couldn't be real.
There was a definitely younger boy standing before him, hands in pockets and the same grumpy expression he used to see on Virgil's face. He … he did somehow resemble some of Virgil's traits.
Janus shook that thought off of his head, reminding himself it was probably only because of their similar clothing choice.
When he noticed him, the stranger's eyes widened.
« Can I help you? »
« No, I was just- Well … »
« Did you want to listen? »
The boy probably took that as an attack as he retreated and made himself smaller in his black hoodie.
« It's okay if so, people can come and listen and not say a word if they aren't comfortable with talking. We want it to be a safe space for everyone, without being judged. »
He seemed to consider, standing still. « Okay. I'll see. »
« Well, » the older boy extended his arm. « My name is Janus, pleased to meet you either way. »
He gave him a weak smile. « I'm Andy. »
« Well then Andy, I'll see you around or at next week's meeting? »
Andy nodded and looked down, still hunched over himself; they waved at each other and went home.
It was nothing more than two days later that Janus found Andy sitting at the same wooden table he and Virgil had met.
All those coincidences were making him both dizzy and filled with energy: he reached his new acquaintance and sat with him.
« I know how it feels. » he found himself saying.
Immediately a pair of dark eyes were set on him, a questioning look in them.
« Being the odd one out isn't fun, is it? »
« I guess. I just want to finish high school and leave this town. Living with your parents this much can be unbearable. »
There was some silence, before Janus resumed talking.
« I can perfectly understand. You know, I actually had a similar conversation at this very table one year ago. »
Andy seemed to catch on what he meant right away, he looked up at Janus for the first time, finding a confident young man in front of him.
Janus let his head rest on his palm.
« When he used to vent to me, I'd be able to soothe him with a song sometimes. I'm not saying this exact song would help you in particular, but the concept of it can. Find one peculiar song that grounds you, make it yours for when you need it. »
Andy kept watching him as he explained. He looked at him as though a guardian angel had just dawned on him. How did he know of his profound passion for music?
« And you'll see that soon, unbearable will become conquerable. » he looked at Andy with seriousness in his eyes, but spoke with a kind voice. « Remember to always take care of yourself. »
He sat up. « I will leave you alone now. » he chuckled. « B- »
« No! »
Both of them stared at each other in surprise.
« I mean, » Andy cleared his throat. « You can stay if you want. »
Janus smiled at him and nodded: sitting back down, he noticed Andy's much wider smile.
« So, what music do you listen to? »
The light behind your eyes
He couldn't believe he had come that far.
Janus walked down a street in town, a few years older, his face's structure bolder, his mood as high as ever when he was about to approach the building where his organization resided.
Which was kind of surprising as it was the anniversary of Virgil's death.
Janus was satisfied, to say the least.
He recalled a conversation he had had years prior with Emile Picani about what profession he was thinking of going for and, without missing a beat, he had answered he wished to follow the path of clinical psychology as well.
He had found his call, becoming a therapist and hoping to help as many people as he could: he now was a full time therapist, with his own studio, also visiting schools and participating in the nightly Community Support Group he had founded along Roman.
Sometimes he crossed paths with Emile and, now kind of colleagues, they shared each other's words of wisdom and finally talked more as friends than as mentor and student.
The support group had grown into a pretty big organization and he had succeeded into raising awareness at least in the town he lived in; of course, the challenge was to extend it further, but ending up on local newspapers and in broadcasting services was already a good start, along with multiple online platforms he was trying to maintain with the help of both Roman, Emile and every kid who offered their help.
Their main goal as of then was to expand the meetings to different issues so they could try and work on more specific problems instead of having a messy general one.
Janus stopped to look at the poster on the building's wall.
Some graphic design students had designed the support group flyer: it showcased mainly a picture of Virgil, since they had founded that group in his honor.
It was his favorite picture of Virgil, with his soft smile and that sparkle in his eyes he could still notice even after seeing it leaving his irises firsthand.
It didn't matter what he saw, though, cause his memory lived in him, he lived through him and he knew he would have been proud of him.
Janus looked away with an enormous sense of nostalgia and walked up the stairs.
« Just remember you will always burn as bright. »
Janus entered the building, taking with himself the light behind Virgil's eyes.
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sageblogsthings · 4 years ago
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Oc ask meme for my bb tilaraen? And DAISY????? @/aetherwrites
ty rose!!! i do not ramble about tilaraen (or any characters besides mikah and dorian) enough asdlksf
Tilaraen
they are non-binary (probably genderflux but not sure yet, esp since Arnoran gender constructs are weird so idk still figuring that out lol)
they can shapeshift!! they typically prefer to look more (what we would consider) feminine-presenting but they do look more masculine-presenting on some days, esp if they need to disguise themself
i don’t wanna get too much into their backstory bc major spoilers but they are extremely skilled with time magic and alchemy! they actually are the head potionmaster and alchemist for the Grand Council
idt i’ve mentioned this before actually and it hasn’t come up in the book yet but Tilaraen and Silaesan are twins!
also in their chapter Tilaraen is described as a tiefling but i think i’m gonna change that and make up a race to encompass beings who can perform high-level time magic like Tilaraen and Silaesan
Tilaraen is kind of Verena’s right-hand, and acts as her eyes and ears outside of the palace (u can kinda see that in Tilaraen’s chapter if you’re curious)
they are hands-down my most chaotic character like i genuinely have no clue where their character arc is gonna go it’s just wherever the tornado takes me at this point lol
their design was heavily inspired by the pastel goth aesthetic! their skin is a light pink color and they almost always wear all black with lots of chains and stuff bc they extra as hell
they also love oversized weapons. like they are not big by any means but they carry around mauls and battle-axes that could put most of the Aemornian Army to shame. i think they lift them with the force of pure spite alone
Daisy
ah yes the buff lady i created in a late-night haze of gay inspiration 😍
she a massive lesboon, if that wasn’t obvious from the lil snippet (it’s not that lil i guess whoops) i posted about her and Tov lol
she is so weak for Tov it’s not even funny
she is also the head of the Aemornian Guard, a fairly small but elite troop of guards in charge of protecting the more dangerous parts of Aemorn
when her and Tov start dating she may or may not alter the guard shifts so that she can walk by Tov’s tavern and make sure she’s safe
on nights where can’t be stationed there she makes sure to put her best guards there. is it biased? yes. is it cute as hell? also yes.
Daisy grew up outside of Aemorn on a small farm. she really really loves cows and really wants to live on a farm with Tov and get lots of bby cows
her father taught her how to use a sword, and the sword she uses was actually a gift from him
her mother taught her how to do basket-weaving, and Daisy is super good at it!! you wouldn’t think looking at her that arts and crafts requiring fine motor skills would be her thing lol but she loves it. i mean she does also love fighting and beating misogynistic men to a pulp but such is the duality of woman amirite
her favorite color is sunflower yellow! it’s definitely not bc it reminds her of Tov her literal ray of sunshine aha what
i hc that in terms of stature/build she looks a lot like Frøya from Norsemen (pls pls google her, her biceps do wonders for the soul)
also her voice is like very raspy and kinda deep (i am GAY ok) but when she laughs really hard her voice gets a lot higher and it’s super cute
that’s all i got for now but pls ask me about my gay children whenever <3
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talesfromyamysteries · 4 years ago
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“All Eyes on Her” by L.E. Flynn
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Cover Credit: Amazon (still unsure about Copyright laws, so please don’t sue me)
All Eyes on Her by L.E. Flynn available on Amazon
Book Summary (credited to Amazon):
“Perfect for fans of One of Us is Lying and We Were Liars, All Eyes on Her by L.E. Flynn is a gripping young adult thriller told from the perspective of everyone except the alleged killer―a seventeen-year-old girl. You heard the story on the news. A girl and a boy went into the woods. The girl carried a picnic basket. The boy wore bright yellow running shoes. The girl found her way out, but the boy never did… Everyone thinks they know what happened. Some say Tabby pushed him off that cliff― she didn’t even like hiking. She was jealous. She had more than her share of demons. Others think he fell accidentally―she loved Mark. She would never hurt him…even if he hurt her. But what’s the real story? All Eyes On Her is told from everyone but Tabby herself as the people in her life string together the events that led Tabby to that cliff. Her best friend. Her sister. Her enemy. Her ex-boyfriend. Because everybody thinks they know a girl better than she knows herself. What do you think is the truth?”
My Thoughts
I absolutely loved this book. I read the description for it long before the book was actually released and I was hesitant. I didn’t really understand the way the story would go told from everyone else but Tabby’s perspective, but I was pleasantly surprised. L.E. Flynn does a phenomenal job telling the story from so many different points of view. I was literally on edge from the first few chapters. 
Tabby is one of those girls you see once and remember forever. She’s the kind of girl you stop to stare at on the street. She isn’t the kind of girl who would kill someone. She’s one of those girls you think you know before you even talk to her.
I think the story takes place in four parts that are broken up into past and present stories from several different characters. All while everyone else is giving their side of the story, you get glimpses into who Tabby is and how other people feel about her. You never quite understand Tabby, though, since you don’t get to hear from her until the end of the book, but that makes the book even more compelling.
The perspectives include Tabby’s little sister who believes she’s hidden in Tabby’s shadow, but also thinks the world of her. Tabby’s best friend who thought she knew her the best, but reveals she might be as clueless as everyone else. A girl who considers herself Tabby’s enemy. Her dead boyfriend’s best friend. An ex-boyfriend. So many people are telling a story, but none of them are sure about what actually happened.
The only two people who know what happened are Tabby and Mark, but Mark is dead and Tabby is silent.
L.E. Flynn also included snippets of newspapers, true crime blogs, etc. because everyone is trying to figure out what happened on that cliff. Those are almost my favorite parts because they show how quickly people can make assumptions, even in fiction.
The death is initially declared an accident, but suspicions are on Tabby throughout the entire book, which brings a new element when everyone else is telling Tabby’s story. The end brings a twist I kind of saw coming, but only because I’m naturally suspicious.
There were times when I was absolutely certain Tabby premeditatedly killed her boyfriend and others when I was sure she was innocent. I won’t say what I thought at the end of the book; you’ll just have to make up your own mind because you definitely need to read this book.
I am obsessed with this book and will definitely be re-reading it in the near future. I think if you have the time, you should check this book out from your library or purchase it from your local book store because you won’t be disappointed.
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skepticalcatfrog · 5 years ago
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Shattered Crown Chapter 13
First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter Masterpost
Summary: After disaster strikes in Prince Roman's kingdom, he must go on a quest in order to take back the crown that is rightfully his. He will travel with three companions on an epic adventure, gaining many friends and enemies along the way. Those three companions are an intelligent inventor with a mysterious past, a cheerful wizard with a dark secret, and... the assassin who was sent to kill him two years prior.
Pairings: Prinxiety and Logicality
Word count: 3,879
Author's Notes: Another chapter! This one took quite a long time. We're nearing the end of our adventure, but don't worry! This isn't the last chapter just yet. And, I already have my next project in the works.
"Again, who are you?" Patton's mother asked, slightly more aggressively this time.
"It's me, your son!" Patton looked at them hopefully, waiting for the memory spell to be removed.
"Stop playing games! We have only one son, and you are not him." Patton's father scowled.
"Patton, they don't remember you! Let's just go, they're not worth your time." Roman tugged on Patton's arm lightly.
"No, I'm not leaving until they remember me!" Patton swiftly pulled his arm away, leaving Roman standing there in shock. The wizard turned back to his parents. "My name is Patton, and I'm your son. I'm Ethan's brother. I learned magic while living here in this castle. I had a beautiful garden outside. I was never your favorite, and I didn't care, because I knew I would be eventually. But I never was. It was always him. But that didn't matter, I still loved you. And this whole time, I thought you were dead! But you're not!"
The king and queen's eyes glowed yellow, much brighter than Virgil's had, but they faded much faster. After the glow was gone, they were left with slightly dazed expressions on their faces.
"Patton?" The queen whispered.
"Yeah, it's me." Patton nodded, hoping for a good reaction.
"What…" The dazed expression became one of anger. "What made you think you could ever come back here?!"
Patton stepped backwards almost defensively at the sudden change of tone, like he was trying to protect himself from something.
"But… I thought you'd be happy that I came back…" He said, partly to himself.
"In what world would we be happy that our disappointment of a son who tried to kill us came back to our kingdom after being banished by our only child with any common sense? You're evil!" The king shouted. Patton shrunk in on himself slightly, as if the words physically hurt him.
"Hey! What gives you the right to talk to him that way?" Roman stepped between Patton and his parents.
"What gives you the right to talk at all?" The queen retorted.
"I'm his friend. And you clearly don't care enough about him to be entitled to an opinion." Roman crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating.
"That point becomes even stronger when you take into account that Patton is a better person than either of you." Logan stood next to Roman. Patton was amazed hearing them defending him like that.
"And if we were talking to anyone else, we wouldn't even have to mention why he's better than Ethan." Virgil joined the conversation. "Yeah, remember me? That one 'worthless assassin' that used to live here?"
The king and queen definitely remembered him, and the pure shock on their faces showed it.
"You probably thought I was dead, didn't you?" Virgil continued, getting more emotional with every word. "Surprise, I'm still around. But that doesn't change the fact that Ethan, your actually evil son, tried to make sure that wasn't possible. So if you think even for a second that Ethan is some sort of angel, it's no mystery why everyone in this kingdom hates it here. Because you rule just like he does."
None of the other three had ever seen Virgil as angry as he was then. It was impressive, but also kind of scary.
"How dare you come into our castle and speak to us this way!" The queen glared at Virgil. "Get out. Now!"
"Fine. You have nothing good to offer us anyway." Virgil turned and left on the spot, walking down the first staircase. Roman followed close behind him.
Logan took a moment to take Patton's hand before they left as well. None of them said a word until they were out of the castle and safely beyond the kingdom's walls.
"Thank you guys for… sticking up for me back there." Patton said quietly.
"You don't need to thank us. We know you would've done the same for us." Roman offered a smile.
"I know, but I just don't know what happened back there. It was like the kingdom was a magnet, and I had to go there. But now I'm completely ready to not go back ever again." Patton shook his head.
"Yes, I think that's probably best." Logan agreed.
"And besides, even if you wanted to, I wouldn't let you." Virgil told him. "It'll be good for both of us to stay away from here for a long, long time."
"Yeah…" Patton looked back at the castle. "They don't have what we came for, and there are too many bad memories there anyway."
"So what happens now?" Roman asked. "There's really only one place left for us to go, isn't there?"
Patton nodded. "Are you ready to go back home?"
"I don't really know, if I'm being totally honest." Roman sighed. "Because of course I want to go back, but I'm just… scared. I don't know if I'll be able to face Ethan a second time. The first time I tried, I ended up getting thrown out of a window and running for my life. What if that happens again? I don't want to run into a situation where you guys are in trouble and I can't do anything to help you."
"I know that's not going to happen." Virgil reached out and took his hand. "You're going to be able to do this. You've already come this far, so what's going to stop you from facing him one more time?"
"Everything, Virgil. It feels like the whole world is resting on my shoulders, and I can't ask anyone for help holding it up, or else they'll get hurt." Roman explained to them. "I'm just so tired of having to do it by myself, but I don't want to hurt my friends and family."
"I understand." Logan piped up, surprising Roman. "The last sentence you said, there was a point in my life when I experienced that exact feeling every single day. But I moved on. I'm better now, because I learned that people won't always suffer. Sometimes they will, but that won't last forever. You'll be okay, Roman. And we will too."
The prince looked him in the eyes, and Logan saw a deep emotional pain that he thought he'd never see in Roman.
"But you don't know that." He said, looking away from the inventor. "None of us do. You moved past it, but who's to say that I ever will? I lost everything I've ever known in just a few short minutes. And sure, I gained a lot over these past weeks. But it's like… losing a book that's been your favorite for years. You know it's not going to be there if you look, so why even bother going back to the bookshelf?"
"The same thing happened to me, Roman." Logan told him again. "I also lost everything, and that's why I'm saying this. Because you need to understand that you're not the only one who has ever felt that way. If you want more proof, I can give you more proof. But I'll warn you, it might be stressful."
"Whatever you have, I want to see it." Roman decided.
"Alright then. Patton, show him the memories please." Logan glanced at his boyfriend.
"Okay… I'm going to do just a little bit of magic on you, are you fine with that?" Patton asked, just to make sure.
"Yeah, I'll be fine." Roman nodded.
Patton put one hand on his forehead and the other over his heart. His hands started to glow light blue. Roman's eyes turned the same color, except unlike Patton's hands, there were swirls of a darker blue appearing in his eyes. Roman was seeing small snippets of the memories Patton had seen on the beach in Caeruleum.
"What's happening? What are you doing?" Virgil asked, only letting a little concern show.
"Putting Logan's memories into his brain. I got them a while ago, so I can transfer them." Patton answered.
The spell only went on for a moment more before it stopped, and all the blue faded.
Roman stared into space for a moment, completely silent. Then he turned his head to look at Logan again. "Oh my gods."
"And now you get it." Logan said.
"I do, yeah." Roman nodded.
"So, now that that's over and done with, shall we be on our way?" Logan asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah, sure. That was a lot, and I don't know how you're moving on so fast, but sure." Virgil nodded.
"I moved on so quickly because everyone reacts the same way every time, with rare exceptions. So why repeat the same situation over and over again when you could be moving on to more important things?" Logan explained.
"Yeah, I guess you're right…" Roman seemed to snap out of the shocked trance he was in. "Can I look at the map?"
Patton handed him the journal. Roman opened it to the map, and looked at it for a couple minutes.
"I just needed to see which way we were going. It'll probably still be a few days until we get back to my kingdom." He handed the journal back to Patton. "And now we should be ready, right?"
"I mean, yeah, I guess so." Patton nodded.
"Okay then, let's go." Roman started walking in the direction they were supposed to be going, not even waiting for the other three to follow him. They did, of course, but he didn't wait for them.
"You seem to be a lot less nervous than you were before…" Virgil said, walking next to him. "Are you really okay, or do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm fine, I promise. I'm just trying to channel my nervousness into excitement." Roman told him. "Because you know, I'm getting my kingdom back. So as terrified as I am to have to face Ethan again, I'm glad to finally be able to go back home."
"Yeah, that makes sense." Virgil sighed. "So… I've been doing some thinking."
"And… what have you been thinking about?" Roman asked, slightly nervous.
"When you were poisoned, I was so scared. I thought, what if I never get to see you again?" Virgil said, not looking at him as he spoke. "So I was wondering… if you'd be okay with it, of course… if I could live with you in your castle."
"Of course you can, Virgil!" Roman grinned, a genuine brightness in his eyes that Virgil loved to see. He turned fully towards him and held both of his hands, causing them both to stop moving. "I'd love to have you there with me."
Logan and Patton were going to stop with them, but decided to let them have their moment. They kept walking, but a little slower so they didn't lose the other two.
"Just think, we'll wake up every morning and the first thing we'll see is each other. With our shared warmth, and the sun shining through the windows, we'll never want to leave. We know we have responsibilities, but we have a bit of time to ourselves. And we have plenty of time to enjoy the peace and quiet." Roman's grin became a softer smile. Virgil smiled as well, and leaned his forehead against his boyfriend's.
"How do you create such beautiful pictures just by saying words?" He asked.
"I bet you could do it too. You're amazing." Roman gave Virgil a quick peck on the lips.
Virgil pulled him in again for a second, longer kiss. But this one wasn't as passionate as it was sweet.
"I can't wait to live the life you described." Virgil said.
"Then let's keep going and get that life." Roman smiled with determination.
"Yeah, let's." Virgil smiled, glad that Roman was happy.
~~~
It took days to get back to Roman's kingdom. They had to check the map multiple times just to make sure they were going the right way. Whenever they weren't traveling, Roman would be cleaning his sword with whatever he could find. He did this whenever he was stressed, which was pretty much every night.
One night, because there was a snow storm, his sword had to be taken away. The others were worried he'd accidentally break it. He was worried that if it snowed too much, then they wouldn't be able to travel for a couple more days, thus delaying their trip even more. Luckily, even though it snowed quite a bit, there wasn't enough that they couldn't keep moving. The snow melted after a few more days, which made it much easier to walk.
Each of them had something to fight with, except for Logan. Patton had his magic, Virgil had the Shadow Blades and his own daggers, and Roman had his sword. But Logan didn't have a weapon.
"Here, take these." Virgil handed his old daggers to Logan.
"Are you positive?" Logan glanced towards them, then back to Virgil.
"Yeah. I have the other ones anyway. And besides, these are right up your alley. Swift, efficient, and not obnoxious." Virgil explained. Logan accepted the daggers, and put them in his bag. "I'll probably need to train with you, though. We can probably do it during our breaks from traveling."
"That would be the ideal time, yes." Logan agreed.
And they did practice, every day. Eventually Logan got almost as good at using them as Virgil was. He was definitely better at throwing them than Virgil, though. Logan just knew more about physics, so his throws were more accurate.
After a couple more days of traveling, they got back on the same path they'd started from. It was kind of weird to Roman, seeing everything go by in reverse. It really hit him then, that all of this was really happening. He was really going back to save his kingdom, save the people, avenge his father. The group passed by Caruleum. There were people at the gate cheering as they passed. Two of these people were Remy and Emile, who both waved to them. Remy pushed his sunglasses up so they rested on his head and shot them a wink. That was the last the group saw of the two of them before moving on. 
The next day, they passed by the entrance to Shadowbrook. Virgil abruptly handed Roman his cloak and became invisible. There were guards patrolling around the entrance, and Roman and Virgil would be in huge trouble if anyone saw them. Luckily, no one in the kingdom would recognize Logan and Patton. Except for maybe that woman who had given Patton the necklace. But she wouldn't let anyone harm them.
As quickly as what seemed like a couple of hours, they were back at the mountain range. Patton's cottage was still sitting in the middle of the wide open field in the center of the ring of mountains, just as they'd left it. The wizard dashed down a steep hill, almost tripping multiple times. The other three didn't speed up at all, because they knew exactly where he was going.
He burst through the door of the cottage, running into the living room. He dropped to his knees and Lavender jumped into his lap, pawing at his face.
Patton's voice jumped up an octave as he spoke, kissing the kitten's head between every sentence. "Oh my goodness! Hello sweet baby, I missed you so much!"
"You'd think she would've grown a little more since we've been gone." Roman joked, looking at the small light orange cat who had now started to greet the rest of them.
"Oh no, she doesn't grow. She's magical like that." Patton explained, his voice back to its normal tone. Lavender was rubbing her head against Virgil's leg.
"Did you enchant her with that condition?" Logan asked, petting Lavender as she stepped on his foot insistently.
"No, I didn't." Patton shook his head. "I found her like that. The only thing I enchanted her with is a spell so she wouldn't set off my allergies."
"Ah, okay." Logan nodded. "Well, as nice as it was to see you Lavender, I think we have to go."
"Wait, just one more thing!" Patton stood up and went into the greenhouse. All the plants were perfectly in order. He walked around, looking at each of them. "Oh wow, this is great! They all look so healthy! I'm glad that spell worked."
"Yes, they do look healthy." Logan agreed, following him inside. "What spell did you use?"
"Oh, nothing special. Just a simple charm to schedule what time to water each of them." Patton said, examining the leaves on a bright orange vine that was growing across the wall.
"Smart. I probably would have over complicated it much more." Logan stood next to him.
"But I'm sure whatever you did would've been great." Patton smiled.
"Not nearly as good as this." Logan took his hand. Patton kissed his cheek.
"Hey guys, are you ready to get going?" Virgil asked, leaning on the doorframe. "We'll want to keep moving while we still have daylight."
"You're right, you're right." Patton nodded, walking towards the door. "I just need to say goodbye to Lavender before we go."
The wizard picked up the small cat and kissed her head. "Bye Lavender! We'll be back, don't worry!" She meowed in response and tapped his nose with her paw. He giggled and put her back down. "Okay, we're ready. Roman?"
Roman looked up from the book he was reading, which appeared to be an old magic book. "Yeah?"
"We're ready to go, come on." Virgil gestured for him to come over. The prince put down his book and went to where the rest of the group was standing.
They filed out the door one by one, walking towards the path they'd come from when they were starting their journey. Patton was the last one out, and he closed the door behind him. Then they were on their way once again.
When they were walking along the path out of the mountains, there were many moments where they heard heavy footsteps. They were all afraid of another encounter with a dragon. But they got through the mountains safely. It looked like the scaly creatures had learned not to mess with them. They kept walking until they got to the forest where Logan's house was. The sun was setting behind the mountains, and the sky was turning orange.
"Maybe once we arrive at my home, we should sleep for the night." Logan suggested.
"No, we'll have time." Roman was quick to shoot down the idea. "It's already been so long, and we're so close now. I don't want to stop traveling anymore."
"That's fair, but I still think that we need to rest." Virgil pointed out. "Patton, do you know any spells that can give us energy?"
"I think so, hold on…" Patton took the journal out of his pocket and flipped through the pages while they walked. Finally, he stopped and pointed at a spell. "Here's one. It won't take too long, so we'll be able to cast it on all of us quickly. It'll give us the same amount of energy as a full night's sleep."
"That's exactly what we need." Roman nodded. "We can wait until we get to Logan's house, replenish our energy, then go to my castle."
"I still think that actually sleeping would be more beneficial, but if you'd really rather create artificial energy, I suppose that could also work." Logan nodded.
So when they got to Logan's house, Patton cast the spell on all of them in turn, including himself. They immediately felt more energized.
"Wow, so this is what a full night of sleep feels like." Virgil said. He definitely looked the most awake, but that could've just been how different he looked.
"Well, we have our energy. Now let's go!" Roman immediately moved towards the door. He had already left before any of them could protest, so all they could do was follow him. By then, it was completely dark outside.
He sprinted towards the kingdom walls. What an ironic parallel to the beginning of his journey. He saw guards at the gate, and immediately stopped short. He darted back around the corner to find the other three waiting there for him.
"There are guards by the main gate, so we can't go there. And there isn't a back gate, so our only option is to scale the wall." Roman whispered, gesturing to the tall wall that surrounded the castle. "I used to sneak out a lot, so I've done this before. I should be fine."
"I have too. With this same wall, even." Virgil laughed quietly.
"What? When did that happen?" Patton asked, looking between Roman and Virgil.
"When Virgil tried to kill me that one time." Roman explained briefly.
"That doesn't really explain anything!" Even though he was whispering, the concern was still clear in Patton's voice.
"I might not be doing that anymore, but I'm still a trained assassin." Virgil said. "And besides, that was two years ago. It's all water under the bridge at this point. Now, we've got more important things to worry about. How are you guys going to climb the wall?"
"I guess I could levitate myself up…" Patton said, looking towards the wall.
"This looks to be a fairly soft type of stone." Logan ran his real hand across the wall. "With a bit of force from my other hand, I could probably stab the daggers into it and use them to climb this wall."
"Okay, then let's go." Roman jumped up on the wall, quickly and easily finding grooves in it to hold on to. Virgil did the same, and they were both over the wall in no time.
Patton muttered a spell and was surrounded by a soft blue glow. He floated into the air until he was over the wall. Logan, as he had said, used the daggers to climb the wall. It definitely damaged it a little, but not anything that was unfixable. Soon enough they were all on the other side of the wall.
"When we get into the castle, he's probably going to be waiting for us. So we have to be prepared to fight." Roman said, walking towards the door as quietly as possible. "But, we also don't want to be reckless. Somewhere in-between would be good."
"Okay, somewhere in between. Got it." Virgil gave him a thumbs up. 
The guards didn't seem to notice any of them. They each readied their weapons, preparing for whatever could be behind the door. Roman knew that everyone in the castle would usually be sleeping by now, but Ethan could still be awake. Roman opened the door to the castle, and they snuck inside.
He lead them up the stairs to the third floor, and pushed the doors to the throne room wide open. Just as they'd expected, the throne room was… completely empty?
"He's… he's not here." Roman said in disbelief.
"Oh, I'm not?" Ethan's voice echoed through the room. They all tensed up. "You should've told me, I would've left. But, since I wasn't informed that I wouldn't be here… why don't we have some fun?"
A loud snap sounded, and everything around them went completely dark.
Taglist: @musikasworld @icequeenoriginal @romanknite @idkwhyimhere0o0 @mellow-yellow-nutella @bubblycricket @ilovemyspoopydad @chelsvans @i-am-not-anon
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shinneth · 5 years ago
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6, 1, 7, 5 and 10 for the fic writer meme!
OKAY. Finally got free from the distractions. Let’s see how well I can answer these. 
6. Share one of your weaknesses
Oh, I have a good amount of those. I would say my tl;dr curse (I don’t think I’ve EVER written a fic below four-figures, and very rarely does it end up 5k or lower), but I know there’s many out there who’d tell me that’s definitely a strength and that they’d love to be able to churn out six-figure epics in their sleep like I do. So let’s go with a more objective weakness.
I have the redundancy curse. I have this really, really really really really really really really bad habit of somehow reiterating a statement twice within the same sentence. Or at the very least, my verbiage will get repeated more times than it should within the same sentence (enough to the point where the sentence sounds very awkward when you read it out loud). This almost always happens because I’ll establish something at the beginning of my sentence, somehow forget about it midway through, and think I need to add it to the end.
I can’t tell you how many times I fall into that trap. Only through rereading my progress to get back into the groove to continue a chapter is when I’ll really have an opportunity to catch these slip-ups. Since I’ve never used betas and I’m pretty much fine finishing everything in one draft and all that. It’s astounding how many of these errors I’ll catch, really. And despite that, a few will always end up slipping through in the final product anyway! 
It’s a very annoying quirk that I’d love to fix, but again, it almost always happens right under my nose. No matter how conscious I try to be about this sort of thing, it’ll pop up when I least expect it. So really, all I can do is just try and catch as many as I can after I’ve written my stuff down, but before I finalize my piece.
1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.
I think the name of the game here is Adaptation Expansion. I focus on a character (or a small group of characters) that I feel
A) Didn’t get as much canon development as they deserved
or
B) Might have gotten a decently good amount of focus, but I’m seeing many unsolved mysteries/curiosities around said character(s) and many possible routes to explore any headcanons that are raging inside of me.
Or the headcanon itself is just really nagging at me, so I make a whole story dedicated to it. 
In your typical Shin fic, the more Shin likes you, the more you should be afraid. Outside of having a wildly creative sadistic streak, my best ideas are usually best suited to my favorite characters, and I happen to be very big on the Earn Your Happy Ending trope. Certain series I feel kind of gave their characters a good conclusion a little too easily, and so I’ve made it my life’s mission to erase any doubt in my readers’ minds about whether or not the characters truly paid their dues to get their reward at the end. 
So of course, you add that with the sadism, and that means you’re very likely to get a fic that at least somewhat leans on the dramatic end. I think the vast majority of my Fanfiction.net stories are listed under “Drama”, now that I think about it. But really, drama’s what you go with when you wanna raise the stakes to crazy-high levels. It won’t be melodramatic 100% of the time, nor will it be grimdark or consummately edgy; I do make a point to add some witty humor and even fluff if it’s appropriate. But Shin fics are all about letting you see the kind of hell certain characters could be going through in canon and thankfully aren’t - yet you’re also seeing those same characters achieve a level of greatness canon would have never permitted because they put their all into reaching their goal. 
That’s about the gist of it: trying to outdo canon at its own game, giving justice I feel my favorites are due, but only after I put them through the seven circles of hell. 
7.  Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
Hm, okay. When it comes to pride, I’m typically very reserved in that regard. However, I was very proud of how This is Who I Am Chapter 5 turned out. I had an idea well before writing it about how I wanted to do a twist on the Mirror Match trope with Steven and Peridot - basically, forcing their light sides to fight off the dark sides of each other, rather than themselves. The more accurate terminology for what I actually pulled off was an inversion of Opponent Switch.
I was very happy how I managed to execute this plot, since so much of it was rigged in the dark sides’ favor and almost insured that only Steven or Peridot would come out of this alive; not both. When it came to Light Steven meeting Dark Peridot, I finally had the opportunity to properly write for Pre-Series Peridot, who I established earlier was a bit of an opportunistic sociopath. I was eager for the chance to make my version of Socio-Peri a legit unsettling psychopath and boy did I revel in it. So, without further ado:
Steven desperately tried to find any trace of hope remaining in this situation. "E-Even if you and him are just the worst things about us made into people, like you said, you are still part of Peridot, 5XG! You're linked, me and the other Steven are linked… and you two shouldn't want to shatter your loved ones, either!"
5XG found herself legitimately enjoying this; savoring Steven's agony and dwindling optimism. It had been far too long since she was able to relish in the pain of another; especially when it resulted in her getting rewarded for it.
"If you're attempting to argue that we don't have a single iota of contempt for one another, I suggest you spare us any more of your unacceptable stupidity by jumping off this platform and descend into the abyss where you belong," she said in a sharp tone. "You'll recall I absolutely despised you for quite some time before my weaker self got the better of me. Past-tense or not, it is a fact you cannot deny. Therefore, it is part of me. Consider it as valid as the fact that, regardless of tense and however I changed over time, I am and always will be a murderer."
"NO!"
Steven was completely shaken up, now driven to tears and cowering away from the Peridot who was his adversary long before becoming his soulmate.
"Please, don't!" he urged. "I've forgiven her already! I-I never hated her for–"
"You hate murderers," 5XG stated in a calm, neutral, but very firm tone that was sharp enough to cut Steven off. "Anyone who takes the life of another, you hate on principle. The cause or circumstance is of no concern to you and never has been."
Steven swore his blood ran freezing cold for a moment after taking in those words. He was stunned to the point of being unable to rebuke any of this.
"The Bismuth told me how events played out when you first met her," 5XG added, readily rubbing salt into the wound. "After knowing by this point how the Diamond Authority were responsible for committing multiple acts of global genocide, how this very planet was on that list, and were prone to shattering members of their own court on a misdemeanor or even on a whim. You were aware of all of this."
Steven squinted his eyes, trying his best to shut away any more tears. He tried to turn away from 5XG; his entire body was shivering while his hands balled up into fists. "P-Please, stop…"
"Yet you admonished the Bismuth for daring to create weapons made for wiping out an enemy with lethal force; legitimate ways to justifiably defend yourself against an enemy you know would not hesitate to take your life if they had an opening. You stood there, and you actually labeled her as one who is completely indistinguishable from White, Blue, or Yellow Diamond," 5XG continued; of course she wouldn't honor his request. "A loyal ally of your maternal unit whose focus was always on doing her best to defend her friends and loved ones, who only fought when forced to by the Homeworld gems… to her face, you belittled her convictions and you said there was no difference between her and the maniacal, genocidal dictators that you yourself were defending against along with your loved ones – just as the Bismuth herself. I honestly don't blame her for trying to kill you that day. You should have died."
5. Share one of your strengths.
Phew... this one’s a little awkward for me. I know one thing I’m objectively good at is writing insanely long shit that is at least good enough to compel people to lose sleep or pull all-nighters as they strive to finish it. I can at least safely say that because nearly every goddamn reviewer I’ve ever had has gone out of their way to mention this. Even if they don’t review, if I ever have a chance to talk to them personally, they’re normally gonna let me know they sacrificed many hours of sleep because of me :P 
But really, I’m consistently praised for expanding on characters or concepts that canon either could have touched on more or barely touched at all. Some people have gained newfound appreciation for characters they didn’t care about or even hated because of my portrayals, and that’s pretty damn empowering to hear. I’ll often get remarks along the lines of me taking a character and “really making them my own” - in a positive way. Sometimes I have plot twists that are complete and utter batshit on paper, but then I’ll get commended for making it completely believable to the point where readers tell me they wish it was actually canon. 
So, that’s enough of a strength, I would say. I can reach really far and still make an AU story sound like it could have easily fit in canon even if my ideas are ones the staff won’t touch with a 10-mile pole.
10.  Which fic has been the easiest to write?
rsilgjdgkljdgsjgahhahhhh, that’s not as easy a question as you might think! Every story has given me a hurdle or two. 
I think by default, I’m gonna say it’s Peri-dise: The Capitalist Anarchy. Because while I put my own spin on it and added a lot of things to make a proper story out of it, Peridot’s little Citystate session was almost exactly to the letter like a certain one by GrayStillPlays. So a lot of the heavy lifting was already done for me in that regard. Still made sure to add plenty to it just to ensure it wasn’t SOLELY just a retelling of that video with some name changes.
And that takes care of my first big ask! Hopefully those were satisfactory answers. I’ll... TRY and get to another before I pass out. Really wasn’t fair of CN to drop this leak on the same day I’d have to contend with 3 hours of Monday Night RAW...
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acetrainerwitch · 5 years ago
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alright. time for me to ramble about the direct.
the graphics are gorgeous and the new snippets of locations we got has me even more excited. honestly, so far the setting and graphics are what has me the most excited. the world just feels so immersive and like i could just fall right in. later on we see shield fishing and sword getting fruit from a tree and the animations are making me cry help
i love hop. i really do. but people have commented that they are getting hau vibes and honestly, the h names don’t help AT ALL. furthermore, it was said that he is one of our rivals, so it will be interesting to see how many more and if there is one that is a mean, challenging rival
p sure the scene at the beginning with the starters stepping onto the battle field is directly from the game and is the selection scene which makes me wonder if the fistbump between scorbunny and sword is after picking or is similar to the high five shared between the let’s go starter and protag after winning their gym battles
i’m honestly ambivalent on every single pokemon from gen 8 revealed so far including the starters. i’m holding off on picking my starter for evo info. drednaw is cool, but not the type of mon i would run with. wooloo is adorable and i love them, but if they don’t gain a secondary typing then i know i would end up having them on my team only for a little bit if at all. we already have the mareep line which has been a favorite for years, but i am really happy a sheep was introduced in galar because of course there is. gossifleur/eldegoss is interesting, but again doesn’t appeal strongly to me. corviknight is probably the one i’m most excited for from every galar pokemon revealed so far tbh
some form of aimee or refresh is definitely back! the scene with sobble right after the new mon reveal suggests this. i love being able to play so closely with my pokemon and am really happy it’s back. the limited version in let’s go was disappointing
the battle scene with corviknight against sawk looks v much like a z-move. idk what to make of this. i would assume we are going to see z-moves and megas again though they are generally reintroduced after the main game. so idk
okay, the wild area. i love it. i love the open world feeling it is going to give us. the ability to move the camera which has never been in main game pokemon before! overworld pokemon are back! pokemon based on time of day, season, environment, and more?! i’m super excited to see more about this. and it’s so damn pretty!!!
it looks like this is the only area where max raids are. this makes me suspect two things. first, i think this area will act as the main area where players can find most of the pokemon needed to complete the national dex. second, i wouldn’t be in the least surprised if this were the only area for multiplayer other than a battle mode. i do hope that this local/online multiplayer mentioned will allow your friends to actually roam the area with you in addition to taking on the max raids. the multiplayer in let’s go was disappointing because the second player couldn’t interact with the world at all and always teleported away between locations and for cut scenes. if this area allowed you to play with your friends in the game but only there it would negate the teleporting because it would only be in the one are and there would be no heavy plot here.
regardless, i’m excited to see what it actually ends up being!
the bike is back! we have a rotom dex again though this time it looks like a smart phone. it’s particularly cool because the rotom phone was spotted in the masters official art from the conference last week and this just shows that we got a sneak peak without really realizing it! anyways! the rotom dex apparently can supercharge the bike to make it go fast and go over water. in addition to mentioning corviknight being a fly ride pokemon it is confirmed that hms continue to be a thing of the past. interested to see what is done for strength and rock smash
and dynamax/max raids... this is the third generation where the gimmick is something to superpower pokemon. i’ve only liked mega evolution. z-moves were so over the top and dynamax feels the same imo. the thing i like least about these two is that it just feels so much more unrealistic. i know, i know. it’s pokemon. the whole thing is unrealistic. but these things just feel so world breaking to me. i just didn’t enjoy z-moves and i will continue to not enjoy dynamax.
i’m also conflicted on max raids because depending on how they are implemented it can make people that play primarily solo feel really left out
BUT WE DID GET A PEEP AT CUSTOMIZATION AND I AM SO READY
i’m the least sports person ever, so the presentation of battles as a sporting event is nothing special imo and i’m not a fan of the outfits. that said? it’s incredibly fitting for a uk based region and i support it for that alone lol
that said, there was mention of dynamaxed pokemon raising the excitement of the arena and i am curious if there is anything to that comment
also, milo is like every grass gym leader. precious and good and wholesome badass. he is so excited to be battling with his buddies! thank you for coming to my ted talk
leon speculation is that he is the leader of the evil team. that’d be the first time the champion has also been the evil team leader (though we did have the final gym and evil team leader bit and the whole situation with n is a Discussion). if this happens to be the case i am looking forward to seeing how that story plays out!
can we talk about how his hat is designed to look a bit like a crown in addition to the heckin cloak! and i love that hop is leon’s younger brother!
i’m intrigued by the mystery hinted at regarding prf magnolia and sonia between sonia studying something specific for magnolia and the fact that she was also a childhood friend of leon’s. i love that they are family (grandparent/granddaughter! anyone else getting oak vibes!) and the idle animations that we were shown for both were endearing!
we are definitely getting sneaking shown while they were going into further detail about the wild area. i hope it isn’t limited to just that area! the protag also whistles at one point and seems to get the attention of area pokemon? i’m curious if that is a further mechanic of some kind.
i am again p ambivalent regarding zacian and zazamenta. i kinda prefer zacian’s design, but not overly so that game specific pokemon would make having to go with the other a big deal. i saw a comment that cyan and magenta are in the names leaving speculation that there will be a third for yellow. could be green though js. i mean, that intro trailer definitely suggested... something.
and here ends my ramble. i know there are things i missed that i wanted to comment on, but this is more than enough and i should be working. so i’ll leave it at that. i would like to get more information about local/online/multiplayer mechanics, evos for the starters, game exclusive pokemon, and a bit of story/evil team information, but i am p damn content with what we got.
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soft-slow-blue · 6 years ago
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Thoughts on BtoB’s Special Album ‘Hour Moment’
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Initial Thoughts
From first listen, this album sounds different from BtoB’s previous works. At first, I was a little worried that I wasn’t going to like this album because of that. Of course it was never going to sound exactly the same - BtoB’s exceptional vocal line is now short one member. Eunkwang’s voice has a very bright, distinct color that often lent richness and variation to BtoB’s songs; when he was absent for some of BtoB’s earlier stages, leaving Hyunsik or Changsub (both very talented vocalists in their own rights, so no shade) to cover his parts, it just didn’t sound quite as good.
Nevertheless, I think it would be unfair to say that this album is lacking just because Eunkwang is not a part of it past the first track. It took me a couple listens, but I’ve come to really appreciate the album and how Bto6 shifts their style to cover for Eunkwang’s absence, while still maintaining the signature BtoB sound that we’ve all come to know and love.
The remaining three members of vocal line have branched out past their usual roles - we’ve especially gotten to hear more of Hyunsik’s rich lower vocals (”Swimming,” anybody?) and Sungjae’s vocal accuracy. Changsub’s voice is probably my favorite out of all of vocal line, so I’m happy to hear him utilizing his full range as well, soaring in a way that is fully distinct from Eunkwang’s.
But it is rap line that really shines through. Without Eunkwang’s high-toned voice to flesh out vocal line, there was a possibility that BtoB’s songs would sound less full and rich. Rather than forcing the other three members to try and sing like Eunkwang, though, these new songs rely on rap line’s low tones, particularly Minhyuk and Ilhoon’s vocal abilities, to round out their sound. BtoB’s rap line, situated as it is in a prolific ballad group, has always benefited from the fact that their rappers can also perform as vocalists, keeping the switch from vocal to rap verses from feeling disjointed and allowing the rappers’ voices to blend really well with the vocalists’. As Ilhoon and Minhyuk blur the lines between their sung raps and their spoken raps, we also get to hear just how much Peniel has grown as an artist throughout BtoB’s career. He demonstrates such remarkable agility and versatility throughout the entire album, and best of all, he really sounds like he’s having a good time rapping. I. Am. So. Proud.
On to the individual tracks!
1. Friend
EUNKWANG WE MISS YOU T_T
Okay now that that’s out of the way...I found this to be the least interesting song on the album. Not because it’s a bad song! I love the fact that Eunkwang recorded it for us before he enlisted - it was such a wonderful gift for Melodies - and the song is upbeat and fun and I can already imagine BtoB and Melodies singing it together at future BtoB Time concerts. But the actual song itself contains no real surprises in terms of the composition. It’s a sweet little song and it’s distinct from all the other songs on this album, but I really don’t have much to say about it, other than that I wish Ilhoon would enunciate a little bit more because I keep hearing him say F-R-I-N-D lol.
2. Like It
When I first heard the audio preview for “Like It,” I thought it would probably be my least favorite track of the album, for the simple reason that I tend not to enjoy choruses that repeat the same phrase over and over.
Well, I was very wrong. Ilhoon, I will never doubt you again.
With its soft opening instrumentation - just a piano, playing a few gentle notes - “Like It” starts out sounding like it might be another ballad. The first verse is definitely balladic, taking full advantage of Hyunsik’s VERY LOVELY lower tone. Even as Changsub takes over from Hyunsik, the beat sort of sneaks in, staying minimal underneath a swimming instrumentation and dreamy vocals.
But then Ilhoon’s verse starts, the instrumentation drops out, and that minimal beat drives forward, fueled by the combination of Ilhoon’s rap-singing and Hyunsik’s higher vocals. By the time the pre-chorus hits, we know that we’re no longer in ballad territory - we’re in for some FUN.
I really like this song a lot. In many ways it reminds me of “Call Me” from their last album, but whereas “Call Me” was definitely a song for bright, sweltering summer days, “Like It” has solidly fall vibes. It makes me imagine going to a casual outdoor party on an autumn evening, when it’s not too cold but is cool enough to still drink hot cocoa and spiced cider. As it gets darker, the hosts turn on little fairy lights that are strung all over, illuminating everyone’s happy, laughing faces in a soft yellow glow. Man, do I just have an overactive imagination, or is Ilhoon really THAT GOOD at making a mood with his music?
Also can I just say I am LOVING how many parts Sungjae has now, and his vocalization during the pre-chorus is one of my favorite things on the whole album. Can you believe he started out as a sub-sub-vocal in the group...our baby grew up so fast. *sheds tear*
3. 나비 (Butterfly)
After two upbeat songs, it’s time to chill out. “Butterfly” sounds like “Nanana”’s more romantic cousin. Ilhoon’s skill at creating vivid atmospheres through his music shines through really well in this song - with the gentle acoustic guitar and vocal line’s floating vocals (Changsub you are making me fall in love!), you can really imagine sitting under a tree on a clear autumn day, watching the orange and red leaves wave gently in a cool breeze.
The minimal instrumentation on this song is such a change from the rest of the songs on this album, which generally have much richer instrumentation and more driving beats. It’s a chance for vocal line to display just how they skilled they are. We already know that all four of them can hit some pretty powerful high notes, but “Butterfly” requires control rather than power, and Changsub, Hyunsik, and Sungjae perform admirably. It results in such a lovely and intimate song, more like something you’d hear in a cozy cafe than something sung onstage by idols. My guess is that if BtoB perform this in future concerts, it’ll probably be with all of the members seated on stools, as a much-needed break in between more rigorous dance numbers lol.
This song also made me realize that we don’t often hear the rappers one after another on verses - usually they alternate with the vocalists - but here they are, performing three rap verses in a row. And they manage to sound so completely distinct and yet in sync with the vocalists that their raps don’t feel out of place in such a soft acoustic song. First, Minhyuk essentially whispers into our ears (someone please explain to me how someone who has such a low rap tone can also make such high-pitched squealing noises). When Peniel takes over, he’s also rapping lower than usual, but not in a way that makes him sound like he’s trying to imitate Minhyuk. It’s sweet and almost conversational, perfectly aligned with the rest of the song.
Then Ilhoon pretty much straight sings his verse. When is he going to convert to vocal line lol
4. 제발 (Please)
Minhyuk has always composed some really solid tracks for BtoB (Open, About Time, Guitar, Blue Moon), but I think the reason that he is less recognized by the general public as one of BtoB’s composers, in comparison to Hyunsik and Ilhoon, is that his style tends to lean more alternative and R&B. It makes for some surprising and beautiful B-sides within the albums, but doesn’t necessarily fit the more mainstream pop sound that’s necessary for a commercially successful title track.
“Please” is the most mainstream-sounding of all Minhyuk’s songs, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. This is definitely a power ballad, and I feel like if it hadn’t been for “Friend,” this would have been a very strong contender for the pre-release track, if not for the title. Minhyuk managed to compose something titled “Please” that actually sounds like it’s pleading throughout the whole song - unfortunately it’s been years since I last took music theory so I can’t 100% articulate how he managed it, but I suspect it has something to do with how the chord progressions in the chorus resolve.
Vocal line totally KILL it throughout this track. After the relative atmospheric quiet of “Butterfly,” they bring back the power in full, tempering it with genuine longing that conveys the sadness of the song, even if you don’t understand the lyrics. The way that “please” just lingers after each iteration of the chorus...you can feel the desperation of reaching out one last time to someone you love more than anything, driving you forward to plead for one last moment together even when you know it’s already over. The key change in the final chorus just underscores that despair, winding the emotional tension even higher (along with that rad electric guitar solo lol), until Hyunsik’s final resonant “please” resolves into Changsub’s voice, reprising his verse from the beginning.
Even after all of that heartfelt begging, feeling like you’re cutting your chest open and showing the person you love the hole that they’ll leave in your heart when they’re gone, knowing that they’re the only one for you, in this lifetime and every one that follows...the time to say goodbye has come after all.
Goddamn. This song really affected me a lot. I was actually going to write more about rap line and how good they sound in this (especially Ilhoon), but I was swept up in the raw emotionality of this song. This one’s going into the top five for sure.
5. 아름답고도 아프구나 (Beautiful Pain)
Our title track! I was actually pretty surprised when I heard this one on the audio snippet - I thought it sounded really sad for a title track. Of course, we know that Hyunsik-composed songs are rarely without some melancholy element, but this one is really quite dark, both in terms of lyrical content and sound.
When I tried to think of similar songs, my mind went first, funnily enough, to “I’ll Be Your Man.” Though the songs don’t necessarily sound too much alike - “Beautiful Pain” is another power ballad, while “I’ll Be Your Man” is certainly not - they both have a dark and dramatic tone that BtoB doesn’t cover quite as often.
It took me several listens to fully appreciate the song and how good it is. The more layered instrumentation lends the song a fullness that helps to distinguish it despite Eunkwang’s absence, particularly in the choruses. It’s a subtler, darker richness, which fits well with the dramatic subject of the song. There are so many things I picked out that I love. Ilhoon’s rap singing, for example (again, when is he going to become the fifth member of vocal line?). The little cracks in Changsub’s voice (intentional for once lol) that sound like sobs as he sings. The way that Minhyuk’s rap builds as if about to explode, then lingers on the wistful final line. Hyunsik showing off his magnificent lower range, soft and whispery with pain and resignation, as he sings the chorus one octave lower than the rest.
In the second pre-chorus, the harmony between Hyunsik and Sungjae...omg. I don’t know that the two of them often harmonize together in OT7 songs - usually it’s Changsub or Eunkwang singing the higher harmony - but they should really do it more often. Their voices have rather similar timbres, especially in the lower, more resonant ranges, so they blend together so nicely. I could honestly listen to that part over and over again lol.
Overall, this may not be my favorite track on the album, but it is a very solid song and definitely a good one to listen to on a cold autumn night, when you wrap yourself up in a blanket and stare out the window at the rain, turning memories of a lost loved one over and over in your mind even though it hurts to do so. I’d like to think that Hyunsik would agree with me on that one.
Final Thoughts
I like it, I like it, I like it, I like it! Of course I don’t think I’m ever going to truly dislike a BtoB album, but I’m just so impressed with how versatile our boys are and how good they sound on this album. We feel Eunkwang’s absence but not as a detractor from the really excellent music - the other members step up so brilliantly. Our leader would be (and probably is, because he’s the best) so proud.
What I realized throughout the course of listening to this album over and over and writing this post (thank you if you’ve read to the end lol) is that the whole album is the story of a relationship. The closeness of a beloved friend; the joy of realizing that you’re falling in love with the other person and the giddiness of imagining the future; the tenderness of a budding relationship; the desperation of trying to hold onto someone who is slipping through your fingertips; and the final bittersweet feeling of knowing that it’s over but that you would never give up those memories, even though it hurts to remember. It’s such a good balance of songs and reminds everyone that BtoB is a top-notch group, no matter how many members they have.
All I have left to say is: when is Minhyuk going to get his title track????
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inktrailing · 4 years ago
Text
SPN: purgatorio (snippet)
Figured I'd post some snippets of my WIPs. This diverted in season... 7? Some of this concept I wrote years ago and I have to get further in my rewatch to see if I need to shuffle things around. Basically Lucifer was trying to use the hallucinations as a way to manifest through someone and ended up helping Cas out a bit but popped out in Purgatory when Cas got there (the chunk I took for this post gets into the bare bones of it).
I definitely take more liberties than I usually do XD But I've been having fun playing around with a significantly non-linear timeline. Fic so far is ~11k words, 2 parts (I don't imagine it'll go over 2 parts, but I've been wrong before). I am still jumping around for how long they're in Purgatory for so that time on chp 2/3 here might change.
Might actually change the title at some point. Mostly a placeholder right now.
This is slowburn Dean/Lucifer but maybe will also be Dean/Castiel I really don't know yet. Benny's just close with everyone lol.
Warning: Explicit Language, Canon-Typical Violence
purgatorio
1
Three months ago.
Dean's running.
The woods by now are a familiar brush against his clothing. He knows this forest, embodies the trees, breathes the wind. He became a part of it months—years?—ago and he doesn't think if he's ever free that it's going to leave him. His bones crack a song same as the creaking branches.
Purgatory is a piece of him.
The night closes in behind him, shadow in the shape of a maw, cleaving through the underbrush as he vaults a cluster of boulders—the landmark he's been looking for, finally. He ducks a split tree branch, nearly skids through a patch of mud, trips, catches himself, and stumbles just over the first ring of the bloodied magic circle. A second hop has him beyond the next tight-together rings and then he's gulping down a relieved breath of air as he falls, hard, into another body.
“It's coming,” he says quickly on his exhale, clasping a hand to Cas's shoulder and straightening unsteadily. He twists his wrist and flips his crude blade in his grip, shifting his stance in front of Cas after he's caught his breath.
“Did you lay the trap?” Cas asks.
“What d'ya take me for, huh?” Dean replies with a huff.
“You forgot last time,” says a voice from behind them.
Dean scoffs and looks back where in their makeshift camp, center of the ritual circle, sits the devil. Legs crossed, palms up, hands sliced through, blood and grace dripping idly between his fingers.
“Yeah, and I learned my lesson after that one time, thanks,” Dean barks at him, focusing his attention back on the trees further being swallowed by the tide of shadow. The rumble follows, thunderous as each tree snaps and tears from the ground. Dean sees the burn of yellow eyes somewhere far back in that sea of darkness, and then hears a loud yelp and the yellow blinks out, followed by an ear-piercing howl that he can't help flinch from.
Cas sucks in a breath. “Maybe we... should have waited for Benny for this.”
“Would've been nice,” Dean agrees. The howl sounds again, reverberating angrily through the wood. Even Lucifer makes a hiss of displeasure. “Doesn't seem like our friend was willing to wait. Lucifer, this spell is going to hold, right?”
“Oh, I don't know,” Lucifer sings.
“You don't know? You said yesterday—”
“I believe yesterday I said 'probably,'” Lucifer interrupts. “Would you like to offer some blood to the cause?” he says snidely.
“Would it help?” Dean asks, matching his tone.
“Unlikely,” Cas says.
“Mm,” Lucifer agrees.
The two yellow eyes flare again, and the very forest screams as the shadow coalesces into the shape of a massive—wounded—beast.
Dean laughs and bumps shoulders with Cas, who wobbles just slightly. “Awesome, great, I love this. This'll be fine.”
The beast charges.
2
Sixteen months, three weeks, and six days ago.
“Didn't think he'd just wing off, did you?”
Dean jerks around at the voice. He's jumpy enough as it is, hearing the monsters closing in on fresh meat, circling him for a snack, and Cas is gone. Cas is gone and Lucifer is here and what the fuck he's got nothing to deal with any of this. He freezes.
“My brother really doesn't like conflict, Dean,” Lucifer continues, sighing and staring up towards the starless sky. “He'll be back in due time, likely when he deems it safe, or has that overwhelming need to protect you that he often has.” His gaze flicks back to Dean. “But I think we'll be alright without him.”
“You're in Hell,” Dean blurts, unable to hide his panic.
“Was in Hell,” Lucifer corrects. “Then I was riding around in your brother's psyche, and then in my brother's psyche, and now it seems I'm here, free of any anchor.” Lucifer rolls his shoulders in a small, half shrug. “Not as planned, but it works, I suppose.”
“You son of a bitch—” Dean is saying as he moves to, what? Punch the devil? Because that's a smart plan, Dean? But then there's several furry wolf-like monsters leaping out of bushes towards the delectable human snack and suddenly Lucifer doesn't seem like Dean's biggest problem because Cas said things about being torn to shreds and Dean is going to die.
Sorry, Bobby, he may be joining you sooner than intended.
But then there's a snap and Dean recoils at the sound and the nearest wolves are torn asunder, blood spraying across Lucifer's side.
“You may want to rethink this suicidal plan of yours,” Lucifer tells the remaining shadows, fingers poised to snap again. He hears them shift, unsteady and he grins, wolfish in his own right. He sees the gleam of eyes watching him for a long moment, and then they blink out, and are gone.
All Dean could do was stare. Lucifer's fight had only encompassed a few seconds. Dean shakes. He hears the rest of the predators move off at the display and Lucifer's words.
Dean's not sure if he should be thanking Lucifer or running; surely Lucifer would only be keeping him alive so that he could torture him relentlessly. Though at the moment, Lucifer seemed more intent on cleaning the blood from his arm.
“You really should relax, Dean. I'd bet the creatures here can smell fear just as much as they can smell blood. We should move somewhere we can have some kind of advantage when my brother returns.”
Dean stares as Lucifer drops to one knee and settles for wiping his arm along the patches of grass.
Dean's mind just flatlines because yeah, sure, that all sounds peachy. Because Dean is totally going to obey the devil and go with him wherever he wants. Of course. “Cas isn't coming back with you here.”
“You would think that, wouldn't you? Since Castiel told your brother that he had stopped seeing me. Which was good of him; neither of you would ever believe that I was helping my brother. Because, for the record, his 'craziness' isn't my fault. He didn't need any help going that route.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean demands, and nearly snarls at the sympathetic look Lucifer shoots his way.
“Resurrection never goes easily, Dean,” Lucifer explains. “There are always complications, even if our Father is the one who keeps doing it. And this time? Maybe it was as a punishment. First free to not be himself, and then having all his memories slam back into him? It's not healthy, even for an angel.” He shakes his head. “Can he stabilize? I still don't know.”
Dean lets those words wash over him. He wonders if Lucifer is lying to him, but more often than not the truth hurts more than lies. He doesn't know how to reply to Lucifer. He's not even sure why he's still here, but if Cas does come back, he feels like he shouldn't leave the angel with his older brother. Cas wasn't just imagining the little twinge of forgiveness in Dean's voice. Not much, but it was a start.
“Oh. Good. You two aren't killing each other.”
Speak of the...
Cas.
Cas looks uncomfortable to be with them in the clearing, his weight shifting back and forth on his feet, glancing from Lucifer to Dean, then down at the remains of the wolves and making a pitied face. “I found a cave. Seems empty and without anything previously taken residence in it.” He looks back at Dean, biting his lip.
Lucifer nods to his brother. “Lead the way, then.”
Dean has barely five seconds to realize that Lucifer is in his immediate space, registering Cas taking off again and then a hand clapped to his shoulder and the disorienting tilt of reality as Lucifer pulls him across Purgatory. He staggers into a slick cave wall, suddenly having a new appreciate for Cas's flight paths because damn was it a lot more stable than whatever the heck Lucifer just did.
He takes a perverse pleasure in the fact that Lucifer teeters away, like the flight screwed with him, too.
Then he whips to Cas and points at the devil. “How do you lie about something like this?!”
Cas quails when Dean turns on him. “Don't be mad at me, Dean,” he answers, a warble in his voice. He fidgets, like he's unsure what he wants to do with his arms, awkwardly settling to hold an elbow up with a hand, not quite crossing his arms. “You would have only been bothered, and... Lucifer has... only been supporting me.”
“Of course I would have been 'bothered', Cas! He's the damn devil! He's not there to support you, he's just using you!” he yells.
“Oh, you mean like how you always use him?” Lucifer tsks. “I wonder which one of us is more at fault.”
Cas backs away from the two. “Please, don't fight.”
Lucifer sneers, then frowns, then cocks his head to the side and sighs. “I won't if he won't,” he says, just shy of a whine. He smirks at Dean. “We have to work together, you know. Purgatory isn't the safest of places. You won't survive on your own, and Castiel will not leave me. Besides, I do care for your safety, Winchester, whether you believe my intentions or not.”
Furious, Dean looks away. He can't believe they're in this utterly stupid situation. He shouldn't have to rely on anyone, let alone Lucifer, but he remembers his initial arrival, remembers how out of his depth he was, remembers himself as the hunted Hunter. He knows, with complete certainty, that the feeling is never going to go away. Even now something must be tracking them. They can't be safe. They can never be safe.
He wants to kill Lucifer, but he's incapable of it. Getting rid of Lucifer the first time had been nearly impossible. He can't do it now, not alone as he is.
He hates this. It's wrong. It feels like a betrayal to Sam. But what choice, really, does he have? Goddammit. Goddammit.
“Fine,” he spits out, so much anger in that one small word. “I don't have to like it.”
“Thank you,” Cas murmurs to them both.
3
Sixteen months, three weeks, and five days ago.
Castiel feels the brewing trouble surrounding him. He knew this... this wouldn't be easy. Knew the moment Lucifer was no longer a ride-along to Castiel's mind, a separate entity once again, one that Castiel couldn't... didn't think he could remove himself from, even for Dean's comfort.
There was too much quiet in his head and he didn't know how to cope with that. Yet even from the support Lucifer had been offering him, Castiel still expected him to leave now that he had his own freedom. But he hadn't abandoned Castiel at that first sign of freedom. These sorts of things happen to Castiel nowadays, after all.
He kept such strange company. Lucifer, Meg...
He wonders how Meg is.
Not in Purgatory, so likely better off than Castiel.
He feels uncomfortable, shifting weight back and forth on his feet, glancing from Lucifer to Dean, then towards the exit of the cave, the scent of blood fresh in his senses, a swell of pity in his gut at the violence. But Lucifer did take care of it for Castiel. He had the blood on his hands, literally, and Castiel managed to avoid that.
He starts to let himself relax. The alliance is by no means perfect, but it exists.
*****
The trouble returns just as quick, Castiel thinks, when Dean has to sleep.
“You'll take a watch, Cas? I don't trust something wandering in for a snack.”
Castiel is about to answer, when Lucifer interrupts, “You need sleep, too, brother.” Lucifer settles just within the mouth of the cave, sprawling legs out before him, head hitting stone. “I'll keep an eye out.”
“Oh no,” Dean argues. “No, that's not happening. Cas, I'll switch off with you so we both can get sleep if you really need it.”
“That's wholly unnecessary,” Lucifer sighs.
“Does it look like I care?” Dean says stubbornly. “I'm not sleeping in your vicinity.”
“I don't think...” Castiel trails off.
Lucifer throws up his hands and rolls his eyes in Dean's direction. “Then you'll have the pleasure of my company while my brother sleeps.”
Dean grits his teeth but doesn't argue further and it's the best they'll get. Dean wraps his arms around himself and wedges himself against a wall of the cave and shuts his eyes. Castiel sinks opposite of Lucifer and looks out across the quiet forest, knowing that even though he can't hear it, there is death all around them. Purgatory doesn't stop because it's night.
“Thank you,” Castiel repeats in a whisper, not so much afraid of disturbing Dean as he is Dean hearing him have a conversation with Lucifer.
Lucifer just shrugs and folds his arms almost petulantly. “Don't thank me yet. This isn't going to be easy. It would be simpler to ditch your favorite Winchester.”
Castiel slumps and mumbles, “It'd be easier if you ditched me.”
Lucifer groans, bumping his head against the stone several times. “Castiel.”
“I'm serious,” Castiel says. “You know they'll be coming for me. They'll never stop.”
“And I'll kill them, easy enough. So you've got some toothy little inkblots after you. He's potentially Purgatory's New Most Wanted and uncooperative to a fault. He's going to get you killed, Castiel.”
“It's what I deserve.”
Lucifer hisses through clenched teeth and leans forward. “Ah,” he berates. “None of that. If you're going to be a stickler about keeping him alive, I'm going to be one about keeping you alive. Understand?”
“No,” Castiel replies honestly. His response doesn't make Lucifer angry, only minutely frustrated. Castiel wishes he understood, but it isn't that easy. It's never been easy. He'd dragged Lucifer's manifestation out of Sam and into himself and Lucifer tore him apart in a days-long temper tantrum and then he sat in the center of all that disarray, looked at Castiel, and said 'you're very different than Sam.'
You're very different than Sam.
Like how? Like he wasn't enough? Like he couldn't even break the right way?
'What did our Father do to you? Lucifer had wondered aloud, eyes red and staring through Castiel like he was only good enough to be an experiment, and then Lucifer had flinched, and he voice had gotten quiet. 'Oh. This is going to take some time.'
4 (maybe)
Saturday, April 7, 2012
“Oh. This is going to take some time.”
The mess of Castiel's multiple resurrections are scattered beneath where Lucifer sits. Lucifer had torn down his brother's walls and threw open all the doors and now he's left with the sea of shattered fragments flooding around them, all Castiel, and all broken before Lucifer had anything to do with them. It's like someone emptied out three almost-similar puzzles and hoped that the pieces would fit together anyway. Tried even to force the pieces to fit, the care lessened each time.
It could only be their Father's work. Or lack thereof. Did it count as work if you only haphazardly rebuild someone and only rely on it all working out on its own?
It's cute that God thinks his children are so self-sufficient.
He fishes into the sea and takes his time to sift through and pick out a fragment. The most gleaming shard, perfection at its max, all choirs and holy light. An angel unmarred by any outside influence, though if he looks more closely he can see the beginning lines of doubt threatening to etch into the edges.
It's funny that Castiel always thought he was so different than Lucifer. Look where they are now.
Well, Lucifer remains a frayed connection, his transfer temporarily stalled by his brother ripping him away from Sam Winchester. He'd made such progress there. Sam was easy to pull apart slow, pick at each fiber and peel away the layers of the mind so that more of Lucifer could wiggle out of the Cage and sidle his subconscious, and then his grace, alongside Sam.
Michael had started to realize what he was doing. Saw Lucifer's little escape-artist plan and fought him for a time until exhaustion had worn him and his vessel ragged. Lucifer thinks it wasn't Michael, but Adam that let Lucifer continue with his plan. Poor, abandoned, disenfranchised Adam.
One of them had laughed at Lucifer when he was shunted into Castiel. He hadn't taken it well at the time—on either side of his connection. Now they were back to ignoring each other and Lucifer kind of wishes they weren't; Michael's insight in regards to their brother could prove invaluable.
He could just leave it. He should just leave it. Unlike Sam, Castiel is so naturally frayed that Lucifer can crowd right in and be free of the Cage with hardly any hassle. Castiel did him a favor.
“Why should I hole up in the shambles of a motel? I'm not a Hunter, I'm not into that life,” he tells Castiel. “I wasn't expecting Five Stars, but come on, Castiel.”
“... What?” It's the second time Castiel has looked at him since he got here. Castiel's fear has taken a step back in favor of his confusion.
“In case I wasn't absolutely clear: I'm moving in,” Lucifer answers. “But I don't see why I can't spruce up the place before I fully do so.” He sighs and drops the fragment back into the sea. “We'll have to peruse your trauma and not in a fun torture way.” He holds up new fragments in each hand, pinched between thumb and forefinger. One is still almost white, the other has gone a smoky-gray, but their shapes are nearly identical. “The bits of you blown up by Raphael, and the bits blown up by me, those will line up nicely.”
Castiel stares at him for a long, long moment, unblinking, eyes glazed like he's thinking over each of his words before he dares to speak. “... Shouldn't all the exact matches go together?”
“Sure,” Lucifer replies easily. “If you want to be incomplete.”
A spike of anger surges through their shared link. “You'll be possessing me, what does it matter if I'm 'incomplete.'”
Lucifer mouths the words back silently in mocking. Then, “If you want to be 'complete' as Daddy's walking robot, devoid of the concept of Free Will, and whatever humanity—for better or for worse—did to you, then fine.” He leans back, staring at his brother, eyes aglow with... rage? … Sympathy? No, no. Never. But he doesn't understand why this is unsettling him. “A Hand of God,” he jeers, “ready to answer his will—even though he's the one partially responsible for the mess you are now.”
“I...”
“Don't get me wrong,” Lucifer continues right over Castiel, “I can't take credit for your mountain of mistakes, and neither can our Father. You screwed the pooch, Castiel. But this?” He rolls his head and indicates the sea around them. “There was 'Some Assembly Required' to this whole Resurrection Thing and someone sure skipped out on that—typical.”
Castiel lowers his head and doesn't react further.
Lucifer says nothing and seals the two pieces he'd been holding together and then Castiel full body shudders and Lucifer feels more than sees memories slide over the two of them.
“Oops,” he says, a little winded. “I hate this already.”
*****
((World's Worst recreation of Operation.))
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boewhiskey · 7 years ago
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The ‘Stop’ Letter
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I sit here, day after day, with the computer on and in front of me, my hands hovering over the keys half the time without typing a single word. I seem to always run into this problem. I’ll have a fantastic idea for a story or a book but then shortly after starting it, I run into a wall. Not just a wall I can simply walk around or find a door to go through, but a huge, fifteen-feet high, three-feet thick cement wall layered in heavy steel that stretches on for miles. It stops me in my tracks and freezes my fingers and brain from working any further. Eventually, I give up. There are dozens of stories and books that I have initiated that are discarded in the trash bin, dragged to the trash on the desktop, or pushed far back into my mind. Simply because of that wall. Recently, I’ve decided, though, that I want to find a way over that wall. I want to build a ladder and climb steadily until I can sit on top of the wall and jump down to go running into the lush green fields that is a completed book. If I can’t build a ladder, then I want to blow a hole just big enough to squeeze my little frame through while I cough and sputter, trying not to inhale too much cement dust on my journey through the road block from hell. If I can’t find any explosive material (or I can only find components and realize I don’t know how to combine and use them to create said explosive material), I want to throw some sort of acid on that sucker and watch it melt away like the blood from an ‘Alien’ was thrown haphazardly on it.
The easy way to do this might seem like writing out an entire plot outline before actually beginning the story. I’ve tried. I’ve had almost everything figured out and planned but I will still inevitably come to a point where my brain just stops functioning properly to put descriptions of a scene into words or a minor event needs to happen but I can’t determine what exactly that is.
Such is the predicament I’ve been in recently. Instead of solely focusing on a single book idea, I’ve been jotting down ideas for short stories and working on writing off of those while also going back to writing on what I hope becomes an interesting and captivating book. I have the beginning, a sort of introduction to the main story line, completed and typed up, sitting nicely in the folder on my desktop where I store my writing. I have a few snippets and bits and pieces figured out in my head, as well, that I’m just waiting to include when the time in the story calls for it. Some days, though, I’ll open the document and just stare at it, scrolling lazily up and down over the text that I’ve already managed to get out of my head and into readable words. I also have days where I look at my list of phrases or words that serve as ideas for other stories and I just don’t feel a spark for any of them. It’s not that I don’t have some of the stories already fully thought out in my mind, it’s that I just don’t WANT to write them out at the time and I won’t force myself to because I feel like the story would end up lacking heart and caring and become bland and read as if I had thrown it in a blender, hit puree, and then thrown the meat-smoothie remains onto the computer screen and said “voila, done.”
So, day after day, I sit here, computer open, fingers resting lightly on keys that aren’t being pressed, staring at a blank section of screen that’s begging me to unhinge my skull and throw brain matter onto it (figuratively, of course, but I’m tempted sometimes to be literal about this). Today started out no differently. I awoke to the sounds of machines digging next to my bedroom window- three apartment complexes like my own are being prepared to be built along the street I live on, one directly next to my building. I did my normal wake-up routine: went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, greeted the cat and dog in the living room, booted up the laptop, texted my husband who works during the day (I work at night), and sat down to make the daily attempt at writing something spectacular (or anything at all). I was determined to write at least another five pages of the book or one more short story. After half an hour of opening unfinished stories and the book, skimming over the list of ideas I keep, staring blankly at the screen, and running my hands over my face while I look out of the sliding glass window at the sunshine beating angrily on everything outside, I gave up and decided to take a break. I figured I’d walk outside in the unbearable heat to check the mail, then find something to eat and watch a bit of a movie before starting up again. Then, I would make myself write those five pages, I would get past that wall somehow, even if it meant leaving the screen open to the book document for hours.
The mail today consisted simply of a small NRA magazine for my husband, a couple of ads for local places, and the water bill. I carried the thin contents inside and threw away the flyers then dropped the magazine in my husband’s recliner for him to look through later. When I went to set the water bill on the table next to my seat, I realized that something fell out of it. It wasn’t an insert for the magazine; it was a small envelope baring my name and address. I picked it up and looked at the unassuming envelope, guessing it was probably some sort of junk mail. It was small, no more than maybe three inches by four inches, if that. The white paper encasing had only my name, address, and a return address with no name written on it. I turned it over in my hands a couple of times and saw that other than the writing, it seemed almost dirty, as if it had been dropped in the mud then picked up and wiped off. I had walked into the kitchen while examining the flat item and took my eyes off of it to gaze into the refrigerator for a moment, trying to decide what to feed my face. I closed the fridge and opened the cupboard at the other end of the kitchen, grabbing a small bag of chips and opening them while carrying the chips and the letter back to my seat.
I slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and tugged the seal open, only ripping part of it as I forced it to let go of itself. Inside was a small folded piece of yellow legal-pad paper. This definitely wasn’t a piece of junk mail. I slid a chip in my mouth as I unfolded the piece of paper to read the message that appeared to have been scrawled quickly in messy handwriting not dislike my own. There were dark spots on the edges of the page from what looked like a dark substance being on the sender’s fingers as they folded it and shoved it into the envelope. I had opened it upside-down so I flipped it around to read the words, seeing that there were also spots of what I assumed was the same stuff as along the edges, splattered on the page, obscuring some of the words. I read the frantic message the best that I could. Some of the words are only partially blotted out by whatever liquid dried on it, so I can make out what they are meant to be or what I think it is. Other words are completely covered, though. Here’s what I can best read and understand:
‘The book you’re writing. Don’t write ---- coming. ---- yellow eyes, look for the yellow eyes. I finished ---- so I know you will finish the book. Please stop writing it. I don’t want to die. You think you ---- the idea out of nowhere ---- don’t remember yet. ---- don’t remember the truth of the monster you write about. You ---- stop. I wish I had stopped. If I had stopped, I wouldn’t ---- Boe, I am you. I beg you to listen and believe me. It comes ---- night and the day ----- handprints on the window and didn’t know. I asked it to come in. It will make itself look like people ---- and love ---- Matt. It killed him. It ripped him apart slowly ---- tried to shoot it. He tried to protect ---- Oh god, he’s gone. Bullets didn’t ---- screams were horrible. Don’t let Matt ---- leave the story in your head and find something else ---- That thing will come ---- only protected by not remembering the truth. I remembered ---- and it got them killed ---- Matt killed. It’s invisible ---- day. I don’t know why or ---- at night it comes. It bangs on the windows. It chases ---- truck. It killed ---- poor person ---- walking home that night. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t write that book. It won’t wait ---- won’t make a deal. Don’t let Matt get torn apart. Don’t ---- where I am. I hope you get this. I hope there’s ---- blood. I hope I die before it finds me again.
-Boe
stop writing it stop writing it stop writing it stop writing it stop writing stop writing stop writing stop writing stop writing stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop’
The rest of the page is filled with ‘stops’. After reading over the letter three times and working to make out what words I couldn’t see, the thought occurred to me that the spots might be blood or supposed to seem like blood. I thought this had to be some sort of bad joke and I’d still believe that if not for the fact that Matt swears he didn’t write it, that it looks like my handwriting, and a few minutes after texting and asking him about it, there was a knock at the front door, the one that opens to the hallway of the apartment building. The initial knock made me jump but I took a deep breath and opened the door, careful to not let either one of the animals run out. There was no one there. I stepped into the hallway, looking to both sides and saw no one in the small stretch between the front door of the 6-plex and the back door. I looked at the floor to see if there was a package or a flyer but again, nothing.
With my head stuck out into the hall, I heard a bang against the sliding glass door to my right. I jerked back into the apartment and looked over to see our dog sitting up, startled from her nap, our cat with her head up, also surprised by the noise that suddenly roused her from her own slumber, but no one and nothing outside the door. I shut and locked the front door then walked apprehensively to the glass door, looking around and still seeing no sign of anyone nearby. I looked down and patted the dog’s head to comfort her. I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath once again and went to sit back down. Something on the glass caught the corner of my eye as I began to walk away, though. I looked at it and realized it was a handprint, the kind that would be left on dirty glass or fogged glass. The print was definitely larger than my own, with fingers that stretched to at least twice the length of mine. I touched the glass softly and used a finger to wipe at it but nothing happened.
The handprint was on the outside of the glass.
We have a screen door on the outside of the sliding glass door that we have to fight with to open every time.
It hadn’t been opened.
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