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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Ride With Me (part twenty one) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5850 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty one: It’s Dean’s turn to make an entrance in the main arena. The rides lead to an interesting business proposal by a new client, but brings a lot of doubt too. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Watching From A Distance - David Ramirez (opening scene) Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @atc74, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Saturday morning has started early for the crew of the Gold Canyon Ranch. Before the crack of dawn Benny has mucked out the stables and fed the horses, making sure they had time to digest their pellets before the show starts. Together with Jo, Y/N has hand-walked the animals who are competing today, letting them stretch their legs and graze a bit. She took extra time for Meadow, who always seems to need a moment to adjust to new surroundings. The mare was fresh today, the brisk air only fueling her feisty temper. Her owner couldn’t help but snigger when she lifted her tail and started jogging next to her instead of just strolling along, showing off to anyone who would look at her.

It’s 8 AM when Dean puts his foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swinging his right leg over the back of the Bon Jovi, the light catching the fringe of his chaps. He pulls his hat a little tighter on his head once he’s seated, while the well-behaved stallion waits patiently for his rider to give him an aid, which he does, after adjusting the length of his reins.

With the sun only just peeking from behind the horizon, rays break through the leaves of the trees next to the warmup area, adding to the still peaceful surroundings. The commentator isn’t blaring through the speakers yet, the ring isn’t full of other riders trying to find a spot to train without running into each other. It’s the calm before the storm, a bit of peace and quiet both horse and human appreciate. No distractions, no sensory overload for the inexperienced stallion. It’s the perfect way to introduce him to the element of competition.

Y/N has just finished filling up the water buckets in the stables and rests her arms on the fence of the small arena. She watches Dean slowly start up the beautiful palomino, its coat seemingly made from gold in the morning light. Her boyfriend is wearing clean dark jeans and a navy button up, a black Stetson to match his show outfit. Never will she get tired of watching that man ride, but dressed like he is now, she can’t take her eyes off him. Y/N sighs deeply, swooning at the sight. She really did land the most handsome cowboy in Arizona, didn’t she?

The head wrangler seems composed as ever, not breaking a sweat over having to ride into the ring in thirty minutes, something that she admires and envies all at the same time. She wishes she could feel relaxed right before a test, instead of being the nervous wreck that she usually is. Meadow will not make her entry until later this evening and already Y/N dodged breakfast, well aware that she won’t be able to swallow a bite, stage fright blocking her throat. Just thinking about the premiere of her freestyle makes it slightly harder to breathe, but Dean takes that away when he rides past, breaking his concentration for a second and shooting her a wink and a soft smile. She chuckles as they keep a hold of each other’s gaze for a few seconds as his horse walks by. God, she wishes she has his confidence.

Other competitors join Dean and Bon Jovi in the warm up area, but the stallion only murmurs at a mare once, its rider gently yet strictly reminding him to keep his head in the game. Before they know it, the same voice that did the commentary on last night’s barrel race competition sounds from the amplifiers.

“Good mornin’, folks! It’s another beautiful day here at the Flagstaff Horsefair. We’re getting ready for the first class of the day, the Standlee Forage Reining Competition for four year olds. Highest overall score wins five bags of high quality horse food.”

The commentator continues to promote the sponsors of the event, Dean giving his horse a little scratch on the shoulder when he tenses slightly as the loud voice sounds from the speakers. Aware that it will soon be their turn, the rider allows himself to enjoy the atmosphere as he casts his gaze over the other competitors. He isn’t too worried about the fixture, confident in his own skills and those of his horse.

“Dean Winchester, two minutes!” A steward announces, looking down at his clipboard to double check the line up. The cowboy nods in acknowledgement, directing his gaze to Y/N as he waits for her to catch up. He watches as she puts down the grooming bag next to her on the sandy arena footing, attending to the bell boots that Bon Jovi is still wearing. She unbuckles the leather clasps, putting the leg protection away. “Would you like some water?” she offers. He shakes his head, casually, taking in the arena. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y/N looks up at him, trying to read what he is feeling. To her, it is strange how he doesn’t seem nervous. He’s relaxed, collected; reminding her of the still waters at Canyon Lake, where they swam together for the first time on the trail that changed everything. It is as if he can’t register the pressure that should be resting on his shoulders. Maybe he truly believed he is that good. “Break a leg,” she speaks, fondly. “Don’t wish that upon me, Yankee,” Dean chuckles. “Kinda need them to do my job.” She laughs and pats him lovingly on his denim clad thigh. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.” “Well, I have my good luck charm with me.” He lays his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “C’mere.” She steps closer to Bon Jovi, tiptoeing to reach up while Dean leans over to level with her. His lips brush over hers softly, his nose nuzzling hers in a sweet gesture. She smiles into the gentle kiss. “Go get’em, cowboy.”

The wrangler straightens himself in the saddle, while his girlfriend picks up the groom bag and steps back. He guides his horse into the tunnel under the bleachers towards the arena, concentrating on the gates in front of him, waiting for them to open. The reigns feel smooth between his fingers as he drowns out the noise around him. With his free hand, he encouragingly strokes the side of Bon Jovi’s neck, his pearly white manes contrasting beautifully against his flaxen coat. He has grown accustomed to these kinds of events, his nerves not bothering him anymore. He finds solace in his work, seeing it more as fun than as a chore. He enjoys the challenge the youngsters bring him, from the initial moment of putting on a halter, to getting in a saddle, to showing them all for the very first time. In less than a year, the horses go through such growth, and it’s always a pleasure to be a part of their journey.

“First competitor of the day is Dean Winchester, riding Bon Jovi, a stallion by Renegade. This horse is bred by Victor Hendriksen and owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch in Phoenix, Arizona.”

Y/N watches as the palomino calmly comes through the gate, not batting an eye at his new and impressive surroundings. Submissive and willing, the stallion responds to his rider’s aids when he’s asked to halt. To witness how trustful each and every horse is with the trainer, surfaces some kind of gratification inside of her. The way Dean schools the animals isn’t based on authority or rank, but much more about collaboration and respect. It’s something she admires about him from the get go.

Dean leads Bon Jovi through a precise pattern of figures, spins and stops. Reining is all about the athletic abilities of the horse, and the rider controlling every movement. The horse demonstrates attitude and willingness, while the signals given by the rider are nearly imperceptible. The run is evaluated by a panel of three judges, who mark each pattern individually. In this youngster class, speed isn’t key yet, but correctness is. Every stride must look effortless and relaxed, as if the animal and rider have become one. That’s exactly what is on display in the arena right now.

With a smile of adoration across her face, Y/N leans her forearms on the steel fence, watching the head wrangler. A small crowd that got up at the crack of dawn have occupied the first rows on the bleachers and by the fence, encouraging shouts and whistles rallying the first competitor on. The young horse is so fixed on his rider, that he doesn’t even pick up on the sounds. Bon Jovi isn’t fast in the spins yet, but that’s okay, because his footwork is close to perfect. After three well executed sliding stops, Dean gives the palomino the signal to back up, his spur not even touching the horse’s flank. Submissively, he reverses until his rider drops the reins and rewards the stallion, who blows out a purr through his nose, looking up at the stands curiously when they applaud the performance, much like the commentator.

“Well, if that ain’t setting the bar, I don’t know what is. What a solid ride from Dean Winchester and Bon Jovi!”

While Dean exits the arena, he searches the people along the fence and on the bleachers. He’s looking for Bobby, who he finds on the sidelines. His uncle holds his gaze and gives the head wrangler a nod, telling him so much without using actual words. They haven’t spoken about the elephant in the room yet, today’s pace being far too high to squeeze in the awkward conversation, and so both men have decided for themselves to let it rest. Besides, they might have sold a number of horses yesterday, that doesn’t mean they can lean back now.

The cowboy leads his horse back to the warm up ring, meeting his girlfriend half way. “Good run!” she compliments, taking Bon Jovi’s reins after Dean swings his right leg over the saddle and dismounts. She shoves the water bottle in his hand this time, knowing if she had asked, he would have declined anyway. “I had a little wobble in the second roll back, but yeah, the rest was good.” He twists off the cap and takes a swig, thirstier than he likes to admit.

Since Dean is competing two separate horses in the same class, he’s both first and last to enter the main arena. It’s going to be a race against the clock, and he looks around the warm-up area in search for his next four-legged dance partner. “Where’s Jo? Ringo is up in thirty minutes.” “Better get off your high horse, Mister, otherwise this is the last time I’ll tack up for you,” his cousin replies snappily, appearing from behind with a bay gelding named Ringo Starr in tow. Dean is about to counter her, but he bites his tongue, knowing she’s not kidding and will never do him a favor again if he gives her attitude. And so he mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath when he takes the Quarterhorse from her.

As swiftly as he got down from Bon Jovi, he now mounts Ringo, the next four year old for him to compete. As he does so, his score is announced over the speakers, but he can’t quite make out the numbers. When he glances at the scoreboard, he’s pleasantly surprised. “218.5 points!” Y/N cries out, delighted. “That’s fantastic!” With a content smirk adorning his features, Dean nods satisfied; that is indeed a good score. Good enough to put Bon Jovi on the podium. Good enough to ask a high price when the buyers come calling. He doesn’t have time to settle on a high cloud, though; he needs to ready Ringo for his run.

Y/N hoists the groombag on her shoulder and takes the kind palomino stallion to exit the warm-up arena. This is her job after all, she might be dating her supervisor, she’s still the intern. They made a deal when she arrived at the ranch that Dean would not treat her differently, so she intends to do the work she’s come here to do. Jo, however, seems to have a different idea, and nudges her. “I’ll take Jovi. You go cheer on your John Wayne.” The blonde cowgirl winks at her friend, taking over the load.

She chuckles, handing the petite blonde the horse. Grateful to be able to see more of Dean’s horsemanship in action, she finds a spot by the fence. The sun steadily rises, casting out what was left of the night’s coolness, the light radiating down on her much warmer and brighter. Wishing she had brought a hat, the cowgirl takes off her jacket and puts it away in the groombag. She watches her boyfriend warm up Ringo, who seems a little bit more nervous, now that the ring is more crowded. His rider does a good job reassuring the young animal, though, giving the bay gelding some light exercises to keep his mind of the commotion around him, rewarding the Quarter every time he shows a sign of relaxation.

“Beautiful day to be buying horses, isn’t it, darling?” Y/N startles at the sudden gruff voice, snapping her head to where the sound came from. The supposedly kind words to start conversation are pronounced with a English accent, by a stranger dressed in black. The rather short man who she guesses would be somewhere in his fifties leans on the steel rail, his fingers laced together while he watches riders in the arena.

“Y - yeah, I suppose so,” Y/N stammers, unsure how to respond. “My apologies, where are my manners.” The man turns to her and offers his hand. “The name is Fergus. Fergus MacLeod.” The cowgirl frowns at his introduction. She has heard of him, but has never met the owner of the MacLeod Studfarms in person. “Y/N Y/L/N,” she returns, slightly hesitant. “Oh, I know who you are. I’m an admirer of your work. You’re quite the talent,” the Englishman admits. “That run at the State Championships was spectacular.”

Slightly creeped out, but not trusting her instincts entirely, she stays quiet for a moment. This is a man of great influence in the business, so she does want to hear what he has to say. “You saw me ride?” she replies. He nods, an amused smirk resting on his thin lips. “I did indeed, love. Talking about talent, that horse is something else as well. Meadowsweet, is her name, isn’t it?” “Yeah...” Y/N returns, somewhat suspicious. “Tell me; are you the owner of that lovely mare? Or are there parents and sponsors involved?”

Her stance becomes a bit more defensive, not just because of the rapid questions that are fired at her, no matter how charming this gentleman is trying to be. No, it’s his assumption that she’s too young to own such a horse that gets to her. “I am the owner, as a matter of fact,” she states, a new found strength in her voice. “Good to know I am talking to the proper person then.” Her company chuckles, apparently pleased by her feisty counter. “Because I have a proposition for you.” Before he can make her an offer, Y/N intervenes. “Meadow isn’t changing owners, if that’s where you’re headed, Mr. MacLeod.” Fergus takes her in, narrowing his eyes slightly, but the pleased little smile remains. “I can make it worth your while.” “I believe you can, but no matter your offer; she’s not for sale,” the cowgirl makes herself clear, a sternness in her voice that should tone the horse trader down. It doesn’t. Instead he chuckles dryly and takes a little booklet out of the inner pocket of his black coat; it’s a cheque book. Not taking no for an answer, he pulls out a pen and writes down his signature. “Everything is for sale, love. All one has to do is pay the right price,” he says, wisely.

Fergus MacLeod rips off the sheet of paper, handing her the cheque. Not wanting to be downright rude, she takes it, staring at the empty line; it’s blank. “You may write down whatever number you seem fit. It’s up to you,” the Brit elaborates. “Now that I’ve got your attention, would you happen to know where I can find Bobby Singer? I would like to have a little chat with my old friend.” “He’s by the main arena.” She points in the direction of the entrance. “Wonderful,” he quips. “It was a pleasure meeting you, darling.”

A shiver runs down her spine as MacLeod walks away to find her boss. She’s highly aware that he is a very influential and important person in the industry, but he has got some nerve. Y/N might look like an innocent and timid girl, but there is no way in hell that she would ever give up Meadow, no matter how large the figure.

She stares at the cheque, crumbling it in her hand before she stuffs it in her pocket, angrily. She has never met someone as brazen as Fergus Macleod at a show before, and she has been to enough to know. But she doesn’t want to waste time and think about the confrontation now. The cowgirl would much rather focus on her wrangler boyfriend who is wowing the judges.

Dean’s run with Ringo Starr is another great one, and with him being the last contestant of the class, the rankings are decided the moment the score comes in. With 215.5 points, he secures the third place, behind another rider and Bon Jovi, who has held on to the lead. An impressive result, one that he knows his uncle is going to be very pleased with.

When the Dean exits the arena, he is met by his girlfriend, who is smiling widely. “You nailed it!” she chirps with enthusiasm. “They did good,” Dean says, rustling Ringo’s black mane, more than satisfied with the performance of both young horses, but not taking the compliment upon himself.

The cowboy gets down from the saddle, noticing that the gelding is tired from all the first impressions and new sensories that come with the first show. Ringo’s coat is damp, a shade darker because of the perspiration; he gave it his all. Intending to hand-walk the horse back to the stables to shower the animal and give him his hay, he strolls to exit the warm-up area, but Bobby stops him. “Dean?” his uncle calls out, beckoning him to come over. Y/N glances up, following Mr. Singer’s voice. Noticing that Fergus MacLeod has found who he claims to be his ‘old friend’, her face falls slightly. She wonders what the Englishman would want, and why Dean has been invited into the conversation. Questionly, she looks back at her boyfriend and takes over Ringo from him, reckoning she should leave since it’s none of her business what will be discussed, but the man in black has different ideas. “Y/N, do join us, and bring the horse as well, love.” The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rises; what did he just call her? Unable to prevent his jaw from clenching, he steps towards the two ranch owners, trying to keep his cool. Who the hell is this dickhead? “That’s Fergus MacLeod,” Y/N whispers, as if she just read his mind. “He’s the founder of some of the largest stud farms in the country and even has stables in Europe. Owns at least two dozen licenced stallions.” The wrangler nods in acknowledgement. Great, some snobby bigshot. Very much aware that this new face might have something to offer Bobby, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Ah, the one and only Dean Winchester,” Fergus’ grins mischievously. “Nice work there in the ring. Your uncle here told me it’s the first time those two horses are competing.” “That’s right,” the cowboy confirms. “Macleod is the name. Pleasure to meet ya.” The Brit extends his hand, which Dean shakes a little firmer than normal. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish with the display of his own physical strength.

“Fergus here is interested in buying the four year olds,” Bobby explains, apparently noticing his head wrangler’s suppressed hostility, shooting it down with a piercing stare, warningly. Dean’s demeanor changes instantly as he raises his eyebrows. If this horse trader is going to bring the big bucks, he knows he needs to keep himself in check for the sake of the ranch. “Mind if I have a peek?” Macleod asks, gesturing at the horse. “Go ahead.” Dean steps back, making room for him to inspect the horse.

Fergus circles the horse, taking the bay gelding in from several angles. He feels the hindlegs for any swelling or abnormalities and does the same with the front legs, after Y/N has removed the bandages Ringo wore in the ring to prevent any injuries. The horse trader then proceeds to look Ringo in the face and check his teeth. After a satisfied nod the man turns around, straightens his impeccable suit. He then takes a tissue from his breast pocket and wipes his hands. “It’s a fine looking animal you’ve got here, Singer,” he compliments. “You may take the horse away, my dear.” Even though she isn’t fond of the degrading way he is talking to her, Y/N obliges. Taking care of the horses when she’s not riding herself is her job after all. “Oh, and Miss Y/L/N…” She halts the horse next to her and turns around. The Englishman has his hands in his pocket now, twinkling hazel-colored eyes looking her up and down. “Bobby here tells me that you’re a well-educated woman. A master degree in Business & Economics? Impressive. Someone as smart as yourself has to acknowledge that it’s a good deal. I assume you will consider my offer on your horse,” he pauses, more intrigued with every detail he learns about the woman before him. “I would like to point out there’s room for six figures on that cheque. What numbers to fill in, is your choice.”

Dean wants to snap his head at his girlfriend, but keeps his posture. Did this man just offer her several hundred thousand dollars for Meadow? Eyes wide in astonishment, he exchanges a look with his uncle, both trying to keep a straight face. “She’s not for sale,” Y/N makes clear one more time, pronouncing the words slow to prove a point. Amused with her stubbornness, the corner of MacLeod’s mouth twitches upward. Cocky, he holds her gaze, but eventually yields. “Very well, then. Let me know if you change your mind. The offer stands.”

Without responding to Fergus’ tenacious reply, she turns away, nudging Ringo to follow her. The three men watch her leave, Dean knows her well enough to be able to tell that MacLeod has her blood boiling. He’s not surprised Y/N didn’t think twice about shooting the bid down. Meadow means the world to her, more than any amount of money could ever buy. But holy shit. Six figures! Realisation hits him; it would be enough money to save the Ranch.

The Brit who made the generous offer pulls him from his thoughts. “Alright, lads. Let’s talk business, shall we?” The three walk away from the few people that are lining around the warm-up area. A little further down, on a crossing of two paths, they stop. The little square is still quiet at this hour. Safe from lurking eyes and eavesdropping ears, they gather around one high table near a drink stand. Even though it’s a non-serve area, the influential man calls the bartender to take their order. The young guy comes back with a coke for the rider - who still has a run later this afternoon - and two bourbons. Dean didn’t even know they served whiskey at this event, let alone this early.

MacLeod cuts right to the chase. “I will offer you thirty grand for the four year old Quarters, and I will take them off your hands right away.” Dean doesn’t flinch, being in these kinds of conversations before. He can maintain his poker face, no matter how amble the offer. It is a negotiation after all. The owner of the two horses thinks about it for a second, but then comes with a counter. “Forty.” “C’mon, Bobby. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Fergus clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly after which he takes a sip from his drink. “Now, I know times are tough and that you’re experiencing difficulty staying afloat, but do realize I am already doing you a favor here. Thirty thousand dollars is more than fair.”

The head wrangler is taken aback by the Englishman’s comment. How would he know the ranch is struggling? Did people in their close circle spill the beans? Apparently MacLeod spots the unpleasant surprise on the faces of the men opposite of him, because he comments on it without missing a beat. “It’s a small world, lads. People talk. You should know that by now, Singer.” Bobby moves past the comment rather quickly and ponders about the sum. Fergus isn’t wrong; it’s not just a decent offer. It’s a generous one, one he isn’t going to decline. The Englishman across the table knows it too; the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch is desperate for money. “Cash,” he demands, accepting the original offer. The dark haired man strokes his neatly trimmed beard. “I can arrange that.”

The head wrangler might not like the horse trader, but he did just make this weekend ten times better. He gulps down the last of his coke, crumpling the can before he dunks it in the trash on the side of the crossroads. The cowboy figures the deal will be sealed with a handshake before they go separate ways, but MacLeod has a second matter to settle. “I have another proposition for you.” Having their attention, the middle aged Brit observes their reaction, his eyes full of mischief. The two members of the ranch near Phoenix share a look. “We’re listening.” Bobby says.

Fergus swirls his whiskey, studying the amber liquid in his glass. “I own a stallion,” he starts off, putting the drink to his mouth in the short pause. “I bought him at the Derby Quarterhorse Auction for over a million dollars. He’s licensed, one of the best pedigrees I’ve ever seen, not to mention his conformation and movements. He already covered four hundred mares this year. I expect great things from this horse, he is supposed to bring in the money. There is one slight issue, however.” Dean listens, intently, wondering where he is going with this. “And what would that be?”

“The horse has some… behavioral issues,” the stud farm owner claims, careful in his choice of words. “It has quite the temperament, one his former trainers haven’t been able to use in their advantage, my advantage.” Slowly the head wrangler begins to realize why the price MacLeod is willing to pay for the two Quarters is so steep; he is playing a game of give and take. The way the owner of this stallion is talking about money and business, calling the animal ‘it’, doesn’t sit well with him either. Where is the horse’s well-being in all of this?

“What’s his name?” Dean likes to know. Fergus frowns at that, clearly not understanding why it would matter, but he answers anyway. “You might have heard of this horse; his name is Cain.” Dean has heard of the horse. The whopping 1.2 million that was paid for the talented Quarter made headlines in the industry.

“What are these behavioral issues?” he needs to know, not taking the bait just yet. “Typical stallion behavior; dominance is the main problem. The horse has character, what can I say?” MacLeod laughs it off. “Anyway, I am looking for a capable horseman. Someone who can actually break him in.” The owner of the horse in question shifts his penetrating gaze from Bobby to Dean. The cowboy realizes they are at a verge of a possibly very important business deal, but he cannot stop himself from commenting on the peculiar choice of words. “I don’t ‘break in’ horses. I teach them to trust and to cooperate,” he states firmly. “Potato, potahto,” Fergus dismisses. “Are you up for the job, or not?”

Dean exchanges a glance with his uncle, a silent conversation happening between them, only possible by years and years of working together. When Bobby rights himself, he has a crucial question. “What’s in it for us?” Again that small smile on the Englishman’s face; he knows he’s close to persuading them.

“A thousand dollars each month, paid in advance, and a fifty grand bonus when Cain successfully completes the stallion performance tests in April. Plus, five percent of his earnings in coverage for the coming year. After he passes the exams, we can set up a contract in order for you to remain his permanent rider,” MacLeod sums up.

Bobby analyzes the offer. It’s tempting in many aspects. Fergus just mentioned that the stallion already covered four hundred mares this year. With his stud-fee being at least a thousand dollars, they are looking at twenty grand cut already. Then there’s the regular income, not to mention the bonus. This deal might be the lifeline his family business was frantically fishing for. It’s up to Dean, though. He is the one who is going to work with this horse, and the only one who can make an educated guess if it’s achievable in five months' time.

“We would like to see Cain first,” Bobby decides, wanting to offer his head wrangler a moment to evaluate the animal. “I’m afraid that will not be possible at this time, but I tell you what.” The Brit finishes his bourbon, setting the glass down on the high table. “The horse will be delivered to your property and you will have a week to decide if you want to take on this job. If not, no hard feelings.”

Dean glances aside, spotting the slight nod of his uncle. Seems like they can’t go wrong here; if Cain turns out to be more difficult than Fergus leads on, they can always send him back. “You got yourself a deal,” Bobby concludes, extending his hand to the man in black. “Splendid.” The horse trader smirks, delighted with the arrangement they agreed on, shaking their hands. When he grips Dean’s hand tight, he looks him deep in the eye, as if he recognizes something in the handsome cowboy.

“You’re John’s boy, aren’t ya?” he realizes. “I bought a couple of horses from that Winchester back in the day. How is he?” Tension grips Dean’s body, the sound of his father’s name on Macleod’s tongue sending a shiver down his limbs. He tries to breathe in without it being too obvious, finding it difficult to keep his mask on. “I wouldn’t know,” he answers curtly.

Fergus furrows his brow at that, clearly curious as of why the two aren’t in touch anymore. He allows a silence to linger between them, their handshake holding on to the apprehensiveness. “Hmm,” he responds at the peculiar answer. “Well, you are just like your father. I could’ve sworn it was him when I saw you in the arena earlier; spitting image. You have his ways.”

It’s like MacLeod is deliberately trying to get under his skin, and no matter how hard the young cowboy fights it, the man he’s making a deal with is succeeding. The words spoken with that distinct English accent ring in his head, much louder than they were pronounced, cracking like a whip on his back. You are just like your father. You have his ways.

Dean releases the stallion owner’s hand, quickly slipping his into the back pockets of his jeans, drying his clammy palms on the denim. He hopes neither of the men in his company notice him shaking. He inhales through his nose, squares his shoulders and stands tall, pushing down the anxiousness that is stirring in his stomach. Disappointed in himself, he chews on the inside of his cheek in search for distraction. He can’t let a simple comment get to him like this.

Now that he has shut down the attitude the ranch hand was giving him, the Englishman looks down on Dean with a sinister smile on his lips. He keeps a hold of the Winchester’s gaze, until he averts his green eyes. Only then MacLeod steps away. “We’ll stay in touch. I’ll have my men pick up the two Quarters this afternoon,” Fergus announces, his long, dark overcoat swaying slightly as he turns around once more. “A pleasure doing business with ya.”

With those words, MacLeod walks away and leaves the two men in the middle of the square. The sun is suddenly uncomfortably warm to Dean. He sniffs and takes a few steps from his uncle, as if the two or three strides would actually be enough to walk it off. He places his hands in his side and dips his hat forward when he faces Bobby again, making sure the older man can’t sense how unsettled he is. But Bobby is no fool. He knows his nephew better than the boy’s own father did, and that’s exactly what’s bothering Dean.

“You alright?” he checks. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dean returns just a little too rapidly, shrugging it off. “Just…” His uncle is careful not to address the subject directly, yet at the same time he needs to offer the opportunity for the wrangler to vent. “With what he said about John--” “Don’t.”

The simple word comes out harsher than he meant it to leave his lips, the darkness in his eyes when he shoots his father-figure a glare soon replaced by regret. Dean knows Bobby is trying, like he and Ellen have for the past fifteen years. But no matter how much time passes, he can’t bring himself to talk about what happened in the past.

His uncle isn’t mad, nor is he disappointed in his surrogate son. He just nods slowly at the dismissal, before he begins to make his way to the stables. Dean remains in the middle of the crossing, his hands still firm on his hips, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathes out. The deal they just made should bring much needed relief, but the meeting leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He gathers himself and follows after his Bobby. They have more showings to prepare for, but nothing can cast out the words spoken by Fergus MacLeod. Not the rhythmic thumping of hooves in the dirt, not the chatter and laughs produced by the growing crowd, nor the music that comes from the main arena. All he can register is the painful message, which reopens the deep scars on his heart every time they bounce off the walls inside his head.

I am just like my father.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty two here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester AU #Supernatural AU #Dean fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Dean x reader #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester #Jo Harvelle #Bobby Singer #Ellen Harvelle #Benny Lafitte #Kate Huntington

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honey-hippie-harper · 4 years ago

Text

through the bleeding shell (Re-upload)

This was @obsidianfr3sk ‘s Feel Better gift asfghadsfghadfsghja. It turned out to be pretty depressing in the end bc idk how to write happy stuff but my good intentions were there, ok?

This is a Humon/Renegays fic :’). Which, basically, is about how the Renegays didn’t kiss during the trilogy...sort of. I can’t think of an specific reason why they didn’t besides bad writing and queerbaiting, but I’ve always seen Hugh as this...detached entity. Idk x’d. He shows a pretty dense attitude. And so, I thought that it was partly the reason why they’re not that affective during the trilogy. Not that they aren’t on a daily basis. I just think their relationship was in a bad place when the events happened, because, among other things, Hugh wasn’t grieving Georgia in a healthy way (I headcanon them as best friends </3) and wouldn’t allow Simon to help him.

idk why I felt the need to talk about that.

tag list (tell me if you want to be in or out): @healing-winston-pratt @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @alecjamesartino @everyone-has-a-nightmare @razzmooncake

through the bleeding shell

Being around someone for so long…

It allowed you to know things. Some of them important.

Others, not so much.

Simon had married a person he had been around his entire life; he had slept next to him almost every single day since he was very young. And his name was Hugh Everhart.

Simon knew every spot on Hugh’s body; he knew every mole, every random sun freckle here and there; how his body mass seemed to be well-distributed at plain sight but, in reality, his chest was naturally wider than the rest of his body, as if he had been born with the figure of a baseball player; how he scratched his nose because wrinkling it so much while laughing made it itchy; he knew the way his knuckles turned yellow when he turned them into a fist; he knew there was one single scar below his rib cage area…

He knew everything he had to know about Hugh Everhart, his husband, whom he loved so much that sometimes it hurt.

Yet, Simon was yet to know how and why, lately, he was so cold, despite still being a human furnace who was sometimes annoyed by the blanket on winter nights.

Kasumi frowned, and Simon wished she were misunderstanding, but whatever thing she was thinking, she was probably right.

Cold was a pretty wide term, which could basically mean anything. Being brutally honest, not even he knew what he was trying to convey by using that word, so he supposed he was referring to anything it could express, as a whole.

Thinking about it… yeah.

That option sounded about right.

Another thing that sounded about right, was the idea of Kasumi judging him because of it, which was something Simon knew wasn’t true and, instead, it was just his anxiety trying to ruin his day even more. But sometimes things were like that. He tried to avoid it, but never managed to do such thing. Ever.

“Not to be rude or anything.” She started, but before proceeding she seemed to realize that, maybe, that hadn’t sounded as intended, and her cheeks became extremely flushed, until Kasumi looked like she had ran under the burning sun while wearing a wool sweater for hours. “Really, Si. I don’t mean to be rude. As in...I’m...telling you this...so you think…”

She clicked her tongue, and then both Tamaya, who was also in the room, and him, stared at her as she talked to herself under her breath, making a couple of hand movements, as if she were writing her sentence in the air so she could phrase it correctly.

Sometimes, when Kasumi was nervous, she tended to struggle at putting her ideas together in a gentle, polite manner.

“...I was telling you that, so you don’t think I’m trying to offend you or minimize your pain.” She corrected herself. “Yeah?”

“...Yeah.” Simon nodded.

“Well…” Kasumi rubbed her hands together, more as a distraction than as an actual mannerism. “You know I’ve...never understood. Back at home...when we all lived together and...ugh. You know? Just...don’t mind me. Tam, you tell him.”

“No, no. What you’re saying is important too.”

“I want to listen to you, Zoomie.”

Upon the two pairs of eyes in the room being fixated on her, Kasumi kept fidgeting with the paper cone she now had between her hands, absently.

“Fine.” She whispered in a breathy voice, and then she stared at Simon, who stared back, not because he wanted to be polite or something like that, but because he genuinely wanted to listen to her.

Kasumi wasn’t a talker. That wasn’t an exaggeration or an act of fake modesty. It was just that Kasumi didn’t enjoy a lot of things, and one of them was speaking, to the point where sometimes she didn’t consider it necessary. There were days when she just...didn’t feel like speaking. And she didn’t. Because she didn’t want to. Because she didn’t need to. Because people could understand her anyway.

Still, everyone was willing to listen when she felt there was something she had to explain in a way that was verbal.

“I love my husband very much.” She said, placing a lock of hair behind her ear. “But, still, sex it’s not...a huge part of our relationship because I’ve never understood. When you joked about it back at home, I would just assume you were just doing that. Joking. I...literally didn’t expect you were serious when you talked about experiencing that type of attraction. Because I didn’t. And it’s not that I think it’s repulsive or anything like that. I just don’t get what the fuss is about. When I’m with him...it’s...usually not my first option. To think about that, I mean. And he understands and respects that, which I appreciate a lot.”

The more she spoke, the more confident her tone became. It meant she was growing more comfortable with the conversation, and that her train of thought was getting itself together, nice and slowly.

As for Simon...he was strangely comfortable, too, because this felt like a mature, adult conversation to him. Like a safe space.

After all, he was serious when he told them he needed to talk (now that Evander wasn’t here, because Evander was...not very sensitive). Hence, he was very glad they were being serious about it too.

“I understand that Hugh’s not in the spectrum.” Kasumi cleared her throat. “But...sexuality is fluid. Maybe, if you were talking about only that, it could be a good idea to talk it over. Only if he wants to, of course, because you never know; again, we can’t just assume, because one cannot do that. It’s rude. But what I mean...it’s that, whatever that’s going on in his head, maybe he’s trying to figure it out by himself. It might have nothing to do with his sexuality at all, actually, because, after all, that was just a comment...but it all comes back to the same point. Maybe he just...needs time.”

“Hugh’s pretty dense, Simon.” Simon saw the steamy cup in front of him, but he didn’t realize what it was until the smell of black coffee reached his nostrils. He hadn’t even noticed Tamaya was making coffee.

“Thank you.” He whispered anyway, as Tamaya leaned against the table, putting her weight on her elbows.

For all he knew, and all he cared about, it was pretty easy for people to judge Tamaya and label her as a bad person; she was quiet, although not in the way Kasumi was. On the contrary, she was rather serious, and her resting face was more intimidating than it was warm or welcoming. She was also really bad at controlling her temper, which didn’t help at all, but she wasn’t as bad as people wanted to portray her, or as bad as the recruits talked about her in the halls. Because, when it came to the recruits, Tamaya was strict, yes.

But somebody had to be, because being a Renegade was not a game, and the great majority of the advice she gave was extremely useful and clever.

Tamaya was caring.

Deep, very deep down. But she was.

“He’s pretty dense, but…” She sighed. “Most of the time, that’s not his fault. It’s not a good thing either. It’s not healthy for him and we shouldn’t condone it...but yeah. He can be pretty dense sometimes. He’s like that, most of the time it’s not his fault but...I don’t think you should feel like it’s yours either.”

Simon couldn’t help but flinch a little.

The thing was...he knew that.

It might’ve sounded crazy coming from him, but he knew it wasn’t his fault, even if his anxiety was determined to convince him otherwise.

Also, he was one to know that one couldn’t just fix a person. That’s not how mental health worked; of course, a romantic relationship or a relationship of any kind was a huge source of support and stability, but he knew it wasn’t enough to “heal” a person.

He knew about that, just like he knew that Hugh loved him and he loved Hugh, but that didn’t mean they could fix each other. They could make it a little better, yes; hold each other when things were rough; let the other know they weren’t alone.

But…”fixing” the other.

Not really.

They were humans.

They were people.

And the only thing people could fix, were objects, not other people.

“Like Kasumi said, sexuality is fluid, but it might as well not have to do anything with that.” Tamaya continued. Her voice sounded...soothing, strangely motherly. And she was calm.

Very calm.

It reminded Simon of someone.

They both reminded him of someone.

“Hubby and I, we both experience sexual attraction. It’s an important part of our relationship, and we enjoy it, but sometimes it’s just not the right time. He’s a doctor, I’m a Renegade Council member, and we have three wonderful boys together. Sometimes we don’t have time, so we just sit by the balcony to stargaze, holding hands, or we go out on dates like high school sweethearts, and I stand by the doorframe waiting for him to tell me I look pretty.”

Simon laughed a little.

It was evident she was trying to play it off as something dumb, but he found it absolutely adorable.

“And sometimes I’m too tired or he’s too tired, and that’s normal. It’s not our fault, and it doesn’t mean that we love each other less because…”

“Having sex doesn’t define love.” Kasumi said, and Tamaya nodded.

“Exactly.”

But again.

Again.

Simon knew that.

He really knew.

Hugh and him had busy schedules too. They both were Renegade Council members, and Hugh had it worse because not only was he a member, but also the leader of the Council. He had to be everywhere, at the same time, and people tended to think that just because he was invincible, it meant he didn’t have the right to feel emotionally drained, or at least tired.

Of course he was going to be tired.

He wasn’t a robot.

Hence, Simon understood what they were trying to say, and he agreed with Kasumi and Tamaya.

But the problem was…

He wasn’t referring just to that.

It was...part of the problem, yes.

But now that he knew their opinion about it, he had come to the realization that he still felt...empty and lost. And just...frustrated.

“We’re not only talking about sex, are we?” Tamaya asked carefully, and Simon refused to stare back at her, as he took a sip from his coffee, before answering:

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well...If you’re telling us this, it’s because you do want to talk about it, right?”

“I do. Yes.”

“Well. We’re listening.”

At the same time Tamaya spoke, a cold, little hand, laced between Simon’s.

A hand that felt like the sea and, even if he hadn’t known she was the only person in the room besides Tamaya and him, he would’ve recognized it as Kasumi’s.

So Simon squeezed her hand back.

“We’re listening, Si.” She confirmed. “We’re here for you.”

He knew that, and it was something he was extremely grateful about.

Now he just had to figure out how to put into words what he was feeling, because at this point it felt impossible for him to know.

There were just...so many things, but at the same time such a limited number of details he could recall.

It just felt...unreal.

And weird.

Very weird.

But Simon didn’t feel numb, unlike anyone would’ve expected from him.

In fact, he felt so sad he couldn’t even cry.

And it was the worst feeling ever.

“I don’t know.” He said, in a hoarse voice. “I just...don’t know anymore. It’s just...I…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” He clarified. “...But maybe that’s why I don’t know what it is.”

For the shortest second, Simon came to the realization he was talking to himself instead of talking to them, or perhaps it was something that, deep down, was giving him the answer to why this whole situation was making him so uneasy and upset. Like, of course it was making him this upset. It was his husband they were talking about. Hugh was his fight. Hugh was…

Simon didn’t know.

But what he did know was that, maybe, it had nothing to do with himself, and that’s why he just couldn’t…

He just couldn’t understand.

Why couldn’t he understand?

Why did it have to be like this?

“I want to know what it is.” Simon took a deep breath, trying to make himself understood; trying to make them understand what he couldn’t. “...So I can...make it better...So I can...help him. So we can...look for help together.”

Simon scratched his brow with his free hand.

“But he’s just… so cold. He doesn’t talk to me. He doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t...do anything. We don’t do anything. And I can’t help but feel like...he’s not here, even though he’s…” Simon scoffed, painfully. “...He’s right there, in front of my face.”

His eyes became fixated on a blank point, as if he were staring at an invisible Hugh, who wasn’t staring back at him.

“And I want him to...tell me. Because if he doesn’t tell me, then I have no way to know what’s wrong. And if I don’t know what’s wrong...then I don’t know for how long I can take it, you know? It’s just...I can’t bear to stand there as he pushes me away.”

Kasumi started running her thumb through his knuckles, and Simon felt Tamaya’s hands on his shoulders, massaging them, gently.

“I’m just scared...that when he finally wants me to come closer again, it might be too late...and maybe I won’t want to come closer again.”

Tamaya’s hands stopped moving for a moment, and Simon could almost feel her and Kasumi’s shock. He hadn’t even planned to say that. It just slipped.

And when Simon noticed it had slipped, it was far too late for him to hold it back.

“Maybe you should talk to him, after all.” Kasumi said, slowly, and Simon stared into her eyes.

He didn’t realize that was the thing he didn’t want to hear until he felt nothing but hopelessness.

Emptiness.

Fear.

A type of fear that became more intense in the moment they heard the door opening, and that’s when Simon saw him.

Hugh was standing right there, staring, and when his eyes laid on Simon, he arched an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused and worried.

“What’s happening here?” He asked. “...Si? Are you okay?”

Are you?

Simon didn’t want to answer. He really didn’t.

He didn’t want this to be about him.

He didn’t want Hugh asking him what was wrong if, harsh as it sounded, everything that was making him uncomfortable or upset had to do with him, not because Simon was blaming him, but because he was genuinely worried.

Let me help, Hugh.

“I’m...fine.”

Let me in.

“...Yeah. I’m...fine.”

Please, love.

Let me in.

Simon could see him hurting, but where he saw hurt, Hugh saw some type of burden that was meant to be concealed, committing treason against his own advice; dodging the sound of the voice of a younger Hugh, who guided a younger Simon through the dark, telling him it was alright.

That pain was alright.

And that pain didn’t make him less human.

Hugh’s pain, in particular, was a grey, bleeding shell that was so thick Simon couldn’t find a way to get in, and Hugh couldn’t find a way to get out.

So they just pressed their palms together through the bleeding shell, staring at each other's eyes through a polarized surface, that stopped their skin from touching, and stopped their lips from finding the other.

And the worst thing...was that Simon was craving that. He craved Hugh’s lips. He craved everything physical about him, just like he craved everything that wasn’t physical too. And he craved him so much he felt like dying every time he was close. He craved him so much it made him feel like a teenager again.

Which, in his case, wasn’t a good thing.

He wished it was.

But...teenage years weren’t fun if you had to spend them trapped in a closet. Things were never good when lived from inside a closet.

He didn’t want his life outside that closet to be like that too.

“Did you have an attack? ...Si, did you take your pills? … You did, right?”

“Hugh.” Simon heard Tamaya’s voice. “Is there...something that you needed?”

Hugh blinked, knowing that, maybe, he had interrupted something.

Mostly because it wasn’t like Tamaya was trying to hide it either.

“...Yeah.” He said, resting his arms on the nearest chair.

Tamaya pulled away from Simon, and Kasumi let go of his hand. They didn’t become fully focused, nor did they put on their “I’m working” mode either, but they did manage to...pretend. Even Simon managed to do so.

“Uh...I…” Hugh snapped his fingers in front of his own face, trying to remember what was it that he had to say.

“....Yeah.” He concluded. “Yeah. Uh… Tam. I need you to head downtown because they want you to supervise some of the floats for the parade. From...up, I mean. So you can check some of the details. I already checked from the ground and everything’s looking good, but now they want you to give them the green light.”

“Right now?”

“Preferably.” Hugh scratched his nose. “Were you...in the middle of something?”

Tamaya filled her cheeks with air, and then let it out, making a little trumpet with her lips.

“No.” She lied. “It’s fine. I’ll go. Just let me put some stuff in my locker, alright?”

“Be careful when you fly, okay? It’s kinda hot outside. If you get dizzy...”

“If I get dizzy, I’ll land. I know. I’m the one who’s flying.”

Given that she was already heading by the door, Tamaya patted his shoulder, and they said goodbye with a very polite kiss on the cheek, before Tamaya left the room completely, and Hugh drew his attention towards Kasumi.

“Margaret White is acting out.”

Kasumi frowned. Deeply.

“Margaret...what?”

“Uh. White? You know? The Renegades’ ward? The kid?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know who Maggie is.” Kasumi waved her hands in front of her own face. “...Who named her that?”

“Who named her what?”

“White. Who on Earth…?” Kasumi clicked her tongue. “Nevermind, okay? Just...what did she do?”

“Zoomie, I had already told you.” Hugh laughed, confused.

“I thought you were being rude, Hugh.”

Margaret White was the Renegades’ protégé. Her powers consisted of detecting and attracting metals which, evidently, was not something that was out of this world. In fact, she had been recruited at such a young age not because she had extraordinary abilities, but because she was problematic as heck.

She was Max’s age, more or less but, unlike Max, Margaret had no chill.

Her life was ruined from the moment somebody saw her and decided that White was a suitable last name for her, Tamaya used to say.

Margaret’s skin was tan, and she had slanted eyes. Naming her “White” almost seemed like a tasteless joke.

Simon himself thought Hugh was just being disrespectful the first time he told him her name, and he had to hear it a couple of times before he just...accepted he was serious (and that Hugh himself didn’t seem to like the idea of her being named like that very much).

Maggie was really problematic. For real. She had been kicked out of a couple of orphanages already, and maybe she would have been kicked out of this one too, if it hadn’t been a prodigy orphanage, which happened to be under Kasumi’s management, meaning it was directly related to the Council. And they were supposed to make sure nobody got kicked out of there.

Simon liked Maggie, because he knew that there was a chance that everything she ever did had reason behind it. An emotional reason. Perhaps she wanted love. Perhaps she wanted attention.

Perhaps she just…

Wanted someone who didn’t give up on her at the minimum inconvenience.

So he just...tried not to.

Hard as it was, because Maggie tended to make it hard; Kasumi had tried to canalize her to a psychologist many times, but her response always was that “she wasn’t crazy” (perhaps because kids her age were mean and “crazy” was one of their favorite words to use as an insult) and...well...part of the process in children, was understanding when it was the right time and when it wasn’t.

Sometimes forcing kids into treatment made it worse, and Maggie was pretty mature for her age, while painfully childish at the same time. Respecting her space and giving her time was their only option, if they didn’t want to turn her into a ticking bomb.

“Are you for real? I’ve been addressing her like that for like…”

“Just tell me what the little bundle of joy did now.”

“Pff.” Hugh scoffed. “Bundle of joy.”

Then, he cleared his throat the moment Kasumi fixed a glare at him.

“Well...the usual. She stole something from one of the nannies, Carrietta Ferland saw her and she locked her in a cellar so she wouldn’t say anything.”

“She locked Carrietta Ferland in a cellar.” Kasumi rubbed her forehead, and before she left the meeting room, she squeezed Simon’s wrist.

She didn’t say goodbye to Hugh.

Simon didn’t, either, when he excused himself under the sort of cheap white lie he needed to wash his face.

-.-

But one could only wash their face so much, before their partner suspected.

When Simon didn’t come back, Hugh didn’t go after him. He never did at first.

As in…

Hugh always went after him, just not at first; over time, Simon had grown to accept it wasn’t a pride thing.

When Hugh left, he never wanted anyone to go after him, and he was the type to believe that just because he didn’t want something, it meant nobody wanted it; Simon had gotten used to it, because Hugh was his husband, and they accepted each other just like they were.

What Simon refused to accept, was the bleeding shell Hugh was inside of.

He hated it.

He despised it, especially at night. It would grow around Hugh in slow motion, and then he would bleed through, and the whole room would turn red, overflowing it with unspoken, suffocated anger and pain.

Hugh turned his back at Simon that night, so Simon turned his back at him too, not because he was mad, but because he didn’t feel like staring at Hugh’s back today.

Their room became as cold as an industrial fridge, as they both fell deep into the notion the other was not asleep, and that they both were listening to the sound of a room that was currently filled with deathly silence.

Deathly as the bone-chilling cold penetrating their limbs, their organs, and their everything.

Deathly as…

Deathly as feelings.

All the stored feelings, and the way Simon craved something he knew was right there.

Hugh was right there. Right next to him. And his body, which he knew so well, was laying next to him, turning his back at him, with every mole, every sun freckle, a chest wider than the rest of his body…

And one single scar below his rib cage.

The same rib cage that protected his heart.

Say something, Simon.

The same heart Simon had felt beating so many times.

Say something.

Anything.

Maybe…

Maybe this had a reason too.

An emotional reason.

Perhaps love. Or attention.

Say something. Anything.

Because you do go after people from the very first moment.

Slowly, as if he had never moved before in his life, Simon rolled to the other side, and as his trembling hand rested on Hugh’s arm, he became alert, awake as they both were, and he looked over his shoulder.

“Hugh?” Simon asked, the name leaving a familiar firm in his mouth that tasted like home.

He didn’t answer, because that was his name. Hence, he knew he was trying to talk to him.

“Come here, Hugh.”

And Hugh came over, hesitantly, rolling to his side too, as they faced each other, and Simon ran his finger through his face, just...exploring every spot he already knew, as if he were visiting his comfort place, of his favorite bench in the park.

His blue eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, and Simon felt he could’ve gotten lost in them and never come back.

But he didn’t get lost.

Because he had to find the love of his life first.

“I’m never giving up on you.” He whispered. “...you know that, right?”

Perhaps he didn’t.

But, on the other hand, perhaps he did. And Simon was left with nothing but the mere hope it had meant something.

“I’m never giving up on you either, Si.”

But Simon did know that.

Boy.

Did he know.

-.-

What he didn’t know, however, was the answer to the what.

He wondered what that had felt like.

He wondered what Nightmare had felt when, the morning after, she tried to shoot Hugh in the eye from a roof.

Not because he were mad at her.

No. Not really.

She was young after all.

He just wondered what she had felt.

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #my fanfics #dawnie writes #hugh everhart #captain chromium #simon westwood #the dread warden #humon #renegays

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 5 years ago

Text

Kindle

Distraction fic time! Or is it fanfic as a coping mechanism? Dug out an old WIP and gave it a few finishing touches. This was originally written for the “Swords” prompt of a Bispearl Week ages ago.

Early in the Rebellion, Pearl introduces Bismuth to the concept of rubber ducking in an attempt to avert a crisis of confidence. Bismuth/Pearl but mostly in that slow burn phase. ~3000 words. No warnings.

Fic potentially also known as:

while you studied the blade i studied the forge so i could make you the very best blade in the world! love you baby

---

Kindle

The first few swords were a disaster.

The Forge was rudimentary still, in those early days - didn’t look like much at all, but it was a bold, determined little start. Bismuth did her best: all of her hard-won knowledge, scrounged up information not meant for her or her kind, going towards building what she thought they would need to get weapon production up and running. Raw materials gathered at a great risk - Snowflake had chipped her gem during the last of the supply runs! Tools for Bismuth to try to replicate and experiment with, and a thoroughly raided armoury’s worth of various weapons for Bismuth to learn from, to suit every possible rebellious inclination. All carefully arranged in the semi-natural volcanic caverns in an attempt to enable what she judged might be a sensible workflow.

She decided to go with a simple, plain, straight-edged sword to start with - mid-length to her, meaning a dagger to some and a hefty two-hander to others. The sheer variety already present in the Rebellion was half of its charm and point, wasn’t it just? And Bismuth wanted so very badly to fan the flames of it, to do everything she possibly could to see it, to see all of them, flourish and persevere and come out on top for once.

So Bismuth tried, and tried, and then tried again. Considered her mistakes, weaknesses, what she knew (or, doubt never failed to creep in, thought she knew) she was supposed to be doing and achieving here.

And failed.

The first blade that at least looked right shattered in her hands when she tried to force its tang through a guard and into a handle to put the whole thing together. The rest of its batch became hopelessly crooked when she quenched them. Each new day brought new failures, some unexpected enough as to be termed almost cruelly creative.

Bismuth crushed in one fist the latest useless ingot whose ore ratios she’d clearly gotten wrong in her mounting frustration, and tossed it against the wall with an irritated cry.

And of course, of course, that was the moment Pearl chose to walk in.

She was clearly shuffling around, trying to make herself more easily noticed. Bismuth knew that if she really wanted (or if she forgot she didn’t need to anymore, as she sometimes did, as they all sometimes did), Pearl could just pop up next to her elbow suddenly and apparently out of nowhere, piping up with a comment or suggestion or a casual greeting. Keep herself unseen and silent, coasting under any notice until whatever passed for “needed”, as easily as Bismuth could tear down walls with her bare hands and carve new ones in their place. They all came from somewhere, of course, from something, and they all carried it with them in one way or another.

“Bismuth?” Pearl called out gently, and Bismuth raised her head from its contemplative slump to meet her gaze.

Her voice and expression were both filled with concern as she inched closer from the entrance, but there was a glint in her eyes that made it clear Pearl would not be deterred or dismissed and that it would do nobody any good to try. So, figuring she had nothing to lose, Bismuth abandoned any nascent idea of pretending nothing was wrong, allowed her shoulders to sag, and let her misery show.

“I’m not cut out for this. Literally,” she admitted quietly, arms raising in a feeble attempt to encompass this.

Pearl snorted, hopping up to sit on the anvil with a highly deliberate and highly unconvincing casual air. “Tell me about it.”

Bismuth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a tiredness she wasn’t sure she was supposed to be capable of, and leaned next to her.

“I ever tell you of my first actual visit to a forge?”

Pearl shook her head and drew closer, making them look like a real pair of conspirators.

“Wasn’t all that long ago. I took the chance and snuck into a weapons production plant when the hematites weren’t around. Me and the other bismuths had been working on some training grounds right next to it and I’d wanted to see one for so long, so one day during a shift change I just went for it. And it was... Well. Let’s just say the last time that place had seen a bismuth was when it was being built.”

Bismuth ran a hand through her hair, and noticed that, for perhaps the first time since they’d met each other, the gesture didn’t result in Pearl immediately being endearingly enraptured by the tumbling rainbow locks. No, her eyes were fixed on Bismuth’s face, intent and understanding in a very particular and oddly encouraging way. So Bismuth continued. “I didn’t even fit in there, Pearl. I was too big for the bellows and too small for the anvils, and I could barely walk around the quenching baths they had set up. It was all just… wrong. The whole place was screaming at me, telling me I didn’t belong there and couldn’t if I tried.”

“You’re still trying, though, despite that,” Pearl pointed out, and swept an arm out to seemingly encompass the entire forge. “And look at all of this! You’ve been working so hard to make it your own.”

“Because I want this!” Bismuth burst out, resorting to unusually ruffled pacing around the anvil. “I’ve wanted this for so long! And the Rebellion needs this! I thought I could do it, and I’m trying to learn so very hard! Why can’t I? The simplest thing a hematite could do five minutes after popping out of the ground I can’t get right after grinding at it for weeks!”

“But you haven’t given up!” Pearl reiterated, raising her voice to match, and Bismuth relented, stopping in her tracks.

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m not planning to. And something tells me you aren’t either.” She smiled and shrugged in mock-defeat. “Guess we’re a stubborn pair of boulders like that, huh?”

It was certainly more than a trick of the light when Pearl appeared to preen at that, puffed up chest almost exclaiming a proud Me! A boulder! Imposing and immovable and sturdy!

Then, with a grin, she proclaimed: “We absolutely are.”

Bismuth couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, something unpleasantly tight finally uncoiling from around the inlaid edges of her gem. Pearl quickly joined her, helping to fill the forge with a delightfully improper little cackle.

When they both settled down again, side by side at the anvil, everything stayed just that little bit forgelight-orange brighter. A pleasant, comforting warmth in place of an oppressive volcanic heat aching to burst.

“I believe you can succeed,” Pearl began again, more slowly, as if picking out each word with great care. “But - and I am working on all of this myself still - I also think you should be aware you don’t have to do this. I know - oh how I know - that more often than not it feels like the most phoney thing in the world… but remember: you don’t have to be useful to be of value.”

It did sound quite a bit like a learned platitude, the way Pearl recited it. But there was a feeling of, if not exactly believing it, then of very much wanting to believe it.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Bismuth murmured. “I’m definitely holding on to that one. Thanks. Got any other nugget of wisdom for me, Terrifying Renegade?”

Pearl effortlessly and gracefully evaded Bismuth’s jokingly nudging elbow and continued her almost-lecture. “Well, we all need to remember that love and self-love are radical and revolutionary concepts in Homeworld’s eyes.”

Bismuth burst out laughing again. “What was that supposed to be? Was that really your best Rose Quartz impression?”

The forgelight turned the blue in Pearl’s cheeks into a fascinating range of colours as she moved and turned. “Well, yes and no-- focus on the message!”

“Alright, alright,” Bismuth acquiesced. “It’s a good message. And an important one. Just… not really helping me with the task at hand, which is arming all of us so we can defend ourselves against those who’d prefer that message didn’t spread. And there’s a whole lot of them and not a lot of us. Yet.”

Pearl hummed in response, suddenly pensive, gazing down to where her feet were dangling off the side of the large anvil, toes describing elaborate patterns in the air - courtly dance steps or fencing drills footwork, Bismuth couldn’t tell. Always restless.

“You know, the first time I properly sparred with Rose and got her to stop holding back on me I got utterly trounced,” Pearl shared quietly. “It’s not exactly a fond memory of mine. After all that training, after trying so hard - I was so sure I was ready! But no, in a real battle I’d have gotten pulverised. And Gems… even here, in the Rebellion, you have to admit, Bismuth, you’ve seen the way a lot of them look at me, too.”

“Well,” Bismuth said with a soft huff of a chuckle, “can’t say watching you show them the error of their ways the first time they show up for training isn’t a treat.”

“I think...” A small blush appeared on Pearl’s cheeks - icy blue tinged purple in the forgelight that Bismuth just had to pause and appreciate every time - and she seemed to develop a sudden and intense interest in a spot on the anvil right next to where she was sitting. “I think the fact you never really looked at me like that is one of the main reasons I like you so much.”

“Oh?” Bismuth managed around a strangely constricted throat, and a warmth in her face that had nothing to do with the persistent lava-glow of the newly dug channels.

“I remember-- our very first meeting you immediately started asking me about my swords, and I didn’t have to waste endless time just getting you to talk to me like a Gem, let alone listen to what I had to say.” Pearl gasped out an odd chuckle, “It was such a relief!”

A mouthy little pearl, she’d thought, unusual and prickly, but utterly charming in a way Bismuth was fairly sure she wasn’t supposed to be. The way she carefully dusted off the anvil before jauntily perching on it - much like she was perching on it right now - with a very loud air of I’m certainly not doing this for you, I just do not want soot anywhere on my person. How could Bismuth resist being near-instantly won over?

Pearl pressed a long, thin finger against her chin thoughtfully, and hummed. Certainly seemed to be taking the whole thing entirely seriously, and Bismuth found herself feeling an odd relief. What did she expect, Pearl to laugh at her worries and frustrations? Dismiss them as unfounded somehow, as both silly and imagined? Just agree, say that oh, guess that’s just how it is then, best find some other way of making yourself useful to us - which, yes, of course usefulness wasn’t the point at all, on the contrary, but…

But Pearl was speaking, that thoughtful finger still up. “How about… we make one together. An entire sword. And you can talk me through it.”

“Talk you through it?”

Pearl seemed to be growing increasingly enthusiastic about the idea. “Every step of the way! Every detail you can think of! Trust me, there’s no better way to find out where it’s going wrong. And I’ve… well,” Pearl hesitated suddenly, as if catching herself, “I’m no expert, of course, but I’ve looked into some of these things on my own, too. So I will be able to make sense of what you’re saying - even though that might not even be the point. The point is that you make sense of what you’re saying.”

Bismuth didn’t feel entirely convinced, but Pearl’s sudden whirlwind felt very hard to not get caught up in - strange, that. Usually it was Bismuth herself getting others caught up in all sorts of things, loudly and unabashedly and delightfully Homeworld-unapproved. “If you say so.”

“Trust me, it’ll help. Here,” Pearl hopped off the anvil and went off to the raw material containers as if there was not a single moment more to lose, “ore selection first. Tell me all about your mix.”

“Uh,” Bismuth blinked, and did her best to concentrate on the task she supposed was at hand, but Pearl was at the same time incredibly distracting and the very embodiment of pointed, precise focus. She cleared her throat, feeling the newly familiar and surprisingly pleasant stick of hot air and volcanic ash in the back of it. “Well, for this particular brand of steel, this was my ratio.” A careful fistful after fistful, from her carefully arranged containers, with Pearl nodding along.

“Seems like a good composition to me. Of course, not exactly how I’d measure anything out, but, well, I’m me.” Spoken with a grin Bismuth just had to match.

“Let’s just say my hands have had a lot of practice when it comes to measuring things out. All those spires don’t just pop into existence magically holding themselves together, no matter what those upper-crusts seem to think.”

“Well, it was bound to come in handy some day,” Pearl nodded sagely, and Bismuth couldn’t restrain her guffaw.

“Pearl! That was absolutely terrible.”

Her smug little smile was so proud. Bismuth almost let all the ore in her hand scatter on the floor when Pearl took her by the arm and started pulling her towards the lava pools.

“Thank you! Now, no more dawdling. Show me your smelting! Remember: every step of the way,” Pearl repeated with a tiny but lingering touch on Bismuth’s arm. It was such a small hand in comparison, every bit of it looking fine and fragile - but she'd seen it wield a sword and it was no joke and no dainty detail of a trinket. Far, far from it.

Bismuth felt her face heat up, and she quickly dipped her ore-hand into the lava bubbling in its channel nearby. The ingot-to-be filled up her hand and she tried to focus on that, but-- oh, Pearl was clearing her throat and looking away too.

It seemed so ridiculous to even imagine her all in utterly impractical frills, trotting behind some lousy, spoiled clump of aristocratic dirt. Not only a waste of potential as Rose often said, but an outright crime.

“Ready for the forging?” Pearl sprung up eagerly, breaking the reverie, then jolted, as if remembering something. “Oh! Just a moment. Allow me!”

With a very dramatic wave of her hand, a hologram sputtered to life from her gem, and Pearl herself leaned forward and down just slightly to centre it on the anvil.

“There we go. A perfect reference, don’t you think? And perfectly practical!”

“Oh, wow,” was about all Bismuth could manage at the sight of the lovingly detailed holographic blade before her. She quickly dropped the hot ingot in place, transformed her hand and hammered at the metal. The blade glowed, freshly struck into shape, orange mixing with Pearl’s translucent blue and playing around both of them.

In no time at all the emerging blade matched its holographic counterpart and seemed to be ready for quenching, so Bismuth happily informed Pearl of this next step. “I’m going for plain water this time.”

Steam poured out around both of them, standing almost cheek to cheek over the quenching bath - this one perfectly sized for Bismuth’s use - eager to see what they’d made so far once the haze dispersed.

Nudging Pearl with one shoulder and waving an annoyed hand around, Bismuth put on the snootiest voice she could manage. “Pearl, what is the meaning of this? Look at the state of the place! When was it last dusted?”

Pearl grinned, the little soot mark on her chin moving dashingly in tandem. “Oh it’ll dust itself well enough when I dissipate your form.”

“Hahah! Atta Pearl.” The clap of the hand on her back almost sent Pearl stumbling, but then she straightened up and leaned happily into it. Smugly, even. Her entire back fit into Bismuth's palm - what an odd pair the two of them must have made.

Bismuth decided she liked the feeling.

She cleared her throat. “You know, when we get this right? When we end up with a proper sword? It’s all yours.”

Pearl looked up, almost startled, eyes wide and slightly watery. “Mine? Oh, Bismuth, I couldn’t possibly...”

“I insist. You’ve definitely more than earned it. But most importantly… I want you to have it. And I’d be honoured to see you carry it into battle, or, hey, use it to knock some sense into a rowdy quartz newbie or two.”

A sudden thought made her stop in her tracks. Who in their right mind would want to go into battle relying on a second-rate experiment of a weapon from a cobbled-together forge?

“I-I mean-- if you want to, of course, I didn’t mean to, uh, force it--”

A slender hand was lightly placed over Bismuth’s once again, quieting her near instantly. Pearl’s smile was small but reached her eyes and lit them up with a beautiful sincerity. “Of course I do. The honour will be all mine,” she said. Then, with a bit more audible steel: “And I know it will turn out excellently.”

“Because we made it together?” Bismuth hazarded a guess, but was cut off.

“Because I know you.”

She blinked at the sudden intensity, but felt an answering rush, too. Oh, it was impossible not to get caught up in it all: the wonderful rightness of their championed ideals, the beautiful words of the manifesto, all the Gems they could finally do right by, everything each of them stood for, Rose Quartz herself, Garnet, Pearl...

Bismuth had no intention of doing anything but eagerly dedicating all of herself to it, and every bit of skill she might hope to possess. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

A fighter of Pearl’s calibre, and a cause as important as theirs, deserved only the best. Bismuth was determined to provide it.

The next battle of the fledgling but intrepid Rebellion saw Pearl charge in with a newly forged sabre, Bismuth beaming proudly right at her side.

#steven universe #bismuth #pearl #bispearl #fanfiction #oathkeeper writes things #my fic #let's get down to bismuth #please let me know your thoughts #as always #but yknow now in particular

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whatwashernameagain · 5 years ago

Text

The Dreamer - Chapter 2

Summary/prompt: The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

Pairing: Logince

Word count: 7232

Notes: After meeting the terrible Utilitarianist and learning about his manifesto, we get to see the origin story of the Dreamer. (Without a beta. Sorry bout that) It looks like he has a long way to go if he wants to free himself from the propaganda he grew up with.

Warnings: internalized homophobia, republican brainwashing, manipulation, mentioned pedophilia, violence, threatened sexual abuse, critical comments on traditional values and capitalism

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Young Roman was shaking with righteous anger. How dare this – this fiend targeted the company of his father? He was the hardest working man in the world! His idol, his hero! He was donating to charity, pursuing a career in politics to support the attempts of the republican party to protect this great country’s safety and now he had to deal with an investigation into the state of his breeding facilities!

He could understand the wish to treat animals well, of course he wanted them to live a happy life, but his father was doing the best he could, he was a good man! The caramel colored Highland cow he’d given Roman for his twelfth birthday attested to that. It lived in a huge stable and was brushed daily and was still hand fed and braided by Roman himself. It showed how much his father loved his animals!

And now this upstart maniac was terrorizing his father and other facilities of hard-working Americans and instead of catching him, law enforcement investigated the outrageous claims this terrorist had made against his dear father. It was victim blaming!

Roman could not stand for this! It was gross injustice! He wanted to help, to support his father and show him that he could trust him! He was almost twenty now – a man – and it was time he finally managed to prove himself!

Admittedly, he hadn’t managed to do a very good job of it yet. He lacked the sense for business and asked the wrong questions about wages for the workers and made stupid suggestions about the wellbeing of the animals that embarrassed his father in front of his colleagues. Shame rose into Roman’s cheeks as he remembered his silly question about fencing in a meadow for their calves in their Laredo facility to play in with their mothers. He’d just remembered how much Nugget had always enjoyed jumping around with them. Of course he should have known they needed to be separated from their mothers after the first day to avoid losing the milk they sold. It was necessary, he guessed. So they’d said.

He really knew nothing about business.

His father had it hard with him. He was the only child of the family, the only hope to continue their empire, yet he lacked a sense of ruthlessness a strong man needed to improve the world. He was a bad hunter, had the wrong interests, sometimes he spoke too softly, sometimes too loudly, or too effeminately, and somehow couldn’t bring himself to fit in with his peers. All he wanted was to make his father proud, though! There must be something he could do to stop this maniac from causing more trouble! He’d shown up out of nowhere, disabling factories and leaving made up accusations behind and it looked like he was only getting started.

Roman had one thing going he was good at, though. He was strong, brave and determined. Someone needed to put a stop to this renegade liberal, and it might as well be him. It wasn’t like all the other things he’d tried and failed at. This time, he felt a calling to fight the war of the righteous!

Astonishingly, his father hadn’t scoffed at him as he’d passionately pleaded his case. The paper in his hands had been filled with speculations about the black clad silhouette barely caught on camera. The elderly republicans rightfully arguing against him had been banished to page eight, pushed aside by the intriguing puzzle the anonymous terrorist presented.

He’d looked at Roman as if he’d never truly seen him before. As if he was something of value. For the first time in years, the young man had his father’s full attention. It was like being in the spotlight he’d secretly dreamed of – bright and warm and exhilarating. He felt worth something for the first time as his father rose and walked around him, taking in his tall frame, filling in well from the workouts he tried to burn frustrated energy with, the sparkling, green eyes, the luscious curls, the strong cheekbones and attractive features. There was no denying that Roman was handsome. A figure to be displayed, as long as he kept his mouth shut. This time however, he’d found a tone his father wanted to listen to.

Over the course of the next months, the extremist’s deeds grew more frequent. The liberal media was lapping up his speeches, stilted and uncreative as they may be. He seemed to be gaining support online as well – lonely, misguided souls as his father put it. His destructive agenda was threatening to destroy the moral of this good society and plunge them all into anarchy.

There was no cause for fear, though! The good people of the greatest country in the world were once again showing why their resolve would not be stopped by anything. A revolution was on its way.

His father had created a community of wealthy, caring American patriots ready to sacrifice whatever it took to counteract the threat to their traditional values. Their researchers were using the latest, barely tested military technology to strengthen their soldiers for the fight for America’s future. It would be a great risk they were taking together, but Roman, their first (and only) courageous candidate, would not back down from the challenge.

They needed someone his fellow citizens could look up to. Someone who would stand up to the terror caused in these insecure times. Someone kind and strong and good to give them hope for a better future. A future Roman believed in with all his heart. Humans were amazing creatures! The feats they had accomplished awed the young man and deep down, he believed they could solve their problems together. He trusted their combined creativity, love and unity to save this planet in the end. There were problems his father always complained about they needed to face – terror and hostile foreign countries, leftist propaganda and the lying media trying to divide them, but he believed they could conquer the world and their fears if they could only work together instead of being torn apart by a monster like this terrible man! Roman wanted to unite the world. He wanted to give them something to believe in. He wanted them to know they needn’t be afraid, like he told them to. They could trust their government, their leaders, each other. Peace was a possibility if they only believed. And he knew he could give them this belief.

For months, he subjected himself to test, procedures and surgery with no complaints. He saw no daylight for almost half a year as his father’s and his partner’s scientists, the people who worked for the Conglomerate, did their best to make him worth putting their faith in. His bones were infused with crystallized carbonium, his muscles strengthened with steroids and drugs and his healing capabilities increased with experimental stem-cell therapy.

It was agonizing.

It was glorious.

Finally, Roman could be something his father could look at with pride.

As he saw him again, months after being sent to the research facility (his father was a busy man after all), Roman had become someone worthy of carrying the name Prince. His origin story had only begun, though. The moment he was able to walk without obvious pain, his grooming for the media began. He wanted to get out there and stop the villain from hurting people as soon as possible, but he was given to understand by Karen, the leader of his supportive team of experts, that the psychological damage he was inflicting on America’s soul was much greater than the wounds he tore into their economy.

Roman humbly accepted the choices of those smarter than him. He worked hard on his enunciation, his posture, his all-American accent, so they would deem him ready faster. The terrorist was growing more and more dangerous every day. His acts were growing more sophisticated, his public appearances increased from flashes of a tall, slender form caught by cameras, to manifestos read in a passionate, though clearly untrained voice over the internet. And now, he’d killed for the first time.

Roman could barely be held back. The man who’d been killed, Richard Snyder, had owned the largest chemical production company in the world and had been blamed for the death of a large amount of people in Vietnam due to a herbicide that had leaked into the phreatic water.

He’d also been a father of three girls and felt behind a grieving wife.

Roman had been upset about the news of the many deaths overseas, but he also grieved for the people this terrible crime had left behind. Accidents were a terrible thing and he was sure Mr. Snyder hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. People were good and cared about each other in his opinion. After the public blame the terrorist had put on his shoulders before – there was no other word for it – lynching the poor man, the media reacted to the crime in a manner that deeply shocked the sensitive young man. Instead of condemning the horrifying acts harshly, they discussed the accidents that had caused the unfortunate deaths in Vietnam and demanded consequences to avoid such accidents in the future!

Of course people needed to be protected, every life had value and had to be treasured, but to besmirch this victim’s life work, so soon after his execution – it left Roman angry and terrified for the state of the world he loved. He needed to stop this man, right now! He was strong enough to do it, why must they keep holding him back?

Tortured by grief and pressured by his need to prevent more loss of life, Roman pleaded to be allowed to do something, yet his team of intelligent, professional experts hired specifically to make him the best possible hero he could be, demanded he wait for the right moment.

“You’re just not quite ready yet, dear. We mustn’t risk making the wrong impression with a young stallion like you.” Karen had told him gently, patting his cheek.

He’d woken in agony after having his muscles cut open all over his body and suffered through a truly terrible withdrawal after a failed test of a drug that was supposed to improve his durability but had instead corroded the lining of this throat and stomach, yet nothing had ever been as difficult as enduring this waiting for Roman.

Finally, after more than a year of changing and preparing him, of whittling away at the inadequate shell that had been Roman Prince, the odd, weak disappointment of a son, a new man was revealed to the world. A man who was confident, brave and kind. A man who spoke clearly and showed the frightened society the way to a better world. A hero.

The terrorist was executing his greatest, and most terrible crime yet. He’d rigged a factory producing military equipment for the protection of their brave soldiers overseas with explosives. Painting himself as the vigilante and avenger of the suppressed masses in war-wracked countries, he’d given fair warning to the workers to escape, but had shown his true colors in the end after all. The board members of the armament manufacturer had been kidnapped and trapped inside the building to be executed for their supposed crimes of trading with dictators.

It had been the day the terrorist had stepped from the shadows into the light of the cameras to blame his victims in person before they met their end. He’d exposed their alleged crimes against the helpless, suppressed minorities the weapons were used against – lies and exaggerations as his team had assured the young hero – and had finally shown himself to the world. Part of him, at least. Like a true villain, his body had been clad in a skin tight, black suit and his face had been masked from the light of truth and justice. He’d named himself the Utilitarianist.

Yet, at his greatest moment of triumph, a hero rose to meet him. Stepping from the ashes of the detonated building, the Dreamer emerged, leading out the disoriented victims of the Utilitarianist’s terrible plan. Showing his handsome, young face to the camera, unmasked and alight with his passion for the defense of all that was right, he’s faced the other head on and finally gave the just and good Americans a hero to believe in. The time of fear and helplessness was over. He had risen from the dust of his nemesis’ destructive acts to beat him.

Their battle, caught from every angle in high definition, had been dramatic and terrifying. The Utilitarianist had grown into a formidable enemy while Roman had been prepared for him. He was lightning quick and fought dirty, twisting out of his hold like a snake. Narrowly, the villain escaped the young hero.

Roman had felt defeated even as he’d stood in the rubble to be celebrated. He’d been supposed to put an end to the terror and lead the world he loved so dearly to a kinder, better future where people trusted and supported each other once again. He knew it was possible, he wanted it so much he ached with the need to bring it about. Hadn’t he suffered so much so they wouldn’t have to anymore?

Yet he smiled bravely at the awed masses and aided their attempts to secure the scene and calm the frightened onlookers. A hero must never show his inner struggles. He wanted them to know they needn’t be afraid anymore. He would fight for them. He would bleed for them and die if he had to.

Karen had reassured him afterwards. He had done well. The tone in the newspapers had changed. Everyone was looking at him and listening to his voice. He could give them the stability they needed. Interviews were planned for him and he was briefed extensively for all of them. He was to portray a hero that had chosen to fight on his own volition, because it was the right thing to do to stand up and protect the suffering people. He would be there to shield them from this terrible violence. There was no need to worry and listen anymore. The good, hard working people of America could sleep calmly and focus on their lives and families again instead of getting involved in the danger the Utilitarianism tried to drag them into with his ruthless calls for action. He was a threat to the love and kindness their country was built on and the Dreamer would not let him get away. He would take care of it all.

Despite his wish to brag with his father’s great plans and the selfless efforts the other CEOs, lobbyists and republicans had invested, they asked him to never mention the Conglomerate that had created him and steered his actions. The public needed a legend to put their faith in now, they said. Not a bunch of old men bumbling about. Though he felt selfish when he claimed to be acting by himself with nothing but the help of volunteering patriots, he trusted their knowledge more than his own. Though the Dreamer was a great hero, Roman would not forget that he was just a young man trying to be good enough for his father’s love he’d failed to deserve before.

In the coming months it became clear to Roman that catching the Utilitarianist would be no easy feat. Many of his plans were carried out in secret or committed over the internet, where his brute force had no power. Whenever he managed to face the cowardly villain, he rudely evaded his demands to bring this rivalry to a dignified end and attempted to ignore him like a fly buzzing about his head. The outrage!

While his organization grew into a network over the globe, the Dreamer was left to calm the suffering public in interviews and entertain them with photo shoots for calendars and merchandise. Though he’d always dreamed for being a star and acting at a Broadway production as everybody’s darling as a child, he found the publicity work hard to bear at first. His team reasoned they needed to create a brand that represented the American values they tried to preserve. His fans would find it easier to act with the kindness he tried to preserve if they had an ever present, well defined idol. Saving the world in the age of Instagram and twitter worked differently than it did in his comic books.

Chastised, Roman had deferred to their expertise.

The Utilitarianist used Discord, Tumblr and the darknet the same way after all. Groups doing his dirty work popped up all over the web like toxic mushrooms. Roman was starting to worry there could never be enough magazine covers to keep up with his vile influence.

In the face of such inspiration, it was hard not to be discouraged sometimes. Yet, he preserved. Tirelessly, he tried to remind the world of what mattered, using bold words to paint a bright and colorful picture of the future he truly believed in. A future of unity. They mustn’t lose sight of what mattered – standing together, fighting the hate the Utilitarianist spread with his extremism that called to simple solutions. To violence. Being kind was harder, almost impossibly hard, but Roman would not lose himself in hate, and he knew his fellow Americans wouldn’t either. Breaking the law and turning to murder would not save the planet, it would turn them into monsters. Many people followed his example and joined what generation z called Team Dreamer, yet even as Roman got to shake the hand of the president, he felt he was not doing enough. He should be out there, fighting harder.

Even after chasing him for almost a year now, Roman felt those things as strongly as ever. He was right, gosh darn it! How could this irritating man not see the merit of a peaceful solution? Who didn’t want peace?!

Finally, despite having been cautioned repeatedly not to get involved in arguments where his scripts couldn’t help him, he confronted the other with his anger. The wind created by the rotor blades of the approaching helicopter whipping at their clothes on the roof-top almost carried away his words.

“Why must you be so impossible?” He’d cried, completely at the end of his patience while he tried to untangle his foot from the steel cable he’d caught Roman in. He wished he could stamp his foot in childish anger. The McDonalds headquarter? Seriously? This man would be the death of him! He’d kill him with exasperation. The unbelievably dramatic di- person had flooded the topmost floors of the almost finished new building with used frying oil through the sprinkler system and set it on fire. Roman smelled like fat and was covered in grease and ready to tear his own hair out.

Startled, the villain had stopped in his tracks.

Half turning to him and staring at him through the mask covering most of his pale features, he seemed to struggle to find the right words. His voice was as deep as he remembered from all of the horrifying videos put together by his team he’d watched obsessively, yet, it held an incredulous edge to it.

“You cannot be serious. How dare you refer to me as impossible, you simple fool?”

Deeply offended, Roman forgot about his struggles with the cable and instead flailed his arms in outrage.

“I am not the one constantly ruining everyone’s day by kidnapping people or setting things on fire or blowing up perfectly good structures or almost drowning me in frying fat!” He’d screeched. The ever-polite voice in his earpiece was quickly going from asking him to stop to begging him to.

Flabbergasted, the Utilitarianist fully turned from the helicopter hovering above him where he’d usually would have swung his body up gracefully to make his escape.

“I am not executing my plans in order to be a mere nuisance to you, you selfish welp. My organization is attempting to save the planet from the certain destruction our thoughtless actions are bringing about. You ought to return to your cameras to perform your monkey dance for the press and allow the adults to bring about the revolution we are in desperate need of.”

Monkey dance?

Never, in his whole life, had Roman been this insulted.

“You- you unbelievable, impossible, infuriating villain – how could you dare to- I am attempting to save the world! You are trying to destroy it!” He’d howled, flailing uselessly with frustrated energy.

His righteous claim seemed to rile up the terrorist even more. Taking a few steps towards him over the cement that was starting to heat with the flames beneath them, he jabbed his finger at him.

“How do you manage to be such an irritation while having no idea what it actually is I am doing? Your stupidity awes me!”

“My stupidity?! How is it not stupid to claim to want to save the world and then divide it by causing fear and hate? Don’t you know how to be nice or are you just pathologically evil?!”

“Are you seriously insinuating you believe I am the stupid one? You must have suffered a concussion during your infancy! I will not be lectured by a man who believes the world will be saved by selling topless calendars and who attempts to catch me in heeled boots!”

The villain’s rant was interrupted as a sneaker hit his head from above. His supporters were exasperatedly waving at him to climb into the helicopter they had been screaming over before the police managed to arrest them, just as Roman’s operator had frantically urged him to free his leg and catch the man standing mere feet from him.

Needless to say, Team Utilitarianist vs Team Dreamer was trending on twitter the next day, along with the hashtag #savetheworldtopless and #justpathologicallyevil.

Also, his poor operator quit.

Roman felt guilty for getting into an argument and behaving unprofessionally, but somehow, he felt like it had also gotten him closer to understanding the other man. He wasn’t a faceless monster but a person one could talk to – if a truly irritating and rude one – and people could be changed. Roman was good at convincing others of his position. His bright, attractive smile, warm and sweet manners and his polite reasoning had brought plenty of people around. Despite the continued threat of an escalation between the Utilitarianist’s supporters and his opposition, most people still liked Roman.

He brought the idea up at a team meeting, believing he’d finally found a way to work more effectively. However, he was turned down gently. They gave him to understand that he had misjudges the villain and that his attempts to negotiate with terrorists could have disastrous consequences. Chastised and feeling like a child make a dumb suggestion at the dinner table, he gave up. Still, despite his best intentions, he wound up arguing with the other again and again.

Their rivalry came to a crescendo when one of their fights once again distracted both of them. He had no idea why this man managed to make his blood boil this much with his talk about superior logic and necessity. Necessity his ass. (Roman would of course never say such a thing out loud, but still.)

They’d gotten caught in their argument about the effect of the Utilitarianist’s crimes on the families of the victims – a topic that made Roman especially passionate – when a heated pipe transporting steam from a coal-fired power station burst above the villain’s head, threating to burn his skin right off.

Acting on pure instinct, Roman had jumped the three meters separating them after the runway had been blown to bits and pushed the villain to the ground, shielding him with his body. He hadn’t even known he could jump this far, but he knew the painful burns over his back would heal on him. On the Utilitarianist, they would be fatal.

He’d regained consciousness in the ambulance, learning that the villain had apparently carried him there. His sneer had chased everyone away. Before the police was able to gather their courage to apprehend the man who had become more legend than person, he’d disappeared in the shadows.

They had been fighting each other for almost two years now.

While he recovered, his father visited him. He hadn’t seen him in months. Roman understood he was doing important work, though. It was alright. Sadly, his father had not been as pleased as he had so desperately hoped.

“Son, I want you to explain something to me.” He’d demanded. Despite being the strongest man in the whole facility and a beloved hero, Roman felt like a frightened child immediately.

“Of course, father.” He’d muttered, drawing his knees close in his sterile hospital bed. His back burned terribly, yet he showed no pain, like he’d learned.

“What on earth were you thinking when you saved this terrorist? You had him where you wanted him. This could all be over but instead you’re damaged and he’s running free.”

The rebuke hurt sharply. Swallowing, Roman tried to explain his reasoning he’d never thought he’d have to defend. The place was filled with people who were supposed to support him, yet he felt entirely alone.

“Yes, father. I’m sorry. But… he would have died. I- I mean- the Dreamer is supposed to be a hero. He has to save people and bring criminals to justice, not-”

“You’re not a police officer, son. You have one task to perform, and that is not to save random people but to stop the Utilitarianist. You can’t kill him – that would make you look bad, but if you can’t catch him, you’ll stop him another way. This would have been the perfect opportunity. You need to decide if you have what it takes or if you weren’t the right choice after all. Next time this chance presents itself, you let this god damn terrorist die instead of spreading his filth from a luxury prison.” His father had barked at him before leaving him alone to fear losing everything he’d bled for. Everything he’d become. Without the Dreamer, he had no idea who he was.

He’d hugged his knees to his chest and tried to breathe through the terror.

He couldn’t stop wondering, though. Was this really what the Dreamer was? He’d tried too hard to keep the peace and catch the Utilitarianist when there were other things he could be doing. They’d told him to leave the crime fighting to the police. His image was the most powerful thing about him. Superman couldn’t concern himself with petty thieves either, after all.

Wonderwoman would, he thought defiantly.

And yet, the Utilitarianist had made him think. He hadn’t left him to die either. Could he be a hero that allowed the villain to die when he’d saved him in return?

His doubts wouldn’t leave him alone until eventually, he chose to do what he was most afraid of. He went against the advice of his team.

He’d been sitting around for months, while the Utilitarianist had been busy attacking the Hong-Kong Stock market. Roman quietly wondered why he was never dispatched to other countries to help. His nemesis had stopped limiting himself to the States long ago. Just last week, he’d wrapped the Burj Khalifa in a huge, blood-red banner that apparently refused to come off as a statement accompanying his latest attacks against rich, emirate capitalists keeping immigrants as modern slaves and straining their buildings with their metaphorical blood. The following riots had filled the city for days.

Yes, he knew America’s intervention was not popular and had couldn’t cause a diplomatic mess, but there were people there who needed him too! Perhaps his team was worried he’d upset someone by remarking that the conditions of those workers truly were less than glittery.

He could keep his mouth shut though, if that meant he could help! For example the civilians stuck in a hostage situation in a bank in Mexico. There were children there, and a pregnant woman with her wife! The standoff with the police had lasted for two days already, with no end (or a bloody end) in sight. Finally, he proposed a tactical plan to his supervisors he was quite proud of. It would work, for sure! His ill-mannered, ill-tempered new operator Virgil had grumpily hacked the bank’s database and gotten him the floor plans as well as control over the security systems and cameras. He could be in and out in less than half an hour, dragging some hostage takers with him. The longer he’d uselessly chased the Utilitarianist, the more helpless he felt. His powers were growing every day Roman was idle. People coordinated and acted for him all over the world. Even without his interference, his idea was taking flight. Roman may be America’s darling, but he was growing more impotent and useless every day he spent as a glorified symbol of American values. This was the right thing to do, he felt it. He had to breathe new life into the idea of the Dreamer. He had to be a proper hero again.

The idealistic young man felt like he’d been punched in the gut when his plan was discarded like a child’s idea once again.

Being denied was something he could handle, he was used to it, yet this time, there was something different about it. Instead of the usual, fatherly patience and kind amusement at his misplaced enthusiasm, he was told off curtly. Without results, Roman was losing their favor.

Feeling unsteady, he shuffled onto the cold light of the corridor of their underground base. Despite his terror of losing the place he called home, the reporting about the children held hostage would not stop replaying in his head. He’d been told watching the news would only upset him and he should rather rely on the updates they cut together for him, but he was starting to think he would only have found out about the situation far too late when irritated reporters would have asked him where he was when the children were shot. He couldn’t let it come to that!

“Slinking home with your tail between your legs?” The scathing voice of Virgil growled at him from the shadows. Roman jumped, startled despite his extensive training. He swore the emo acted like he was aiming to become a villain himself. He certainly disliked Roman enough. Despite trying not to show it, Roman had always dealt badly with being disliked. It made him anxious and insecure. He wanted Virgil to like him, despite his manners.

Puffing up his chest like a proud peacock, Roman readied himself to defend his honor, when he noticed the disappointed slump of the other’s shoulders. Though he’d complained, he’d worked hard on their plan. A new resolve warmed his insides.

“No. I’m not backing off. I’m taking a running start.” He’d promised, before striding down the corridor and grabbing a startled Virgil’s wrist on the way. He still needed that one.

Leaving the facility on his own, without planning or permission, felt oddly like breaking out of prison. They had a lot of sneaking about to do, but once they were safely over the border, he felt… freed.

The armed robbers were no match for the quiet, cat-like stride of the trained hero. He caught one after the other, knocking them out with ease. This was far simpler than fighting a man like the Utilitarianist.

Claudia, the pregnant woman, was in urgent need of medical attention, so Roman carried her out of the building in his arms. One of the little girls hung off his shoulder, pulling on his costume in awe, while the other hostages followed his tall form into the sunlight and flashing lights of the cameras. Surprised exclamations greeted them, before the crowd erupted in ecstasy. Roman barely managed to calm them. He hadn’t been greeted with such honest joy in so long, he was utterly baffled by their adoration. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was thick with emotion.

“Fellow citizens of the world, I have realized that the time for borders is behind us! In these frightening times we must understand that our differences are mere illusions, stand together and give each other hope. Our love and belief in each other shall prevail over evil!”

“Fuck yeah!” Virgil whooped in his ear. It was the first time he’d heard the other sound happy.

Real, honest pride filled him. Finally, he was what he was supposed to be.

The atmosphere in the underground compound changed. Roman felt the shift, the tension around himself clearly and suffered it with disappointment. It was like being home again. A child whose childishness was barely tolerated. Quiet and shy and feeling unwanted.

Despite the repeated attempts to impress the importance of following his team’s directions, he planned and executed more mission with Virgil. He was his one saving grace. Since he was actually starting to make a difference, the two men felt more at ease with each other. Though they were mostly bickering with each other, Roman had found someone to rely on. His fluttering nerves around the moody man calmed, allowing him to fall back on the safety of the Dreamer’s personality less and less. They were a team of two now, instead of the pride of the Conglomerate. It was alright. He was one more person than Roman used to have.

The success they had encouraged him further. The Utilitarianist had published information about a human trafficking ring and left the rest to the public to deal with. How irresponsible! People would take it upon themselves to play vigilante and get hurt!

Virgil ran the data through his clever programs and determined the most likely targets for Roman. Together, they rescued a group of Philippine women from an armed gang, saved a child from the hands of their parents taking money from strangers to spend time with her and captured a number of members of organized crime selling kidnapped women to the highest bidder. All but one of their targets were apprehended within the week.

The Dreamer became a hero again. His global popularity shot through the roof.

The renewed attention softened his team and superiors to him. Slowly, he could feel their mood changing. They tried to support him in his quests.

“You two have been doing such a good job on your own. But it’s about time we step up again and help guide you, dear. We can’t have you unintentionally support the Utilitarianist again and validate his message, can we?” Karen had told him kindly. Roman hadn’t considered the fact that he’d unwittingly cooperated with the Utilitarianist by acting on his intel. Already, people were taking up the idea of them growing to be a team. He was an idiot. His team could have prevented this mistake.

Discouraged, Roman tried to follow their advice more closely again. He was truly glad to be back in their good graces and have their support again.

“It’ll be alright, my gloomy friend.” He’d assured Virgil. “We convinced them of our ideas, now we can all be together again and avoid silly mistakes. We can do good things together!”

“We were doing good things, man.” He’d growled, hunching his narrow shoulders. Roman had sworn to himself to help him feel more accepted in the team. He’d never wanted anyone to feel as isolated as he had most of his life.

To his horror, the mistake he’d made was developing a life on its own, though. The Utilitarianist was already a favorite of the LGBTQ+ community and soon consolidated his place by rescuing a group of gay rights activists from a Russian prison. The images of him pulling a pink haired woman into his helicopter while an androgynous person proudly raised a large rainbow flag billowing behind him was taking over the internet by storm. The Utilitarianist was becoming a gay icon and he wasn’t doing anything to contradict the claim. The outline of his masked image painted in rainbow, asexual, lesbian or bisexual flag colors was sprayed on walls all over the word. And because Roman kept being drawn into discussions, because Roman had saved him and because he’d now acted on his behalf, following his direct call for action, a lot of people had started imagining them to be more than they were. They were publicly ‘shipping’ them.

Roman had been beyond horrified and humiliated as his sympathetic team had put together a dossier of the things people on the internet thought he’d do. They truly believed he’d subject himself to be the Utilitarianist’s pet or that the older man could overpower and capture him, tie Roman up and-

He’d been unable to keep looking at the pictures and horrible, humiliating stories published for all to see. How could he allow this to happen? This was what people saw in him after he’d allowed himself to be experimented on, cut apart and be put back together and worked so hard to give them something to believe in?

Deeply mortified, he’d fled to his room. The dossier of sinful, deprived actions people thought him capable of was saved on his tablet and seemed to burn a hole into his confidence even as it innocently sat on his desk.

A knock on his door made him flinch. He couldn’t be seen right now!

Virgil had never cared about politeness, though. Letting himself in despite the lack of a reaction, he’d settled on the bed next to the curled up hero.

“Hey. Um, so I saw the dossier.”

Roman groaned, hiding his burning face. He’d never even looked at porn, so seeing himself pictured on his knees, the villain’s hand in his hair, about to- oh god. This was out there. The Utilitarianist would see it and think- irrational fear of things he hadn’t ever considered the other capable of mixed with the humiliation and made Roman tremble.

“It’s not like that, dude.” Virgil promised softly, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“What’s to misunderstand?” Roman growled bitterly. “I know you all think I’m not smart enough to understand, but there’s really nothing to mix up this time!”

“Don’t say something like that, man! You’re much smarter than they make you believe! They just want you to stop thinking for yourself!” A frustrated growl escaped Virgil. Pulling uselessly on the powerful man’s shoulder, he tried to get him to look up.

“They showed you the worst of the kinky shit horny people come up with, but most isn’t like that. Shipping isn’t about subjugation and- and bondage porn. It’s about liking two people and rooting for them, despite any opposition. People just care about both of you, even if you’re on different sides. It just shows that most of them aren’t as black and white as they all say. They aren’t the perfect, traditional families on the cereal boxes and they aren’t the masked activists throwing Molotov cocktails either. They’re just people who like some of both of your positions and they like you and him and what they like most is the idea of you two burying this feud and stop fighting. They want what you want, when it comes down to it, dude. For the arguing to end and people to just get along. I’m not making this up, look!”

Finally, his energetic pulling made Roman have mercy on him and miserably and fearfully look at the tablet he was shoving in his face. If he had to see another drawing of himself struggling in chains while the Utilitarianist groped him he thought he might throw up.

It really wasn’t like that, though. The Ecosia search bar simply showed the search for Dreamer/Utilitarianist and the pictures were… cute, actually. Feeling his rabbit fast heart slow down, he tentatively scrolled through the images. There was a photoshopped argument of both of them before the rainbow flag under the caption #married.

Next to it, Roman spotted a dynamic he hadn’t found in the dossier at all. It was him, draw with glitter in his hair and perfect, gleaming smile, dipping the Utilitarianist in a dramatic pose. A flush was painted on the older man’s pale features under the mask.

Beside it, both of them were drawn out of uniform, dressed like ordinary people with Roman in a lovely shirt and scarf and his nemesis in an honest to god sweater vest. They were strolling through a park, holding hands.

Another picture showed Roman reclining on a couch, cuddling the other between his legs. The Utilitarianist was battling papers and a tablet and complaining about something while Roman was ignoring him in favor of the music playing on his headphones. His expression was indulgent.

A large, detailed full colored digital painting divided in two halves portrayed the Utilitarianist on one side obviously arguing passionately in front of a wall of pictures, maps and red string while Roman stood on the other side, gesticulating in front of an equally cluttered wall containing cute postcards and balloons and a unicorn pinata. Again, #married titled the picture.

He found an interpretation of their fights depicting them as a golden retriever and a sleek black shepherd, yapping at each other.

Then, a picture of himself standing proudly before a group of happy, butch lesbians next to his nemesis who was accompanied by cute, femme ladies giggling and holding onto his arms. #lesbian.icons was scrawled sideways between them. Roman felt a surge of protectiveness for these women immediately. He was awed that they actually wanted him to be there for them.

A little smile lit up his features quite unconsciously.

The pencil drawing on lined paper clearly made by a child showed both of them simply hugging.

A t-shirt was printed with photos of them cut together before a bright, starry universe.

Comic panels made their younger versions bump into each other at a college library, dressed as a football player and nerd respectively.

There were screenshots on gray background about short, funny dialogues they never actually had.

Roman’s gaze got caught by a digital drawing in soft hues. It was him, leaning over the villain, his hand cupping the angular jaw, kissing the attractive, masked man as the other melted against him. Both of them were drawn with such attention to detail, almost lovingly.

None of the search result showed Roman degraded, captured, used.

Aside from the one where he was dangling upside down, flailing at the villain who was apparently attempting to show him a detailed power-point presentation about his plans. Roman laughed wetly through the tears he’d been suppressing. It looked like something the arrogant know-it-all would try.

“I don’t understand.” He muttered, glancing at his own tablet, filled with data carefully compiled for him.

Virgil’s gaze was worried.

“I guess there are things they’d rather you don’t see, for whatever reasons. Maybe you’ll let me double check the info they give you from now on, man. I get unrestricted internet.”

“Oh. I didn’t know the internet here was restricted.” Roman muttered softly. His head was buzzing. He huddled closer to Virgil, gazing at the images without really seeing them. He felt like everything he knew was shaken in its foundations.

‘****************************

Roman is starting to realize how much his information was manipulated, how exciting! The next chapter is promising to be a lot more fun (and angsty), actually! There will be bickering and romance! I already got started on it. Please let me know if you want to be tagged! And remember, reblogs help writers ;)

(Spoilers from after I wrote the next chapter - it wasn’t more fun. BUT it will be)

Next Chapter

#The dreamer #villain!logan #hero!roman #Sanders Sides #Logince #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders

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adetectiveandadoctor · 4 years ago

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Five Favourites

The rules of this circulating challenge are as follows: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I haven’t been tagged for this, but I have seen this challenge go around during the last few days, and then decided to do this anyway, to give myself a little boost of morale.

Because, I have been struggling lately, to make progress with and let alone finish any of my fanwork projects. And as I came across this challenge, I thought I hadn’t completed five fanworks (gifs, edits, fics in my case), let alone more than five, in the last year.

But when I went and checked what I had created between May last year and May this year, I was surprised to find that I had created more than five fanworks, and that I even found it a little difficult to choose just five out of them.

So, here they are.

The first four are gifsets, the last one is a fic. (Just click on the underlined text, and it will lead you to the respective gifset or fic.)

In addition to linking to them, I am also going to use the opportunity and talk a little bit about what the works mean to me and about the thought processes which lie behind them.

A gifset of Sherlock and John repeatedly ignoring Jim Moriarty at the pool (in TGG) and communicating with each other instead, via words, nods, looks.

This one actually forms a nice pair with another, second gifset that shows Sherlock and John communicating in their very own kind of language/ways.

(Yes I know, I am cheating a bit, putting two gifsets under point one, but these two sets just belong together.)

Recently, “myfirstisthefourth” commented on the second of the two gifsets in the following way: “YES!!!! The quiet subtleties of their relationship are practically Screaming. #communication #we have an understanding #a different kind of intimacy”

I couldn’t express it better myself, what these two gifsets are about. The intimacy and love between John and Sherlock, visible in the subtle ways they communicate with each other. And this is such a big part of what love and intimacy are about, aren’t they? To know and understand one another, and those times that one doesn’t, wanting to try and gain that understanding?

The second fav I choose is one of the first gifsets I ever posted and also my most popular one to date. It’s a collection of Sherlock’s little appreciative smiles when John is being bold and clever, and/or supportive.

And I love this one myself, because, it raises the spirits, it shows how much Sherlock loves and appreciates John, how competent and intelligent John actually is, and, last but not least, it shows how well John understands Sherlock and how supportive he is of him.

Take the second gif, for example. Sebastian Wilkes has just demonstrated his disinterest and disregard for Sherlock’s deductions and for Sherlock himself.

John however, knows that Sherlock didn’t ask Sebastian’s secretary about his trips around the world. That Sherlock said that just to “irritate” Sebastian. John tells Sherlock that, and Sherlock smiles.

And then, John tops it all of with, unlike Sebastian, actually showing interest in Sherlock’s deductions, asking him, “How did you know?”

My third fav is a gifset inspired by the song “Renegades” and Sherlock.

This one is actually very personal and means a lot to me, even if that might not be apparent on first glance.

The song’s lyrics are a beautiful illustration of what Sherlock, the series, is about for me, of who Sherlock, the character, is in my eyes, and, consequently, of why I fell in love with both the series and the character. (I am not much of a fan of series 3 and series 4, but I still love series 1 and 2.)

At the beginning of ASIP, John's afraid to deviate from the norm, of not fitting in, that people will talk. He tries to live a normal, ordinary, civilian life, to function in society, but that's not who he is or what he can be.

On his blog, John describes Sherlock as someone who “sees through everything and everyone in seconds.”

And this is what Sherlock does when he first meets John, what he does for him. Sherlock sees him, really sees him, understands what kind of a person he is, the way he works, who he is.

Then he makes a plan of how to stop John’s leg hurting, of how to stop John hurting. Of how to give him back his agency, his confidence, and also fun and happiness in his life.

Sherlock comes along, gets John up on his feet again, and basically tells him: “People will always talk, that's what people do, but it's okay to be yourself, it’s okay to be different. And you are not alone, you can be different with me together. From now on, it's just us against the rest of the world.”

Like the gifset before, this gifset, a crossover between Sherlock and the poem “Alone” written by Edgar Allan Poe, is also very personal and means a lot to me.

It is about Sherlock as a character. About him being and feeling out of sync with the world and other people. And the boredom, sadness, and loneliness he feels as a result.

I chose certain lines of the original poem and rearranged them, changing their chronological order. Then I matched them with gifs from certain scenes of Sherlock, illustrating them, and extending the meaning of both the lines themselves and the scenes.

Last but not least, I choose my fic “ Sources of Light and Warmth” which I wrote and published in late summer/early autumn of last year.

It is a Johnlock fic, that imagines an alternative way of how Sherlock and John’s relationship could have progressed after s1.

This is how I summarized the fic on AO3:

Sherlock reopens his eyes to find John standing in the kitchen entrance, drying a mug with a towel and looking at him. “What were you thinking about?” John asks, a warm smile passing over his face. “You.”

Not tagging anyone specifically. Anyone who sees this and wants to do this, go for it!

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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January 6, 2021: Last Action Hero (1993) (Part 1)

Let’s have some fun, shall we?

Comedy is my favorite genre, and I obviously also love action. So, when looking at the subgenres to cover this month, action-comedy most certainly was at the top of the list. But what exactly is action-comedy?

Exactly what it sounds like, funnily enough. Action-comedies rely on physical action sequences to further the plot, but also inject dialogue with humor and jokes throughout the script. Entertainment and amusement combined into one beautiful, succinct package. I’ll be judging the writing for these movies on how much they made me laugh while watching it. That said...

OK, so, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Last Action Hero. Schwarzenegger isn’t exactly the most emotionally expressive actor in the world, as you’ve probably noticed. And expressiveness is somewhat necessary to express humor. Look at Eddie Murphy up there, and see how expressive he is. Schwarzenegger...doesn’t have that. At all. But, this movie could still be funny! Shane Black wrote it, and he wrote one of my favorite guilty pleasure Halloween movies, The Monster Squad. So, I’m looking forward to this movie for that in and of itself. And with that...

Recap

We start with a sick guitar lick on Christmas Day, as a group of cops close in on a criminal known as the Ripper holding children hostage at an elementary school. But then...Jack Slater (played, naturally, by Arnold Schwarzenegger) arrives. And yes, this is a parody character and scene, meant to lambast all of the stereotypical renegade cop tropes that I’ve literally never seen in a movie. Like, I guess Lethal Weapon and Beverly Hills Cop have it, but I think this character concept has been Flanderized into...well...Jack Slater.

Slater kicks a cop through a window with a Schwarzenegger-esque action line, and CRUSHES A RADIO LIKE A NAPKIN. I appreciate Schwarzenegger making fun of himself like this, and we’ve only just begun. Jack goes through banter with the Ripper (Tom Noonan), who...is unironically terrifying. Holy shit, that guy is creepy as fuck, and his stylized ax is intimidating as hell. And as he holds Slater’s son hostage out of revenge, the two face off with some cool action beats, and...

...Shit, I think I want to watch this movie. And I don’t mean Last Action Hero, I mean the in-universe movie that our actual main character, Danny Madigan (Austin O’Brien) is watching. Danny’s a big Jack Slater fan, and one of the only patrons of a movie theater owned by Nick (Robert Prosky). Nick, a kind old man, invites Danny to see the next Slater film before anybody else. And honestly, I get it. I’d watch this movie series unironically if it existed, real talk. Mostly because it seems fun.

Danny’s skipped school just to see this movie, and he walks into his English class, where the teacher shows Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet. Fun fact! The English teacher showing it is played by Joanne Plowright, Olivier’s real life wife! Very sweet! Anyway, Danny, bored by a goddamn classic movie, conjures a different movie in his head.

Fuck yes. I need this movie to exist.

We learn from Danny’s mother (Mercedes Ruehl) that his father has recently died, and he spends far too much of his time watching movies at Nick’s theater. I look forward to this revelation never being explored. As he’s headed to the theater when he isn’t supposed to, he opens the door at the exact wrong time, and A ROBBER BREAKS INTO HIS PLACE, OH SHIT! Confronted with the type of real danger that he’d see in an action movie, and with no action hero to save him, the robber finds nothing of value and leaves the place. He gets rescued by the cops eventually, and they tell him to go home. But, no, he goes...to the movies.

Mom might have a point there, sport.

While he’s there, Nick brings him in, and begins to monologue to him about his past in the theater business. And that monologue introduces the MacGuffin of the film: the Golden Ticket, given to Nick by Houdini himself, and an alleged portal to another world.

So, is this gonna be more of a Pagemaster situation, or a The NeverEnding Story deal? The Golden Ticket is torn for admission, Danny sits down, and the movie-in-a-movie begins in earnest. In the film, Slater’s cousin Frank (Art Carney in his last film role) is being held hostage by the crime boss Vivaldi (Anthony Quinn), and his henchman...one of the most immediately visually interesting characters I’ve ever seen in a film...in a FILM.

Benedict (played by Charles Dance), is immediately a fascinating character, essentially a non-Marvel Bullseye, and a gunsman with flawless precision. And yeah...I dig it. Oh, how I dig it.

Jack Slater arrives in his snakeskin boots, and discovers Frank, who delivers a message in the cheesiest death sequence I’ve ever seen, followed by the cheesiest bomb compound I’ve ever seen, followed by a bigger explosion than anyone would’ve expected, FOLLOWED by...OK, look, the references to other action movies in this are already ridiculous and all over the place, and I refuse to spoil them all for those of you who’ve never seen this movie.

By the way, I gotta make a comment about Danny real quick. Watching this many action movies may have made him a little...detached...from reality. I say this because he expressed no shock or emotion during or after the robbery, then went immediately to the movie theater, and had no reaction whatsoever about the death of the two cops in the movie. Little budding sociopath, that Danny.

Although, that might change, now that the ticket’s getting all magic-y, and a stick of ACME dynamite (actually in the film, I swear) makes its way into the theater. It explodes, and Danny inexplicably (magically, even) finds himself in the movie. So, Pagemaster, then.

Danny’s complete lack of reaction and emotion in this situation confirms my theory on him being a liiiiiiiiiiittle detached from reality. But then...the most gloriously stupid thing I’ve seen this month happens.

Arnold proceeds to make a pun that is NOT “Nasty brainfreeze,” and I am disappointed forever. Who wrote this? Who wrote this?

We get a car chase fueled with jumps, gunfire, puns, a casual mention of premature ejaculation, and Coca Cola product placement, all accompanied by Danny finally showing a modicum of reaction to the fact that he is IN A FUCKING MOVIE. REACT MORE, DANNY. At his age, I would have soiled myself immediately. At MY age, I would soil myself if this happened to me! Anyway...

OK, I just have to say this now: this movie has some of the most insane shots and set-ups that I’ve ever seen, and by GOD, I am here for it. Like...Did you SEE the motorcycle dress girl panic while a man WAS ON FIRE IN THE BACKGROUND? Earlier, a car does an INSANE jump and crash and explodes in the BACKGROUND, and the movie just treats it like a pigeon flew on set! Nobody cares! THE SCENES IN THIS MOVIE MAKE INSANITY AN ART FORM.

Anyway...we get to the LAPD, and...HOLY SHIT. IS THAT…

Was that Sharon Stone as Catherine Trammel from Basic Instinct, and Robert Patrick as T1000 from Terminator 2? I...but...wait...if...how...I’m broken now. 404, blue screen, reboot, update needed, WHAT?!? I...just...SO many questions, and this movie better answer them.

We see some added insanity, including a man with a houndstooth suit which I DESPERATELY WANT but could not pull off. There’s literally a buddy cop generator, where we also see a rabbi cop, and an Amadeus reference is dropped as F. Murray goddamn Abraham (playing a cop named Practice) appears in this movie, and THEN...an animated cat cop sexually harasses a female cop. I am not joking.

Am...am I insane? Also, if I was in the theaters watching this movie-in-a-movie, I would be both angry and confused as to what in the FUCK was happening!!! WHY IS THERE AN ANIMATED CAT COP IN MY JACK SLATER MOVIE? WHO DIRECTED THIS BULLSHIT (in universe)?? Also that cat was recently suspended, and is also one of their best men.

And then, Danny uses his knowledge of the Jack Slater franchise to break down the barriers of repressed affection between the chief and Slater, and it’s briefly heartwarming for some reason. Anyway, they’re now suspicious of his knowledge of Slater’s life, and this leaves to the inevitable buddy cop pairing of Jack Slater and Danny Madigan. This art-deco something walks by…

...and I desperately need to know more about the art direction of this film. Because, wow, it is an absolute masterpiece of randomly exaggerated shit, damn.

To prove his point about being in a movie, Danny goes to a Blockbuster, which... man, does THAT bring me back! That’s right you young whippersnappers, I WAS THERE FOR BLOCKBUSTER IN THE ‘90s! We used to go to the store and look at the VHSs. I remember seeing The Lost World there, but my dad said I was too young for it. I was sad, but he got me some candy and a Really Wild Animals video, and we watched it that night after Carmen Sandiego. My God. It was paradise.

Anyway, Schwarzenegger doesn’t exist, and find out that Stallone has taken over his roles.

...I’d watch that. I’d watch the HELL out of that. Danny then uses some legitimately impressive math to dissect the “555” number thing in movies, as well as pointing out the lack of non-conventionally attractive women. Which, credit to you, kiddo, for addressing the overwrought emphasis on conventional attractiveness that permeated Hollywood at this time, and to this day. I mean, he’s not criticizing it, but he is pointing it out, and that’s better than nothing in the ‘90s.

Danny guides his way to Vivaldi’s house, where the butler is...Professor Toru Tanaki! He looks exactly like Odd Job from the James Bond series, but the actor is SubZero from The Running Man! You know, the hockey killer!

Anyway, after crack about Schwarzenegger’s “I’ll be back” line, a conversation with Benedict (who has a smiley face instead of a bullseye), and some terrible CGI dogs, Benedict becomes correctly convinced that something’s up with Danny. They arrive at his house, and his college-aged daughter Whitney (played by Bridgette Wilson, in her first film role in and out of the movie, in a neat little twist!) kisses Danny directly on the mouth, and I’m a liiiiiiittle uncomfortable with that. Anyway, we brush right past that, and realize that his son...died. Oh. Uh. Guess we didn’t see the end of that movie, huh? Yikes. Poor Jack.

Hey, Benedict and his gang arrive at Slater’s place! Fun! There’s a sort-of amusing play on “harming a hair on one’s head,” and the interrogation continues. Charles Dance is legitimately threatening as Benedict. And, while we’re at it, Bridgette Wilson has an entertaining action sequence all her own.

Anyway, Jack arrives, and makes a ridiculous jump off of the balcony to pursue Benedict. Benedict name drops getting a tank, which I’m assuming is named the Chekov (film trope reference there, have a good time). Danny realizes that he’s the comedy sidekick of the movie, and at this point, I need to mention something: in case you haven’t noticed, this film is delightfully meta. And I love that about it.

But it’s also...cluttered. You’ll see what I mean in a little bit, but real talk, I didn’t realize that Benedict had stolen the ticket until Danny mentioned it, because I was apparently quite distracted. And this is an important plot point, as Benedict soon realizes the true power of the ticket, cleverly overlaid by the opening to the Twilight Zone, with Rod Serling mentioning traveling to another dimension. Also...his eye was a bomb. What. Anyway, that explosion results in Slater officially getting fired from the department, and the chief...

Um. Yeah, this movie is also kind of a cartoon, not including the cartoon cat. And you have no idea how much I’m omitting from this movie. The digitization of Humphrey Bogart, the fact that Slater can’t say “fuck” in a PG-13 movie, the surprising character realization that Slater’s ex-wife is actually remarried, the clearly dominatrix cop clad in leather, the fact that there’s a plan to detonate a nerve gas-infused bomb stuffed into a dead man nicknamed Leo the Fart at his own funeral, a digitization of Humphrey Bogart. Yeah, I said that last one twice, because the effect actually holds up really well, like, seriously.

OK, let’s take a break, yeah? Part 2 later today!

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b-kitsune · 5 years ago

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Many ways to say I love you: Day Six.

Kidge-a-palooza 2019 Prompt: Haunting. Pairing: Kidge (VLD) Universe: Victorian AU. Status: Part 1/4.

Katie heard a shot at a prudent distance that made her jump from her own steed with surprise when she chased her brother down the winding roads of the forest. She heard the birds lift the flight to the opposite direction from where the loud sounds came, making her hum irritably.

Matthew, her beloved older brother who was leading her to the provisional camp for that afternoon, approached her as soon as he realized she wasn't following his step, worried that something might have happened along the way.

''Pidge, is everything okay?'' Katie hummed again much more irritated at the mention of that ridiculous nickname that Matt had given her since her most tender years. Starting again the gallop of her faithful companion.

''I would greatly appreciate it that you don't call me like this in front of our father's guests today.'' She answered, trying to ignore a new shot that was heard much closer than the first time, making their own horses nervous. Matt simply smiled at her words when he pulled the rope to control his partner. ''Did they have to be so terribly wild with those shotguns?''

''Well, that's the idea, my dear and illusioned sister.'' Matt said with sympathy. ''Besides, even Bae Bae is enjoying today accompanying our father and his friends in the hunt. Wouldn't it be simpler for you to try to do the same, instead of grumbling like a dejected child all day?''

''No. It wouldn't be.'' Katie accelerated the pace after the latter, demonstrating her renegade posture towards her brother. Matt just sighed with regret.

''Well, then it will be a long day.''

Katie preferred to ignore her brother before throwing another scathing comment when she made her way to the supposed camp that she hoped was ready when she arrived. The undergrowth was surrounding the earth as it moved, giving it a dreamlike image through which it passed, the resounding of the birds became prominent along with the buzzing of insects around it, and thanks to the sun that heated that day with efficiency, she doesn't need to wear a second layer of clothes over her favorite dress to spend that afternoon.

The more time passed, every second, Katie was convinced that from the depths of her heart she hated nature. She found it haunting to think that many people enjoyed the outdoors.

When she arrived, she kindly thanked Commander Iverson for getting off her horse and walking towards the assembled people who settled in the valley. Iverson was a strict person most of the time and they battled countless times in her younger days, now she had a deep respect and esteem from him. Approaching one of the awnings that had been installed for the shadow, Katie could see Allura being bombarded by the affections of a charismatic young man who did his best to get her attention. Shiro had mentioned his name sometime last night, when he arrived at her home after a long business trip, alluding that he was one of the army cadets who were in the same grade as Keith, and would accompany them to the hunt this season. But she had forgotten his name so quickly when Katie heard from her beloved that he was an insufferable being.

By the face of her dearest friend, Katie could well give credit to his words, the boy didn't give up at any time, even when Allura was clearly indifferent.

''Katie my life, it's good you arrived.'' She heard her father came from her back with his horse at his side, apparently preparing for the hunt. ''We thought that something had happened to you before leaving the mansion.''

''Sorry father, I entertained myself thinking about the multiple tasks that I could have done this afternoon, instead of being in the middle of the forest.'' Another shot was heard in the distance, making Katie slightly trembled eyelid. ''And with the unbearable noise of your weapons.''

''Don't say that, my love. The outdoors makes you good from time to time, you can't be in your Father's lab all your life.''

''Is that a challenge?''

A gentle laugh caused Katie to divert her attention to his well-known owner, seeing when Keith approached them with a calm demeanor, dressed appropriately for the occasion, and also carried a shotgun resting on the side of his shoulder, and a wolf his around who watched her with curiosity. Katie took a step back, fearful; she had never seen a beast of that size at such close range, vaguely remembering that Keith had named him at some point in their personal meetings, that his family had trained those animals for hunting, and they had been faithful partners for many generations. But she feigned calmness as best she could, what she least wanted was to look like a coward in front of the man who courted her and her family's friends.

''From what I've heard, you don't seem to be very interested in the sport of hunting.'' Katie stood disdainfully crossing her arms over her chest, trying to ignore that wolf was approaching her.

''Certainly, that intelligent on your part to have realized.'' She answered sardonically, making her father call her attention.

''That's no way to respond like a lady, Katie.''

''It's okay, Mr. Holt. I have already become familiar with the 'sense of humor ' of the young lady here present.''

Katie smiled when Keith took one of her hands to bring it to his lips, a clear recognition of adoration to her person, and the expected courtesy of a man of his category, without losing eye contact on her at any time. Among all the suitors Katie had had since she came of age, Keith was definitely her favorite.

''You see father, Mr. Kogane understands my words.''

''Oh totally, but your father is right that it would be pertinent that you were a little more cautious, not everyone could be familiar with you... Charms.''

''Don't worry about that, my stay in this place will not take more than a couple of hours.'' She answered modestly, and something calmer as soon as the wolf approached Iverson with interest. Keith looked at her disillusioned.

''Don't you stay for dinner, dear? It is likely that this year's hunting will be quite charitable.'' Her father said with concern. ''Also, I don't think it's safe to come back on your own.''

''I will not go back home, Father, Allura has invited me to spend a couple of days in the Altea mansion, and it's a couple of hours away from here.''

''Miss Allura, who is being stalked by a dear armament partner, is likely to stay until dinner.'' Keith replied funny when he saw Lance finally get a couple of laughs at the girl mentioned.

''Seriously? She hasn't told me anything. What could have made her change her mind?'' Katie looked at him questioningly, Keith just shrugged.

''She hasn't done it yet, but it is the safest thing she will tell you before noon, my friend is very persuasive when he proposes it.''

''I attest to that.'' Samuel said a little compassionately. ''It looks like you'll have to stay for the whole evening, dear.''

''Wow, what a waste of a day.''

She said no more, completely dejected when she realized that she couldn't escape her own luck when Katie walked with them to the hunting area while all the horses were ready. Keith, however, was satisfied, alluding that it made him genuinely happy to know that he could be with her company all day, which made her blush a little.

Although it had been two seasons since she met Keith Kogane, she was still ashamed of the words of her beloved.

Katie knew at least half of the individuals who were preparing for the hunt that day, many of her father's workmates whom she had already seen at parties and real events, and junior cadets who were invited by the generals and lieutenants, to forge the camaraderie between companions, a fairly common use to diminish the conflicts between them, besides being used as an approach for the courtship of the daughters of the generals. Since the majority who entered the army were children of bourgeois and nobles.

Something like what had happened to Katie when Shiro started taking Keith to her family dinners. With the sole intention that both forged a friendship that would lead to a possible commitment.

And like everything Shiro did, it had turned out the wrong way. Since both were negatively enhanced. Although both had diminished their adolescent stubbornness for many years, they still had a fearful character and tended to complement each other dangerously when they had common goals.

Her brother had said that at least they worked efficiently together, and supported each other in an impressive way.

''Tell me the truth, Mr. McClain really has a chance to get the attention of my dear friend?'' Katie questioned when the horses advanced towards a possible deer seen in the distance. Keith snorted sardonically at the thought when he saw his wolf at his side.

''Not at all, Lance has no tact or courtesy, even coming from a noble family. It will end by filling it up before lunch.''

''What a liar Mr. Kogane is, you have tricked me into using my company!'' Katie pretended to be hurt, placing a hand on her chest. ''And using your best friend as bait!''

''Someone had to sacrifice.'' Keith replied proudly. ''Besides, it would have been a shame if you retired so early. Knowing how happy you make me spend time by your side.''

Katie smiled shyly at his words, calling him cretin gently when she moved toward her father. They approached with pause towards a group that had stopped to recharge the shotguns. There, Katie took advantage of getting off her horse to stretch her legs a little, burying the heel of her boots on the flimsy earth.

''Your daughter has followed the step without details, Samuel. I am impressed by her abilities riding a horse so big despite her ... Altitude.'' Samuel laughed nervously, thinking that her daughter preferred to keep silence to the mention of her stature.

''I appreciate it, Colonel. is my great pride with her brother Matt.''

''And where is your oldest son? I thought you would join us in hunting for this day.'' Iverson asked, noting that Matt wasn't around.

''He preferred to accompany Lieutenant Shirogane in the meadow, it's not ... Very close to this sport. None of my children, really. Katie is here because staying under an awning is not exactly her favorite pastime.''

''Don't you enjoy hunting, Miss Holt?'' Katie only shrugged when a lieutenant caught her attention, disinterested.

''If you allow me to say it, it seems to be an act of the most barbaric, sir.''

''That's because women don't understand about male assets.'' A third voice resounded in the environment, attracting the attention of more than one person due to its haughty tone. ''With all due respect, Mr. Holt. Don't you think it would be better if your daughter were limited to comment on interests that concern her?''

''And what are those interests, according to you, Mr. Griffin?''

It didn't go unnoticed by anyone that Katie almost spat the name of her lips. James Griffin was the assistant of scientific advance in the work of her father, and one of the best riders of the last promotion in the Garrison Navy, after Keith. She had spoken to him on more than one occasion thanks to the parties that the navy gave occasionally, without much interest in their conversations. And he had tried to woo her the first few months.

Katie had rejected him for his haughty attitude about his companions, and little interest in her personal opinions. Shortly after she accepted Keith Kogane's courtship, resentment resurfaced in Griffin's heart, which always came to light when she spoke openly on some subject.

But before Griffin could answer Katie's question, the barking of the wolf made his horse frighten, losing control of the reins and falling flat on his face before he realized it. Many people worried, others simply limited their laughter to their clumsiness.

''It seems that Mr. Griffin should limit himself to holding his reins well, before giving his opinion on matters that don't concern him.'' Keith's voice echoed through the crowd, generating James's anger when he got up, with one arm resentful of the fall.

''Defending the honor of a spoiled girl will not increase your courage, Kogane!''

''I don't need to defend the honor of anyone, Pidge can do it by herself without needing a savior.''

''That so true? When it is well known that Miss Holt barely manages to master her own haughtiness.'' Questioned superb, Keith growled annoyed by his imprudence.

''Of course, her honesty is unblemished. That's why she rejected you immediately when you presented your affections, Mr. Griffin.''

The awkward silence reigned for a few seconds before Keith's biting comment, but Samuel took the opportunity to stop them and order a couple of cadets to help Griffin with his right arm. Katie just caressed the back of her new friend, thanking it for his quick help at the right time. The wolf didn't generate fear when she saw him so obedient. Griffin only limited himself to heading towards his horse to reach the camp, finding himself unable to continue the hunt. There was no need for any response.

Soon everyone started moving again, avoiding commenting on the recent situation. Or it was well known that Lieutenant Holt's anger would be taken away.

Katie approached Keith when he got off the horse, staying behind the group that was heading to a next dam, much calmer than seconds ago while caressing the fur of his beloved fella.

''You didn't have to confront Griffin, Keith. Now everyone will think that you must defend my own value before others.''

''I didn't do it, he did it.'' He answered innocently while caressing the back of the ear of his pet. Katie smiled gratefully, ignoring the fact that Keith openly called her by her family nickname in front of the others. She had no reason to bother at that moment. ''Besides, there's nothing wrong with that, Katie.'' He took her face with his hands to kiss the outline of her petite nose, as a sincere gesture. ''You can always defend mine when I commit some imprudence.'' Katie kissed his lips sweetly when Keith took the reins of his horse.

''Whenever you want, dear.''

#peith #kidge #kidgefanfic #monthofkidge #kidgeapalooza #kidgeapalooza2019 #keith #keith kogane #keith (voltron)#katieholt #Pidge #pidge gunderson #voltron #voltronship #victorian au #lance mcclain #allura #maybe a shatt too?

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tomeandflickcorner · 5 years ago

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Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Janine’s Genie

Looks like we’re closing out the season 1 episodes with a Janine centric episode. And I’m completely okay with that.

It’s business as usual at the Firehouse, with the Ghostbusters getting a call about a new ghostly disturbance and them heading out to deal with it. With Peter pausing long enough to warn Slimer to stay away from his watermelon. Before they can leave in the Ecto-1, Janine stops them. She announces that she’s tired of being left on the sidelines and feels it’s high time she’s allowed to get a piece of the action. To this, the guys kinda shrug and decide to allow it. Because where’s the harm in allowing her to come along for this one?

When they reach the site of the disturbance, though, Janine nearly balks when she gets a glimpse of the ghosts flying around. But Peter drags her along, reminding her that this is the whole reason why she came with them. And then we see Janine struggling a bit in figuring out how to fire the Proton Pack they loaned her, followed by her nearly shooting Peter by mistake. Which is something I found somewhat odd, as we previously saw Janine using a Proton Pack before, back in the episode with the Sandman. Yeah, that was Dream Janine and all, but the point still stands. While I get what the episode was trying to do in showing us that Janine may have been in over her head a bit since she was essentially thrown into this situation without undergoing any real training, it still makes her look a bit incompetent.

Anyway, Janine eventually helps capture the ghost, with a little assistance from Winston, and she’s ecstatic that she caught her first ghost. Peter then proceeds to start writing up the bill for their services, only for the client to sheepishly admit that he doesn’t have much money to offer them. Instead, he offers them to take their pick from his extensive collection of antiques and such. (I guess he’s an antique dealer of some kind. Though if you’re in the business of collecting antiques, doesn’t that automatically mean you to have a lot of money? I can’t imagine being able to purchase antiques without having a huge amount of money.) Either way, Janine quickly steps in and accepts this arrangement before the others could say a word on the matter.

The item Janine ends up picking out is an old brass oil lamp. And the guys proceed to tease her almost mercilessly about it during the ride back to the Firehouse, with Peter even mockingly joking that perhaps Janine should try rubbing the lamp in case there’s a genie inside. (Yeah, the Ghostbusters are kinda jerks in this episode.) Janine clearly doesn’t appreciate their teasing, and when they return to the Firehouse, she calls Slimer over to look at her new lamp, stating that Slimer will settle the matter on whether or not Janine’s selection was a good one. (Wasn’t aware that Slimer was such an expert in matters such as this.) Of course, Slimer takes one look at the oil lamp and bursts out laughing as well. Though, when Slimer starts laughing, he ends up spitting out a bunch of watermelon seeds, something Peter is quick to notice. Right away, he concludes that Slimer went back on his word and ate the watermelon after all, so he proceeds to give chase.

Once she’s alone, Janine kinda sits and mopes for a bit, fuming over how she wishes she was the boss, because the Ghostbusters wouldn’t laugh at her if she was in charge. As she speaks, she ends up polishing up her oil lamp. Of course, as she does so, a figure emerges from the lamp, declaring himself a genie, and he will gladly grant her wish. Janine responds to this by rolling her eyes, figuring that this is just a big prank the Ghostbusters are playing on her, building on Peter’s earlier joke. (And I personally can’t blame her, as the way this guy is dressed doesn’t strike me as very genie-like. We’re talking polka-dotted shirt, a tie, red aviator goggles and a diaper-like turban held up with a safety pin. Not trying to sound like I’m stereotyping genies or anything but…. I can’t see any self-respecting genie dressing like that.) So, thinking this is just another joke at her expense, Janine turns and leaves the room. And once she does, the Genie directs his attention to the lamp and begins to whisper to unseen beings still within the lamp, telling them that the gate has opened up and they can begin their vacation. As the Genie speaks, various ghosts begin to emerge from the lamp.

We then cut back to the upper floors of the Firehouse, where we see Peter has managed to catch Slimer. And he’s preparing to spank him for eating his watermelon. And they REALLY make a big deal about this, with Peter gearing up for it by getting the other Ghostbusters, who are standing nearby, to place a protective mitt on his hand, and even resorting to that whole ‘this will hurt me a lot more than it hurts you’ line. Honestly, I found this part to be rather uncomfortable to watch. And not just because I don’t believe in spanking as a discipline. It’s the fact that they draw it out so much. It gets to the point where it almost feels like you’re watching a scene from a snuff film instead of an episode of an animated cartoon show for kids.

Thankfully, Peter is interrupted before the spanking can actually begin, so I guess that’s one small mercy. It turns out that the Ghostbusters have gotten another call. Ghosts have suddenly been sighed at the airport. To Janine’s surprise, when the Ghostbusters report to her desk in order to collect the address of this new assignment, they refer to her as ‘boss.’ When she sees her Genie hovering in the air nearby (for some reason, the guys don’t seem to notice him), she concludes that it wasn’t just a trick after all. So, before she joins the Ghostbusters in the Ecto-1 to head back out with them on the next case, she makes her second wish- for Egon to be head over heels in love with her. Obviously nobody told her about the typical ‘Genie Wish Rules’ thing. You know, no wishing for additional wishes, and genies can’t kill anyone nor can make someone fall in love with you. But then again, the fact that this Genie actually grants her this wish is a clear indicator that he’s not a real genie after all.

So off they go to the airport, with Janine driving the Ecto-1. And she nearly gets into an accident with a truck when Egon tells her how beautiful she is. Because she’s just so pleased with how he finally seems to be returning her feelings, she forgets to watch the road for a moment. Thankfully, they reach the airport without further incident. When they arrive, Slimer is able to assist them in tracking down the renegade ghosts to a set of lockers. The Ghostbusters, because of the effects of Janine’s first wish, turn to her to decide what to do. So Janine decides that their best option is to flush the ghosts out. (With Egon leaning over to tell her that she’s beautiful when she flushes them out. Get used to this running joke.) Of course, when the ghosts all fly out of the lockers, they all zoom off in various directions, with a group of them stowing away in an airplane’s luggage compartment.

Because this episode happened long before the events of 9/11, the Ghostbusters were able to effortlessly board the plane full of passengers to search it for the ghosts, without having to worry about getting past the hurtles of the TSA’s security theater. Of course, the ghosts manage to take over the cockpit before the Ghostbusters can capture them (with no indication as to what happened to the plane’s pilot and co-pilot, or even the flight attendants who we’ll later see have also been replaced by ghosts). Thus begins a whole prolonged sequence of the hijacking ghosts taking the plane for a joyride through the city before parachuting out when the Ghostbusters finally manage to reach the cockpit. (Wait, they’re ghosts. So…why do they need parachutes?). Of course, this presents an obvious problem- they’re in an airborne plane that NOBODY IS DRIVING!!! So Janine and Peter have to quickly take over the controls to keep the plane from crashing into 5th Avenue. Obviously, this is when the episode gets to be quite improbable, even for a kid’s show. Somehow, Peter and Janine are able to steer the plane back to the airport and bring it in for a landing. And while the plane itself doesn’t survive, with it completely breaking apart, all the passengers survive without a single scratch on them. (Yeah, no. That’s a load of malarkey. We’re in surviving a nuclear explosion in a refrigerator territory here.)

Upon exiting the airport, the Ghostbusters are met by one of those ‘extra, extra!’ newsboys. (What century is this, anyway?). Winston purchases a newspaper from this kid and reads it to the others, informing them that ghosts have been popping up all over the city, in locations like amusement parks, beaches and even a baseball game. In other words, all the fun spots. Ray comments on how it seems like these ghosts are on vacation. Egon ends up briefly taking a break from continuing the ongoing joke of being too focused on making goo-goo eyes at Janine instead of being useful in order to present a theory. Somehow, a portal between the Spirit World and theirs has been opened up. If they aren’t able to locate this interdimensional gateway and close it soon, then the flow moving through it would be too powerful to ever stop.

They eventually track down the gateway to find it’s located at the Firehouse. With the use of a pair of Ecto Goggles (which appear to let you see through solid walls), Egon sees that the energy source is Janine’s bras lamp. Upon hearing this, Janine concludes she must have accidentally released all the other ghosts when she freed the Genie. In order to solve the problem, she summons the Genie with a snap of her fingers. When he appears before her, she tells the Genie that she’s ready to make her third wish, and wishes that all the ghosts would be sent back to where they came from. Of course, the False Genie then reveals that he was not a real genie after all. And that he’d only pretended to be one in order to distract Janine long enough for all of his ghost friends to escape from their dull, dreary dimension and reach ‘Fun City.’

Fortunately, Ray has an idea. He manages to connect four of their Ghost Traps together, announcing that if they hook the joined Ghost Traps to the oil lamp, then they can reverse the polarity of the the lamp (marking the second time the show had Ray suggesting reversing the polarity of the neuron flow) and essentially turn the oil lamp into one big Ghost Trap that will pull all the escaped ghosts back and forcibly return them to where they came from. Of course, the real question is who will be the one to venture into the Firehouse and hook up the Ghost Traps to the lamp. While the guys waste time discussing the matter, Janine decides to take the initiative and heads in herself, on the grounds that she was the one who caused the whole mess, so it’s her responsibility to fix it.

As she nears the oil lamp, the False Genie appears to try and stop her, only for Janine to effortlessly slap him aside. Of course, this just ends up making the False Genie mad, and he reveals his true form of a pig-like creature. Before the False Genie could attack Janine, the Ghostbusters come charging in, restraining the False Genie with their Proton Streams, which gives Janine the chance to attach the Ghost Traps to the lamp. Once she does so, Ray is able to activate the traps, which successfully drags all the ghosts, as well as the False Genie, back into the lamp, which instantly vaporizes.

As the episode wraps up, Janine decides to make sure that everything is back to normal by asking Egon if he thinks she’s beautiful. Egon, naturally, is a bit weirded out by this, but this leaves Janine feeling relieved, as she had been getting a bit sick and tired of Doe-eyed Egon. Still, Ray commends her actions that day and asks if she’d like to continue on as a full-fledged Ghostbuster. But Janine turns down the offer, having decided that she’s content to simply continue on with her role as their secretary. Although, as she returns to her desk, she starts to voice her regret that she never got the chance to wish her third wish, as there was something she’d had in mind for it. But before she could state what her third wish would have been, the Ghostbusters and Slimer all suddenly congregate around her, covering her mouth with their hands.

So all-in-all, this was basically an attempt to combine a ‘the grass is always greener’ story with a ‘be careful what you wish for’ moral. And I suppose they did a decent job of pulling it off. But it’s hard to say for certain, as the middle bit with the airport scenes were a bit distracting due to how utterly ridiculous it was. Not to mention the fact that I don’t think they did a good enough job at explaining why it was so important for the interdimensional gateway within the lamp to be closed. Yeah, I get these are ghosts and it’s the Ghostbusters’ whole job to stop ghosts from running amuck. But… the False Genie clearly states that they were trying to escape from their dimension of origin, which he described as dull and boring. In other words, they were just looking to have a bit of fun. How is that any different from the motivation of the Wayward Troll from the episode Troll Bridge? The one that the Ghostbusters actually decided to allow to continue on seeking a good time, to the point where they actually helped him fake his own death in order to do so? Granted, the False Genie did end up attacking Janine towards the end, but that was only after she tried to send them all back to their dimension. Really, what exactly would have happened if the Ghostbusters had allowed them to stick around? I’m seriously asking here.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

#The Real Ghostbusters #rgb episode review #ghostbusters franchise

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castellankurze · 5 years ago

Text

A Completely Normal Team-Up

So you know how oftentimes an anime gets an OVA or a movie that takes place...somewhere in its continuity, but nobody’s quite sure where, it probably messes with continuity but someone had an idea for a standalone story so by god they wedged in in there somehow? Well, consider this to be Completely Normal RPG getting its own OVA release.

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

Miyumi was the first one taken by the creature.

Later on, Shouko, attempting to lighten the mood, joked that it did so because it was smart. While there might have been a kernel of truth in the statement, when everything came out in the end it also inadvertently hid the thing's true motivation.

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

In truth there had been others attacked beforehand, but they had been left at the site of their assault, all of them bone-weary and exhausted, none able to describe whatever the thing was that had come after them. Whatever it was, it struck at twilight three days in a row. The school put out a warning of a flu going around, reacting to the aftereffects, but when the four of them got together the idea wasn't even dignified with a single repetition.

"A vampire of some kind?" Kanako proposed.

"Whatever it is, it's definitely draining its victims," Miyumi agreed with a stroke of her chin.

"But it's not drinking their blood or anything, just sapping their energy," Erika said from the counter where she was fixing a sandwich. "Are there any beasts that just sort of...make people tired and move on?"

A quick call to Saika was no help. "She says there's too many possibilities," Shouko said, waggling an unlit cigarette between her lips and ignoring a dirty look from Miyumi. "She says to do the usual - just buddy up and never be alone and keep your eyes open."

So they did, and Miyumi was in the company of her boyfriend Shoji when dusk came at the end of the next day, but all told, the advice didn't seem to be much help.

"I barely saw it," Shoji murmured from his bed. He was bruised and cut in a few places, but otherwise unharmed but for the same strange exhaustion that had overtaken the previous victims. "There was a flash of headlights behind us, and then I thought someone was coming off the road to try and hit us. After that I just saw stars." Kanako tried to coax more information out of him, gently asking questions, but that seemed to be the limit of what he could remember. Apart from that, Erika had to step in when he tried to rise from his bed as if to start looking for Miyumi then and there, easily keeping the boy down with a hand to his chest.

"You just focus on getting better," she said firmly. "We'll find Miyumi."

The next morning, Shouko crossed paths with Shizuka when the latter stepped off the bus before class. "You are on time for school today," the red-eyed girl noted quietly.

"You're a riot," Shouko replied, shrugging her motorcycle jacket over her shoulder and falling into step beside Shizuka. "For real though, why would this thing take Miyumi when it just leaves everyone else all tired out?"

Shizuka shot the delinquent a sidelong glower, the kind she often employed on those who ought to know better. "What distinguishes Miymui from the rest of them?" she asked curtly, and then walked on, ignoring Shouko's faltering steps behind her.

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

Erika and Kanako never made it home that night, but because it was a friday and Kana lived alone but for her cat Tsukiko, nobody realized what had happened until Shouko (in flagrant violation of Saika's warning not to travel alone) dropped by the house late the next afternoon to ask after the math homework they'd been assigned. The door was unlocked, and she found nobody but a pitifully meowing Tsukiko who pointedly went to sit by her bowl. After offering the cat a reassuring stroke and some food from the bag under the counter, Shouko sent a few queries by text, careful to sound innocuous. When the inseparable pair didn't turn up anywhere, Shouko hurried out, and in the end she was almost fast enough.

Saika's phone buzzed and she picked it up with a chirp of "hi Shouko!"

"Don't talk just listen! It's got Kana and Erika!" Shouko shouted back, sounding out of breath. There was some kind of rhythmic pounding like a series of sledgehammers behind her voice.

"Shouko?!" Saika yelped, immediately disregarding her girlfriend's instruction standing with such haste she knocked her desk chair over.

"It's some kind of a machine! It's got all kinds of random parts! It's got...it's got a core shaped like a diamond made of mirrors! It's got wings and they glow really bright! I don't-"

Where was a sound of screeching metal and a moment later the line disconnected. Saika stared at the little rectangle in disbelief for a moment before mashing redial and begging "pick up...please pick up..." but it was not to be. The normally-bubbly blonde stood wide-eyed in the center of her room, staring past her phone at the far wall, paralyzed for a long moment with indecision. Then, with trembling fingers, she dialed another number.

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

"Hmmm," he mused after she relayed her description. "'A diamond-shaped mirror' has sometimes been mentioned in the description of a creature called the mirrorknight." The Baron of the Radiant Court paused, marshaling his thoughts. "It is a type of golem which repairs and rebuilds itself with whatever materials may be present, but its heart is a single piece of silver polished to a mirror shine. A long time ago there used to be quite a number of them, but they were unstable creations and would eventually go renegade."

"This one seems to be pretty renegade," Saika agreed, her voice shaky. "Why would this one be kidnapping hunters?"

"Individuals have attacked members of the Court before, thought always in isolated incidents. I'll look into the archives, and I will send someone to reinforce you as soon as possible. I want you to be very careful, is that clear?"

"Yessir," Saika replied, and the call ended. Saika looked out her window at the night sky and the lights of other houses across the street and beyond. Then she looked back to her phone and, with a trembling thumb, scrolled through her contacts to a certain name whose number she had never dialed.

She took a deep breath. She'd always tried to...be helpful. Back up her friends. Be there when they needed her - when Shouko needed her. Be the guiding light. She'd never...taken point, so to speak. And certainly not like this. This could get her into a lot of trouble. A lot. But the night was coming on, and it was getting cold, and Miyumi had been gone for over two whole days at this point, and it could be...some time before another member of the Radiant Court could be pulled from their current duty and sent to help. And every passing moment meant all four of them were out there, somewhere, in trouble...

"Hey, by the way, you should add this to your contacts."

"Shouko, she'll me really angry you gave me her number."

"Nah, she said it was okay."

"Did she really?"

"Well, you know, I sort of ran it by her and she kind of grunted the way she does. Look, just save it for a major emergency, okay?"

Her phone's screen started to grey out, and Saika swallowed hard, raised her thumb high, brought it down on the dial icon.

One ring.

Two.

"Hello," answered Shizuka's deadpan voice.

"We need to talk," Saika said.

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

They met at the sports field by the school, a wide-open place not far from the building's lights. The representative of the Eventide Vanguard came armed, of course, her katana belted at her side, and Saika tried to keep her fingers from twitching, fighting the urge to summon her bow, just to have it ready.

It was a long moment before either of them spoke - Shizuka stood with her arms crossed, her red-eyed gaze unwavering, while Saika chewed her lip, searching for the right words. Finally she gave up and just repeated everything that had happened, relaying everything Shouko had had time to tell her over the phone and the resulting information given to her by the Baron.

When she was done, Shizuka lowered her gaze and closed her eyes for a moment. "You could face severe consequences for this, Oishi," she commented dryly. "It could be seen as consorting with the enemy."

Saika spread her arms and shrugged. "I can't...just wait," she said, hearing the plaintive tone in her own voice.

Shizuka uncrossed her arms and rested one hand at her sword's sheath, idly popping the katana's hilt with her thumb and holding it for a moment before clicking it back into place, her lips pursed, her gaze directed past Saika's shoulder rather than on her face. "The Vanguard's knowledge of the mirrorknight states that it's core is designed as a mirror because it was intended to be a reactive force," she suddenly stated. "It absorbs energy for fuel, and when it drinks power from a certain element it alters its own base nature to turn that energy against its foes."

"So when Shouko described its wings as glowing-" Saika realized with growing horror.

"It has likely absorbed magic from both Kanako and Erika, which would give it a strong light aspect," Shizuka confirmed.

"We can't wait for backup," Saika blurted, and as Shizuka raised an eyebrow she balled her fists and stamped a foot. "Either of us. You know I'm right, Miyasato. Every minute they're out there that thing is draining more and more from them. What if it doesn't stop like it did with the other people it attacked. What if it drains everything?"

"You are willing to put everything on the line in the event of that possibility," Shizuka said, her red-eyed gaze once more pinned to Saika's own green pair.

"Aren't you?" Saika rejoined, and Shizuka lowered her eyes, thumb toying with the hilt of her katana again. Saika took a bracing breath and then turned on the ball of one foot, thrusting out a hand towards her opposite number. "Night's fallen," she said, her voice low and firm. "Day and twilight are both behind us. And they'll come again in the morning. But for tonight there are people who need saving. Our friends. And I'm...I'm not asking you to like me, Miyasato. But...just for one night. For our friends."

Shizuka eyed the proffered hand for a long moment. "A two-person band," she mused. Then she reached out and clasped Saika's hand. The pair squeezed.

"So...um, now we just need to find it," Saika realized lamely.

Shizuka favored her with one of her barely-there smirks. "Shouko said it was made of random parts. Where else do machines go to die and be reborn, Oishi?"

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

Kanako's screaming filled the junkyard, but nobody had come running in the last day, and nobody came running now.

She thrashed in her restraints as their captor leaned close and opened its maw which, not already enough of a science-fiction nightmare made as it was of mashing metal parts, was full of discarded sawblades that whirled and struck sparks from one another when the bottom set glanced off the ones on the top. But instead of biting into the hapless girl, the machine seemed to inhale, and from Kanako's body a haze of glimmering light took form only to be drawn away as if by some manner of whirlpool, pulled inexorably into the machine-beast's mouth. It arched, like a predator swallowing a particularly juicy morsel, its wings twitching and glimmering as the hope it drained from its captive suffused its body.

The thing that had taken them was the size of a bear, and walked on a pair of legs made from pistons and car axles, its arms cobbled together from cast-offs from the construction equipment manufacturing plant and spliced into grabbing claws. Its posture was hunched and predatory, its eyes a set of headlights stolen from the hulk of a bus, which explained why Shoji had thought some nutcase was about to run him and Miyumi down.

The wings that jutted from its body were the only thing that didn't seem to have come from the scrapyard - a set of blade-like triple-pointed razor-sharp limbs that extended almost ten feet in either direction and which, for the last day, had been glowing with an ever more intense light as it sucked the energy from its captives.

Kanako struggled to catch her breath as the thing finally seemed to take its fill and stepped away, rumbling, shaking her head and coughing. "I knew this war between hunters and the twilight was going to crazy when I signed up, but I didn't think every other monster out there was going to try and eat us!" she wailed, sobbing a bit though by now her cheeks were try, with only the tracks left by the tears from earlier in the day.

"It...it's going to be okay," Miyumi murmured from her position sat against the wall. The sorceress could barely keep her head up, deep bags under both eyes after fully two days with little more than a few drops of water. The machine-creature had fashioned crude manacles from rebar and steel beams, driving them into the concrete wall against the back of the junkyard to pin the foursome's legs and hands in place. Even Erika's fearsome strength had managed little more than to earn a bit of wiggle room. "We will...figure something..out."

"Keep your eyes open, Miyumi!" Erika cried out. "Don't fall asleep on us! Um...what's forty times twenty-three?"

"Nnn...nine hundred and twenty," Miymui replied after a few moments' hesitation.

"Shouko are you sure you got through?" Erika asked for what had to be the hundredth time.

For the last hour Shouko had been trying to use the toe of her boot to grab purchase on an iron bar that rested by her feet, hoping she would be able to somehow lever open the rebar that held her pinned. "Uh huh," she replied. "I heard her answer. C'mon...c'monnnnnn..." With a soft squeak of triumph she managed to get her toe underneath the end of the bar and worked it up a couple inches, just enough to maneuver her feet to pin the bar between her insteps, drawing it from the ground towards her.

"Shouko, watch-" Kanako started to warn her, but a steel claw shot forwards to grab the bar and yanked it violently away from the would-be escapee. Shouko yelped, having been so utterly focused on her task she hadn't noticed the golem turning back around towards them. It leaned close, opening up its sawblade mouth and hissing steam in warning. Shouko screamed back.

"Get away from her you...you b-jerk!" a voice cried out, and the golem reared, turning with awkward grace to find whatever interloper had called it out.

[...]

The pair stood side-by-side. Shizuka's katana was already drawn and laid across her shoulders, its eldritch glow alight. Beside her, Saika had her bow summoned and a gleaming golden arrow put to the shimmering string.

"Machines are meant to make lives easier and take the weight from the backs of working people," Shizuka growled. "A malfunctioning beast like you has no right to turn such devices to the purpose of inflicting harm upon innocents."

"We won't let you hurt anyone else," Saika echoed. "We might be like night and day ourselves, but even at the bottom of the night people deserve to dream of tomorrow, and when a new day breaks, that's all that'll be left of you - a bad dream!" With that she drew her bow and fired her arrow, her aim dead-on between the mirrorknight's eyes. But when the magical projectile struck the golem, it merely shattered and vanished, and the creature's wings only seemed to glow even brighter than before as it gnashed its sawblade teeth.

"Saika no, it's tuned itself to light energy!" Kanako cried out. "You won't be able to hurt it like that!"

"So if it's full of light energy," Saika mused, glancing to her side even as the mirrorknight shook itself and began to pound towards the pair. "Do you...?"

"Don't mind if I do," the Eventide representative growled and leapt forward, long skirts billowing about her legs as she ran to meet the beast halfway, her katana striking sparks from its claws as they met and she parried, dodged, and struck. The energised blade cut into the morass of scrap that composed the mirrorknight's body, and it flashed in a brief, sudden coruscation of wild magic and drew back, snapping in bestial rage. It lunged and bit, swiping with its claws, and dealt Shizuka a glancing blow with one hand, making her cry out and drop back.

Saika was at her back a moment later, her hand reaching out for Shizuka's shoulder, and in the space of a heartbeat the wound closed as if it had never been. "I can still back you up like this," she assured the other girl, and squeezed, imparting a measure of energy.

Shizuka lifted a hand and, with a sudden burst of inhuman speed, threw out her arm and from the air exploded a set of chains as black as night that lashed out and tangled around the mirrorknight's limbs. Splaying her fingers, the Eventide warrior threw a hail of thorns equally black that sank into the golem's armored hide with no more resistance than pins through a sheet of paper. The renegade creation thrashed and lifted up into the air, letting loose an unearthly howling noise, and the glow of its wings intensified with a suddenness that left Saika with barely enough time to shout "watch out!" before searing beams of light erupted in every direction, carving through the air and leaving scorch marks where they passed.

Shizuka's chains failed and burst, but even so as the mirrorknight dropped back to the ground she was there, rushing forward with another reckless cut of her blade, carving deep into its flank, and again setting off the shudder of pain and the flashing, wild release of energy. Then the thing kicked out and caught her in the midsection, lifting her from her feet and sending her flying through the air. Saika rushed to her side when she came down, healing her once more, but rather than take advantage of the moment, the mirrorknight shuddered, and without warning its belly parted, affording them a glimpse of the diamond-shaped core housed within its torso, a perfect octohedron poised to a mirror shine.

Then the light that had sprayed forth from the golem's wings faded, replaced by a mounting inky blackness, dotted with distant pinpricks of light as if a void had opened into the night sky. Helping Shizuka to her feet, Saika leveled her bow and summoned another arrow, firing at the creature once more and this time achieving the desired result, forcing it back a step as it howled injury. "That's why you took Miyumi first," Saika realized. "Because if you'd tried to fight both her and Kanako at the same time they could have just alternated what energy they hit you with. She summoned another arrow, held it until it blazed with light, and fired, driving the berserk machine back another step.

Then, without warning, it charged, but in a heartbeat Shizuka was in front of her once more, the glow gone from her sword as she ceased to channel its enchantment, blocking steel with steel as the golem's claws screeched against the killing edge with no magical power to draw upon. Together the unlikely pair faced down the cruel machine, Shizuka's protective blade turning aside the whirling sawblades and killing claws as Saika flexed her fingers and summoned up a triad of arrows, firing all three at once into the thing and making it reel, falling to its knees.

"That's right! You’ve got nothing!" Saika cheered, pumping a fist. "You never expected a pair like us to team up, did you? Always striking at one or the other; you've got nothing when we work together!"

"Oishi," Shizuka warned.

The golem had managed to clamber up to one knee, its torso once mroe opening to display the pristine mirror of its core as the darkness faded from its wings, leaving perfectly-polished steel in its wake.

Then it closed a claw, and a long blade of fire erupted into the air.

"......o-oh," Saika whined, belatedly remembering not everyone had powers neatly categorized into light and dark.

The machine lashed out with what power it had managed to steal from Shouko, but with a snap-hiss of energy Shizuka had stepped in to block the blow, driven a foot back from the sheer strength behind it. The machine lashed out again and the pair separated as the blade came down between them.

"What do we do now? I don't know any ice spells!" Saika cried out, firing another pair of arrows that thunked into the golem's armored hide.

"We do things the old-fashioned way," Shizuka said grimly, with a cut of her blade that sliced into the mirrorknight's other flank.

"Get 'em Saika! I believe in you!" Shouko shouted.

"Take him down!" Erika chimed in.

"You can do it," Miyumi husked.

"We're all counting on you!" Kanako added her voice to the chorus.

Saika conjured one arrow after the other, putting them into the hulking brute's torso with determination, but seemed to accomplish little even as Shizuka chipped away at its limbs with her blade. This was going to take all night, and Saika didn't have the energy to keep them healed if they took more injuries. Then, as the golem twisted to try and hit Shizuka, Saika realized that its torso was still open, its core naked. It had to be nearly out of energy, she realized.

"Miyasato! Are you willing to trust me?" she cried out, hurrying once more to Shizuka's side.

"It's a little late for that question," Shizuka growled.

"The core," Saika said, and her opposite nubmer thinned her lips and nodded, setting herself.

The mirrorknight stamped its piston-legs, shook itself in animalistic fashion, and stepped forward, beginning to raise its flaming sword.

Saika shut her eyes as she summoned up every bit of energy she could conjure, her bow trembling in her hand as she fed everything into it, leaving herself utterly unguarded, but summoning up an arrow that seemingly glowed with the intensity of a risen sun. Then, as the mirrorknight's sword reached the highest point of its arc, ready to crash down in a devastating blow, she dropped one foot back, braced, and pulled, firing towards the exposed core.

Shizuka threw her hand out and one of her ink-black chains short forth, latching onto the arrow in mid-flight and trailing behind it as it soared, sinking deep into the polished mirror surface of the golem's core, spidering cracks flowing out in every direction.

The mirrorknight stumbled, frozen in the middle of its deathblow.

Shizuka closed her hand around the conjured chain, and Saika reached out to likewise grasp it, her own fingers closing on the blackened links just above Shizuka's own grip. Ice flooded her all the way up the shoulder as she touched the shadowed conjuring, but she held on tight, teeth bared.

"Twilight marks the end of day," Shizuka murmured.

"But dawn always comes again!" Saika replied, and together they focused, sending a spiraling wave of alternating light and dark energy twisting down the length of the chain that sank into the cracks created by the arrow's strike and exploded forth, shattering the golem's core into hundreds of mirrored shards.

The renegade machine let out a final howl and slowly toppled backwards, the flaming sword fading from its clawed grip as it struck the ground and shattered into its many constituent pieces, the spark of animation that had bound them into a hungering whole dispelled forevermore. As smoke rose from the hulking remnants, Shizuka straightened to lay her katana across her shoulders once more, eyes closed, and Saika couldn’t resist making a ‘v’ with the first two fingers of her freed hand, fingertips framing one eye. ------------------------

Erika had to carry Miyumi from the junkyard, Kanako patting her head and summoning what healing magics she could still call forth to stabilize her, promising food as soon as they could get home. For her part, Shouko reached for a cigarette, but in deference to Miymui's condition she slid it away again and settled for hugging Saika tightly.

Still, as they exited the place Saika found a spare moment to drag her feet, slowing to walk alongside Shizuka and offering an awkward, but heartfelt smile. "Thanks for trusting me," she said softly.

"Likewise, Oishi," Shizuka replied after a few moments, offering a faint smile in return.

"Maybe sometimes light and darkness don't always have to be in opposition, huh?" she asked softly.

"Perhaps," Shizuka allowed. A moment of silence passed between them, then, "you may keep my phone number in your contacts. In case another night should come in which neither the Court nor the Vanguard need know...quite everything."

Saika nodded. "You can add mine to yours, too. Just in case, like you say."

"Oishi."

"Miyasato."

"Hey, are you coming or what?" Shouko called from up ahead.

"Yes, just wait up!" Saika said, hustling after the others, and after a moment, Shizuka deigned to lengthen her stride as well so that she need not fall behind.

#kurze writes #Shouko #Saika #Shizuka #Completely Normal RPG #anime bullshit full throttle #showing up on the Toonami Midnight Run around 2003

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jincherie · 7 years ago

Text

Wanted | 04

pairing: Jungkook x reader genre: space!au, alien!au, alien! Jungkook, smut (future) words: 12.6k+ rating: sfw warnings: they get frisky in the forest (no smut :( ) notes: holy shit

You were a deserter, a renegade, a wanted “criminal”. It was never in your plans to crash land on that planet, and it most certainly wasn’t in your plans to fall in love with it’s handsome ruler.

masterlist | moodboard | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | complete

“Hmm, I’m not feeling that one. Try another.”

You couldn’t help the glare you sent the blonde male who was reclining across your bed like he owned it, nibbling on a fruit as he gazed over at you imperiously. You were sure Jimin could feel your annoyance from where he stood several feet away, rifling through the closet.

“Taehyung, you’re not the one helping me choose, stop talking,” you bristled, putting the dress under fire back in the closet despite your words. He’d spent the evening throwing in his unhelpful two cents as to what you should wear tonight— or rather, what you shouldn’t wear. He’d chosen his clothes a while ago and was now bored and relishing in the opportunity to stir you up a bit. As much as it bothered you, he was right, you weren’t feeling this particular dress either— but he was annoying you so you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know. From the look on his face, however, it seemed like he already did, and he was revelling in it.

“This one, y/n,” Jimin’s mellifluous tone greeted your ears and you turned to see a dress in his outstretched grasp. Your eyes lit up as you saw it.

“Ooh, pretty,” you cooed, fingers coming to caress the deep, wine-red silk. You took it from him, inspecting it closer and already liking what you saw. You’d tried on pant and shirt sets, dresses— pretty much everything by now. But this dress was probably the prettiest and most enticing one you’d seen.

It was almost a week ago that Jungkook, the Kelkie King, had invited you to watch him and Jimin spar. It was almost a week ago that you’d glimpsed a mark on his neck, something Seokjin had informed you was a Fate Mark, and you’d been left burning with curiosity ever since. Within that week, you’d explored the palace a bit more, spent some time with Seokjin and Jimin, and visited Taehyung once as he worked on the radio with the former in tow. The mechanical engineer was making some headway with the radio, which was impressive since with how completely and utterly destroyed it had been in the crash, Taehyung may as well have been building it from scratch. He estimated another couple of weeks, and he’d have it up and running. He was working hard, but you’d made him slow down and take a couple of breaks— getting back to the rest of your crew was important, but not as important as his wellbeing. He’d decided to listen and today was one of the two days he’d taken as a miniature holiday of sorts. It coincided nicely with the event that Jungkook had invited both of you to, the event that you were currently choosing what to wear to.

In short, it was a dinner. Jimin had informed you that in a couple of weeks there was a big lunar event coming up, and that even without the event it was customary that with each cycle of the moons the leaders of the towns within the kingdom would come and meet with the King over dinner, and issues, if any, would be discussed, along with the general status of the towns. It was something you’d been informed not only helped keep peace but helped ensure Jungkook could continue doing what was best for his people. You were eager to attend, curious as to how something like this usually went. There was also another part of you, however, that was eager to go because you knew Jungkook would be there, too. You tried to pretend you weren’t as stupidly excited as you were.

Dress in hand, you moved to the bathroom to try it on. The welcome sensation of the cool, silken material sliding against your skin greeted you as you pulled it on delicately, aware of the garb’s ability to stretch a little but wary of pulling too much and ripping it. It slipped up, over your hips and waist, and finally your chest, your neck and arms sliding into the allotted space with ease. You were always astonished at how the clothing managed to hug your form without clinging in an unsightly manner. You were going to miss this when you finally managed to leave.

The dress fell to the floor with slits along the sides and sported a deep halter neckline that dipped enough to reveal a liberal amount of your chest, the thick, ribbon-like straps meant to loop around your neck and double around in a choker-like fashion to tie at the back of it. It would seem that even in a dress like this, your neck and throat remained covered. You were beyond curious as to why it was that all Kelkie clothing was fashioned this way, but kept forgetting to ask Jimin or Seokjin when you had the chance.

You attempted to tie the ribbon yourself a couple of times, but ultimately gave up since the end results were not something you were proud of. Jimin and Taehyung’s eyes whipped to you as soon as you exited the bathroom, the latter choking on the large bite of fruit he’d just taken and coughing violently. You rolled your eyes— served him right for being annoying on purpose.

Jimin beamed with pride, hands clapping together. “Excellent! It looks just as good as I envisioned!”

You blushed slightly, holding up the ribbons with your hands behind your neck so the top didn’t fall down and you didn’t flash them. “Can you help tie it? I can’t do it.”

When Jimin nodded and beckoned you closer, you moved over, turning your back to him and waiting for him to take the ribbons so you could move your hair out of the way.

Taehyung chortled. “I can’t believe you’re wearing a dress.”

You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’ve seen me in a dress before!”

At the befuddled expression that crossed his face you sighed, feeling Jimin take the ribbons from your grasp. “You saw me at Namjoon’s sister’s wedding? Actually, I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were drunk off your face.”

Taehyung hummed, eyes glazing slightly as he remembered the night in question, and probably the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed before blacking out. “It was a night of celebration.”

You rolled your eyes, contemplating a response as you grasped your hair and moved it aside. You were distracted by the soft gasp that escaped Jimin as the nape of your neck was revealed. You wondered what he was looking at, but Taehyung was apparently way ahead of you.

“Oh, that mark on the back of her neck?” he queried, meeting Jimin’s gaze over your shoulder. “We don’t know what that is. It just sort of… appeared, out of nowhere, a couple of months ago— around the time we fled the garrison, actually. I guess we haven’t really had time to question it.”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgement, and you peered over your shoulder to catch his facial expression. It was a peculiar combination of pensive and shocked, and it made you wonder what exactly was going on in his mind that made his thoughts transfer into such expressions on his face.

He seemed to shake himself out of his stupor, dark eyes meeting yours and lips curving in a smile that, quite honestly, spelled trouble. You were instantly wary.

“How curious,” the Kelkie commented, mischief glimmering in his gaze. Your own eyes narrowed, ready to question him when he looped the ribbon around your neck and tied it at the back with a certain finesse that rendered you speechless and, as a result of your stupor, completely forgetful of what you had been going to ask. The remainder of the ribbons fell down your back, tickling the skin where it was bare. “There you go, perfect. You look good.”

Taehyung snorted, squinting at you playfully. “Good? She looks amazing— are you sure you’re y/n?”

You threw a brush at him, the blonde cackling as he dodged it and inevitably choking on the large bite of fruit as he did so. You shook your head— of all the people you could have gotten stuck on a foreign planet with, did it have to be Taehyung?

x x x

Apparently it did. You didn’t know if anyone else could have charmed and befriended an entire room of aliens so quickly and so effortlessly. Within minutes of entering the room, Taehyung had grinned and garnered the interest of every single new face in the vicinity. You watched in awe as he flittered about the room, introducing himself and making friends. It was incredible to see him at work— you were now more sure than ever that no one could resist your best friend, Kim Taehyung, even if they wanted to.

All of the town leaders were already present, and Seokjin had arrived not too long after Jimin, Taehyung and yourself. The only one remaining was Jungkook, and Seokjin had said he wasn’t too far behind. In the meantime, you trailed after Jimin since Taehyung was lost to the world for now. The short male guided you around, introducing you to the leaders and vice versa. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but every leader you met was completely agreeable, friendly and eager to make your acquaintance— you guessed that they hadn’t seen a human before, and the fact that they were now seeing two in one night must have been pretty incredible for them. You got the feeling they were eager to learn as much as they could while they still had the opportunity.

You were currently talking to a tall, slim Kelkie that went by the name Yugyeom and was the delegate from a town not too far from the palace. Much like the King, he was youthful, however he had a certain air of mischief about him that you’d only glimpsed around Jungkook. His eyes were dark, meeting your own with a pleased glint, and you noted that not only did his raven hair compliment him well, but he had a cute mark beneath his eye, nestled amongst the luminescent freckles smattered over his cheekbones and nose. He too wore the same silken garb with a high neckline, and you had to admit that it suited him well.

Even so, a not-so-quiet voice in the back of your mind noted that there was someone you knew that suited it better.

You were quick to dismiss that errant thought, resisting the urge to physically shake your head as another leader, someone named Youngjae, introduced himself to you. You smiled at him, returning the sentiment and providing your name, grinning wider as his markings flared a pleasant, contented violet. As you spoke you couldn’t help but catch sight of Jimin from the corner of your eye, watching discreetly as he sidled up to Yugyeom and leaned up to whisper something in his ear. The taller male straightened, eyes shooting wide and flying over to you, freckles blooming bright blue, before Jimin could smack his arm and stop him— which he proceeded to do anyway to get him to stop looking. Yugyeom leaned to whisper something to Jimin, rubbing his arm where the shorter male had hit him, but before you could continue to surreptitiously peep at whatever they were doing from the corner of your eye the doors swung open and only moments later there was an amused voice sounding from behind your conversation partner.

“Ah, Youngjae. It’s good to see you again.”

At once your spine shot ramrod straight, the softest of gasps catching in your throat. Your mark tingled, something you assumed to be a side effect of the absolute fright you’d just gotten, and you forced your gaze to turn over Youngjae’s shoulder at the King’s rapidly approaching figure.

Jungkook looked just as good as you remembered and better. The silken set he wore today was a deep, glimmering obsidian. There was no coloured undertone, only the richest of blacks, contrasted sharply by the silver embroidery lining the edges of the clothing. It was a hot evening, and so the King had opted for a sleeveless shirt, arms decorated with the engraved silver bands and rings that set your heart on an unsteady beat and your breath aquiver.

It shouldn’t be allowed for someone to look that good, a distant part of you decided.

Until this point Jungkook’s gaze had only been on the male before you, and he hadn’t realised you were there behind him. You could tell the exact moment his eyes fell upon you.

His entire form seemed to freeze, stuttering in his step, his eyes widening and breath halting in his lungs. The galaxy of luminescent markings that had graced his skin a contented blue instantly burned a bright, bright pink before shifting into a deeper burgundy, a wine-red that were it not for its almost imperceptible violet undertone would have perfectly matched the colour of your dress. His gaze burned your skin where it travelled over the length of your figure the dress did nothing to hide. Your heart thrummed, no doubt loud enough and heavy enough in its frantic beats that the Kelkie nearby could hear it, and your tongue darted to wet your lips. The King’s dark eyes focused instantly on the movement and the colour of his marks burned deeper than you thought was possible.

You were broken from your trance by an amused sound from Youngjae as he watched the entire event transpire. Your cheeks instantly flushed, burning as you shot the male a sheepish grin. Jungkook was quick to recover, expression shifting back to one of amicability, but the colour of his marks remained, dimmed only slightly against the warm tone of his skin.

“It is good to see you once more, Your Majesty,” Youngjae spoke, unable to his the amused edge to his words.

“I see you’ve met one of our lovely human guests,” Jungkook voiced as he continued closer on his original path, an almost imperceptible tremor to his tone that your ears nearly— nearly missed.

Youngjae smiled, gushing excitedly about the things he’d learnt of you, and you were carried into conversation once more, the only thing tethering you to the stark heat of reality being the heady, molten burn of Jungkook’s ceaseless gaze against your skin.

The evening progressed and sooner than you thought you were moving to sit at the long, u-shaped table in a large hall with towering ceilings and chandeliers carved from large crystals that illuminated from within. As everyone seemed to take a designated seat, you began to stress slightly— there was nothing indicating where to sit, and you had no idea where you were meant to plant yourself.

Jungkook caught your silent floundering and peered over, hand grasping a chair beside his own at the head of the table as his mouth opened. Before he could even utter a word there was a hand brushing your arm and your attention was brought to a grinning Yugyeom, a suspiciously smiling Jimin a foot or so behind him.

“There’s a space here,” he tugged you over with bright eyes and a brighter smile, pulling out the chair for you; it was at the end of one of the longer parts of the table, probably as far from Jungkook as you could get. “Sit next to me.”

You couldn’t help the way your gaze momentarily flew back to Jungkook, and were surprised to see Jimin pulling out the chair besides the king and plopping down happily. The look on Jungkook’s face was almost comical, and if you weren’t in a somewhat public place right now you probably would have laughed aloud.

You took the seat besides Yugyeom, noting the mischievous curve of his lips and the sly gleam in his dark eyes to ponder at a later time, and allowed yourself to be swept into the process of the evening.

The leaders spoke, and Jungkook listened. When the meals were brought out Jungkook closed his eyes for a second, reminding you oddly of a human tradition you knew of, before reopening them once more and at the smile gracing his lips everyone began to eat at once. As per usual, you were in awe at the food— you didn’t know what the hell it was, but it was good, and it graced your tastebuds in a way you doubted anything else ever could.

The leaders took turns reporting to the King on their respective towns, filling him in on the people’s happiness levels, trade and economy, and agriculture for the towns further from the palace that focused on farming. Your eyes were often drawn to Jungkook, even as you listened and ate, and it was because of your constant gaze on him that you noticed him glancing over to you every so often. His marks were in a constant state of change, wavering from soft blue when he listened to the leaders speak, to the same deep red from before when his eyes fell upon your form.

He seemed embarrassed each time you caught him looking, if the petal pink blossoming on his cheeks beneath his marks was anything to go by. He was always quick to move his gaze back to the speaker at hand, and it made your heart squeeze excitedly each time you caught him.

A Kelkie named Mark was taking his time informing the King of the recent bountiful harvests that came as a result of a generous rain season, when you felt a nudge at your side. You turned to see Yugyeom grinning at you, and caught Jimin peering over from the head of the table.

“Is Kilkhea very different from Earth?” he queried, hand resting against yours on the table— his skin was much cooler than yours, a pleasant contrast to the heat of the day lingering in the air. You couldn’t help the instinctive skip of your heart at the touch.

“Well, yes and no,” you responded, thinking about how to best answer. “Kilkhea is very warm and humid, and there a places on earth like that too— but there are also places on Earth where it’s much colder, and dryer.”

Yugyeom’s mouth fell open slightly as he nodded in understanding. “Does it look very different?”

You smiled at him, the back of your neck tingling as you felt a certain gaze on you once more. “I haven’t been to Earth in a long time, but from what I remember it’s almost completely different! The plants, foliage, flowers— everything is so beautiful here. The way they illuminate the night, and how they glow different colours… I love it. I’ve never seen anything quite so mesmerising, and breathtaking.”

Yugyeom listened eagerly as you spoke, smiling pleasantly. “You’re a fan of the flora?”

You nodded, spearing a piece of meat with your utensil. “Yes! On earth, everything is just green, and brown, and the flowers can be pretty, and different colours, but not much else,” you hummed in thought. “We only have one moon too.”

The tall male gasped, genuine surprise filtering over his face. “Only one?!” he echoed, hand falling over yours. “How do you have festivals and events like the Lunar Festivals?”

At the confused tilt of your head, Yugyeom explained. “It’s an event that happens every couple of years where our three moons align, and sometimes it coincides with another event and the planet’s shadow passes over them. The first event is called a Lunar Union, and the second is called Lunar Null— the Lunar Null is much rarer, but there’s actually one happening in two weeks time.”

Realisation coursed through you— ah, that must have been the lunar event Jimin mentioned earlier. Yugyeom grasped your hand in his— you could feel the stare burning into you intensify at the touch— and shot you a winning smile that tripped your heart up two beats.

“If you are interested, I would be happy to take y—”

“Yugyeom,” It was the King’s voice that cut the male off, both of you turning towards where he sat at the head of the table. Your eyes widened slightly at the deep, deep green of Jungkook’s marks, and the stern clench to his jaw that paired with the darker tone of his eyes. A smile, strained in nature, tugged the King’s lips. You caught Jimin looking rapidly back and forth between Jungkook, yourself and Yugyeom, a sly turn to his smile. “How are things in your domain, down by the river?”

Yugyeom blinked, before he beamed at the King, his hand leaving yours to grasp his utensil and spear a piece of meat. “They have been excellent, Your Majesty! There was ample rain in the monsoon season, the river is flourishing and so is the town.”

And just like that, the dinner resumed. You continued eating, ignoring the satisfied look Jimin had adopted after that little event and trying not to stare at Jungkook like you had been before. It’s not like you could really help it— he looked incredible, your eyes were drawn to him much like they would be a fine artwork in a gallery. Everything about him drew you to him, and tonight it was like it was magnified tenfold.

Yugyeom continued as he had been for the rest of the dinner, a tentative touch here, a sly smile there— you didn’t get the sense he was being malicious, but you definitely knew he was up to something, and if the furtive glances shared with the King’s shorter advisor meant anything, then it had to do with Jimin too. A sneaking suspicion told you it was related to the way Jimin was monitoring each and every one of Jungkook’s reactions to you and Yugyeom, but you couldn’t be bothered trying to decipher it when there were more important things at hand— namely the delicious looking dessert that had been brought out and placed before you.

By the time the evening event was drawing to a close, you were full and very curious as to what Jimin and Yugyeom were up to. As the town leaders rose from their seats at the table and bid the King farewell, you witnessed the two of them whisper to the other once more. It was kind of funny, since it reminded you of the way you and Taehyung would cause mischief as cadets, back when you had free time and your biggest concern was making it through morning training. Seokjin was at your side with Taehyung in tow before you could ponder it much longer, his eyes warm and holding a certain sense of mirth as they greeted yours.

“Are you ready to return to your rooms?” the taller male asked, and at your affirmation he grinned, leading you from the hall, Taehyung gushing to you about the friends he’d made as you went. The last thing you saw before the dark walls of the hall greeted your eyes was the heat of Jungkook’s gaze as he watched you leave, eyes following you the entire way out and his marks a deep, wine-red.

xxx

The air filtering through the open window was, for a change, cool, the sheer gossamer curtains billowing lightly from its gentle flow. The breeze may have been cool, but the air still retained some of the warmth of the day. It was a peculiar sensation, your room bathed in the cool light of the room and the glowing crystal beside you bed, but the air still warm against your heated skin. As much as you admired the deep red dress you’d worn to the dinner, you’d been glad to slip it off and pull on the singlet and shorts you’d been provided as sleepwear. You were praising whoever invented the satin-esque material as it slid against your torso and the top of your thighs, offering some much-appreciated cool relief.

You’d returned to your rooms not long ago, maybe an hour at the most, and had only managed to get rid of Taehyung maybe ten or so minutes ago. You’d had to literally shoo him out the door and down the hall so he’d stop pestering you; you could listen to all his gushing another time. For now, you wanted to relax, and that started with getting changed and ridding your personal space of Taehyung.

The dinner had finished quite late, closer to midnight than you had imagined, and the three moons that orbited the planet sat high in the sky by the time you’d had a chance to slow down and look out the window. The darkness that settled beneath the foliage outside your room reminded you of the last time you’d noticed the night, and your thoughts were taken momentarily to the garrison.

You didn’t know what they were planning, what they were going to do next— if anything. As far as they were concerned you still had the important object they were seeking, the kelkite, and you knew how badly they wanted it, needed it, for their plans. You knew the fact the Kelkie had an accord with the Intergalactic Union was one of the only things stopping them from sending in large forces to retrieve you and the object you stole, but you also wouldn’t put it past them to send another assassin in anyway. They were desperate to reclaim what had been taken from their grasp, after all, and desperate men were dangerous men.

It was a knock that broke you from your thoughts, the sound somewhere between urgent and leisurely. You turned, curious and slightly alarmed, wondering who in the heavens could be knocking on your door so close to midnight. The polished stone beneath your feet was, thankfully, cool to the touch as you strode over to the door quietly. Against what was probably your better judgement, you opened it straight away.

Jungkook flinched, caught wide-eyed as he moved to knock again, freckles tinting pink. Surprise filled you at the sight of the King before your door so late at night, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was here for.

You couldn’t fight the smile that tugged your lips at how flustered the King seemed as you cocked your hip and leant against the doorframe, gazing at him expectantly. You waited as his eyes roamed your form, clad only in small silken shorts and a singlet of the same material and make. Curiously, the King’s marks fluttered to that same deep, wine-red you’d seen earlier, the same colour that was tinged with an undertone of violet. You had to wonder what emotion that lovely colour betrayed.

“Can I help you with something?” you queried, unable to help the slightly amused lilt to your voice. Jungkook’s eyes, with the same burning intensity you’d felt all night, shifted up to meet your own. He smiled, and in its sincerity it was one of the most endearing things you’d ever seen.

“But of course, little human,” his voice graced your ears and the reaction of your body was instantaneous; heart skipping its usual beats before fluttering excitedly against your ribcage, your breath threatening to catch in your throat as your lungs constricted slightly and your tummy was alight with the tentative brushes of thousands of butterflies. “I wouldn’t bother you at such an hour were it not for good reason.”

Your curiosity piqued, you found yourself leaning forward slightly. “Oh? What would this good reason be?”

He faltered for a moment, the smattering of freckles over his form flushing pink. “Well,” he began, gaze averting for a moment and allowing you the luxury of breathing. “I overheard, at the meeting this evening, when you were talking to Yugyeom…”

You waited, watching as he considered how to word what he wanted to say. His doe-like eyes moved to meet yours once more and yet again you were trapped. “I overheard, that you are fond of the flora on this planet.”

Instantly your face lit with a bright smile. “Yes! It’s beautiful, I really do love it.”

Jungkook seemed relieved, a soft breath escaping him before a large smile of his own tugged his lips, excitement welling within him and spilling forth through the light in his eyes. His hand moved to grasp your own, turning and tugging you after him as he led you away from your room. “Excellent! Come, little human. I have something to show you.”

Curiosity burned at you as you allowed yourself to be swept along after him, mesmerised by the sheer excitement— childish, almost, in its nature— glimmering in the depths of his dark eyes. He led you through halls, around corners and through doorways until you were rapidly approaching a large set of crystal doors that lead to a balcony. It was only now that you remembered your state of dress, turning your gaze to see the King wearing his usual style of clothing, with the addition of a thin coat that looked more like a dressing gown of sorts. You were surprised he could wear it, considering how easily you could get hot in the night, before you remembered that Kelkie had a lower body temperature than humans, and so it was probably easier for them to get cold.

“Jungkook,” you voiced, tugging his hand lightly to get his attention as he pushed the crystal door open. He immediately halted, turning to you with wide eyes. You offered a soft smile, gesturing to your body and the short, thin clothing adorning it. You were unsure what laid outside those doors, and whether or not you were going to be seeing people. “My clothes…”

The Kelkie King flushed pink, a soothing colour against his warm, bronzed tone, and his marks followed suit. His mouth dropped open as he realised your problem and he dropped your hand to remove his coat without a second thought. You could feel heat gracing your own cheeks as he slipped his arms from the cloth, turning and draping it over your own shoulders, his fingers lingering against your throat and collarbones for the most tantalising of split-seconds.

“There,” he hummed, pleased by the sight of you in his coat. “Now you won’t get cold, and no one will see y…”

He cut himself off, cheeks burning, and reclaimed your hand with a soft smile before continuing on his original path outside the palace through the crystal doors. His thumb ran over your knuckles and he spoke as he led you off the balcony and into the forest that lay beyond. You almost struggled to keep your attention on him with such absolute, natural beauty around you. The mesmerising, luminescent glow of the plants, the deep blues and violets of the shadows beneath their leaves, and the cool cerulean glow cast upon your surroundings by the three moons hung high in the sky— you didn’t know if you’d ever find another planet so heart-wrenchingly, stunningly beautiful.

“There’s a certain place I know,” Jungkook said, and for a moment you were distracted by the sight of the muscles in his back working beneath the material of his shirt. “I think… you will like it a lot. It is very beautiful, very serene. I often go there to think, and relax.”

You were honestly touched that Jungkook was doing this in the first place, but hearing that he was sharing a place he coveted, a place precious to him, a part of him, with you… you couldn’t calm the quivering beats of your heart, the molten heat that seemed to make itself at home in your cheeks.

“You seem to have good taste,” you smiled when he looked over his shoulder at you. “I’m sure I’ll like it.”

Jungkook’s marks seared bright, blossom pink, his cheeks suffering a similar fate as his chest seemed to swell with pride of sorts. He didn’t respond, his grasp on your hand tightening ever so slightly as he turned back and continued leading you through the forest that took your breath away. You walked a while, maybe ten minutes at the most, with conversation sprinkled across the way, when suddenly Jungkook stopped before you. There was a glow in the air before him, from a source you couldn’t see but could tell wasn’t the moons. He spun, grasping both your hands in his with unadulterated excitement, before his actions seemed to catch up to him and he faltered slightly.

Even when they were coyly flicking from your own to your surroundings, Jungkook’s large, dark eyes were intense in their own right. A part of you, a large part of you, wanted to explore their depths, upturn each and every secret and covet the emotions there, the desires there, as your own. You tried to ignore that feeling, because with each time you met this boy’s eyes, each day you spent in his care, it grew a little bigger, a little stronger, and a little closer to swallowing you whole.

“This is it,” Jungkook’s voice was soft against your ears, but still clear over the sounds around you from a forest that was alive in the night. His teeth sank into his lip and you tried, you tried not to focus on it. “This is the place. I hope you like it.”

With that, he stepped aside so he no longer obscured your view, and at once your breath was stolen from your lungs.

It was stunning.

A lagoon, a pond of sorts, lay before your eyes in one of the most ethereal sights you were sure you would ever see. It glimmered and glowed, inky depths broken by a smattering of luminescent turquoise and cerulean. The surface was still, a perfect reflection of the spread of stars decorating the skies above, but within its depths there was movement— colours shifting, twirling, swirling. Shapes shimmered and wavered, the banks of the pond lined with luminescent mint vines and the surface sprinkled sparingly with violet lilies covered in luminous navy markings, the pads beneath them deep greens. You hadn’t realised the trance you’d slipped into in the face of such raw, untouched beauty, until Jungkook’s soft tone was gracing your ears once more.

“The stars in the pond,” he said, voice much closer to your ear than you remembered it being. “They’re a rare bioluminescent algae, one that the fish adore.”

You realised belatedly that was what the shapes where— fish, beautiful and decorative with long, billowing fins that trailed behind them like ribbon behind a dancer.

Jungkook grasped your hand once more, leading you over to a well-worn space on the ground, the fine soil much softer against your feet and cool to the touch. He sank down, tugging you with him and delivering you with a wide-eyed, imploring look you couldn’t have denied even if you wanted to. You sat beside him, your feet just inches shy of the pond edge when you extended your legs.

For a while, you didn’t speak. There was an understanding between you, both of you simply sitting and admiring the beauty before you, the ambiance and serenity such a sight elicited within your very soul, and the comfort of the other’s presence. You couldn’t say how long you sat there, watching, mesmerised, as the fishes danced in the pond, twirling and tangling around each other before splitting and darting to find another partner. You couldn’t recall a time you’d felt so relaxed, so at ease, so utterly soothed.

“What do you think?”

A soft querie, so gentle against your ears, that reminded you of the fact you hadn’t told Jungkook what you thought of the place yet. You’d been too distracted, too entranced.

“I love it,” for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak above a whisper. Your eyes remained on the pond, and you could feel that his did too. “It’s beautiful.”

Jungkook hummed, a melodic sound, a controlled sound against the gentle wilderness gracing your ears. “I come here to think,” he repeated his words from earlier. “It’s calm, and soothing… It soothes me.”

You could see why. Mouth falling open as you prepared to ask another question, you turned your gaze to him and halted as it met his own. At once it was as though you entered your own pocket of time, the pond, the forest, the skies, and even the palace in the distance all inconsequential when you were face to face with him, like this.

The air that had been brewing between you all evening thickened, tensed and charged, and you could feel it coming to a head as you finally lost yourself in his gaze— and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Already so close to him, his face lowered and something soft brushed your cheek, his thumb, palm cupping your jaw, and you had a split-second more to gaze upon the beauty of him before his lips were on yours and your eyes fluttered closed.

Your heart raced against your ribs, Jungkook kissing you with such—such something, everything, that it stole the breath straight from your lungs and returned it in the span of a heartbeat. Something burned within you, set alight by the soft touch of his lips against your own, the searing press of his mouth against yours and the brush of his firm chest against your breasts. You parted, hardly a second left to catch your breath before his hand slipped to the back of your head and his fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of your neck and you were lost in him once more.

There was urgency behind his kiss this time, lips pressing and moving firmly, eagerly against your own in his hunger to devour more of you. His mouth parted, tongue brushing the sensitive flesh of your own and you trembled, the softest, slightest of wines escaping you as you allowed him entrance. His body shifted, hovering over your own as he rested his weight on his elbow and his free hand found your waist, slipping beneath the material of your shirt and causing a shudder to roll down the length of your spine at the cool sensation and the way it made your stomach flip.

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth as your hands found his hips and your thumbs pressed into the flesh, heart soaring as you relished the low moan it elicited from him. Your fingers slid against the smooth of his skin, pushing beneath the material of his shirt and clutching at his sides as he pressed your back to the ground gently and shifted above you.

Your mind was spinning, surprising amounts of pleasure thrumming beneath your skin at his every touch, his every noise, his every shift against you. His teeth found your lip and you couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped you, or the way it melted into a soft moan. His hold on you tightened possessively, hips pressing deliciously against your own as your thighs parted for him.

The noises you were both making only served to feed the fires blazing through your veins, hands searching, clutching, grasping for something to hold onto, something to tether you to the here and now as Jungkook kissed you so deeply your mind threatened to erase everything else. Your fingers pressed, kneading, over his hips and up his sides, down his back from his shoulders until your fingertips encountered something other than smooth, cool skin. The tentative brushes of your fingers over the peculiar, slippery sensation and the strange indentation in Jungkook’s skin were interrupted as he moaned against your lips, hand rising up beneath your shirt for his nimble fingers to brush over your nipple and bare the underside of your breast to the cool air as your shirt caught on his wrist. You gasped, grasp tightening reflexively and fingers pressing as a result into the slits they’d discovered lining Jungkook’s lower back. A sudden, loud moan tore from the King’s throat, a rough gasp catching on his next breath as his hips rolled against yours and the resulting flush of pleasure had your head swimming and your own whine entering the air to entwine with his.

The movement jerked your thoughts back to the present, and all at once reality seemed to catch up to you. Seokjin’s words echoed in your head, out of place but a stark reminder—Kelkie have Fate Marks, Kelkie have Fated Ones… Kelkie have soul mates.

Jungkook was a King, and he had a soulmate, someone he was fated— destined— to be with, and here you were seducing him on the forest floor. It was like you’d been doused in icy water, something crumpling in your chest as you pulled back, the both of you gasping for breath as Jungkook rested his forehead against your own.

Your teeth found your swollen lip before your eyes opened and met his heady gaze, catching the question in their depths.

“You have a soulmate,” was all you could whisper in answer. Jungkook’s gaze remained trained on you despite the shock reflected in his irises at your words. “You have a Fated One. We can’t…”

Contrary to what you’d expected as a reaction to your words, Jungkook smiled softly. His head dipped, face pressing against the skin of your neck, and he adjusted you both so you were both reclining, his arm around your waist.

“Kelkie are free to take lovers before the emergence of their Fate Mark,” Jungkook murmured against your skin, his words bringing further heat to your flushed cheeks as he slipped the hand that had been on your chest lower, fixing your shirt as he went, to rest his palm securely over your tummy, fingers tracing patterns into your skin. You shivered. “But beside that, in my case, you don’t… need to worry.”

Your head tilted questioningly, but his face remained nuzzled comfortably against your neck. He let out a sigh, a moment passing before he continued, “I’m sure Seokjin let it slip by now if you already know about our Fated Ones, but I got my mark early. That… wasn’t the only thing different to how it usually goes.”

“We know our Fated Ones by our matching marks and an inexplicable draw to each other, but I… my mark does not match that of anyone in my kingdom, anyone on this planet. My mark is different in nature to the usual for Kelkie. No one was drawn to the palace, to me, as it had happened for my parents before me, and their parents before them,” Jungkook was silent a moment, the slightest quaver present in his tone. “I’m the very first Kelkie to take the throne so young, to get the mark so young, and I’m the very first Kelkie without a Fated One.”

It took several long moments for his words to catch up to you, your grip on him tightening once they finally did. A soft gasp fell from your lips. “You don’t…? Jungkook…”

He didn’t say anything more, merely humming against your neck and relishing in the feel of you in his arms, the comfort you provided, the warmth. You didn’t speak— you couldn’t find anything to say.

You simply held him in your arms, soothing him where he lay, and together the two of you relaxed against the other until the first inklings of dawn began to peep over the horizon, and you made your way back to the palace, hand in hand.

x x x x x x x x

A week passed since the night of the dinner, the night you’d ventured outside the palace to the pond with Jungkook. Nothing else had happened, but the two of you were closer now— you felt it when you met his gaze across the room, when he offered a smile that had happiness curling in your gut and your heart swelling. You thought that Seokjin and Jimin might have noticed it too, if their sly, knowing expressions when they caught you looking at each other were anything to go by.

The lunar event Jimin had told you of, the Lunar Null, was set to happen in a week’s time. With each night you watched as the moons grew closer and closer together, feeling a certain anticipation build up within you for the day they would align. You were extremely curious about the event, and when Jimin had mentioned there was a festival in each town on the night it occurred to celebrate it, you couldn’t deny the urge that rose within you to go and see it for yourself.

You were currently doing your nightly stargazing, or rather moongazing, leaning against the large window in your room to peer up at the glimmering skies. Honestly, it was late, and you should have been asleep, but your mind had been whirring nonstop all week— a new thought crossed your mind every two seconds and you’d follow down that train until you reached a dead end, at which point another thought would make itself known and the process would begin all over again. It was strange for you, since you were historically someone who hadn’t ever really had trouble sleeping, and now here you were unable to rest, at the mercy of your thoughts and overactive mind.

Being awake longer meant there was more time to become aware of your body’s needs, the ones usually masked at this time by sleep. You’d been thirsty for a while, but had ignored it for the most part. It was getting to be a fairly prominent sensation, however, and you finally couldn’t take the dry, sticky feeling in your mouth any longer. An inspection of the water bottle by your bed told you your stores were empty, and so with a sigh you left your room, heading in the direction of the kitchens. You’d become familiar with the palace over the weeks, but the kitchens were one of the only places you knew how to find. As soon as Seokjin had told you their whereabouts you’d made yourself very acquainted with the path to and from that side of the palace.

The walk there was, expectedly, uneventful. The halls were quiet and barren, something you attributed to the late hour at which you were making the trip. You found yourself easily becoming lost in your thoughts once more along the way, succumbing to the whirling mess that had been overtaking your mind the past week.

If you were being honest, the topic of your deep musings was almost always Jungkook.

How he looked at you, the way he made you feel, how tenderly he treated you, touched you— and what he’d said that night, what you’d done. You were overwhelmed by it all, trying to sort though it bit by bit and how you felt. It was something that at this stage, you honestly didn’t know.

Sooner than you’d anticipated, you reached the large door marking the entrance to the kitchens, and without a second thought you were pushing it open, taking two steps into the large room before freezing as your eyes fell upon a figure seated at one of the long, large tables.

The very object of your tumultuous thoughts, the Kelkie King, sat towards the end of the bench, head resting on his palm and gaze directed down at the table. His markings were a deep, murky blue scattered against his golden skin, and there was a glass of water and a dessert by his elbow, looking sad with only small few chunks taken out of it before it was seemingly left unwanted and discarded.

He was so taken in his own musings he didn’t even notice you were there until you slipped onto the seat next to him, tone soft, “Jungkook?”

He started, stiffening where he sat on the bench, gaze shooting to you— but you noticed even when his eyes met yours, his marks didn’t shift far from that deep, swimming blue. A part of you realised instantly that something was off with him.

“y/n,” he nearly stuttered, blinking at you. You knew something was wrong if he didn’t use the nickname he was so fond of— you didn’t think you’d ever heard him call you by name before now.

You watched him silently for a moment, analysing his features, the depths of his dark eyes that seemed to swim with emotions too deep and murky for you to make out. It would seem you weren’t the only one kept awake by your thoughts this night.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned, deciding it was better to get straight to the point. Jungkook seemed alarmed you’d picked up on his mood so quickly. “You seem… down. And your marks, I’ve never seen them this colour before.”

Jungkook’s cheeks tinged pink at your last comment, the fact you’d paid attention to him enough to notice his marks so much, but he couldn’t muster a smile. A soft exhale left him, and his gaze turned back to the table— only now did you notice the large locket sitting upon the dark wood, opened and displaying a portrait of two dark-haired Kelkie and a child in their loving hold. It didn’t take you long to realise that the child was Jungkook, and the adults—

“My parents,” he mumbled, blinking at the portrait. “They have been gone a while but… I miss them.”

You waited patiently, hand resting beside his on the table, for him to continue at his own pace. You looked to the people in the locket, his parents, and couldn’t help but note just how much he looked like them. Just like Jungkook, his parents had been beautiful. You couldn’t help the part of you that wondered what had happened to them.

“I usually do not think about them so much, miss them so much, but with the Lunar Null so close, in only a week’s time….” Jungkook’s teeth found his lip as he blinked once more, shoulders hunching slightly. “It is a powerful event. The last time there was a Lunar Null, was when my parents…”

He halted, turning to you, a smile tugging his lips that was absent of any humour. “You are probably confused, right? You do not know what happened to my parents.”

“A little, yeah,” you admitted, placing your hand on his arm and offering a soft look that you hoped conveyed your understanding. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Jungkook shrugged, gaze returning to the locket for a moment before his eyes slid closed. “It is fine. There is no reason you should not know.”

You waited, silent as he let out a soft breath before his eyes reopened and sought yours once more— the inklings of pain swimming in their depths gripped your heart firmly and threatened to crumple it in its grasp. His voice trembled almost indiscernibly as he spoke, “Kelkie are all linked in some way, through a dormant hive mind type of method. The rulers, my bloodline, are even more so. When the heir comes of age, they take the throne and a process is set in motion. It happens over years, but when the heir comes of age they begin to grow more powerful, drawing this energy from their own parents. Eventually, the parents waste away. It is the way things are.”

Your mind reeled as he continued. “Kelkie come of age at twenty. We receive our Fate Mark at twenty-five, the final telling of our entry into adulthood.”

He dragged his finger over the wood of the table, nail scraping slightly and his brows furrowing. “You have probably noticed by now, probably heard, that things have not ever gone for me the way they have for others. As a child, the court called me a prodigy. I completed my training, my schooling, with flying colours. I excelled in combat and using my abilities. I used to be proud of it, but possessing so much so early…”

His brows furrowed further. “Everything happened earlier for me. I did not come of age at twenty, but at sixteen. I did not get my Fate Mark at twenty-five, but five years before I should have.”

His hand came to subconsciously rub his throat where it was covered by the material of his shirt. “Everything was different, for me. When I came of age, a Lunar Null was set to transpire only a week from the day. It is powerful alone, but combined with the nature of my already hastened growth… my parents did not last years. They wasted away within the week, a-and I…”

Jungkook’s words caught in his throat, teeth finding his lip once more as he blinked down at the locket, unable to push the words from his tongue. Your thoughts meshed, connecting all he’d told you so far and your heart ached deep in your chest.

“You were left alone, with more power than you’d ever handled before, and no one to help you, to teach you what to do with it,” you finished softly, grip on his arm tightening as he turned to you with wide eyes, surprised reflected in their depths. He nodded.

“Seokjin and Jimin have been with me since we were children,” he started, holding your gaze a moment before it returned forward. “But it feels like… the fates, the universe, have destined me for a lonely path. My parents were gone sooner than they should have been, I am the first Kelkie without a soulmate, and Seokjin and Jimin are my friends, my brothers, but… it’s not the same.”

He sniffled, muffling a soft curse and giving you a somewhat sheepish look. In his moment of weakness the accent that had been fading in strength came back almost in full force. “I am not usually so weak, but next week will be the first Lunar Null since that time and… it has brought up a lot of memories, I suppose. I miss… what I used to have, and I think… I miss what I can’t have, what I won’t ever have, too.”

You didn’t have words for how badly you felt for him, for the tremendous ache in your heart or the sting in your eyes. You hadn’t ever gotten so emotional over someone else’s situation before, but for some reason, when it was with Jungkook, it felt normal.

You lifted your arm around his broad shoulders, resting your cheek on the one closest to you and pushing your side against his. He turned to face you, surprised.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you murmured, rubbing his arm softly. “I’m sorry. I mean, I was an orphan, but knowing your parents so long only to have them disappear from your life so suddenly… I’m sorry. I don’t think anyone really deserves that.”

You could feel the slight tremble in his limbs as you comforted him, continuing when he didn’t speak. “But everything that has happened to you has helped you grow, you’re free to do whatever you want, become whatever you want—already you’ve become someone remarkable. I think your parents would no doubt be proud of you. You work hard, you’re a good ruler, you’re just and fair— I mean you could have killed me and Taehyung when we crashed here, but you gave us a chance… you’re kind. There’s a lot to like about you, Jungkook, and I think your parents would be proud of how far you’ve come and who you’ve become without them.”

You could feel his hand come to clutch the shirt at your waist as you continued, voice soft as it graced the air, “And the universe can try and give you a lonely life, but you’ll always have people around you that care for you, and love you. Even if you feel lonely, you won’t ever be alone.”

Jungkook sniffled slightly, turning so he could bring you into his hold more, arms curling around you and his face pressing against your neck and shoulder. “What did I ever do to get such praise from you, little human?”

His tone was still shaky, but you could tell he was trying to lighten the mood a bit, searching for a way to express his gratitude since he didn’t know how. You smiled, chin resting on his shoulder. “You’re always worthy of praise, Jungkook.”

His grip on you tightened for a moment, and you could feel his back trembling against your arms as he exhaled shakily. It was silent as the both of you revelled in the other’s touch; the warmth, the comfort your embrace brought. It was minutes later when Jungkook’s voice sounded against your ear once more.

“Thank you, y/n.”

You smiled. You’d happily comfort him again. There was a part of you that ached and wailed at his sadness, that yearned for his happiness, and with each day, each moment you spent with him and in his arms—

That part of you grew a little stronger.

x x x x x x x

The air of the night was unusually cool against your skin, the close hour to midnight meaning there had been ample time for the heat of the day to fade from the air. You were being led through the luminescent forest once more, a firm hand clasping yours and a bright smile on Jungkook’s face as he directed you both between trees and through glowing foliage.

It was the night of the Lunar Null, and earlier in the day Jungkook had mysteriously told you to meet him outside your room later, dressed to go out. You’d been somewhat confused— he’d left before you could question what he was up to— but had done what he asked nonetheless. An hour or so after dinner you waited outside your rooms, and he’d arrived not long after with bright eyes and a smile to match, his marks soft violet against his skin.

“Come, little human,” he’d spoken with a grin, taking your hand in his and entwining your fingers instinctively. “Let us go, before we miss the festivities.”

“Festivities?” you echoed, excitement beginning to bloom in your chest as you hastened to walk beside him. Your peered up, meeting his gaze. “What festivities?”

Jungkook’s head tilted, raven locks falling delicately over his forehead— you were surprised to note the lack of circlet, and as you surveyed the rest of his form you found he wasn’t wearing the usual embroidered cloth but pieces that were plainer, less notable. He wore only a few bands and rings around his arms, plain and thick instead of delicate and engraved. You wondered why he’d dressed down so much, and what it had to do with ‘festivities’ he’d mentioned.

“For the Lunar Null,” he smiled softly, and surprise filled you. “There are celebrations, festivities in the closest town.”

You were sure your surprise was displayed across your face plainly for him to see. He was taking you to see the festivities, even though they were for an event that reminded him only of things he had lost? You’d seen firsthand how this event had affected him, yet here he was, grasping your hand and taking you to the nearest town so you could see the festival for yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Are you sure?”

He blinked, before his gaze softened and his smattering of freckles warmed to rose red, cheeks pink beneath them. “Yes, I am sure,” he said softly, grip on your hand tightening. “I considered what you said that night, and decided I want to make the most of this— the Lunar Null brings only bad memories for me, but I wish to replace them with new ones, better ones, with you.”

You were wrought speechless, mouth falling open in shock as you heart gave two heavy thuds before kicking into overdrive and fluttering hastily against your ribcage. Happiness, warmth, and something else bloomed in your chest and you couldn’t have stopped the stupid grin from spreading over your face even if you tried.

“Okay,” you breathed, searching for something to say to convey what you were feeling and coming up blank as your eyes held his. “Thank you.”

He grinned, a boyish action that highlighted his youth once more to you, and sped his pace up. “You are welcome, little human. Now hurry, I wish to show you the festival.”

He’d led you through the forest one more, explaining that the festival didn’t take place in the actual town, but in the forest around it since it was considered sacred and connected to the moons. He continued providing you with information about the event and you listened eagerly, unable to stop smiling as you stepped after him. Many twists and turns later, there was a glow ahead that didn’t belong to any of the plants— it reminded you of the glow given off by the crystals the Kelkie used to light the palace. Jungkook turned to flash you a grin, then he was tugging you forward and both of you broke from the treeline.

The sight before you stole the air from your lungs on your next breath, a sheer sense of wonderment settling within you as you gazed about the clearing that was illuminated, as you thought, by crystals hung along string and thin rope like ‘fairy lights’ back on Earth. Your eyes didn’t know what to focus on first. There were booths, vendors selling things to do with the moons and the eclipse, and there were games— you could see small children running about in cute masks, passing coins to adults and trying their luck. The air was charged with a certain something, and you could only describe it as magic. It was foreign, but in the best way; you’d never been somewhere so peaceful and full of joyful anticipation. These were the people of Jungkook’s kingdom, and they were happy. You were sure your eyes shone as they moved back the male beside you, taking in the soft smile upon his face as he gazed over the clearing full of festivities and celebration.

You opened your mouth, words on the tip of your tongue, when he turned and beamed at you. “Come on, let us get our masks.”

“Masks?” you echoed, blinking as he brought you over to the closest stall that had an assortment of lunar themed masks. He nodded, peering over the selection before him, analysing the colours and shape of each one.

“Yes,” he answered, gaze halting over two to the corner. He reached up, the muscles in his back shifting as he grasped the masks and eased them down. His gaze flew to your face as he compared it to the masks. “It is tradition to wear masks during a Lunar Null, although I’m not sure where it originated.”

The masks in his grasp were beautiful. They were masquerade-style, covering the top half of the face only with shaped holes for the eyes, and covered in the silken material you’d come to associate with the Kelkie. Atop of that, they were studded with tiny gems and crystals in intricate, twirling patterns. Jungkook held up one up to your face, a deep wine-coloured one that matched well with its obsidian partner, a bright look instantly crossing his face.

“Beautiful,” he murmured distractedly, before immediately turning to the vendor who was running the stall and speaking in his native tongue. You were surprised at the sound of the clicks and trills of Jungkook’s language, considering it had been a long while since you’d heard it, but couldn’t deny how nice it sounded against your ears when it was spoken in his soothing timbre.

The vendor smiled, uttering a pleased-sounding response and Jungkook grinned, taking out a small pouch from a pocket in his pants and retrieving several coins, placing them in the vendor’s hand. The old man smiled, eyes flicking to you for a moment as Jungkook tucked the pouch away and grasped the masks, before he spoke once more.

Jungkook chuckled, throwing a response back before he grasped your hand and tugged you to a free space. He undid the silken ribbon at the back of the wine-coloured mask and held it up to your face, spinning you around so he could tie it at the back.

You couldn’t help your curiosity, “What did he say?”

Jungkook chuckled from behind you, turning you back around with gentle hands on your shoulders. His eyes swept over your face and the mask now adorning it, marks flushing deep rose. His eyes glimmered as they met yours.

“He said to have fun,” the King beamed, slipping his own mask on and tying it skilfully behind his head before you even had a chance to offer your help. “To enjoy the festivities, and try the drinks by the last stall on the right.”

Your mouth fell open at the sight of him, the obsidian of the mask matching his raven hair and dark eyes, highlighting the darker parts of his deep burgundy clothes. You didn’t think you would ever get used to how beautiful he was. You had to physically shake your head a bit to get your thoughts back on track.

“Oh,” you murmured, a smile slipping onto your face as you recovered from your shock at the stunning sight of him. “Then we should probably do that.”

Jungkook grinned, and then he was taking your hand once more, leading you further into the festival and celebrating townspeople. A peek at the sky told you that the Lunar Null would happen soon, the moons almost unbearably close together— you were burning with the desire to see them align, and the planet’s shadow to pass over them.

The two of you stopped by many stalls, Jungkook showing you how to play the games and playing with you when the rules allowed. You won a fair amount of times, receiving small wrapped spheres Jungkook informed you were candy, but Jungkook won more. Although, in the end, he ended up giving you half of his hoard, falling victim to your puppy eyes.

Eventually you made it to the last stall on the right, Jungkook obtaining the drinks the old man had mentioned from the vendor with a blinding smile and turning to you with a charming smile. The liquid shimmered in the cups, a luminescent blue that should have concerned you but at this point hardly phased you. Jungkook tapped your cup before downing it and you followed suit, the fluid cool against your tongue and a peculiar combination of sour and enticing sweet blooming on your tastebuds. You’d assumed it was alcoholic in nature, and weren’t surprised when the tell-tale aftertaste hit your tongue.

You didn’t have long to process it, your attention being drawn almost immediately away from the drink you’d just downed and towards your left, past the stalls, where the enticing sound of drums and instruments lured you closer. Noticing the direction of your attention, Jungkook grinned and threaded his fingers through yours once more, leading you over.

To your delight, it wasn’t just music, but a performance too. A large circle of space was cleared for the dancers in silk and ribbons as they moved around like they weighed nothing more than a feather, forms entwining and parting with such fluidity and grace you had to blink and wonder if you were really witnessing it with your own two eyes. The drums beat in a symphony that echoed through your being and called to a deeper, more primal part of you, a mixture of instruments adding to the beat and drawing you deeper, deeper, deeper. A crowd surrounded the circle, hands clapping in unison and urging the beat faster, faster, faster. Those that didn’t clap were dancing along, turns and twists that looked too complicated for your eyes to keep up with. The dancers tilted and spun, movements led by their feet, then their hips, their hands, silken ribbons trailing behind in a shadow of where they’d been just moments before. Another drink met your hands, breaking your trance, and even though there was a haze beginning to skirt the edges of your mind you felt nothing but security, safety, warmth with Jungkook by your side. A large smile split your lips as you met his eyes, and the two of you downed another.

The moons grew closer still in the sky, beginning to infringe upon the other, and when the beat hurried and shifted, more percussion instruments added into the mix and a sound oddly similar to a flute carrying the tune. Jungkook’s hand grasped yours and he was tugging you from the density of the crowd, to a space still within view, and he began to move.

Perhaps, at another time, another day, you would have been embarrassed, too shy to participate, but now… the mirth, sheer joy glimmering in Jungkook’s eyes was more than enough to convince you. You allowed him to take both your hands, and you allowed your body to move and sway, to follow the beat and echo the movements of the male in front of you.

He grinned, leading you with ease, and spun you out to reel you back in, planting a soft kiss on the tip of your nose as you grew close enough. Warmth and affection bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you at his action, the sound bordering on a giggle. You continued to dance alone, dipping with the drop in the beat, spinning when it increased, and each time you came back to Jungkook’s chest he would plant another kiss on your face. Your cheeks, your nose, your chin— you were swimming in a haze of him and each press of his lips, so soft against your skin, pushed you deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

As the moons neared their alignment the music and drums began to work towards the climax of the night, a crescendo just over the horizon, and you were lost in the flow of movement with Jungkook. His hands moved from your own to your waist, your hips, his own pressing against yours as you dipped back, so far back that when you returned upright your head swam in the most peculiarly addictive of ways. Jungkook never stopped smiling, cheeks pink beneath the mask and marks alight in all the warmth, the beautiful colours of a sunset on Earth.

There was a haze over your mind, touching, caressing your thoughts and through it you barely registered as the music came to a looming crescendo and at once your gaze was directed upwards. The moons were aligned, and you watched, mesmerised, as the shadow of Kilkhea crept over it, rendering the inky skies a moonless sea of stars and galaxies. A grip on your waist, your hip, tugged you, tethered you to the here and now and you were tilting your head down just in time for Jungkook’s palms to cup your jaw and bring your face forward.

His lips met yours as the last booming beat of the drums ricocheted through your chest and warmth was blooming beneath your skin, your hands coming to cup his cheeks. Beneath a moonless sky, you became lost in him— the sound, the touch, the feel, the warmth, the sensation of every part of him enveloping every part of you — and even as his lips parted from yours, breath hurried and gasping, you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

The shadow left the moons and one by one they graced the sky once more, the drums beginning anew with another beat, a different beat. Jungkook leant, capturing your lips once more before he was dancing away, grinning with all the glee and joy you would expect of a child, new and innocent to the world. Another drink found its way into your hands and you downed it once more, head swimming and skin alight with the remnants of his touch scorching pleasure over your limbs. Your mark sang as he grasped you and once more, you fell into the beat.

You danced into the early hours of the morning, drinks aiding the thick, pleasant haze over your mind, and eventually you both found your way back to the palace.

You stumbled into a room— was it yours?— with the King’s hands on your waist to steady your wobbling steps, and as one you collapsed onto the large bed. A soft, pleased sigh escaped you as the cool of the sheets brushed your flushed skin, Jungkook’s arm winding around your waist and tugging you close, his body cool against your back as he quickly fell into sleep.

You were out before you could even think to process it.

x x x

When you awoke, it was to a slight headache, tired limbs, and the soft sound of snores beside you. You could tell from the ache in your eyes that you hadn’t gotten much sleep, and noted from the bright light seeping through the open window to your left that it had to have been somewhere around mid-morning. You blinked, trying to…. Wait. You looked to the window again. It was on your left, but the window in your room was on the right of the bed…

At the gentle nudge to your thoughts, your mind flooded with a sudden barrage of images and memories from the night before, a feeling of warmth accompanying them. The festival, the Lunar Null, Jungkook… You vaguely remembered the trip back to the palace, enough to know that the two of you crashed pretty much as soon as you hit the bed. Your gaze flicked to your side, mind suddenly registering the weight of an arm curled possessively over your waist and a face pressed into your neck.

At once, you were reminded of the way you felt last night, the warmth, the elation… the love. You weren’t surprised to find yourself filled with similar emotions right now. You found yourself nuzzling into Jungkook’s hold before you even knew it, turning in his grip to face him more. You were going to miss this… your heart ached at just the thought. You froze, a sudden realisation falling over you and rendering you immobile.

Here, surrounded by the alluring scent of him, the warmth and security of his hold, the tenderness of his embrace— there was a part of you, a very big part of you, that didn’t want to leave. A big part of you that wanted to abandon everything, all of your worries, and stay here, with Jungkook. A big part of you that, even in so little time, had fallen for Jungkook, the Kelkie King, and was continuing to fall with each second longer you spent in his presence, in his embrace, in the warmth of his gaze as he regarded you.

Your head throbbed, too much thought activity going on for so early in the morning and after as many drinks as you’d had last night. Your eyes closed as you waited for the throbbing to ease, and they reopened when it did, your gaze falling upon Jungkook’s form.

You couldn’t deny the existence of such a big part of you, but still… what did you do, knowing what you did now?

You didn’t have an answer, couldn’t bring yourself to think of one, and decided instead to just relax, and relish this while you could. You allowed your eyes to slip closed once more as you pressed a soft kiss to the top of Jungkook’s head. This was something you could worry about another day, tomorrow, when you were done appreciating all you currently had in your hold.

As your thoughts began to drift and you fell into sleep once more, you couldn’t have ever known what tomorrow would bring.

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sleemo · 7 years ago

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The All-Stars of ‘Star Wars’

Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, Adam Driver and their “Last Jedi” comrades discuss the difficulties of new relationships, the joys of villainy and those porgs. — The New York Times | Dec 8, 2017

LOS ANGELES — While they tell tales of Death Stars and daddy issues, the “Star Wars” movies are also stories about duality: how goodness and evil can coexist — on the same planet or inside the same person — and what happens when they collide on an intergalactic scale.

These themes are revisited once again in “Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” the eighth episode in the science-fiction saga that George Lucas started in 1977. “The Last Jedi,” which opens on Dec. 15, is the first to be written and directed by Rian Johnson (“Brick,” “Looper”). It follows the resounding success of “The Force Awakens,” directed by J. J. Abrams in 2015, about two young heroes, a scavenger named Rey (Daisy Ridley) and a renegade stormtrooper named Finn (John Boyega), caught up in the search for Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill).

The new film continues where “The Force Awakens” left off, as Rey and Luke are about to meet on the planet Ahch-To, and it promises a further exploration of their relationship to the sullen evildoer Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) and his nefarious master, Snoke (Andy Serkis). It also features the final performance in the series from Carrie Fisher, who played Leia and who died last December.

At a running time of some two and a half hours, “The Last Jedi” continues the adventures of Finn and Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and their adversaries Captain Phasma (Gwendoline Christie) and General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson). Somehow it finds room for the new characters Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) and Vice Admiral Holdo (Laura Dern), and a wide-eyed alien species called porgs.

Like the film they made, the creator and cast of “The Last Jedi” can encompass a spectrum of darkness and light, seriousness and silliness, all in the same conversation. Just days before the movie’s opening, they gathered for what felt at times like a solemn high-school graduation and, at other times, like its after-party.

Here, Mr. Johnson, Ms. Ridley, Mr. Boyega, Mr. Hamill, Mr. Driver, Mr. Serkis, Mr. Isaac, Ms. Christie, Mr. Gleeson, Ms. Tran and Ms. Dern discuss their work on “Star Wars: The Last Jedi” and some of the questions it raises. These are edited excerpts from that conversation.

Audiences have a strong sense of what they think a “Star Wars” film should look and feel like. But Rian, you make films that are personal and idiosyncratic. How do you do that in a “Star Wars” movie?

RIAN JOHNSON I don’t think you try to. It would be bad news if you came into this saying, “How do I make this mine?” You’re just desperately trying to make a good “Star Wars” movie — to me that means that it’s a balance between opera and bubble gum. It should make you come out of the theater and feel like you’re 10 years old, and want to grab your spaceships and start flying around. On top of everything else.

For the veterans of “The Force Awakens” —

DAISY RIDLEY I’m not a fan of the word “veteran.” We did one movie! How about actors?

JOHNSON Sophomores.

As you make your way through Star Wars High —

OSCAR ISAAC I was so high the whole time. [Laughter]

— there are actors you were paired with and worked with closely on the last film. What was it like to have those relationships scrambled and rearranged on “The Last Jedi”?

ISAAC What Rian did so well was that he asked the really tough questions. Not only of the characters, but also about the themes that “Star Wars” brings up. What is to be a Jedi? What is it to be a hero? What is it to be, in my case, a hotshot pilot? And then try to find the opposite of that — the hardest thing, the thing that’s furthest away, and have that be what the character has to deal with. Even in pairing the characters, he’s taking away what you know, and making you as uncomfortable as possible.

Was it bittersweet to have Finn and Rey, our heroes from “The Force Awakens,” split up?

JOHN BOYEGA It was horrible when I read the script for the first time and I wasn’t with her. We auditioned together. We went through this whole experience together. To be split apart was scary for me. But then I understood that is something that we could draw from — something that Finn really feels, and Rey really feels. And then I was like, “Oh! Rian does know what he’s doing.” [Laughter]

RIDLEY I felt the same. When I read the script, I didn’t cry right away. I was like, “Wobble, wobble, wobble, [shaky voice] I’m probably going to cry and I need to see Rian.” Then I went into Rian’s office and I was crying my eyes out. I’m not great with new people. I think Mark can attest to that. [Silence, then laughter]

ADAM DRIVER No one says, “No, you’re great!” Everyone else is like, “Yeah.”

RIDLEY I find it really difficult to relax. And then that’s influencing someone else’s performance. You don’t want to be the thing that’s holding something back, when there’s me, going, [awkwardly] “So … how’d you get into all this?” Mark and I were lucky enough to have proper rehearsal time, and then we could talk through everything with Rian. It ended up feeling great, but it was nerve-racking.

We were just getting to see the relationship between Luke and Rey before the curtain came down on Episode VII. In Episode VIII, were you able to pick up where you left off?

MARK HAMILL We had no relationship in VII. It’s left up to the audience to decide if he knows who she is. They established earlier that I had a telepathic ability with my sister — would I know what’s going on now? Would I know I lost my best friend? That’s all left up to the audience, and that’s in the great tradition of the cliffhangers that inspired George in the first place. “Continued next week.” Two years, in this case. But don’t worry, it’s only five months until the next one. [Rolls eyes] Great marketing there, Disney. [Laughter] What are they going to do, fire me?

LAURA DERN Luke Skywalker, ladies and gentlemen. That’s why they titled it “The Last Jedi.”

RIDLEY When I meet people I’m not like [gasps]. [Mr. Hamill pretends to pout, as Ms. Dern playfully rubs his back in comfort.] I’m more impressed with a human than a reputation. To me, I was working with Mark, I wasn’t working with Luke. I was nervous because I was working with a new person and I wanted to do my best, and I wanted the scenes to go well. Luke is regarded in this way, and Rey does understand that. But Rey, on a very human level, is asking something of Luke: “I need some advice here.” We were able to pick up right where we left off, chronologically, and it worked very well.

Is it uniquely satisfying to play a villain in a “Star Wars” movie, where you get to be especially villainous?

DOMHNALL GLEESON It was a delightful surprise, having people come up to me after “The Force Awakens” and say, “You were so bad in that movie.” It meant a lot to me. [Laughter]

GWENDOLINE CHRISTIE It’s always exciting to be bad, isn’t it? It’s even more exciting to be bad as your job. And in a context where it doesn’t impact human lives. It’s particularly resonant at the moment, the idea of, what is a better use of human energy: to serve the group or to serve the individual?

Andy, you play Supreme Leader Snoke, one of your many motion-capture characters, so there’s a whole other layer to your performance.

ANDY SERKIS There’s a gold lamé layer. The Supreme Leader as Hugh Hefner, that’s something that I particularly grabbed onto. The luxuriousness of it all. The thing about Snoke is, leaders are fearful people, because when you’re in a position of maximum power, you can only lose power. And that fear drives nearly all decisions. That fear then makes you aggressive. It makes you want to destroy others. It makes you unable to see or care about others. But when you’re creating a villain character, it’s about humanizing — there’s something important in the task of creating Snoke to find his vulnerability, because that makes him even more dangerous and despicable.

Adam, I wouldn’t say that Kylo Ren is strictly an evil person, even though we’ve seen him do terrible things. Where does he come from for you?

DRIVER The best way I can describe it is, it’s like a conversation that we started with J. J. and it continues through this film. It was less interesting to think of him as pure evil, because I don’t really know what that is. He’s someone who thinks he’s right, more than he thinks what he’s doing is bad. When I meet people who are unable to hear the other side, who not only think they’re right but they’re justified, then there’s no end to what they would do to make sure that their side wins. To me, that’s more dangerous, because the boundaries are limitless. As opposed to just being evil, that seems like it can’t sustain itself. When you feel morally justified, that feels more long-lasting and more unpredictable.

He has a lot of emotional conflict but you seem pretty even-keeled. Am I reading you correctly?

DRIVER No. [Laughter] I’m a rational person. And then I killed my father. [Laughter]

This is the first “Star Wars” movie for Kelly Marie Tran and Laura Dern. What is it like to be initiated into this franchise?

KELLY MARIE TRAN It is both horrifying and amazing. Obviously, I was intimidated, but I never felt intimidated, personally, in Regina George fashion. Every single person sitting here was honest and open. I was allowed to go to set when I wasn’t working and watch them perform. I felt like I was in this epic acting school that I didn’t have to pay for. Someone just gave me the key.

DERN I have to discredit you, Daisy, with your comments about yourself [not being great with new people]. When my daughter came to set, she said, “Oh my God, Mom, do you think we get to see Rey?” I was like, “Oh, we don’t want to bother people.” And then your trailer door opened, and you went, [singing to the “Jurassic Park” theme] “Laura Der-rrrr-rrn, Laura Der-rrrr-rrn.” [Laughter] My daughter was like, “She’s the most welcoming person.”

HAMILL Another royalty for John Williams.

How do you make a movie that finds time to provide moments for every one of these actors?

JOHNSON That’s part of the reason that this movie is a little longer than all the others.

ISAAC He made sure everyone gets to cry.

JOHNSON “Star Wars” is on the public stage in a way that nothing else is. But even on a big scary thing like this, every single one of these people was excited to step outside their comfort zones, to go to places that were really interesting but not necessarily easy.

HAMILL Like the top of Skellig Michael [the Irish island whose steep, precarious mountains are used as the setting for Ahch-To].

JOHNSON I offered to carry you on my back, Yoda-style, but you didn’t trust my legs.

HAMILL Really, when I read VII, I said, “Oh, they’ll do it with green screens and J. J. will be up the road — I’ll be done by lunch.” Little did I know, I’ll suffer for your art, kid.

JOHNSON In the edit room, you get to a point where you realize, ah, we could make the movie shorter but we’d have to give somebody short shrift, and we’re not going to do that because every one of these guys has an amazing journey in the movie.

Is there a character, other than your own, that you wish you’d gotten to play in this film?

ISAAC What Adam does in this movie is insane. It’s incredible. [Mr. Driver begins looking around awkwardly, as if searching for a way to escape the room.] It’s so wild and unpredictable and very magnetic. It made me very jealous.

BOYEGA I have to second that. I was blown away by the conflict and the change in the character arc. And the fights.

ISAAC Oh, the fights. The beautiful fights.

BOYEGA It reminds me, as a guy, of the transition from a boy to a man, learning how to maintain a certain type of energy that you have and choosing the way you let it free. That’s what he struggles with.

Who here got to meet the porgs?

RIDLEY I got to meet the porgs, but also, I’ve gotten about 300 questions about the porgs. What’s the big deal about porgs? They wouldn’t even be able to fly. Their body-to-wing ratio is like a chicken. They can’t!

DERN The more I went on about how adorable they are — it was like looking into the eyes of E. T., I loved those eyes so much — Oscar only continued to talk about different recipes.

ISAAC Porgs with roasted turnips. Glazed porg.

What would you like to see happen to your characters in Episode IX? Do you want to have that much influence over them?

ISAAC Sorry, I was still talking about porg recipes.

JOHNSON It depends on who survives at this point.

GLEESON I only have a small part to play in all this, but if I had decided what I was going to do, from the last one to the next one, it wouldn’t have been nearly as surprising as what Rian came up with it.

ISAAC It’s amazing to think about giving up that feeling of control. You have to just be open and see what’s next.

#interview #the last jedi #star wars #cast #uploads #*#long post #rian johnson #mark hamill #laura dern #daisy ridley #adam driver #john boyega #oscar isaac #kelly marie tran #andy serkis #gwendoline christie #domhnall gleeson

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franeridart · 7 years ago

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I honestly LOVE your bakushima kids, but did you have any ideas on what the rest of the bakusquad's kids would be like if the others did have kids? If you have thought of it, would the next gen of bakusquad be friends like their parents or not so much?

Thanks!!! And to be completely honest with you, the only other kid I have for that specific AU is the todo//deku one :0 not cause I haven’t thought about the bakusquad ones, but cause I still haven’t managed to decide which ships I wanna go with? Do I do kami//sero or kami//jiro or kami//mina? Do I do mina//jiro or momo//jiro? how about sero//mina? I like so many ships for the squad that I can’t manage picking just one haha but what I already have decided is that whoever Kaminari ended up with his kid is Tai’s best friend. I dunno who that kid is, but they’re best friends 👍

Anon said:Hy i have a fan account on ig it’s @o.urarakaa i want To know if i can repost one or your art thanks 🙏

Ahhhh sorry, but as it’s written more or less everywhere on my blog I don’t allow reposts of my stuff - thank you for asking, tho!

Anon said:Have you ever considered MomoJirou????

I have! Have also drawn it and posted it in the past, actually!

Anon said: FRAAAAAAAN! I love your art from the bottom of my heart and every little doodle makes me smile and gasp in awe because they’re beautiful. And since I love it so much, I often comment under it: Is it troublesome for you or I can continue? Idk, maybe it feels exaggerated or repetitive or annoying and I wouldn’t want to bother you :3 Have a lovely day and thank you for sharing your art! (Your KiriBaku give me life)

No no no it’s super totally okay don’t worry about it!!! Actually thank you so so so so much for always taking your time to let me know you liked my stuff!!!!

Anon said:legit crying at your latest comic. its too fucking soft and adorable i cannot handle it. you’re amazing. thank you for everything you share with us

;O; thank you so much???? oh my god!!!

Anon said:I’m always awkward w/ these BUT!!!!! I JUST NEEDED TO TELL YOU I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOUR ART AND YOUR ART STYLE SO MUCH!!!!! I always look forward to any new art you post (even if it’s outside my fandoms!!) and I always SMILE/GET MEGA EXCITED WHEN I SEE A NEW ONE!!!! I personally really love your Kiribaku ones though sO THAT NEW KAMIJIROU ONE ESPECIALLY SENT MY HEART SKYROCKETING!!!!!! I sincerely love you as an artist so please know that!!!! Thank you for drawing!!!!!! They make me so happy!!!!!!

HOLY SHIT THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!! this seriously means the world to me, I’m so happy I can make you enjoy even stuff out of your fandoms!!! Seriously thank you for sending this ask, it made my day ;O;

Anon said:What do you think of Bakugou/Shinsou? I stumbled across the pairing recently, and it’s a bit of a rairpair, but it’s so cute???

It’sssss not really my thing actually - well, generally I’m a picky shipper with Bakugou anyway, not gonna lie, but the only interaction Baku and Shinsou ever had made it pretty clear Shinsou can’t stand him and I usually don’t ship Bakugou with people that don’t like him ??? I’m more drawn to his canon happy relationships honestly haha

Anon said:Oh my goodness, you’ve opened my eyes on the similarities and contrasts of both kiribaku and kamijirou (also, Kamijirou is one of my otps, thank you so much)

Haha that’s cool to hear !! They aren’t exactly similar as ships, but they are fun ships to put next to each other cause they contrast in some pretty funny ways imho! :D

Anon said:That’s so cute fran, how do you even come up with these comics they’re perfection

Thank you!!!!!! And I’m gonna be honest with you, that kamijirou one came up mostly just cause I wanted to write the “you’re an asshole how do you have a bf”/ ”for one, I’m not an asshole to my bf” exchange lmao

Anon said:your comics (bakushima in particular) make me so happy, thank you so much!!!!!!!

YAY!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!! I’m glad I can help you be a lil bit happier!!!!!!

Anon said:I love ur art!! I hope u had a nice day!!

THANK YOU! I hope you’ll have a great day too!!!!!!!

Anon said:R u a cat person or a dog person?

Generally a cat person, but just cause I have two cats and love them with my whole heart haha I love dogs a lot too, tho!! Always wanted one ;u;

Anon said:Hi! How was ur day?

Weirdly tiring, but generally good! I hope yours was a good one too!!!

Anon said:Okay but like… I am 100% a lesbian but your art of Tyki and Wisely is so gorgeous that it makes me feel just a little bit straight. Like, wow.

Holy heck, that’s high praise!!! Thank you so much???? :O

Anon said:Your krbk concert art makes me weep. It’s so beautifullll.

SOB thank you!!! This means a lot to me cause that AU means a lot to me, so really, thank you so much!!!! *hugs*

Anon said: I’m laughing, your Shinsou’s are both the most beautiful and the most relatable. I really love the colour scheme.

THANKS!!! Purple is one of my fav colors so I always have lotsa fun with its shades!!! :D

Anon said:i would love to see more bakucamies from you! their friendship is lit

I love and live for all Bakugou relationships, so more of that one will happen for sure! She made him laugh after all, she already owns my soul for that ;^;

Anon said:How do you feel about the other noahs?

Jasdevi means the whole world to me and I miss them more ever passing day, Neah and Mana are my kids whom I need to protect I really just wish for both of them to be happy though I know that’s probably not gonna happen ;;, Road!!!! is!!!!! My girl!!!!!!! Love her, like her better when she’s not hurting Lavi but generally I’m always happy to see her, I have conflicting feelings about Feedra, Sheryl is slimy and I can’t trust him, everyone else wasn’t around enough to know for sure how I feel about them honestly, I’m interested but not particularly invested :0

Anon said:You’re my favourite noah:)

This is??? A weirdly cute ask??? Thank you!!!! :D

Anon said:genuinely shrieking over your doodle of tyki. i love him so fucking much and aH,,

I’M GLAD TO HEAR THAT he’s!!!! so great isn’t he ;O; *sigh*

Anon said:Fran, did you know that I’d die for you and your art?? And also I just really love the extra little things you put in the tags when you post things, idk it makes me really happy to read those little tidbits and for me it just really completes the art,, also your ocs are actually the cutest things I’ve seen in my entire life ((I may or may not be gay for like half of them))

THANK!!!!! YOU!!!!!!!! the oc thing especially, that means the world to me oh my god ;O; still can’t believe people actually like them aaaaHHHHHHHHHHH

Anon said:A concept: someone getting flirty with Kirishima and a jealous Bakugou

A good concept which I’m always up for, but to be honest with you I’m more of a fan of the other way around :O like, Kiri is so good and bright and friend with everyone, jealousy might as well be something Bakugou’s used to by this point - but Bakugou, people tend to avoid him or think of him as rude and annoying, Kirishima wouldn’t be used to jealousy at all you know? So I like it that way around more haha

Anon said:Hi! as a fellow artist I just wanted to rant bc I thought you might understand how I feel. my art never comes out looking right and it’s just so frustrating ugh is this what you call artblock ;; I just want my art to look good sigh

I wouldn’t call it an artblock, it’s more like… like your mind is one step ahead of your skills, I’d say. If treated right, you can turn that feeling into improving your art! What is it that you don’t like? Can you break it down to smaller things? Is it the line work or the coloring style, or even just the way you draw eyes or hands or noses? If you can focus on the smaller parts of what you don’t like in your style you can then look up a way to do the same thing that you do like, and practice that till you’re satisfied with it! One small thing might not mean much by itself, but putting all these small things together is how you make improvement happen :D

Anon said:Perdona se non scrivo in inglese, ma sono un totale disastro. Volevo solo dirti che ammiro tantissimo il tuo lavoro ed è un balsamo per l'anima quando appare in bacheca.

AHHHHHHHHH ;O; GRAZIE MILLE !!!!!!!!!! E non preoccuparti per la lingua !!! siamo italiani dopotutto, l’inglese non è necessario per comprenderci haha

Anon said:omg you and your all time low references, I love it so much (everytime I listen to afterglow I think in kiribaku bc of your drawing and now I’m going to do it with the last young renegade 💕)

Hahahaha they’re one of my favorite bands after all, I fall back on them a lot lol I’m glad you like that, tho!!!

Anon said:a concept: angry bakugo next to a smol duck

*me, crying* i-it’s beautiful ;o;

Anon said: *sobs* I LOVE YOUR YULMAS SO MUCH T-T

I’M HAPPY YOU LIKED THAT ONE????? Happy yulma is what keeps me going honestly I love them so incredibly much ;O;

Anon said:I ship the squad x Sero’s hammock

So do I hahaha

Anon said:YOU ADDED GLASSES BAKUGOU TO REDBUBBLE THANK YOUUUUU

I DID! Happy you were happy about that!!! haha

Anon said:What’s your opinion on bakucamie? Both as a friendship and a relationship

Absolutely not as a romantic thing, but I love it as a friendship! As I said, anyone who can make Bakugou laugh owns my soul forever hahaha

Anon said:your bakugous are so good!! also you drew my new fave girl camie i love her so much and i espicially love her in your style!!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh thank you!!!!!!!!! I’m glad you like how she came out, tho I admit I feel like I still don’t have her down properly… will have to draw her more :O

Anon said:Your art style is so amazing, and I love your different au’s and Bakushima comics!! Any plans to draw some BakuCamie brotp in the future?

Thank you!!! And I don’t ever have plans for what I draw until I actually sit down to draw it, but more Baku and Camie is totally possible!!

Anon said:hey fran! i adore your art, been here from the very first page of your tattoo au!!!! i just wanted to say 2 things: 1. when baku laughed this chapter i thought of you! and 2. every time i see your todoroki my heart explodes in my chest he’s so so pretty in your style :00 hope you’re having a wondeful day!

YO THAT’S SUCH A LONG TIME!!!! I’m so happy to hear you stuck around this long!!! ;O; and thank you for the compliment oh my god!! ;O; Todo is so damn fun to draw, I’m glad to hear he comes out well enough!!!

Anon said:OH MY GOSH LITERALLY ALL THE BAKUGOUS YOU DREW IN YOUR MOST RECENT POST ARE SO FUCKING CUTE AND PRECIOUS AND PRETTY AND IM DEAD. The colours look amazing! And his facial expressions are so soft and nice. My favourite is probably him with the dog cos his hair look so freakin fluffy and soFT. I also love him laughing because didn’t everyone just die at that manga panel and you make him look extra sweet! I also love him talking to camie cos he looks exciting and a little shocked to have a friend! /// I love the other ones too obviously they’re all amazing! But I just wanted to share my favourites and how much I love them!

SO MUCH LOVE IN JUST ONE ASK!!!! Thank you so much for sending it all this way aaahhhhhhh

Anon said:Hiii, I hope you are having a good day! I want to know if you sell posters of your art online because I would love to have one of your kiribakus hanging on my wall 😍 idk why but your art makes me happy, like your style is so beautiful and your headcanons are so cute so it is like the perfect combination that always cheers me up when Im sad 💕 thank you

THANK YOU!!! And yeah I do, I have a redbubble shop!!! ;O;

#fran answers #i feel #like i lost some along the way #heck #if you sent me an ask i didn't answer maybe send it again?#my inbox is such a mess honestly orz #anonymous

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uomo-accattivante · 7 years ago

Photo

These themes are revisited once again in “Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” the eighth episode in the science-fiction saga that George Lucas started in 1977. “The Last Jedi,” which opens on Dec. 15, is the first to be written and directed by Rian Johnson(“Brick,” “Looper”). It follows the resounding success of “The Force Awakens,” directed by J. J. Abrams in 2015, about two young heroes, a scavenger named Rey (Daisy Ridley) and a renegade stormtrooper named Finn (John Boyega), caught up in the search for Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill).

For the veterans of “The Force Awakens” —

DAISY RIDLEY I’m not a fan of the word “veteran.” We did one movie! How about actors?

JOHNSON Sophomores.

As you make your way through Star Wars High —

OSCAR ISAAC I was so high the whole time. [Laughter]

— there are actors you were paired with and worked with closely on the last film. What was it like to have those relationships scrambled and rearranged on “The Last Jedi”?

Was it bittersweet to have Finn and Rey, our heroes from “The Force Awakens,” split up?

ADAM DRIVER No one says, “No, you’re great!” Everyone else is like, “Yeah.”