#saren pendragon

[t-dartagnan]

beasts of prey | 1/1, 2,105 words

there are five things bautista learns about the warden.

[pre-greenwarden, a different take on bautista]

relationships: pre warden/marc bautista

characters: nb!warden (saren pendragon, goes by they/them), m!bautista

tags&tw: mental illness, nightmares, panic attacks, self-harm, description of injury, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lowercase, bautista POV

the first thing you learn about pendragon is that they’re frustrating.

frustrating in a way that gets on your nerves, that makes you uneasy, that makes you angry. it’s not a fleeting thought, and that’s what bothers you the most; it’s a constant presence, the anger that simmers under your skin and crawls up your throat when they drawl yet another dry teasing, when they make your work harder than it strictly needs to be. they’re not cooperative, don’t even try to be ― they’re made of sharp words and ruthless wit, an unrelenting need to push back even when they have absolutely no reason to do so, no reason to argue, to press, to hurt.

that’s what they’re trying to do, isn’t it? to hurt? what for, is the answer you’ll never get. why. because this isn’t normal, is it? this isn’t common. you’ve dealt with people who were hard to please, before, you’ve dealt with entitled assholes and whatnot ― but there’s something different here, something you can’t pinpoint, something you don’t understand.

you don’t know what it is, and, in a certain way, you don’t even want to.

  the second thing you learn about pendragon is that they’re terrifyingly good at what they do.

you’ve worked with people who were good at what they did, of course you did ― people have strengths and weakness that oftentimes balance each other out, and it’s not hard to find some resemblance of harmony. problem is: nothing is ever easy when pendragon’s around, and you had been naive to think this would be like any other interaction.

they know where things are ― where to look, which direction to take, what to uncover. you’re not enough of a fool to ignore the way they always go directly over wherever it is that the fresh clues are, the reminders, the path ― guided by an invisible hand or pulled towards it, you muse you’ll never know.

[they’ll never trust you enough to share, and you convince yourself you’re okay with that.

you aren’t.]

  the third thing you learn about pendragon is that they have a shitty sleeping schedule.

it’s not really surprising, if you consider the bigger picture ― there are certain things you see (certain things you do) that make your stomach lurch, your thoughts scatter, things that there are parts of you that wish you had forgotten. still. still. you push that back, like you do with everything else that bothers you ― you push through and move on, because there’s not a single reason to mull it over more than you need to.

pendragon doesn’t.

it takes you a while to notice, because it’s not the kind of thing you usually pay attention to ― by the time you retire for the night, pendragon’s usually off doing... whatever it is that they do when they’re not picking fights with you or stress smoking in places they shouldn’t. they’re not the type to stick by idly when they have no reason to, unless they’re looking for a way to pick a fight or trying to annoy you into an argument, and you’re not too fond of the idea of trying to entertain their quirks, either.

in retrospect, perhaps you should’ve paid more attention.

[you didn’t want to, is the truth. you didn’t want to reach out, to try and understand, you didn’t want to know. pendragon is insufferable at their best, and there was nothing you had wanted more than to not be forced into interacting with them.]

you realize your mistake when the first nightmare comes.

it’s ugly, is the thing ― the way they scream and trash and kick and fight you when you come, the terror in their eyes, the horror. you hadn’t known a creature such as pendragon could even fear, when they have never as much as flinched when faced with the things you face on an almost daily basis, and it’s not the kind of thing you wish to see again anytime soon.

it takes a while to make them stop trying to punch you away, and you still come out with a bloodied mouth and a split lip ― it aches like hell, but it doesn’t come close to the worst you’ve ever had. you try not to push, then ― deals with it the same way you saw a lady deal with a scared cat, once, tentatively soothing words and an even voice. you don’t know what to say, have no idea if it’s even working, but it doesn’t seem to matter ― pendragon’s eyes fix on a spot behind your shoulder, and their breath evens for long enough that you don’t have to worry about them hyperventilating anymore.

it's not ― good. it’s not good, you doubt it’ll ever be, but it’s better than before. you don’t try do get close, you know you won’t be welcome, but leaving sounds as wrong as touching pendragon does at the moment, so you do neither.

(you weren’t taught how to deal with this, were you?)

“stay.”

it’s not a question, but it doesn’t sound like a demand, either. pendragon’s eyes have found yours, though, and it’s the first time you realize how blue they are. not terrified, anymore, but there’s not much else to it, either ― icy and hollow, just like everything pendragon says.

you nod, just once, and, just like that, their eyes slip away again, back to the spot behind your shoulder.

(were it any other moment, in any other situation, you would’ve been angry, wouldn’t you? you would’ve lashed out. you would’ve relented to all the bitterness that crawls under your skin, searching for cracks to peek through, to peel alway scabs and reopen wounds you had sworn being healed. you don’t, this time. you sit in front of them, your back straight, your hands resting on your knees. you wait, and count the minutes on your head. you taste the blood on your mouth, the headache building behind your eyelids. saren doesn’t move for a long, long time. you stay.)

when they move, you want to do the same. wobbly legs and blueish lips, they’re the perfect image of someone who’s about to crash ― but you don’t reach out, still, you hold your hands in closed fists against your sides when you follow them to the bathroom. pendragon doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t seem aware of your presence, even though they have told you to stay ― there’s something mechanical about the way they do this, the unsteady legs, the hunched shoulders, the shaky hands that turn on the shower.

had they started to take off their clothes, you’d slip away unnoticed, easily enough ― but they don’t.

the sound of running water seems to calm pendragon down, but color has yet to return to their face, and you’re not entirely sure reaching out right now is a good idea. you don’t, then, careful, and you watch as pendragon slids against the bathroom tiles until they’re on the floor, water pooling around them, soaking through their clothes, clinging to their frame.

a thin frame, you realize. unhealthily thin ― the protruding shoulder bones, the sunken cheeks, when was the last time they ate? you don’t ask, but anger rises the way it always does, and the taste it leaves on your mouth to add to the blood is sour. this is not your fight to have, is it? and even if it were. even if it were. pendragon clings to their knees, presses them against their chest, bony fingers littered by purple and blue bruises you don’t remember seeing before, and you know that, if you even try to push, they’ll break.

you don’t. they don’t say a thing, after that, and you weren’t expecting them to.

you stay.

  the fourth thing you learn about pendragon is something you’d rather have not known.

you find them in the bathtub, bloody water up to the middle of their chest, cigarette burns littered across their arms ― clawed bruises on their throat, dark circles under their eyes that speak of one too many sleepless nights, a dazed expression that tells you they’re too caught up in their own mind to realize you’re in the same room as them.

your reaction, unsurprisingly, is not good.

[you avoid thinking about it, later. you avoid thinking about the possiblity that you might have been wrong reacting so strongly. you avoid the entire thing altogether ― except the way the color of the bruises across pendragon’s skin is imprinted on your mind, the self-inflicted wounds, the way they had flinched away from you when you started screaming, until they picked themselves back up again and slammed their walls right back in place. you don’t think about it ― except for all the moments you do.]

“you don’t know shit!” if pendragon were a violent person, you know, this is the moment they’d start swinging fists ― but they are not, so they don’t. doesn’t mean they don’t want to. “get the hell away from me!”

and maybe you should, alright? maybe you should. but you don’t, won’t, can’t. you blink and behind your eyelids you see fingers clinging to exposed collarbones, the angry marks running down pendragon’s throat. bloodied fingers, cracked nails, raw knuckles. bloodied collarbones, blooming blue purple bruises all the way to their jaw, icy blue eyes full of anger. bile rises up your throat.

you step closer, and pendragon’s eyes flash to you like a beast that’s got the prey.

“leave.” they say, and their voice cracks at the end. “just ― fucking leave, will you?”

you don’t want to, but you do. you step back once. then twice. then again ― until you’re at a distance where you’re not gone, but at least pendragon doesn’t look like a cornered animal anymore, until they don’t look like they’re ready to either fight or flee if they deem necessary. the bitter taste’s still on your mouth, and, this time, it’s not from anger.

[there’s a part of you that wishes it was. is this what it feels like ― failure? you don’t know. you’re not keen on finding out, either.]

  the fifth thing you learn about pendragon is not something you can put into words.

most people have a kind of feeling attached to them ― the kind of thing that rises at the back of your mind, a nudging sensation that steers you away from trouble when you need it to, the instinctual urge that pulls and tugs and grows if you ever consider ignoring it.

most people never get past the first flash of red on your head ― even less manage to slip away unnoticed. pendragon’s always been weird, not quite a pleasant presence, but not strange enough to put you off. not until you pay enough attention, at least. not until they pay enough attention.

it's something that comes after you start watching them, you notice ― they start watching back, and you’d be lying if you said that, alone, isn’t unnerving.

not a red sign, but close enough to one that you’re not strictly comfortable around them anymore; not that you ever were in the first place, but that was because they were being annoying, not because they made you feel threatened.

they do, now― their eyes never leave yours, a predator ready to pounce, and there’s a visceral part of you that twists and coils over itself, demanding you to flee. pendragon watches you back the same way a cat does to mice, the hungry silence that tells you that the moment you put your guard down you’re a goner.

red flashes, all of them. the instinctual urge to step back, to retreat, the knowledge that rings wrong wrong wrong all the way down to the pitch of your stomach. saren pendragon is a beast trapped in human flesh, sharp edges and bloodied mouth ― bared teeth that speak wordless warnings of violence and rage, a string wrung so tightly it’s constantly a step away from snapping.

there’s a part of you that almost wishes you’d pull that string until it does ― that wishes you’d tug until it snaps and the broken parts come undone in a bloodied mess, a dreadful sight, sharp edges splintered to an unrecognizable wreck.

[that’s the part you ignore, the part you shove down until it’s almost gone, just a faint shadow that peeks at the corners of your mind, lurking, waiting, hungry.]

  after meeting pendragon, this is what you learn about yourself: saren isn’t the only beast you have to be watchful for.

[t-dartagnan]

ugly drawings in high quality, also known as: i procrastinated writing my thesis and that's the result

commentary + HQ pics from the gif under the cut

1st pic: in a world where all my MCs from Greenwarden and their respective ROs live happily ever after, Nazeri, who's never done anything wrong in his entire life ever, is left alone with the dumbass couple No. 1 when Dante goes to get them something to eat, and Marianna and Artemis are off being disgustingly cute somewhere.

It goes:Nazeri, 0.5 seconds into having to deal with Saren/Marc's bs: *looks at the camera like he's in The Office*

2nd pic: the gif. I just really, really wanted to give Saren horns.

3rd and 4th pics: the gif, but separated. do I even know what I'm doing? no. my brain went to weird places about Greenwarden the last 3, maybe 4 days. what's the thing in the woods? why is it hunting the warden? is it hunting what it's doing? it sounds to me like a calling (or a challenge), but idk how to elaborate on that yet. also, Saren isn't so, idk, bulky? but I have absolutely no grasp on human anatomy yet, so.