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padfootagain · 3 years ago

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The Adviser

Hey! I'm writing this little fic for @musicallisto's event! I'm using her prompts 4 and 29 for Caspian :

4. “Can you stay with me?”

29.“Their hands on your skin…”

I'm also including a bit of the drunken confessions trope for this one!

I hope you all like it, tell me what you think about it, and thank you again Clara for hosting this event! This is just pure fluff, you know me, it's soft hours time!!!! We love cute clichés here!

Pairing : Caspian x reader

Word Count: 3597 (I've proofread but I've been writing for four hours and my brain is fried, I am so sorry if there are more mistakes than usual, forgiiiiiive meeeeee!!!)

You shouldn't have been drinking like this. Deep down, you knew it was a mistake. But what choice did you have? It was the only way to forget what this princess what doing at that moment.

Her hand was on Caspian's arm, and you didn't fail to notice the way her fingers slipped down the length of his velvet sleeve to brush against the skin of his wrist. You took another large gulp of liquor, but the image was already printed all over your eyelids when you closed your eyes and tried to blink the sight away.

It was more than you could stand. So much more than what you were humanly able to stomach. And the worst part of it all, really, was that none of this was Caspian's fault. He didn't even know about how you felt for him, so how could he have guessed that him letting her touch him like this, being so close to him, were hurting so.

But it did hurt. God, it hurt so bad.

The room was full of noises and conversations. You were celebrating the signing of a new commercial agreement between Narnia and their neighbours. It was exciting, and all the politicians that had been involved in the elaboration of the treaty and its negotiations were now enjoying a much-deserved celebration. The treaty had been signed earlier in the afternoon, and hopefully it was the first step towards a friendship between the two nations.

And you should have been celebrating as well, because after all, this treaty was your baby. You had written parts of it, you had worked for months to convince lords that this treaty was a good thing. You had worked and worked relentlessly for so long on this project. It was your baby, in a way.

When you had begun this adventure, you had envisioned yourself in the position you were finally in now. With a signed treaty resting on the king's desk in his study, and surrounded by lords, princesses and other important political figures, drinking wine and eating pastries and laughing as the future seemed a little brighter than it was before.

What you had never imagined though, was that during the months you had spent working closely with the King of Narnia, you would fall madly, desperately, hopelessly in love with him.

You wanted to slap some sense into your own head for falling for him the way you had, but it would be useless. There was nothing you could have done to avoid it. And every time you looked at him, you were reminded of this cruel truth. Nothing could have prevented you from falling in love with the king, not even yourself, not even him. Nothing, no one, could save you now.

Sometimes, it was driving you mad, really. The way he was so kind, and a little shy around you. You forgot that he was even a king, then. He had a way to make you feel safe by simply smiling at you. There was something in the way he walked, in the way he held himself, that would have betrayed his rank if he had tried to hide it. He was so… inspiring, in a way. More than that, he was magnetic. When he walked into a room, it was clear who he was. A mere glimpse at him, and even if one had no idea what the King of Narnia looked like, they would have recognized him. But then he would blush in the most precious way when complimented, bending his head as if to hide his reaction, and there was so much hesitation in his polite smiles, as if he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Maybe it was that contrast that had make your heart melt. The way he was the most charismatic man when you saw him, and the kindest when you talked to him.

Yes, yes, that was it. Or at least, part of it. Maybe it was the starting point of it all. Then, every single detail that made him unique had sealed the deal, and your heart was his, for good.

At the end of the day, though, no matter how much you loved him and how friendly and kind he was to you, he was still the King, and you were merely a representative. There was nothing special about your ancestry, even if your position now was quite high in the government. But you were one of the King's advisors, that was all, and every time you looked at one of these princesses throwing all their charms and manners at Caspian, you really couldn't hold it against him to fall for them and not you.

If he had known these inner thoughts of yours, he would have been adamant at contradicting you, at telling you that you were just as special as they were. But he was busy talking to one of them, and you were busy drinking. It ought to be the way things were meant to be, right?

After a couple more glasses of wine, your head was starting to spin and Caspian seemed to finally notice that something was off with you. He frowned hard as he saw you reaching for the nearest wall to keep your balance, while you lifted your glass to your lips again. You finished all the alcohol in one gulp. It wasn't like you though, to drink like this…

At first, he thought maybe you were simply letting loose more than usual in celebration for the treaty, but you didn't seem happy at all. On the contrary, your features were twisted in one of pain. Were you sick? A wave of fear rushed to his heart, crushing the little organ in his chest. He hurried to excuse himself and leave the princess he had been talking to. He was aware it was barely polite, but if you were unwell, he didn't exactly care about the etiquette. In fact, all his thoughts were set upon you and his worry now, he couldn't even realize what he was doing as he crossed the room in just a few long strides, ignoring people in the crowd trying to intercept him as he passed by.

You hadn't noticed him approaching, you had settled your attention on the marble ground, in an attempt to avoid seeing Caspian talk with the flirty princess that had been clinging to him for the past hour. Only when his brown boots appeared on the floor right before you did you notice his presence. You looked up in a jolt, your hair growing with fear and apprehension, while your quick movement made your head spin even more than before.

"Your Majesty," you mumbled, trying to stand a little straighter. "Can I… do anything for you?"

Your words were slurred, obvious sign of your intoxication. Caspian's frown only deepened.

"I was about to ask you the same question, you don't seem to be well," the king answered.

"I… I am perfectly fine," you lied.

"You seem to need a bit of fresh air," Caspian insisted. "Let me accompany you to the gardens."

You didn't have the strength to fight against him or argue in any way. Besides, Caspian was right, you did need a bit of fresh air to clear your mind. So you let him take your arm, assuring your balance, while he guided you outside.

The afternoon was slowly dying out into the early evening. The sun was still quite high in the summer sky, but the heat it released had diminished as the hours passed by. A salty breeze was blowing through the roses in full blossoms and the branches of the tall oaks that offered their shades to the visitors. It was quiet though, most of the inhabitants of the castle being either busy with their daily tasks, or at the reception. It was an easy task for Caspian to find a quiet spot for the two of you to walk by.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, noticing your steps were a little steadier, even if he still kept a careful hold on your arm, just in case.

"I did need a bit of air, indeed. Thank you. I feel better," you nodded.

You tried to give him a smile, but it was harder to hide your feelings when you were drunk. It seemed more like a wince, instead, and Caspian fully turned to you this time, stopping you in your tracks in the middle of the narrow path in between the bushes of roses. He remained silent for a while, the noises of the wind in branches and the bees buzzing in the flowers the only sounds you could hear. And in this quiet place, staring right into the king's dark eyes was even more hypnotizing than usual. You were suddenly very aware that the two of you were alone. And very aware that his hand still rested on your arm too…

"Are you sick? What is wrong?"

Under his insisting tone, you recognized worry. If Caspian had tried to hide it, he had failed miserably.

"I… am quite fine. I think I simply celebrated a little too much…"

"You seemed sad back there," the king shook his head, cutting you off because you could finish your lie. "You did not seem to be celebrating at all. Why? What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess… I must be very tired. The negotiations were difficult and…"

"Why are you lying to me?"

You merely stared at him, not knowing what to answer.

"I know you are lying. I know you. Why will you not tell me what is bothering you?"

"It… is nothing…"

"Is it why you drank too much?"

"I am not drunk…"

"Yes, you are. You can barely stand."

"I can," you replied, even if it wasn't true. You knew that if Caspian suddenly let go of you, you would probably fall down in the roses, and the thought of the many thorns cutting your skin wasn't particularly appealing to you.

Caspian's frown slowly disappeared though. From worry, his expression changed to one of sadness and hurt, but you didn't understand why.

"I am your friend, Y/N. Why will you not tell me? I could help…"

You let out a bitter laugh. The liquor was taking the better of your judgement, for you would have never answered him this way had you been sober.

"My friend? As if we were friends…"

Caspian stared at you with the most puzzled expression you had ever seen adorning his handsome features.

"What do you mean? Of course, we are friends."

"We are not friends. You are the king, and I am… a commoner working for you."

There was so much hurt passing through Caspian's eyes, but you didn't feel guilty. It was true, after all. And the sight of this woman with him… with her eyes all over him, and the way she leaned towards him…

It was more than you could take…

"I thought we were more than just that by now," Caspian answered in a low voice.

"How could we be?"

"Why did you drink so much tonight?"

"Because I cannot take it anymore… I… these feelings I just… I can't fight them…"

"Feelings? What…?"

But then it dawned on him, only, not completely.

Of course, a question of heart would explain your sadness and your drinking tonight, such behaviours that were so out of character for you. He wasn't particularly good at hiding the way his heart broke in his chest at the thought that you loved someone else, though. He had to be thankful for your inebriated state that made you fail to notice his reaction when it was written all over his features.

He opened his mouth to ask who this was about, but you spoke first. The wine was making your mind blurry, your thoughts turning into a whirlwind, bumping into each other and making your usual filters lift. In any other circumstances, you would have never said any of the words you were about to utter, but then, liquor and broken hearts make confessions tumble easily.

"I cannot do this anymore. I want to resign."

"Resign? What…?"

"I cannot handle it. Being around you all the time…" you went on, barely realizing Caspian was trying to speak. "And today seeing her… her hands on your skin and…"

Your voice broke, and you lost your balance for good. Caspian was still here though, and he managed to catch you in his arms right before you would fall to the dusty ground.

His brain was repeating again and again your words, trying to analyse their meanings…

Did it mean that… you… was it about him, then?

"I will take you to your room. You need to rest. Come on…"

With the gentlest gestures, he guided you back inside and to your room, crossing empty corridors and avoiding people as much as he could. No one else but him needed to see you like this.

He helped you settle in bed, and only then did he notice that you were crying.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

He brushed your tears away. He had never touched you this way before, and it made his heart pound in his chest like it had never before. He let his fingers linger a little longer on your cheek.

"You must rest. We will talk about this in the morning."

He gave you a warm smile before turning away, but you held him back, catching his wrist before he could walk too far away. He turned to you again with a puzzled look.

"Can you stay with me?"

Your voice was barely more than a whisper, uncertain and fragile. He was used to hearing it loud and confident while you discussed amongst politicians and advisers, it was such a drastic change, it scared him. It was evident you needed someone to take care of you at that moment, and Caspian wouldn't have let anyone else do it in his stead.

He should have gone back to the reception, but how could he leave your side now?

So, he dragged a chair next to your bed, and sat down, offering you a reassuring smile. He held your hand in his, giving it a soothing squeeze.

"As you wish. But you need to sleep now."

"Are you angry?"

"No, I am not. We will talk about it tomorrow. Now, you need to sleep. Close your eyes."

You did as ordered, and fell asleep as soon as your eyelids had fallen. The warmth of Caspian's hand on yours was the last thing you remembered before surrendering to slumber.

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

Your headache wasn't the worst thing that happened when you woke up. Nor was your nausea, or the disgusting taste that lingered on your tongue. No, the worst part of waking up was the note you found folded by the side of your bed.

Caspian would be waiting to see you in his office.

If parts of the previous day were a little blurry, you still remembered perfectly your conversations with the King.

He would ask you to resign. Or he might even fire you altogether. He could have asked you already for someone to pick up your things and carry them out of the castle… but then, Caspian was a kind man, and you weren't altogether surprised when you picked up an outfit to dress up and found all your belongings exactly where they belonged.

After your behaviour, there was no other alternative. You had been disrespectful, and you highly doubted that the king would appreciate working with someone who had romantic feelings for him.

But your pride made you decide that you would resign first. You would not let him throw you out of the castle. If you had to leave, which was painful enough already, never to see the man you loved again, then at the very least, you could be spared the humiliation of being pushed away. At least, you would be the one leaving.

You made your way to his office, at last. Taking a deep breath before knocking on the door. Your heart missing a beat when you heard Caspian's low voice answering on the other side. You walked in.

Caspian welcomed you with a smile, he was sitting at his desk, his back to the stained-glass windows that painted colours all across the room. The light coming from behind him made the image ethereal, a vision you could have summoned in one of your dreams…

"Good morning, Y/N. Please, take a sit," he invited you. "Are you feeling better?"

You struggled to swallow, cleared your voice. His voice made butterflies tickle your belly, but you ignored the feeling. You ignored how much you wanted to comply and approach him. This was not the time. Now was the time to be strong.

You remained at a safe distance from his desk, refusing to sit down.

"Your Majesty," you tried to keep your voice steady, but couldn't help the slight shake that accompanied your words. "I am well, thank you."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but you interrupted him, raising your hand to silence him.

"Please, your Majesty… let me speak."

He nodded, letting you continue. You took a deep breath, and finally gathered the strength you needed to speak again.

"I…My behaviour yesterday was… unforgiveable. And I am aware that I have crossed a line. What transpired last night is the proof that I can no longer work for you and serve Narnia at the best of my abilities as your adviser anymore. It is why I would like to resign. I would be very thankful if you would agree to allow me to stay in the castle for one last week, to allow me to look for a new home. My resignation will be effective immediately, and I can write it down, if you want me to."

Caspian remained silent for a moment, before slowly standing up, and walking towards you. His hands behind his back, he only stopped when he was but one step away from you. You stared at him, waiting for his reaction, completely motionless.

"I agree that… your confessions from last night make it impossible for us to continue like this. Things cannot remain the same now."

You fought with all your might to refrain your tears, that merely gather at the corner of your eyes, but didn't fall. You didn't flinch, nor did you back away though.

"I do think that you need to resign from your position in our government. I would not be… proper… to have my advisor be…"

"I will inform the rest of the staff immediately," you interrupted him. Which was incredibly rude, interrupting the king… but you couldn't take it. You couldn't stomach the pain that it would make you feel to hear him say the words he was about to utter.

It was enough that he didn't love you. You didn't need him to say it out loud.

You turned on your heels, but Caspian didn't let you step away. He caught your wrist before you could move away, and you turned back towards him, your eyes growing in surprise.

"I have not dismissed you, yet," he told you, quirking an eyebrow.

"I apologize, your Majesty."

Caspian gave you a smile. You wondered what was worth smiling for though.

"I thought we had agreed that there was no need to call me this way when we are alone."

"Things have changed."

"Not nearly enough, yet."

It was your time to frown.

"There is no need for you to move out of the Castle."

"But I…"

"Would you like to take a walk in the gardens with me this afternoon?"

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, completely confused.

"I… don't understand…"

"Did you mean what you said? Yesterday? Or did I not understand you right? I thought you said you had feelings for me."

You nodded, unable to answer, fleeing Caspian's gaze.

"I did… but…"

"Well, I am asking you if you would like to take a walk with me this afternoon."

"But I… why?"

His smile grew fonder, and you noticed the way his fingertips were shaking when he reached to hold your other hand.

"I… was hoping you would… like to spend some time with me," Caspian added, hesitant this time, a little shy, pinker shades appearing to colour his cheeks. "Not as my advisor but… as… a friend…"

"A friend?" you repeated, stunned.

"Or well… maybe… maybe more than a friend."

"But I… I am…"

"I feel the same way."

He had said the last sentence as fast as he could, forcing the words out like he would have pulled an arrow out of a wound. In one, quick motion, before the strength and courage would fail him.

Your mouth fell open.

"You… you do?" you stuttered, out of breath for some reason. You only just then noticed that you seemed to have forgotten how to breathe altogether.

"I do. And well… I am afraid that you need to resign, for it would be impossible for me to court one of my advisors. But as you have done so, I thought… what about a walk?"

There were a thousand thoughts swarming in your head, and most of them were going against Caspian's idea. Most of them told you this was impossible.

But you chose to simply ignore all of them, and answer what your heart was desperately begging you to say instead.

"Yes. Yes, a walk would be lovely."

#caspian #caspian x y/n #king caspian x reader #caspian x reader #caspian x you #king caspian #narnia #caspian fanfiction #caspian fanfic #caspian imagine #narnia imagine #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writing challenge

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yguchild · 3 years ago

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CAFE JIFFY

warning: intsy bit suggestive.

genre: nothing, i don't know what to call this.

character: hanma shuji

xartist!gn!reader

art student AU

note: this is inspired by a cat cafe request that I got. Literally word vomit. possible ooc. grammatical errors.

You didn't plan for any of this to happen. You were in front of your easel, dreaming about that sweet bliss of slumber, yearning for rest like a dying man. Well, technically, you are. There's nothing you want more than to indulge in the pleasure of warm baths and soft sheets after spending the day facing your easel, covered in paint and varnish. And, yet here you are, enveloped in fur with a couple of cups of coffee. Baffled as to how you arrived here, even the cat in your lap wondered.

On the other hand, your boyfriend seems to have that amused glint on his eyes, lurking on your figure as he takes a sip of his coffee. Hanma Shuji, one of the famous sculptors in your art university, your boyfriend of two years, is sitting in front of you, petting the cat in his arms. The stoic man, who everyone fawns over, is petting a cat in a cafe near your studio.

"Shuji, I know we haven't seen each other for two weeks, but what is this?" resting your hand on the soft fur on the cat sitting at your lap, you watch it lax under your touch. You didn't even bother looking at your boyfriend since the heat of his gaze is enough to notify you of his fever attention.

"This is a cat café, my love," his voice is sultry and deep, contrary to the lightness of the place, "And, indeed, we haven't seen each other for weeks."

Even with the looming exams and projects, Hanma still has the time to spend with you, taking that extra mile to pamper you. Meanwhile, guilt tastes awful in your mouth as you choose the dried gesso and a pile of turpentine in your room over spending time with your boyfriend. For example, this one. If he hadn't come to take you out of your stuffy art room, you're spending another hour aggravating on your ghastly project.

"Yes, I know. But, why?"

"Because I said so. You can discuss your complaints while I still have patience, my dear."

The intent on his voice brings shivers down your spine, almost causing gooseflesh to appear on your skin. Hanma is a patient man with you, often taking his time to listen to your words until he spent everything on his plate, and one can only guess what happens next between the two of you. As much as you like playing with his strings, your aweary mind has another stuff yearning for at the moment, so you stayed quiet. Docile and soft in front of him.

"Please, don't think of other things. I want you to relax here," Hanma mumbles, eyes still fixated on you.

You sighed, taking the waiting coffee on the table, relaxing like your boyfriend wants you to. You must admit that it's a nice change of scenery, light and airy, despite your boyfriend's stony expression. Your (e/c) eyes grace over him, watching him play with cats and chuckling at the contrasting image.

"You being an organized motherfucker is one, but to this extent? There's a lot to you, huh, Shuji?" you propped your head in one of your hands, a smirk displayed on your face. He glances at you, furrowing his eyebrow, almost matching the cat in his hand.

"You're that focused on your work that you forgot I like cats. You hurt me, (y/n)," Hanma feigns a hurt expression, dramatically putting his hand on his chest. You raised an eyebrow at his out-of-character acting and exchange a look with the cat watching you.

"I am sorry, okay? I'll make up for it, I swear, with anything!"

"Oh, anything?"

Regret immediately washes over you as you watch Hanma go smug over your words, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips. It's now his turn to smirk and look at you with teasing eyes, consuming every reaction he can gain from you.

"Speaking of work, when was your-"

"Don't go changing topics on me, (y/n)."

You wanted to wipe off the smugness on his face, tear it apart with your hands until it ceases to exist, but a part of you was captivated, luring you in a trance. You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, thickly under the heat of his gaze, fidgeting in your seat.

"Tell me," he exhaled, coating his words with tooth-rotting sweetness, "What is it that you swore to give me?"

You turn at the counter behind your boyfriend to see if they heard where your conversation turns into; when you noticed their indifference, you look at your boyfriend again, composing yourself yet again.

"Anything, Shuji."

A sickening smile plastered on his face as he stood up, proceeding to the counter to pay for everything you ordered inside the cafe. You sat still, processing his last words before leaving you, partially regretting that Hanma Shuji is your boyfriend. Or was it excitement bubbling inside of you? Who knows.

"Then, let's see what my love has to offer after two weeks of neglecting me."

#tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #hanma fluff #hanma x you #hanma x y/n #hanma x reader #hanma shuji #hanma hcs #hanma imagine

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juleswolverton-hyde · 3 years ago

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Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is.

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks.

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table.

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned.

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.”

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens.

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.”

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings.

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row.

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare.

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat.

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure.

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour.

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue.

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague.

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea.

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened.

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

#JB #Jaebeom #Im Jaebeom #GOT7 #GOT7 smut #Jaebeom fanfiction #GOT7 Werewolf AU #GOT7 x Reader #Jaebeom x Reader #Jaebeom smut #Werewolf!Jaebeom #Werewolf AU #Werewolf!JB #Not by the Moon

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dornish-queen · 4 years ago

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GQ MEXICO - PEDRO PASCAL 2021

It seems that Pedro Pascal is in all possible universes. Here and there. In the past, in the present, and in galaxies far, far away. Today, the actor is considered the great entertainment reference and one of those in charge of saving a franchise that seemed lost. Enough reasons to talk exclusively about discipline, gastronomy, creeds and how he traumatized his father in 30 seconds.

The RAE defines 'creed' as the set of ideas, principles or convictions of a person or a group. For example, by creed, one can leave his country and be in exile. It happens that one can leave the loved one behind. Or simply live in another reality. And also one can put on a helmet to pretend never to take it off again. If that is the path to follow, the creed says that it must be done with the profession of faith and without stopping to look. Turning the pages of the script for The Mandalorian , the Disney + series that revived passion and nostalgia for the Star Wars franchise , Pedro Pascal came across this definition in every dialogue and moment, and reflection carved his way.

More than two decades have passed since the Chilean-American, Pedro Pascal, began his acting career and today, named as the great reference of 2020 , he misses the theater and it still hurts him not to have the discipline to exercise and maintain a diet sana while acknowledging the irony of having the best year of her career in the midst of one of the worst in recent history. But even in physical solitude, the man who carried the best-selling Christmas baby rescues many positive things and shares his vision of the universes he has traveled through, his passion for distant galaxies and how to traumatize your family with a simple scene of TV. In an interview, the Mandalorian of Latinamerica.

IMDB named you the 2020 benchmark in entertainment, a year in which the world took refuge in fiction. How was living your best time locked up and what do you rescue on a human level from it?

The strength of family relationships and friendship. For them, we endure this physical loneliness. I do find it ironic that in 2020 I received projects so well received by the public, although they were carried out before the pandemic and their impact was during it, and that year I was isolated and alone. But I must emphasize that this loneliness is a privilege when many people had to continue working, surviving and maintaining the functioning of the world. We only had to be alone, but they more than that and you must value it too.

Among the activities you have missed, how much do you miss the theater?

Much indeed. It's something that I miss the most and being with people without being afraid. See a play and return to those experiences of being with people doing and living things in common. That is what I need most, in addition to my loved ones.

Disney fully entered streaming and its strong letter has your face, what do you think of the discussion of platforms against movie theaters?

There are incredible things in streaming and many people develop great projects that they did not have access to before. The diversity of voices is gaining ground and it is important to recognize that opportunities grow exponentially and boundaries change. It is incredible the availability that we have to very well made content and how creative people can share their work in different ways. But I also want to be honest: limiting the experience of watching content only on our gadgets or at home is a mistake that affects the stories we can tell. You have to achieve a mix of opportunities and challenges.

You jump between the fictional universes that mark the last decades until you reach the universe of universes. What is your first Star Wars memory and how do you summarize the essence of this legendary story?

For me, Star Wars is nostalgia itself. It is one of the primary things in my memory, of my childhood. I came to the United States with my Chilean family when I was less than two years old and one of my first memories is going to the movies with my dad to see the saga ; it becomes one of those romantic childhood things that opens your mind, so imagine how special it is to participate in this project. I think the creators of The Mandalorian perfectly understand this nostalgia and that power, and they managed to count on that element as a great ally for the world of Star Wars and I couldn't be happier to be part of it. (From which we expect the third season The Mandalorian)

The Mandalorian exploits the power and nuances of your voice, did you have that letter on your resume?

I didn't know I could do it, but I resorted to my theater preparation, which was very physical on all levels and feelings. There are elements that have to do with and that are essential to create a role, and they teach you that the voice is something primary, something you have to start with and you cannot hide. Now I have learned much more about the importance of that, and how to use it economically. The body also has to do with that, because something very subtle communicates something. In The Mandalorian , I had a great time figuring out how to do it, they gave me the opportunity to develop it in different ways. The opportunity to be very intense at it.

What happens to the ego when someone works under a suit and a mask?

In the conversations about the project, before doing it, we were communicated the idea and the concept of the entire season , so I clearly understood what it was. I wanted it to be the most powerful version of what they were trying to accomplish, so there was no point in involving my ego, you know? It was already very clear what the project meant, so I knew about the character , the piece that it represented for him and the opportunity that it was for me, so I was only focused on executing in a better way the part that touched me in everything this. In the theater, I worked several times under a mask and it helped me develop the experience.

It seems that The Mandalorian has a very theatrical base ...

Exactly, and thanks to the physical experience of working in theater, doing a play a few times a week, discovering how your body and your voice communicate , being part of a whole image, and how you will tell that story visually, I achieved this character. I never imagined that it would be something I would have to use on such an important Star Wars project .

On the list of entertainment greats, there are names like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, do you think John Favreau should be added to the list?

I think your name is already included. Without a doubt, it is in that category and it is incredible. His vision fascinates me. I remember an episode in the second season , and I had some boots and I walked so much in the snow, it stuck to them. He figured it out, so he talked to the art department about the kind of boots you need when you're out in the snow. They approached me and gave me new ones that fulfilled the idea I was looking for. He noticed it in an instant. It is such a wonderful detail and it is repeated to scale in every session with him. He thinks of absolutely everything and his vision of the use of technology is admirable. He is someone who makes you feel motivated and always sees how to achieve the goal.

One of the reflections in the series is on how and under what circumstances a man can break his creed and way of life. What makes you break with your beliefs?

I think that you must follow your heart so as not to regret anything; Although sometimes it brings pain or conflict, deep down when you look back, everything is worth it because it was what you heard in your heart. I am very afraid to deny that feeling or not to attend to it. I am 45 years old now and I cannot believe I have a finer philosophy. Make it more disciplined. It's ridiculous, but I'm trying to accept that I am and it's all I can say, "follow your heart." Although, you know, I'm not on a good diet yet, I still have trouble sleeping or exercising.

Still good at Chilean empanadas?

Yes, I couldn't stop. And also how good that I do not live in Mexico City because I would only spend it eating. I could move my whole life to defe just to eat.

I want to deviate and ask you, with whom did you see the chapter of your death in Game of Thrones and what traumas did you cause in your family?

For me, no trauma. I separate myself well from the characters , although I fully understand that if I were a Game of Thrones audience and loved that character, it would make an incredible impression on me. Thank you that it was not. I had to interpret it and there was a model of my head to be crushed that way with the tubes and the fake blood, you know? Me lying there, with pieces of my meat, it was funny in the end. But not for my family. For them there is nothing funny but traumatic. My dad's voice changed completely when we saw the episode, he turned around and said: “I didn't like it, Pedro . No, Pedro , not this ”.

The media found similarities between your villain in Wonder Woman: 1984 and Donald Trump. When playing a character with characteristics like this, do you humanize him or do you understand him?

The project had nothing to do with the former president. They always told me that my character in Wonder Woman: 1984 was emotionally messy, and I took that and took that as far as possible. Instead of creating it with images or certain inspirations from life, it was more to work with what was on the page. Personally, what made sense to me is the size of the story that is being told and there is always more, and we all want more. Creatively, if this makes sense, that meant "blowing her out of the park." Connect a hit with the character and be committed to telling his story faithfully, in a way that was true to me. So all the exterior elements found their way.

What a way to start 2021 with the theme of the Capitol ... How do you perceive that moment?

I am not a politician and it is not that I do not have an opinion about this type of event; however, it is not necessary to state the obvious. My opinion would be very simple compared to that of a person who studied this, who knows how to act in these kinds of scenarios; I believe that I am next to the majority who experienced this, which is the logical result of what we have experienced during these years and we are all horrified . It was distressing to see this violence.

If you had the monolith in your hands, what would your wish be?

My wish would be… it's impossible, really (laughs). I think it is to be together again, with less fear and that people have the opportunity to connect.

What is your position on the reality that Chile has experienced in recent years and how has the relationship with your country been since exile?

It is something that I am developing and I continue to do in my life, trying to understand that it is my home. To be in Chile is to be at home, but my life has been very nomadic, living different things and having many influences; so it is strange, I do not feel with the title of a complete Chilean identity nor with an American one.

Neither here nor there?

In a sense, but I'm also completely both. My parents are Chilean , my brothers were born there before my parents traveled, and I came back sometimes because my family is very large; in fact, my parents came back. It has always been there, it continues to develop, and it will be a part of me. I don't know if it answers your question, but it has a lot to do with who I am.

What is your relationship with Latin American cinema? Are you interested?

Much, it has invaded me in life like American cinema. The movies that I carry in my heart, seeing something like Y tu mama was also something that changed me; I also love the work that comes out of Chile , and the only thing I can say is that it is a cinema that needs more access and projects.

Today you have a comedy with Nicolas Cage on the door, can you tell us something?

It's my first shot at comedy , as a complete story within the genre. Speaking of American influences , in the 80s I saw all the films where Nicolas Cage appeared , he came into my life and it's great to be his partner after seeing all his performances.

How is the relationship you have with the comedy genre?

I love it, I have done a lot of comedy in the theater, what happens is that in film and television issues , I was always part of drama castings . And in the cinema, you go where the doors open; Although I identify with one or the other, I think that being an actor , one goes and does what one has to do. Comedy is something unique, it is very challenging because it must be very real to be funny, you cannot hide or use normal tricks. I was very excited to have this challenge in front of a camera.

Finally, Pedro, after going through so many fictional worlds, literally, what do you dream about when you sleep?

I dream that my bathroom is dirty, that I haven't done my math homework, that the oven is on and all that stuff. Sure, there are times when I close my eyes and see myself in all these projects , although my conscience is with the anxieties of the day that you can imagine.

Without a doubt, Pedro Pascal is a particular type .

English Tranlation: Google Translate

SOURCE: GQ MEXICO

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #gq mexico #Articles

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kaylorrehabcenter · 4 years ago

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Rating Every Song on Fearless Based on How Gay it is

Hello friends! I still have a few song analyses in the pipeline (and one on Lover the album) but today in honor of Fearless (Taylor’s Edition) being announced and Love Story being released in a few hours I thought I’d do something fun to celebrate!

And you know what? Fuck my usual disclaimer, I am the word of god here. Try and change my mind about any of these. I dare you. (I kid I kid this isn’t that serious and you’re free to disagree <3)

1. Fearless 15/10

Everything about this song is so fucking gay oh my god. This isn’t a fruit, this is a whole ass edible arrangement. As a small rural town Gay (my hometown has a population of less that 4,000 and where I’m living now has a population of 2,500) this uh. Hits.

“And I don't know how it gets better than this/You take my hand and drag me head first, fearless”

Y’ALL

The idea of falling in love with someone who makes you less afraid of your homophobic small town…….it’s getting to me.

“My hands shake, I'm not usually this way but/You pull me in and I'm a little more brave/It's the first kiss, it's flawless, really something/It's fearless”

This is making me emotional, I'll be honest. I see so much of my friends and my experience in high school in this song.

This quote I found on genius is from when the album was released on BMR’s website.

“When I wrote ‘Fearless,’ I wasn’t dating anyone. I wasn’t even in the beginning stages of dating anybody. I really was all by myself out on tour and I got this idea for a song about the best first date. I think sometimes when you’re writing love songs, you don’t write them about what you’re going through at the moment, you write about what you wish you had. So, this song is about the best first date I haven’t had yet.”

This just screams baby Tay writing gay folklore to me, about the gay stories she wish she had. Notice how there are no pronouns in this song??? Fruity I’m telling you.

All that to say. I’m crying because the linear note says “I loved you before I met you” and I want to go listen to Long Story Short and cry now.

2. Fifteen 1/10

Objectively pretty straight as she’s singing about her and Abigail’s dating boys in HS. And Taylor got with a senior guy. Good for her I suppose.

Unless he was one of the shitty ones in which case.

“This is life before you know who you're gonna be”

This however, is a cute line and the whole song makes me warm and nostalgic. You can also hear her crying after the line “and Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind” which makes me emo and I’m sure will take on new depth after Abigail’s divorce and hurt me even more.

Other highlights that make me sob include.

“When all you wanted was to be wanted/Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now/Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday/But I realized some bigger dreams of mine”

Bigger dreams of hers indeed :’)

(Also how can you say she’s a gold star lesbian when this song exists. She was obviously dating boys in high school and even if you think she’s a lesbian. Comp het is a hell of a drug kids.)

3. Love Story 8/10

Tried to change the ending indeed.

This is THE Taylor Swift song, and maybe it’s the nostalgia talking but damn I still love it. Written because she wanted to change the ending of Romeo and Juliet (how anyone likes RandJ enough to want to rewrite I have no clue.) and/or because her parents didn’t approve of a guy she was seeing. (according to genius, it would’ve been too early for Joe J so it could possibly be Boys Like Girls frontman, his image did clash with hers and they did release some cute songs together. However if you want my take it’s probably folklore about Emily, take for what you will)

This song has very oft gay vibes with the ‘They don’t approve of our love angle!’ but uses male pronouns so points redacted for that. HOWEVER this is a very early use of ~the male perspective~ in Taylor’s songs and for that it deserves all the love.

“ So I sneak out to the garden to see you/We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew/So close your eyes/Escape this town for a little while”

More rural town angst!!!

Nothing gets me more than rural town angst.

“Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel/This love is difficult, but it's real”

Originally the lyric was “this love is different”. Granted I do not remember the source, i’s just lore implanted into my brain, but make of that what you will.

“"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone/I love you, and that's all I really know/I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress/It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes"”

Marry me Juliet from the male perspective :)

Also worth noting. This is Karlie’s (and Kim K’s lmao) favorite Taylor song which. While basic as hell. Makes this cover sad as hell to this former Kaylor. (thanks @swiftgron-get-married for the tears <3)

Also not to make this about a man AGAIN but the secret message is “Some day I’ll find this” AND SHE DID IM CRYING.

4. Hey Stephen 1/10

The one thing Camilla Cabello and I have in common is loving this song, so I have to live with that for the rest of my life.

This song is very painfully straight.

How can you think this woman is a gold star lesbian.

The only noteworthy thing is that this is one of the few songs she confirms who it’s about. The secret message is “Love and Theft” which is the name of a country music duo who went on to open her Fearless tour. Which, does make me side eye this song a little bit.

Still a cute song.

“Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing/I don't always have to be alone”

5. White Horse 1/10

Oh look. It’s track five.

You know maybe this is just me being a bitch but in my ranking of track fives this is. Pretty low. Maybe on the bottom.

Like I don’t have a lot to say about it.

She’s going through it over a guy. He was a cheating dickweazel.

“'Cause I'm not your princess, this ain't a fairytale/I'm gonna find someone someday/Who might actually treat me well”

“Try and catch me now, oh/It's too late/To catch me now”

These lines hit though!!

And she found Joe!! Who treats her well!!!! And she isn’t the princess, she’s the prince who dropped her sword and knocked on her door!!! But this time if they come for them she’s ready!!!

Yes I will make every song about Long Story Short <3

6. You Belong With Me 5/10

Ah yes. The other THE Taylor Swift song.

You know. If I went to a high school with a cheerleading squad. And I had a crush on a cheerleader. I would blast this song. So for that it gets a 5/10. Otherwise. Fairly straight and fairly iconic.

7. Breathe 8/10

Well. We know this one is about a woman. (Emily Poe for those not in the know. Ha. A rhyme!) That alone has an 8/10. And it’s the first time she has a featured artist so bonus points for that!

It was nominated for a Grammy and it fucking lost to Jason Mraz. When’s the last time you thought about Jason Mraz.

I will not have Kaylor feels on a fucking Fearless song but damn is it VERY easy.

“Never a clean break, no one here to save me/You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand”

“It's 2 A.M, feeling like I just lost a friend/Hope you know it's not easy, easy for me”

Also this bridge? Goes off. HIGHLY underrated.

8. Tell Me Why 3/10

You know. Maybe this album isn’t as gay as I once thought.

This song does bop though, not as good as her other angry songs on this album. But I can vibe with this you know. Why are you being an asshole mysterious man.

“You could write a book on how to ruin someone's perfect day”

This has to be one of baby Tay’s best burns. Damn.

“Why do you have to make me feel small/So you can feel whole inside?/Why do you have to put down my dreams/So you're the only thing on my mind?”

Men ain’t shit kids. However, bonus points for the shade.

9. You’re not Sorry 1/10

Ok, ok. Maybe this was a foolish endeavor.

Because yet again we have a very straight song. A good song. That was on Taylor’s episode of CSI. But oh dear. Very straight. Gets a measly one point. We started this post off so very very gay but damn. We seem to be nearing the end on a very straight note.

10. The Way I Loved You 20/10

Hey Remember what I said about this album being very straight.

WELL THAT WAS A LIE.

Is this a comphet album or am I projecting.

This is one of my favorite baby gay Taylor songs. Her masterful use of pronouns (he is sensible! And so incredible! And all my single friends are jealous! But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain, when it was two am and I was cursing your name!) makes the other person she’s singing about completely vague, while we know she isn’t happy with whichever guy she’s dating.

Mayhaps an early reaction to PRomances?

Either way this song is so good, truly an underrated gay gem I mean. Look at it.

“Breaking down and coming undone/It's a roller coaster kind of rush/And I never knew I could feel that much/And that's the way I loved you”

AND THE BRIDGE. Do all of her gay songs just have kickass bridges?

“He can't see the smile I'm faking/And my heart's not breaking/'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all/And you were wild and crazy/Just so frustrating/Intoxicating, complicated/Got away by some mistake and now…”

Damn. I’m imaging this with 2020 vocals and fucking ascending.

Also please watch the live performance of it from the Fearless tour. It’s such a damn shame this got cut from the movie and some woman in the front row is wearing a cowboy hat. Everyone is holding up those cameras everyone had to have before smartphones. Taylor is being endearing. It’s a good time.

11. Forever and Always 6/10

Bonus points for the ~drama~ of it all. Added last minute to the album? The iconic throwing of the chair in live performances?? All of it very dramatique and for that we stan.

Still pretty straight.

Also Joe Jonas responded to the song and why do I find his response so damn funny. “It’s part of being a musician, I guess. You write songs about each other.”

This is another song where the idea of Taylor’s grown up vocals on this is………..whew

12. The Best Day 0/10

This gets zero points because it’s about her literal mom.

Still makes me cry.

God bless Andrea Swift indeed

13. Change 13/10

We start the official tracklist with a gay song. We end it with a gay song.

We will ignore that it was originally written for Scott and BMR and instead induct it into the hall of gay pride anthems, as it should be.

“We're getting stronger now, finding things they never found/They might be bigger but we're faster and never scared/You can walk away, say we don't need this/But there's something in your eyes says we can beat this”

“This revolution, the time will come/For us to finally win/And we'll sing hallelujah, we'll sing hallelujah”

The music video is cringe though lol

14. Jump then Fall 10/10

This song is gay because I choose it to be. <3

Like. Picture baby Taylor writing this song and playing it on her guitar to a girl she has a crush on telling her that she’ll protect her and they’ll be safe and in love and happy together. Gah, maybe I’m ~projecting~ but this sweet ass song always gets me and is EASILY in my top five Taylor songs. Super underrated and hecking cute.

“We're on the phone and without a warning/I realize your laugh is the best sound/I have ever heard”

Like. Look at this shit.

“I watch you talk, you didn't notice/I hear the words but all I can think is/We should be together”

Tell me this is about the first time you get a crush on a girl and she’s your best friend and she’s amazing and beautiful and you realize you kinda want to kiss her and you hope she wants to kiss you too.

“I had time to think it oh, over/And all I can say is come closer/Take a deep breath and jump then fall into me”

And she’s the Romeo who's going to protect her!!!!! She’s the knight in shining armor in this song and I love that for her??

“The bottom's gonna drop out from under our feet/I'll catch you, I'll catch you/When people say things that bring you to your knees/I'll catch you/The time is gonna come when you're so mad you could cry/But I'll hold you through the night until you smile”

I won’t divulge into full on analysis here because. This is what this post is about but PLEASE listen to this song more. It’s such a gay little gem.

15. Untouchable 9/10

How does she make a cover sound gay.

It sounds so gay.

“You got to come on, come on, say that we'll be together/Come on, come on, little taste of heaven”

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

16. Forever and Always Piano Version 1/10

This song gets 1/10 because I don’t like it. There. I said it.

17. Come in With the Rain 3/10

I can see why this is a bonus track. It doesn’t hit me as much as the other songs on the album.

But damn if I don’t want to scream sing this one driving down a high way.

18. Superstar 7/10

You can’t tell me this song is about a man. I simply won’t entertain the idea.

You cannot prove to me that this song is about a man. There is not a male pronoun in sight.

>:)

19. The Other Side of the Door 6/10

Is this song about having a fight about being in the closet? Probably not. Will my gay little brain make it about that? Yep!

And that, funky little queer pals, is my gay rating of every Fearless song. Like and subscribe, #t3atmidnight

#long post //#fearless the album #gaylor #what do i tag this for it to show up for peope??#gay rating

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ask-spider-man-61610 · 3 years ago

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The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

#Spider-Man #Spider-Man AU #Peter Parker #Earth-61610 #Cape Code Authority #Reed Richards | Mister Fantastic #Flint Marko | Sandman #Scrier #story #long #Odyssey Prelude

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votederpycausemufins · 4 years ago

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We’re back with Summoning family! I’m referencing Rustic House Club in this fic, so you might want to go read it, especially the bonus chapter as it has a bit that leads into this chapter, though it’s not necessary to read.

also ay yo @petrichormeraki ! new chapter!

The moment Jrum had seen Sam, he rushed to the redstoner and attached himself to one of his legs. Grum quickly followed to help pry his younger brother off the man, but Jrum made it as difficult as possible. “I am sorry for my brother. I assume you are Sam?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Can I ask what that was about?”

“Your mask. It resembles that of a creeper in such a way that it makes you resemble someone we are familiar with. Jrum likely saw the mask and presumed you to be him. He is already rather homesick.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m happy to help you two. Puffy said you needed help with some redstone?” Sam asked, earning a nod from Grum.

“Correct. We are robots that are powered by redstone. Our circuitry is complex enough that we do not have a way to easily self recharge, thus a charger for us will need to be constructed. Jrum? The blueprints if you please?”

Jrum handed a sheet of paper to Sam. It had various orthographic views of the device as well as interior images and instructions on how to build it. “That’s the tweaked version since our dads could make it smaller.”

Sam looked over the blueprints. “Hmm, yeah, this is gonna be pretty big, but it’s manageable. Do I need to make one for each of you?”

“No, we should be able to share.” Grum replied. “Though two would indeed be a better option, we would not want to force you to do more work, and once we have one charger, the two of us will be able to make a second ourselves without any looming deadline.”

“Alright then, let’s start making this thing.”

Sam took them to an open area which he also explained was where they could build a place to live around the charger. Grum thought that was a good idea as he mapped out the area for Sam and Jrum to start working. Grum also helped out as much as he could, but he had given much of his battery charge to Jrum, and soon it showed.

“You doing okay there?” Sam asked Grum, who’s movements were stuttered and slow. Grum didn’t respond, just continuing to work. “Hey kid? Uh, Jrum I think? Something’s up with your brother.”

Jrum stopped what he was doing and came over, looking at his brother. “Oh… h-he’s in low power mode. I… Grum do you want some of my charge?” Grum didn’t respond. He didn’t want to use any power for it. “Here, let me just connect us up.” Jrum started to pull out a cable, but Grum stopped him. “Don’t. Finish the charger. Instead. I’ll be. Fine.”

Jrum still looked worried, but slowly put the cable away. Sam went back to working, and Jrum almost did as well, but then Grum collapsed, now completely out of power. “No!” Jrum was immediately back at Grum’s side and started shaking him. “Please wake up! P-Please! I don’t want to be alone! W-wake up!”

Sam wanted to comfort the robot, but what just happened showed just how important this project was. So instead he just started working as fast as he could without messing up. Jrum reluctantly joined him after a few minutes, working slowly.

They had almost completed it when Jrum’s movements also became stiff and laggy. Sam paused what he was doing again to be next to Jrum, not wanting to leave him feeling alone. “What. If I. Don’t wake. Up again?” Jrum asked.

Sam gave a comforting hug to the robot. “You will. I promise.”

Jrum slowly hugged the man back. Sam held on until he felt Jrum’s grip loosen, and when he pulled away, Jrum was also completely off, save for the symbol of an empty battery before it disappeared, leaving everything dark.

“Now are you all sure this is a wise decision?” Xisuma asked, admin panel open and ready to send the group of six to Helscraft.

“Yes! This is probably the last place we have to look!” Tommy shouted at Xisuma, surprising him. “And if we have to fight for them back! So be it!”

Mumbo put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Calm down. This isn’t exactly the first time we’ve lost someone in there. I’m sure if the bots did end up in Helscraft, they’re probably in safe hands.”

Tommy looked over at Grian who gave a sad smile and nodded. “We’ll just need to be a little careful. Last time we were there I got mistaken for someone else, and since that person was the empress of the world, it could happen this time too.”

“Okay, someone good will have the kids, people are going to try and kill Grian, we protect him. Great! Got it! Let’s go!”

Xisuma rolled his eyes but smiled at his newest hermit before sending the group off to the hels dimension.

The group found themselves standing on a small island made of mycelium as well as being on fire. The water surrounding the burning island was a blood red color, though it otherwise looked like water. Mumbo walked over to a chest and pulled out some boats before putting them down. “Alright, we’re heading to that main island in the distance over there.” He pointed. “We’re going to need to find a portal that’s made of something that looks like glowstone, but isn’t. From there we follow a path lined with blue clouds. No questions, just get in the boats.”

The only time Tommy had heard Mumbo that serious was when he was scolding the bots, so he immediately listened and got in a boat, Tubbo getting in behind him. He followed behind the boats Mumbo and Techno were rowing, going towards the main island of the world. Looking at it was a bit jarring. He could tell this was like the hermits’ cowmercial district, but it also looked like it was a part of the SMP with how destroyed and griefed it looked.

Grian led them to a portal that looked like it was made from a golden material with blue magic in the middle. When Tommy went through, he was surprised to see something that looked so much like the standard overworld. Though it resembled a plains biome, something Tommy absolutely hated, it also didn’t with its mint green grass and blue dirt. Trees with light green, blue and navy leaves speckled the land, and unfamiliar mobs roamed the land. There was also one other difference. The place was absolutely freezing.

“Wh-wh-where a-are w-we?” Tommy chattered out before he was handed a blanket made out of wool. Mumbo had one of his own and was handing out one to each member of the party, save for grian who was using his wings instead. One blanket had been brought for the avian though, and Techno took that one too, as being a piglin already made the overworld chilly, so this was on a different level.

“This is the aether. It’s what they have instead of the nether in Helscraft.” Grian answered. “And while The nether is supposed to be closer to the core of the world, making it much hotter, this place is far up in the air, making it extremely cold. The spawn here has something to make the air here breathable, but outside of this place, you need extra gear to breath for very long as there’s not much oxygen. Fortunately the path we’re going on has something set up, which is why those blue clouds are there. But also do not touch them because it will not end well for you.”

After Grian’s warning, everyone was very careful as they walked the marked path. Beings made of clouds attempted to attack as they walked, but the group had bows that made quick work of the mobs. Finally, as they drew close to the end of the path, a large rustic style mansion stood completely undamaged like the main island had been.

“Alright, now hopefully the bots are there.” Grian said, half under his breath before running towards the mansion. Tommy was the first to run off after him, the others all following behind. Just before they reached the front door, it opened, and Grian walked out.

“Oh! Grian! You came for a visit! How nice!” The second grian spoke before setting down a picnic basket and hugging his double.

“Nice to see you too NPG, but… please tell me you at least thought I would visit.”

The other Grian, NPG, tilted his head. “No, I’m sorry but I didn’t. Was I supposed to know? Did I forget a planned gathering?”

“No… I just… Grum and Jrum… they got k-killed… and their respawn… th-they didn’t show b-back up… w-we thought they m-might be here and…”

“Oh no! That sounds horrible!” NPG covered his mouth in shock. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will. I just need to visit Sense first.” NPG picked up his basket again. “If you want you could come with?”

Mumbo put his hands on Grian’s shoulders. “I don’t think that would be a good idea after their last meeting.”

“What the fuck did this Sense guy do?” Tommy asked, making NPG look over.

“Oh hello! I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“I’m Tommy. These are Tubbo, Philza and Technoblade. Now what about this Sense guy?”

“It is nice to meet you all. Perfect sense is the Hels counterpart to Mumbo here. From what I can tell, the first meeting between him and Grian did not go well at all.”

“How so?” Phil asked, dad instincts cropping up.

“He got extremely handsy with Grian.” Mumbo answered. “To put it lightly, clothes almost came off and Grian was left with a bruise on his neck. After that he tried to kill the both of us along with NPG.”

“Oh I remember seeing that bruise.” Tommy replied. “Now I get why Grian got so upset about my comment about your guy’s love life.”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting the guy.” Phil spoke up. For all we know, he could have some answers about your kids. If he was willing to mess with you before, he could be doing it again.”

“Alright then! Follow me!” NPG started to lead them off before doubling back and grabbing masks for everyone to wear. Once they were on, then NPG started leading the group through the unprotected land. A number of creatures attacked, but the group was relatively safe.

Eventually they reached a large chasm, the sky below going down for miles, any ground below obscured by clouds. If there even was any ground below. “Okay now this is probably going to be scary for most of you, but what we’re going to do is jump onto this small purple cloud. Once you do, try not to move, there are blue aerclouds below, but it’s not the most fun thing in the world trying to get back to the start. Here, I’ll go first.”

NPG jumped onto the purple cloud and was immediately launched into the sky, rocketing forward until he hit another purple cloud that caused the same effect. He kept at this for a bit before finally landing on another island on top of some while clouds. The robot then turned around to face the others and waved them over.

There was a bit of screaming from some of the group as they were thrown over the chasm by the clouds, glad to be back on solid ground by the end. Once Grian had gotten over - flying instead of using the clouds much to everyone’s dismay - NPG started walking again until they finally reached a clearing. There wasn’t a single mob in sight, but there was a small house made of some unfamiliar wood, similar to what NPG’s mansion had been made with.

“Sense! I’m here to visit again! And I brought some friends!” NPG called out and then there was the rattling of chains coming from inside the building. The group immediately drew weapons, ready to face whatever game out of the building, but they lowered them as someone stepped out.

The man for the most part looked like Mumbo, but there were a number of things that made him different. His hair was much longer and looked matted, with something similar going on with his mustache. He had a blue tie that had stains which Tommy recognized as being from blood. The stains themselves were all near the top of the tie, where a large scar was present on the man’s neck, just above the fabric. His wrists were cuffed, about a foot of chain connecting them and his hands were stained bright red from redstone dust. His feet were in a similar situation, the ankles cuffed and connected, but a much longer chain was also linked to one of the cuffs, leading back into the house. Finally, the man was rather skinny. Mumbo himself was lanky which added to his height, but this man was so thin that some of his bones could be seen and his clothes hung on him loosely.

“Okay! So I got you some beef, though I made sure to soak it in broth all night so it’s nice and soft. I’ve also got some swet gummies that have some essential vitamins as well as some milk and blueberries. And then, once you’ve had all of that, I brought youuuuu” NPG dragged the word out as he slowly pulled something out of the basket. “A candy cane!”

Sense grabbed at the food and NPG was soon helping the helsmit eat. Grian and Mumbo were absolutely horrified at the scene, and even the group from the SMP were taken aback at the state this man was in. He was so weak, he could barely chew without help, which was very different compared to the evil genius Grian and Mumbo had the displeasure of meeting before.

When Sense was done eating, NPG went back to the basket. “So I know last time you said your dust was wearing out, so I brought you a new piece to play with!” The helsmit’s eyes lit up when NPG handed him a bit of redstone dust. He messed with it a bit before putting it away in his pocket, and then pulling out a death ray and pointing it at Mumbo, who was currently standing closest to him other than NPG.

Tommy took a step closer, drawing his sword and immediately the weapon was pointed at him. However, Sense was still weak and his hand was wobbly. Before he could hold it steady, NPG smacked the ray gun out of his hand and put it in his own inventory. “Bad Sense! Next time you won’t get any candy!”

“Did True do this to him?” Mumbo asked, now even more worried about meeting her to make sure the boys weren’t there.

NPG looked back and tilted his head. “What? Oh no. The new emperor did!”

“I thought you said True was the empress again.” Grian spoke. “You said that Sense got dethroned a few days later. Wouldn’t that be True?”

“Nope! Someone different. In fact I’m his second in command! Or running mate. Either works! He didn’t need one since it wasn’t an election or anything, but he insisted. Oh! We should go talk to him and see if he knows anything! He doesn’t really use any communicator so I have to visit him if anything comes up. But if Jrum and Grum are with him, I’m sure they’re just fine since I talk about them so much to him!”

Before anyone in the group could say anything else, NPG led them away and over to a large campfire. Techno raced to it once he could see it and held his hands out to warm himself. “Oh, you don’t have to do this. This will just take us back to the main island. There’s only really supposed to be one, so it takes you back to where you entered the dimension in, but Xannes made more!”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Evil X’s name. I get to call him that because I’m his friend!m Anyway, let’s go!”

The group used the magic of the campfire to pull them back into the overworld. NPG Was almost immediately off running towards the castle, leaving the rest of the group to catch up. They went through a number of halls in the castle before finally getting to a set of large decorated double doors. “Okay, so he’s in here. I’m pretty sure he’ll let you guys come in and say hi and ask your questions, but I don’t want to be rude and assume, so I’m gonna go in there and ask.”

Everyone was perfectly fine with that, getting a moment or two to catch their breaths since none of them were robots like NPG. The door was still cracked open, so everyone was able to hear as he spoke to the emperor, so they listened in as they waited and rested.

“Hi! I just finished visiting Sense!” There was a pause, none of them hearing the emperor. “He managed to make a death ray. I think he kept lying when he said his redstone was wearing out. But he wasn’t able to use it on any of us.” There was another pause, this one much shorter. “Oh! Some friends came to visit! Grian and Mumbo had a question for you and also brought their friends along named Tommy, Tubbo, Philza and Technoblade! They were wondering if they could come in and talk with you.”

Everyone couldn’t help but hold their breath at the pause before a small cheer erupted from NPG and he was almost immediately back at the door. “Okay, he said you can come in and ask him things!”

The robot pushed the door open all the way before running back into the room. Grian watched as his creation sat down in a smaller chair next to a large throne centered against the far wall. Tommy gave a quick laugh at the cheery robot before his gaze moved over to the one sitting in the throne and it suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. Beside him, Tubbo was having a similar reaction and both Phil and Techno drew their weapons.

Sitting on the throne was a man. His elbow rested on one arm of the throne as his hand pressed against his cheek, holding his head up. His legs were crossed as well, giving him the look of someone who was bored or just didn’t care. A bandana was tied around his face like a bandit, covering his mouth and nose. A single brown eye was visible, starting down towards the group, meanwhile the other eye and the rest of that side of his face was covered with a mask of white porcelain, a simple smiling face carved into it.

“Dream…” Tommy spoke aloud, his voice trembling.

#hermit!tommy #hermit!tommy au #tommyinnit #jrumbot #grumbot #awesamdude #grian #watcher!grian #grian xelqua #avian!Grian #mumbo jumbo #xisumavoid #philza #technoblade #tubbo #helsmits #helscraft #npc grian #npg

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amjustagirl · 3 years ago

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NIKKI NIKKI NIKKI PLEASE I JUST FINISHED CATCHING UP WITH BOS STORY AND IM CRYING FROM THE SHEER HAPPINESS

when i was reading chapter seven i know for a fact that you were revelling in the sheer chaos and unrest you caused from us bc that chapter was particularly painful. but ig that goes to show that you’re an expert at it at this point so what’s new? 🙄 i hate that i want more of it though so like screw you for putting me through the feels with bo’s story and the reader’s internal conflict

bUt theN!! chapter eight!!! had me smiling the whole way through!!! every scene and every thought bo had made me love him more! he’s such a persistent little shit and the reader’s mother is such an endearing character so everything came together really well and i was crying screaming throwing up and astral projecting because this ending was another s tier conclusion in my books! the cute little times lil you had too??? where bo with a smidge bit more chub had a baby strapped to him??? visiting the reader with a job that brings in the bread??? girlbossing an interview???? oh my god that’s the dream right there: to have- honestly that whole time when i read that line my head was empty and chanting MALEWIFE BO MALEWIFE BO 🤩💕😤😍😍 my heart couldn’t take it omg

i love this fic so much and i think you did a bangin job and creating bokuto’s story i love this so much!! i can’t wait to just reread this again sooner or later at an ungodly hour to spam your notifs again 🤩💗💕💖

HAHA quynh!!! yes i am indeed a little sadistic monster author reveling in her readers' anguish, but isn't the pay off in chapter eight worth it? heh. bo really is persistent (in the best way possible) and he gets along well with the reader's mama, and they're both conspiring together to love the reader HAH.

and their future - oh i just imagined a happy, wholesome future for them where they're both content with their family, with the choices they've made. the reader is a girlboss and i was leaving crumbs all over this fic to hint that bo would be a lovely (part time) house husband, and their home with three chaotic little boys wld be absolutely funny and adorable!!!!

also the mental image of sakusa the grumpy cat being subjected to the house of howling wolfchildren makes me die of laughter HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

thank you again bb - i'm just honoured that you love the story this much <3

#Nikki chats!#quynh<3 #when the sun loves the moon

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franniebanana · 3 years ago

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CQL Rewatch - Ep 14

Hey, I’m getting all my screencaps from Netflix now, because I finally figured out how lol. That means I’m also getting the subtitles from there (and I’ve seen a lot of Netflix haters, but at lease we won’t get “Wei Ying, clam down” and other ridiculous errors). This is just for your reference. I hope the quality of the images will be a little bit better. So I’m both looking forward to and dreading this episode. On the plus side, the first half or so is wangxian, on the downside, the rest is not. And it marks the beginning of the Lan Wangji Drought™, and subsequently my least favorite part in the entire series (not counting the Yi City arc, which, as you may recall, I have not watched yet). But let’s get started, shall we?

We left our heroes in the Xuanyu Cave. Lan Wangji was asleep and Wei Wuxian as being thoughtful and adorable. Now they are both awake and hatching a plan to defeat the Tortoise of Slaughter. Wei Wuxian is talking about the fame and glory that they’ll receive if they defeat it, but on the other hand, if they are killed by the monster, that’s not a bad way to go. Again, even though Lan Wangji’s leg is doing better, even though they survived the first brushes with death with both the Wens and the mythical monster, here they are, about to face death again. But they have no choice, right? It’s either fight the Tortoise of Slaughter or starve. The crux of this whole arc for me is that it changes their relationship forever. You don’t almost die together and not have that change you and the relationship you have with that other person. And I think that’s what makes their reunion after several months so much harder and so much sadder (I’m itching to get to that scene, which is so far from here, ughhh).

Arts and crafts project with bae! Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I kind of love this scene, though, for what it is: the two of them quietly working together, each with his own task. There’s something kind of domestic about it, even in this dire situation. Also Lan Wangji is doing most of the work. It’s fucking hard to string/unstring a bow.

And when they’re picking up all the bows and arrows, I’m always thinking that the others made such a mess! They just chucked the arrows everywhere, dropped their bows. But why are there so many arrows on the ground? You’d think they’d mostly be in the water, as that’s where the Tortoise of Slaughter was. You know? I’m not gonna think to hard about this.

Imagine that instead of the bowstring, it’s actually one of those sticky hand things that you can swing around and stick to walls.

I spent too much time on that, I’m sorry.

Again, Lan Wangji is reminded that he’s injured and can’t be a ton of help in this situation. And I think he’s bothered by this quite a bit—not because he wants to play hero and save Wei Wuxian, but I think because he doesn’t want Wei Wuxian to bear too great a burden alone. And I think Wei Wuxian is coming from a place of caring and kindness when he points all that out. It’s not as if he wants glory either: he realizes that he is their best chance of survival, and he also knows he can count on Lan Wangji to be there for him.

This smile is so warm, so kind, so loving. Yeah, it is loving. And I do think that this sort of relationship is a big deal in the context of this story. You have two people from different clans, who have vastly different upbringings (although there are similarities with their parents’ deaths), able to come together and genuinely feel friendship for one another. This kind of thing is not that common, seemingly, in this world. It happens, right? It happens for political reasons (sworn brothers, etc.), it happens when there are marriages between clans—but we know that it isn’t common to have this particular kind of friendship, because the script literally pointed it out to us: Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. They are different—they are close, they are soulmates, even (in a platonic way). And Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are held up to them as a direct comparison (“Lan Zhan and I went on a night hunt together”). And wangxian isn’t a friendship of convenience—they weren’t forced here together and then they have to tough it out—this was all chosen. And I think this is where the whole “soulmate” conversation becomes important, in that them coming together and forming that bond in the Cloud Recesses was driven by some kind of fate. That initial meeting, those subsequent experiences they had—if those things hadn’t happened, they probably wouldn’t be in this cave together right now. That being said, the fact that they are in this cave together right now is definitely not fate. This was a choice—or a series of choices—made by the two of them. Had there been no friendship or love between these two, Lan Wangji would have left the cave with the others. Maybe Jiang Cheng would have stayed behind, or maybe someone else would have, or possibly no one! I like to think Lan Wangji would have stayed regardless of any feelings he has towards Wei Wuxian, simply because he’s that kind of person. He stands up for Mianmian because it’s the right thing to do, for example. But as things are, it’s important that Lan Wangji stayed because of Wei Wuxian—because of his feelings for him, because of their friendship, because they have this connection to each other. And I think it’s vital that Lan Wangji is the one to first see what the Yin Iron can do to a person, specifically the person he loves.

So I thought this whole little section here was just Wei Wuxian monologuing in his head the first time I watched this. And then he’s suddenly having a conversation with Lan Wangji, and I was like, “huh?” I am pretty sure I had to rewind and rewatch just so I could understand it with the newly-acquired knowledge that Wei Wuxian was actually talking to Lan Wangji. I’m find being a little confused, but would it have killed them to make Lan Wangji say, “Now we can communicate while you’re inside” or something to that extent, after using his little powers?

Anyhow, fuck, it’s horrible in there! I feel like the smell is visceral, even though I’m watching it on my laptop, it’s like I can feel the damp, air, thick with the smell of death and decay. Credit to Xiao Zhan for just really selling me on what it feels like to be in there. Also I’m so curious what they’ve got him walking through. I wish there were some BTS on that scene. I can imagine (because this is how my mind works) how difficult it was to clean his costume after that. Like that crap must have gotten into every tiny little nook and cranny of his shoes, and just YUCK! They were like, “Just throw them out. We have another pair.”

Since Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are in a sense psychically linked here, does that mean that Lan Wangji can feel the energy that Wei Wuxian feels from the sword? He’s definitely reacting to something going on, but then I think Wei Wuxian talks about it later as if Lan Wangji doesn’t know. The romantic in me says that Lan Wangji is reacting because they are so spiritually connected that he can feel when something is wrong.

And now we have this very long action sequence where Lan Wangji does a lot of flying around and Wei Wuxian clings to that sword like Harry Potter on that bucking broomstick in the first movie. I’m sorry, that’s all I think about, and that thought will never leave my mind. What’s kind of cool is that they remind us immediately that Lan Wangji is still injured, by showing us his bloody leg right at the start of this sequence. So he’s flying around, using everything he’s got left, while still being gravely injured—it shows you just how powerful Lan Wangji is. He’s no weakling.

Another cool detail is that you can actually see the staining on Wei Wuxian’s boots from the muck he was walking around in! Nice continuity!

I can’t help it, anytime Lan Wangji yells out, “Wei Ying!” I melt into a puddle on the floor. There’s something about how little he does talk that when he does, it’s important and meaningful and impactful. And, yes, most of his lines are yelling out Wei Ying’s name, but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful when he does it. Every time he says it, it’s a reminder that there is a strong relationship there. As I’ve said before, even Jiang Cheng doesn’t call him by his given name. This is not just an everyday friendship here—it’s more than that—it’s a bond that can’t be broken even in death. That might sound silly and dramatic, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And that’s why when I hear him say, “Wei Ying!” it draws to the surface all of these other feelings. It’s not just a name, it’s not just a line—it’s something so much more.

Also, I want to point out that as soon as Lan Wangji figures out something is indeed very wrong with Wei Wuxian, he goes into overdrive. His hands are bleeding from the bowstring in his hand, his teeth are gritted, he somehow reaches into himself for even more power to defeat this monster.

Seriously? How dare you interrupt my wangxian scene with this garbage? I could not care less about anything going on in this scene. Just fuck off. The worst cut ever. What a stupid cut.

So, as if the Tortoise of Slaughter wasn’t bad enough, this poor kid (because he is just a kid) is now traumatized by the voices coming out of that sword. The pain, the fear, the negative energy—all of it was coursing through him, and worst of all, perhaps, he was even able to use that energy to defeat the monster. And I think, now that he’s felt it and seen it and used it, there’s really no going back. Dangerous? Yes, it’s dangerous, but it’s also powerful, and it saved their lives.

This part kills me every time, though, no matter how many times I see it. Wei Wuxian is just a husk of the person he was ten minutes ago. Where’s that cocky, smirking smartass? Where’s the Wei Wuxian we all know and love? But the reality is, part of him is lost. And throughout the scene, he’s clutching that sword, as if his life still depended on it. He won’t let that thing go, and I also find that hard to watch. And Lan Wangji here is out of his mind, desperate to help him. He runs into the water so fast, as if there is no leg injury at all. And, of course, that’s adrenaline for you, but it’s also just a testament to his strength and resolve and his willingness to go into a literal hell for Wei Wuxian.

And even in his feverish state, Wei Wuxian can’t help but tease Lan Wangji a little, pointing out that he never expected Second Master Lan to be this concerned about him. But it’s interesting that he uses that formal title there, as if he’s putting distance between them. Wei Wuxian is just Wei Wuxian—Wei Ying—and Lan Wangji is Second Master Lan. Whether it’s intentional or not, he’s drawing attention to this hierarchical difference between them, and I don’t think it’s a self-worth issue at all, because I think Wei Wuxian is okay with who his is—I don’t think he has qualms about that really. It’s more driving home the point of we shouldn’t be this close. Or isn’t it funny that we are this close? And he later draws a parallel to Jiang Cheng (again) by saying that at least Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be a boring companion (EDIT: Okay, he doesn’t say that—maybe in the book?). Ironic, because their stay in Xuanwu cave has been anything but boring. But I also think Jiang Cheng would not have been able to maintain his cool at all in that cave. No, I think that Wei Wuxian needed Lan Wangji to survive. He needed someone a little cold, logical, quick-witted, but desperate.

OMG, ALSO! Can I point out the lovely, beautiful, haunting cello music that’s playing this whole time? Not on the OST, which is a damn shame. So you’ll have to watch the episode to hear it, but it’s just so beautiful.

And pause for the clip show that will also make you cry!

“Wangxian.” Yes, yes, the greatest mystery of this whole series—the name of the song and how Lan Wangji immediately recognized Wei Wuxian in the second episode. So I don’t think they ever actually tell you the name of the song, right? It’s like this fun little thing for the fans of the book, and maybe they couldn’t say it because of censorship (because of what it implies, you know?). I’m not a great lip reader, but it looks like “Wangxian” to me. And if he’s saying something else, I don’t care—it is going to be Wangxian to me, regardless.

Man, this scene, though. I can never really hear the humming because you have to turn up the volume so damn loud, and even then it’s hard to hear. Maybe it’s just me. The first time I watched it, I was like, is he actually humming? I don’t hear anything. I was, again, confused. But anyway, it’s good that we see all those scenes with Lan Wangji, because guess what? You’re not going to see him for three or four episodes, FML. FML. FML.

FML.

Can you tell I’m not excited about these upcoming parts? Honestly it’s so tempting to skip it, but that’s not the point of this rewatch. I likely won’t have a ton to say, though, so maybe I’ll do more than one a week (don’t count on it, though).

Okay, guys. Here we go. If you think Jiang Cheng is a kind, gentle soul with a rough exterior, then you may not want to read the next few episodes. I like Jiang Cheng. I do. However, he is an asshole. A complete and total asshole with the occasional kind word thrown someone’s way. I think he cares about Wei Wuxian, as I’ve said before, but that he cares about himself far more. He is the antithesis to Lan Wangji. And that’s definitely on purpose. So, feel free to send me asks or whatever (and that goes for anyone, by the way—I don’t bite and I like to chat with people), but you’re not going to be able to convince me even that CQL Jiang Cheng is a good guy. I think you could try and read him that way, but you’d be ignoring some key things in his behavior and his character.

All right. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s start anew. It fucking sucks that the first people Wei Wuxian sees upon waking up are Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng, both of which essentially scold him immediately, as if he didn’t fucking save their lives back there. I’m sorry, that guy right there—yeah, him—he was read to sacrifice himself to save you. Jin Zixuan, “I didn’t do it for you.” Then why? You did it for Lan Wangji? Or you did it because it would be politically advantageous to you because you were engaged to Jiang Yanli? I’m just saying, be nicer to the man who was willing to die for you, okay?

Oh, my god, as if that weren’t enough, Jiang Cheng actually gets angry that Wei Wuxian doesn’t thank him! And this isn’t some macho guy thing where he just can’t show that he cares about him—this is just who Jiang Cheng is. He thinks of himself first and others second. Period.

So aside from those two being assholes, we do at least get some information here. The clans are now all resolved to fight against the Wen Clan. They all know what’s going on and they’re finally ready to stand up against it. The Cloud Recesses is trashed and Lan Wangji left on his own to go back, presumably to take it back from the Wens. I would have loved a heartfelt scene of them getting out together, but that isn’t even in the book, so CQL isn’t going to add that kind of nice stuff, I guess. But they did add this scene, which is mostly just showcasing that Jin Zixuan and Wei Wuxian still don’t like each other, Jiang Cheng is an asshole, and the world is generally fucked up right now.

A reminder that even though he’s in the bright sunlight, Wei Wuxian still has this darkness. It’s permeated him now. He can’t turn away from it. It’s part of him. And it’s something he can’t really share with anyone else—Lan Wangji to a point, but even he doesn’t get to know everything. However, he is, I think, the only one who would have listened.

Cute detail from the book, that Wei Wuxian had carved this into his headboard. What a romantic lol. I don’t have anything special to say other than, y’know, those two could be both guys.

It’s hard to even know what to say here. So much is going on, so many emotions, so many accusations—and Wei Wuxian is caught up in all of this. Madam Yu starts by chastising him for making trouble when he didn’t need to (she thought it better to let the Jins and Lans handle things, no need for the Jiangs to get involved), and then it spirals into this horrible tirade about Jiang Fengmian being hung up on Wei Wuxian’s mother, and in turn favoring Wei Wuxian over his own son because of it. There is so much jealousy and hatred and guilt wrapped up in all of this, it’s hard to even comment. I can’t imagine growing up the way Jiang Cheng did, feeling second best in everything by someone who’s not even your actual brother, feeling like your own father doesn’t really love you as much as he loves someone else. And now throw in that your father doesn’t love your mother because he had an affair with another woman. I can’t imagine how awful that would be. And despite what people might say, it’s hard to really, truly, break away from your parents, especially in a culture like this. It’s important to honor your parents in everything, so standing up to them is a definite no-no. And Jiang Cheng probably feels like the only parent who really loves him is his mother, even though she is the worst person ever. This doesn’t excuse his behavior, but it does help explain a bit of why he does the things he does to Wei Wuxian. I think he’s itching to feel superior over him, and that he’s been extremely jealous of him for a long, long time.

And then, god, what Wei Wuxian is feeling here! He’s the first one to always take the hit for Jiang Cheng. He’s always going to do whatever he can to make him feel better. He makes the sacrifices. That’s part of who Wei Wuxian is—he’s very selfless and courageous. I also can’t imagine how he feels, to be stuck in the middle of this very personal, very private family argument. The kind of raw emotion that’s on display in this scene is hard for me to watch. It’s awkward, it’s ugly, it’s a dark side to family dynamics that a lot of us thankfully never have to experience. It’s horrible to think that even when Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were basically awaiting death in that cave, it was quite peaceful, though the landscape was harsh. And now that he’s back in this peaceful setting of Lotus Pier, he’s faced with another monster in the form of his adoptive family.

Of course Wei Wuxian knows that Jiang Fengmian doesn’t love him more—he’s harsher with Jiang Cheng because he’s the heir and he needs to be tougher, he needs to be able to lead this clan. I’m curious if Jiang Fengmian actually did have an affair, but if anything, it was probably emotional. I don’t think that Wei Wuxian is his love child or anything. But at the end of the day, the way I read this is just that the man has trouble being there for his son on an emotional level, and he feels bad for Wei Wuxian and overcompensates for that by giving him more attention. The thing is, while I don’t agree with it, I think he’s harder on his son because Jiang Cheng needs to someday lead. All Wei Wuxian needs to do is support that. And he does. He always supports Jiang Cheng. Always, that is, until Wei Wuxian finally starts to think about what he wants to do with his life, and he doesn’t want to spend it torturing people who don’t deserve it.

The Twin Prides of Yunmeng. It’s a nice idea, but it relies on Wei Wuxian submitting himself to Jiang Cheng at all times for the rest of their lives. It makes Wei Wuxian give up his agency. It makes him give up his dream to do what’s right and always have a clear conscience. If he had followed Jiang Cheng into fire, he would have had to lose himself in the process. So this is a promise that Wei Wuxian could never hope to keep. Although it’s a nice promise, it was said to make Jiang Cheng feel better.

Other episodes: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 |

#wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #cql #the untamed #jiang cheng #jin zixuan #jiang fengmian #madam yu #wwx #lwj #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #cql rewatch

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thevampirearcher-md · 3 years ago

Text

something med school did not cover - astray (#1) 🩺

A/N: hi, hello, I decided to write something very easygoing and lighthearted and just bask in cuteness. (And I apparently also decided to project very heavily whoop, don't tell anyone.) Also, this is heavily based on my own experience (I did say I was projecting) so keep that in mind about the structure of the medical system.

TW for medical procedures (even though I'll try not to make them graphic). Also, some inevitable medical jargon.

also on ao3

There’s the new sea of interns, Denali thinks watching their welcoming “ceremony” - a dramatic speech about the best and worst years of their lives, about patients’ lives and responsibility, all conveyed to them in the dean of medicine’s booming voice and theatrical inflection.

They’re all the same as they are every single year - wide-eyed and hopeful, ready to prove themselves more than worthless, yet scared shitless by the prospect of failing. There’s the surgical residents, hands itching to touch scalpels, even though most they’ll be doing for their first year is suture and hold retractors still until they’ll want to have their hands detached. There’s the cardiology residents, all regal and imposing, the fanciest of the bunch, even in scrubs, waiting to prove their wit to their attendings. There’s the emergency medicine residents, waiting to call the shots over machinery beeping, as they saw in the movies.

And then, there’s the bunch that Denali will have to deal with: paediatrics. They’re usually the ones wearing the cute scrubs - pinks, pastels and various prints. They’re the one with the tiny stethoscopes, who smile kindly at one another, who smile kindly at everyone, who steal themselves against panicked mommies and bawling babies.

“What do you make of this bunch?” Denali’s boss asks.

She scans the crowd again - fresh faces and optimistic smiles.

“I think Professor Visage will have a field day with them.”

“And leave the pieces for us to pick up,” another nurse pipes up from Denali’s other side on the balcony.

🩺

Being watched by some many eyes unnerved Rosé, being whisked around on a brief tour of the hospital dazed her and being assured that they’ll surely get lost left her reeling. She would not get lost - that was not a thing that could happen to Rosé McCorkell, MD, paediatrics intern, valedictorian of her class in med school. It couldn’t happen.

Only, she has to admit to herself that somewhere between the sixth floor - the paediatrics ward - and the basement, where imagining operates out of, she has, indeed, gotten lost. What’s worse is she has the sweetest little girl to take in for her X-ray appointment.

But she won’t admit it aloud.

The blonde child in the wheelchair she’s pushing coughs and she looks down at her.

“Are you doing ok, sweetheart?” she asks her small patient, the girl looking up to her with the brightest blue eyes she has ever seen. She nods, even though she looks a bit scared.

The hallway is lit with fluorescent lighting and filled with people - inpatients, outpatients waiting for their appointments, medical personnel, radiology technicians - and yet, no one seems to notice the unsure intern pushing a small child around in a wheelchair, lingering in the middle of the hallway. The girl is probably intimidated by the amount of people surrounding her, left with her heart in her throat because of the absence of her mother.

Rosé takes a deep breath, trying to look purposeful as she scans the various doorways before her for a sign that will let her know where to go. Her patient coughs again into her small fist. She’s here to confirm whether or not she has pneumonia and, in the process, also, confirm whether or not she was right, whether or not she’s made a good impression.

If only she could find the actual place where she’s supposed to go.

“It’s at the end of the hallway,” a voice startles Rosé. It could be anyone in this hallway, speaking to another anyone in this hallway, but she gets the feeling that it’s not just anyone and that the disembodied voice is speaking to her.

She turns to face one of the nurses she’s noticed on the paediatrics floor, a blonde with a kind smile and cute dimples in both cheeks.

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” she sighs, noticing Rosé’s confused look. “It’s all the way at the end of the hallway, now push… We don’t want Jessie here to miss her appointment, do we?” the nurse directs that last part to their patient, who very seriously shakes her head from side to side, making her soft blonde hair fly around her.

Rosé pushes without another word.

It’s fairly simple to find the door with the nurse’s guidance, to push the wheelchair in and allow the radiology nurse to position the child in front of the screen. She walks into the control room, followed by the nurse, who breaks into a smile at the sight of the people inside.

“Hi, ‘Monye,” she greets. “Hello, Alex,” she nods to the radiology tech, who’s pushing buttons on a keyboard, too busy to look up.

“Hi, doll,” the black woman’s face - Monye? - lights up at the sight of the blonde. “How’s everything going upstairs?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, it’s fresh meat day, so everything’s chaos,” the nurse rolls her eyes playfully. “Speaking of, this is…”

She trails off, turning to Rosé. They make eye contact for a brief instant, before the ginger steps forward, extending her arm out for the radiologist.

“Rosé McCorkell, intern,” she says with more confidence than should ever be awarded to someone who’s on their first day of work.

“Symone Avalon, MD, radiology,” the black woman introduces herself, smiling politely. “And that’s my new intern,” she waves in the direction of the corner, where a girl who seems even more terrified than Rosé leans against the wall. “Speaking of… Intern, what do we see here?” she asks, pointing to the newly generated image on the computer screen in front of them.

Rosé’s eyes scan across the picture of Jessie’s thorax, focusing on the right side of the picture, where the spaces between the ribs reveal a light gray colour, compared to the other side of the X-ray.

“Left lower lobe condensation,” Rosé murmurs to herself, as she’s done her whole way through med school. Symone’s eyes narrow her way in the cramped space.

“It is,” she agrees. “But it’s very slight, caught very early,” she explains, bidding her own intern forward. “Can you see it?” the girl nods quickly.

Rosé can swear that she doesn’t, but probably can’t bear the thought of making a bad impression on day one.

“Most likely lower left lobe pneumonia,” Dr Avalon informs Rosé and the nurse that has guided her here. “Congratulate Professor Visage on another astonishing diagnosis. And come visit me again soon, Denali,” she winks at the blonde, who’s already halfway out the door.

Rosé lingers for a brief second, torn between the pride she feels at proving herself to herself and the revolt she feels at not getting her credit. She follows Denali out into the hallway, taking a deep breath in.

“Doctor Rosie,” Jessie spreads her arms out wide as soon as she emerges back into the hallway. She smiles at the girl. She’s one of the sweetest children Rosé has ever met.

“There I am,” she winks and the child giggles, making her blonde curls bounce.

“Nurse Nali said she’s taking me back upstairs,” Jessie informs her.

“Oh, can I tag along?” Rosé bends down to come level with the child. Jessie nods. “Can I ask you to help me with something?” Rosé quirks her eyebrow at the child. “Can you carry this all the way upstairs? It’s very important,” she winks, handing the child her own chart.

Jessie grips it eagerly, her face becoming serious. “You can trust me, doctor Rosie,” she declares, clutching at the papers in her small hands. Rosé offers her a dazzling smile, which Denali can’t help but feel the effects of.

She wills herself not to react, not beyond what she would normally do - smile softly at the child in her care. She nods encouragingly at the intern, who rises from her crouch.

Rosé falls into a leisurely pace with Denali. They’re turning back the way they came, towards the metal elevators on the other side of the hospital that will take them back upstairs.

“CT scans are over there,” Denali points to a door with a huge yellow radiation side on the door, tucked into a mini hallway to their right. “And the MRI is behind that door with all the instructions,” she reveals as they pass another door on the other side of the hallway, bright red writing informing people of all the things they shouldn’t bring into the room with the giant magnet.

“All the radiologists are great, but doctor Avalon is among the top in her field state-wide,” Denali explains. “And she’s very nice so, if you’re ever unsure about something, I’d ask her.”

“Thank you,” Rosé murmurs. They’ve been shown which floor imaging was on and they made a brief stop here to drop off the radiology interns, who wouldn’t be leaving their base too much, but beyond that, it was all a mystery, a labyrinth of unknown sterile hallways.

“I know you’ve probably heard this before,” Denali throws her a look, “but we’ve all gotten lost in the beginning,” her eyes are kind, Rosé can see that. “You’ll be walking around as if you own the place in no time,” she smiles, showing off her dimples. “Won’t she, Jessie?”

The girl giggles as they come to stand in front of the elevator.

“Still got that chart, Jess?” Rosé asks, pushing the button. The girl nods again, making her hair bounce, showing her doctor the proof.

“Did you make the diagnosis?” Denali asks as they wait.

Rosé nods, unsure of whether or not she will be believed. She knows that she still has a lot to learn, but some things she knows. Some things she’s very confident in. She can see why it’s much easier for anyone to think that it had been Professor Visage, of course. It’s her first day of work - most people are terrified speechless for the first week. Denali’s eyes narrow at her and she hums as the elevator dings.

“Congrats, then,” she announces as soon as the doors have slid shut and she’s had Jessie push the button for their floor. “You’ve passed Professor Visage’s first test.”

Rosé’s eyes widen, sparkling. There’s so much hope in them, a look so open and vulnerable that Denali can’t help but reassure her wordlessly. They’re always like this - paeds interns are hopeful, sweet and caring, supportive. In one word, soft. It always feels bad to see them subjected to the challenges of real life medicine.

“Don’t get too excited, target’s on your back this year,” Denali shakes her head, but Rosé does something that most of the interns she’s seen before didn’t - she steels herself for the trials that are to come, her expression determined.

Her expression is confident, almost smug - a sight so rare among paediatrics interns that Denali is taken by surprise. Maybe, this year, someone will be able to take Professor Visage’s heat.

“Innit?” Jessie tugs at the corner of her scrub blouse to get her attention. The elevator is still making its steady ascent to their floor, but Denali’s gotten lost in thought, studying the new doctor in front of her.

“Doctor Rosie’s hair is the prettiest,” Jessie repeats, pointing at the mass of fiery curls with one of her small fingers. Denali’s eyes come back up to her.

“It really is,” she agrees as the doors open up.

The last thing she sees as she exits the elevator with her patient is the faint rosy blush creeping up Doctor McCorkell’s cheeks.

#rosenali #rosenali ff #hospital AU #denali foxx #omgheyrose #no i did not almost write a scene from the first episode of Gray's anatomy #not a thing

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hellowkatey · 4 years ago

Text

Febuwhump Day 1

Prompt: Mind Control @febuwhump

read on ao3

A Magnet for Trouble

"This," Anakin kicks at a ball of dust, causing the particles to go flying everywhere. "blows,"

His Master coughs, and Anakin looks up to see he has kicked the dust directly into the face of Obi-Wan. He supposes he earned the disapproving scowl this time.

"Not every mission is going to be exciting, Padawan. Sometimes we receive tasks that are a little more on the mundane side."

Anakin examines his Master's face as he continues to brush dust out of his bearded face. Though he has the typical Obi-Wan Kenobi stoicism, Anakin has known him long enough to see that he too isn't exactly pleased about their task.

Some random Outer Rim planet claimed to have found some ancient Jedi artifact, so the council sent them to go fetch it. Literally, anyone could have done this, but they decided to send a Jedi knight? Master Nu would probably love this kind of thing, but Master Obi-Wan wouldn't let him suggest that to Master Windu.

So now they're searching through this dusty old house that smells like bantha poodoo and mildew because the local officials were too afraid to touch it. Apparently even too scared to get close enough to the artifact to get a decent holo. From the dark image, it looked like a deactivated Holocron, so Anakin isn't sure what all the fuss it about.

"Why would the Jedi leave something valuable in this kind of place?" he asks, crinkling his nose at a pile of something in the corner that seems to be a source of the horrible smell.

"This house is old, Anakin. I suspect long ago it was quite elegant and beautiful. During the Great Peace, Jedi Masters often opted to retire in their home worlds or places they liked. It is entirely possible this was the residence of a Jedi Master."

"I thought Jedi didn't like material things, though. This place is huge!" They'd spent the last hour or two making their way carefully through the three-story winding home.

Obi-Wan chuckles. "We are taught not to keep material things, but that does not mean some Jedi don't like them anyway. I'm sure you and that desk of projects you have can relate."

"Those are practical, Master."

"A bolt slingshot is practical?"

Anakin looks away from the wry gaze of his Master. He may or may not have broken a mug or two with that slingshot, but it was a prototype.

They go into the next room. It's the largest bedroom by far, with a canopied bed and large heavy furniture in various places. White sheets haphazardly cover the tables and paintings.

"Surprise, surprise. Another dusty bedroom." Anakin sighs, tugging down one of the sheets to look at the painting. In the dark, it is difficult to see, but he can tell it's a portrait of a woman.

"This is the main bedroom. Perhaps our artifact is somewhere in here."

"You'd think they'd tell us where they found it."

"I suspect they forgot which room it was."

Understandable, I suppose. There are literally over twenty different bedrooms that all look similar. While Master Obi-Wan looks through the drawers of the bedroom, Anakin continues to take interest in the painting. He pulls his lightsaber out, igniting it to get a better source of light.

"What are you doing?" Obi-Wan asks, his back still turned to him.

"Need more light." He waves the lightsaber close enough to the painting to see the face of the woman. Intense golden eyes stare back at him, almost like they are locking him into a gaze. He is entranced by her dark shiny curls that cascade down her shoulders and seem to fade into the elegant dark robes she is wearing. His eyes settle at the necklace that hangs from her neck, its dark metal forming a teardrop shape with a red gem in the center.

The woman is beautiful. Scarily beautiful. Were her eyes brown she might look a little bit like Padmé, or at least how Anakin remembers her. It's been nearly eight years since he's seen her, and he misses her sweet smile dearly.

"Anakin, what have I told you about gawking?" Obi-Wan teases, tugging at his padawan braid as he passes.

"I'm not-- oh nevermind," he groans, pulling his braid back in front of his shoulder.

"I'll check the closet, keep looking here."

"Yes, Master." He lowers his saber, about to turn it off when something catches his eye. The glow of his saber shows a space at the base of the wall. Anakin crouches down, placing his hand at the baseboard, and indeed feels a bit of a draft coming from underneath.

Interesting. He puts his saber away and stands, running his hands along the sides of the painting. To his excitement, he finds a seam in the wall, hidden well by the frame. He grins and reaches out with the Force. If this is the home of a Jedi, they undoubtedly would have a secret door that is Force activated! Maybe I can figure out how to put this in my room...

The section of the wall shutters and then slides backward, revealing a darkened room.

"Oh wizard," Anakin mutters to himself, pulling his saber out. He is about to walk into the room when he turns, looking to see if Obi-Wan is anywhere near. He probably should tell his master what he found, but maybe checking it out first would be a good idea. He would hate to take him away from his search for a dead-end...

He will call for him if he finds something. If this is where the artifact is, then he can say he found it all by himself!

Anakin steps into the room, using his lightsaber to light his path. It is larger than he expected, just a desk in the far corner and a bookshelf that is now empty and covered in cobwebs. He walks right up to the desk, giddiness running through him as he spots a cube in the center of the table. He picks it up, turning it around in his hands to examine it.

The holo they gave was dark, but this seems to be the artifact! It is a dark metalloid material with markings that do look like a Holocron, but it doesn't glow blue as the ones he has seen. In fact... it doesn't seem to be a Holocron at all. If it is a Jedi thing, maybe it too responds to the Force? He closes his eyes, trying to get some sort of signature from the object, but it is like it is just out of reach for him.

Strange. He decides to show Obi-Wan and walks out of the secret room. In the light of the main room, now Anakin can see there is a latch. Oh duh, it's a box!

"Hey Master, come look at this," he calls, as he undoes the latch.

"One moment, Anakin."

With the latch open, Anakin tugs at both ends, and the cube opens at the center, sending something from within rattling out and onto the floor under the bed. He cringes, hoping he didn't break whatever it is. He crouches down, feeling around the dusty floor until his hands lie on something cool and metalloid. He draws it out, his eyes widening when he realizes it's a necklace.

The necklace from the portrait. Its teardrop design is smooth in his hand as he examines it. Somehow, as old as it must be, it isn't tarnished.

Skywalker.

He looks over his shoulder, but there is no one there. Anakin could have sworn he heard his...

Skywalker, come to me.

He looks the other way. The voice is quiet, indistinguishable of gender though it is definitely speaking basic. When it whispers his name once more he looks down at the necklace, suddenly realizing that the voice is not coming from around him, but from it.

He flips it over, revealing the beautiful red stone. It shimmers as though it is its own light source, entrancing Anakin in its kaleidoscope of colors. He runs his thumb from the side of the necklace to the stone to feel the smooth-looking gem.

The moment he touches it, he is struck with an icy chill that runs from his fingertips down to his toes. Terror fills the Jedi Padawan, and he staggers backward, his mind telling him to drop it but his body not listening. He clenches the necklace in his freezing hands, and the world around him tunnels.

Obi-Wan is going to be so mad at me...

And then there is only darkness.

_______

A clatter and a thump resonate from the other room. Obi-Wan sighs. What has he done this time? He found nothing in the closet so he heads back to see what his padawan has gotten into this time. While he had hoped Anakin would outgrow his propensity to attract trouble, it seems the sixteen-year-old is still well endowed in finding mayhem.

"Anakin, if you managed to break something--" he trails off as a chill runs up his spine. A warning in the Force. Obi-Wan puts a hand on his lightsaber and reaches out through their bond.

On the other end, he feels nothing but static.

"Anakin!" he calls, now running into the bedroom. He skids to a stop at the sight of one of the walls caved in, an open box lying on the floor, and Anakin's body slumped to the side. Though he still senses danger, he doesn't see anything that could be causing it. He drops to his knees beside his padawan, rolling him so his head lies atop Obi-Wan's legs. He lays a hand on Anakin's cheek and pulls away in horror at how cold he is. "Anakin, wake up!" he orders, shaking him firmly.

Obi-Wan gets a sudden feeling like he's been here before. For a split second, his teenage padawan becomes his graying Master lying motionless in his arms on Naboo. Panic grips him, and he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. As quickly as he sees it, it is gone.

Freezing fingers enclose around his wrist and Obi-Wan's eyes snap open to see Anakin staring back at him, but there is something off about him. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he has time to process what is happening his body is being flung across the room with tremendous force. His back slams into the wall and he sags to the ground, vision spotting with black dots.

Anakin stands now with his lightsaber in hand, and Obi-Wan realizes what is wrong with his padawan is that his bright blue eyes now shine a dusty gold.

"Padawan," Obi-Wan says carefully as he pulls himself to his feet. He doesn't dare reach for his own lightsaber. "What happened?"

"I am no padawan," he says back, his ashen face devoid of any emotion. Though it is Anakin's voice it isn't Anakin. Obi-Wan has never heard him speak in such an inflection.

"Then do tell me who I am speaking to."

"Anakin Skywalker."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."

"I am Anakin Skywalker, and you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, will die by my hand."

Anakin raises his saber, not in his usual starting position but in Form II-- Count Dooku's preferred form for its elegance and dueling superiority. Anakin has never once taken interest in the fluidity and discipline it takes to learn Makashi.

Obi-Wan still doesn't grab for his own weapon. Anakin lets out a guttural yelp and darts forward, jabbing his lightsaber aggressively. Obi-Wan twists out of the way much to the displeasure of whatever is controlling Anakin.

"Draw your weapon, coward," he hisses.

"What have you done to him?"

Anakin's face twists into a sinister smile that Obi-Wan has a feeling will likely give him nightmares in the weeks to come. "He is my vessel. A strong one, at that, for an apprentice. I have inserted my Life Force into him, and now we are one."

The boy lunges at him again, and Obi-Wan is able to evade him once again, but this time his shoulder is grazed by the tip of the lightsaber. He bites his lip at the red-hot pain igniting his upper body but swallows it back.

"So what is the plan then? What is your purpose?"

"Does there need be a purpose besides the chance to walk the galaxy once again?"

He stares at the boy, recognizing the tell-tale shadowing of him about to strike once again. If whatever is occupying his padawan is telling the truth, then Obi-Wan knows what he must do. He finally draws his lightsaber grimly, raising it above his head parallel to the floor in the opening move of Soresu. He points in Anakin's direction.

"You will not take over the soul of a boy for your selfish purposes," he says, and then Anakin's saber is crashing against his.

Obi-Wan has sparred with Anakin so many times throughout their training. The boy is a natural with a lightsaber, and one of the best padawan fighters among his age mates. He is quick and decisive, pouring every ounce of his endless supply of energy into each brutal strike. Even with another controlling his mind, his body still moves like Anakin. Thankfully, this is a feat Obi-Wan can easily accomplish. He blocks every strike, knowing exactly what he is planning before Anakin even knows it. Every one of his jabs is met with Obi-Wan's lightsaber waiting patiently for him to catch up. With every crackle of their blades striking another, he can see the fire in Anakin's eyes grow. His golden eyes are not unlike the piercing yellow of Darth Maul, filled with hatred and anger.

Through his anger and fatigue and many minutes of combat, Anakin becomes more and more sloppy. Obi-Wan takes this opportunity to lash out with a rapid kick to the center of his chest. He goes staggering backward in surprise, and Obi-Wan is quick to sweep his legs and cause him to go tumbling to the ground.

"I see you are not used to the awkward body of a teenager," Obi-Wan says, kicking the lightsaber out of Anakin's hand and using the Force to pin him to the ground. He thrashes against the hold, but Obi-Wan is tapping deep into his Force abilities to hold him still. He can already feel the tremendous headache blossoming in his temples.

"You know you will have to kill him to stop me," The thing says lowly. "There is no other way."

"No," Obi-Wan shakes his head. "There is always another way."

"The boy is kin to the darkness. It wraps around him and he accepts it with open arms," he grins. "Anakin Skywalker is a natural in the dark side, and so you must kill him to free him."

Obi-Wan kneels down beside the restrained boy, placing a hand on his forehead despite his attempts to pull away. He looks Anakin-who-is-not-really-Anakin in the eyes, reaching out once again through their bond.

Anakin. He calls against the distant sliver of his padawan's Force presence. Come back to me, my padawan. You are stronger than it is. Fight against it. Take hold of the light.

A girthy cackle. "You think the boy can fight me? A Master of the ancient Sith arts?"

Obi-Wan smiles. Through their bond, he hears the quiet voice of his padawan. Distant, but determined.

"And you think you can silence my padawan? I assure you, I have tried. Many times."

The darkness that taints the Force suddenly begins to flicker, and the Sith's prideful face flickers with sudden worry. "This is-- this is impossible," it says.

Master! Obi-Wan hears Anakin saying with great distress, and he lays his hands on either of his cheeks.

Anakin I am here! I am with you, keep trying! Obi-Wan is growing wearier and wearier by the moment trying to keep Anakin still.

"I will not be bested!" the Sith grunts and Obi-Wan is thrown back. He manages to stay on his feet, but his hold finally slips. The bedroom erupts in a whirlwind of raw power. Loose objects and a cloud of dust fly around at terminal velocity. Obi-Wan squints through the dust storm and sees Anakin now on his feet, his saber back in his hand and ignited in front of him. His eyes stare wildly at the blade as he rotates it in his hand before looking back up at Obi-Wan with a sinister look. "Not by you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and certainly not by a padawan."

Obi-Wan's eyes widen, "No!" he yells, lunging forward as Anakin's wrist turns to point the tip of his blade toward his own heart. Naboo flashes before him once again, and Obi-Wan is filled with a burst of energy from the Force.

He will not watch the Sith take another from him.

Obi-Wan flips through the air and manages to jam his blade between Anakin and his own lightsaber, deflecting it away from his chest and smashing his wrist in the wall. Anakin's cry of pain rings out as his shoulder dislocates from the force Obi-Wan uses. It makes him feel like his heart is tearing in two, but a dislocated shoulder is worlds better than a lightsaber through the heart. Anakin's lightsaber drops and Obi-Wan summons it to his hand with the Force. Now he is restrained once again, this time physically rather than through the Force. He can feel the heave of his padawan's chest, and the feral thrashing of his body.

Obi-Wan blankets himself with the Force, allowing it to take control of his strength. He reaches through their bond once more, pushing past the barriers the Sith had placed. To his relief, he finds Anakin's Force presence shining brightly, just lost.

I am here, padawan. Come back to me.

__________

Anakin opens his eyes and immediately closes them. His head hurts.

As his grogginess begins to clear, a few questions prod at him. Why does my head hurt? Why am I on the floor? Where is Obi-Wan?

An exacerbated exhale beside him makes him realize maybe the answer to his last question is easily answered. Anakin rolls to his side, squinting through the pounding headache at his temples. Obi-Wan lies on his back next to him, head flopped to the side so Anakin can clearly see his face. Shock pangs through him and he ignores the pain and makes himself sit up.

Bad idea. His shoulder now erupts in shooting pain, and he looks down to see it is not in the correct position. He blinks back some tears that have formed and tries to focus on his master.

Blood drips down from Obi-Wan's nose, coloring the mustache of his beard a dark crimson. He spots a char mark across his left shoulder-- from a lightsaber?-- and dark circles so dark they look like two black eyes..

"Master!" Anakin yells, grabbing him by the lapels of his robes.

He doesn't remember what happened. How they ended up unconscious in the bedroom-- which looks war-torn with kicked up dust and broken objects. A glint of metalloid catches his eye and he picks up his own lightsaber that lies in Obi-Wan's other hand. His stomach drops. What could make Obi-Wan need to dual-wield? He isn't sure he's ever actually seen Obi-Wan fight with two sabers.

Anakin reaches out through their training bond, and his master winces in his sleep. He immediately withdraws, eyes wide. Their bond is strained. Obi-Wan's shields are simultaneously locked tight and clearly on the brink of collapse. Force exhaustion.

His master isn't the only one suffering from it, either. Anakin slumps himself forward to lay on Obi-Wan's chest, careful of his dislocated shoulder. He matches his master's even breaths to calm himself down and ease his own pain. He is nearly falling asleep when he feels movement below him and fingers carefully rifle through his hair.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says stiffly. "Why are you on top of me?"

He perks up, turning around with glee at the sound of his Master's voice.

"Have a nice nap, Master?" he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Obi-Wan slowly pushes himself to a sitting position. He leans his head back against the wall. "Oh, a lovely one," he says dryly. Then his expression shifts to worry. "What do you remember, Anakin?"

Question of the year. "I remember finding the secret room. And opening a box that had a necklace in it. And then... I woke up here."

"Nothing else?"

He takes a slow, deep breath. "I kind of remember hearing you telling me to come back, or something," his eyes flicker up to meet Master Obi-Wan's. "Did I pass out? Were we attacked?"

The Jedi Knight stares at him for a long moment-- so long it begins to feel uncomfortable. Anakin can tell he is not saying something important, or at least debating whether or not to actually say it.

"It seems your snooping got you into trouble again, my padawan. That necklace... held the Force presence of an ancient Sith who managed to... control you for a small while. I suspect the request was forged to lure Jedi here."

Anakin blinks with confusion. He looks at the lightsaber mark on Obi-Wan's shoulder and the pieces start to fall together.

"We fought... I did this... and I hurt you," he says, shame filling him.

"To be fair," Obi-Wan shrugs. "I accidentally injured your shoulder so don't feel bad about something you didn't consciously do."

Still, Anakin bows his head and stares at the floor. He messed up and got them both hurt in the process. Probably lost the artifact as well. When will I stop being such a screw-up?

A finger taps at his chin, and Anakin looks up to see Obi-Wan looking at him with a comforting gaze. There is no anger or disappointment in his face or the Force that flows between them. "This was not your fault, Anakin. In fact, you did amazingly. You were the one who stopped the Sith, forced it from your body and sent it back into the Force where it cannot hurt anyone anymore. You were brave and strong and didn't give up."

Anakin smiles, the negative feelings melting away easily now. Obi-Wan slowly pulls himself to his feet and reaches his hand out to help Anakin up as well.

"Come, padawan. I've had quite enough of this mission."

They begin to stagger toward the door. Anakin looks over at the painting and feels his heart skip a beat. The woman is gone now, leaving only the simple background on the canvas. In the back of his mind, he can hear her now. Feel the darkness surround you, Skywalker. Embrace it. Use it. Fuel your power and extinguish the light.

But more clearly, he can hear Obi-Wan. You are stronger than it is. Fight against it. Take hold of the light.

Their commands echo through his mind, the Sith one becoming quieter and quieter until it is gone completely. Relief finally washes through him as the darkness fades away.

They walk back through the dusty halls, slowly and leaning on one another. Anakin remembers their conversation as they walked these corridors earlier and smiles.

"I suppose this wasn't a boring mission after all,"

Obi-Wan sighs. "I should really stop wishing for mundane missions. There seems to be no such thing. We could be farming and you would find a way to attract trouble."

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2021 #febuwhumpday1 #star wars #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

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