#but it’s here! it exists! I hope I captured the vision decently | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nat-20s · 2 years

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The third and final part of an au fic inspired by the ending of return of the king! (part 1) (part 2) (ao3 link)

I hope you all like middle aged men being ridiculously in love

~*~

His feet land on a soft surface, and the air is suddenly devoid of the ever-present smog of the city. Letting out a breath and opening his eyes, he’s surprised to find himself in a meadow, trees on either side causing the light to shift and swirl. There’s a haziness to the edges of his vision that gives the place a dream like quality, reaffirming that he’s left his prior reality.

There’s a faint pathway on the ground, and something resembling intuition tells him that he needs to go forward. A small part of him wants to panic, to chew on the worry that he won’t be able to find Jon here, or that even if he does, his presence will be unwanted. 25 years is a long time. However, he’s in possession of a rather uncharacteristic optimism about seeing the love of his life again. Something in the air makes him feel welcome. It’s not in the way that the Lonely did, like he was supposed to be there for the sins of his existence, but more like a space that he could be allowed to make a home in.

After an (very loosely) estimated 20 minutes of walking, he can see a clearing a bit in the distance, and something startles him by rustling leaves near his left. The noise is soft, but it could’ve been a thunderclap compared to the slightly eerie silence he’d been surrounded by, and he is now very aware that he’s completely unarmed. He waits a beat, two, tensed until the culprit emerges from the shadows between the trees. It’s..a black cat. Huh.

The cat, utterly nonplussed by his fear, approaches him, rubs against his legs for a few moments, then trots forward along the path. When Martin is in no hurry to follow after it, it stops, turns its head to stare expectantly, then continues on. Well, then. Martin is hardly one to deny a cat that so very clearly has a quest for him.

Following along, the cat takes him to the clearing that he can now see is occupied by a cottage. It takes a moment for the place to settle into focus, much like the adjustment of a camera lens. When it resolves itself, his heart leaps into his throat, and he internally admonishes it for jumping the gun on hope. The place a mere few meters from him is not an exact copy, but rather a decent facsimile of the home that he and Jon had briefly gotten to share.

His internal trepidation towards hope swiftly becomes unnecessary. The cat approaches the door with all the expected ease of a creature coming back to its dwelling, and all it takes is a single meow before the door swings open to reveal the most beloved face. Jon-

God, it’s Jon. It’s living, breathing, present Jon-

Jon places a hand on his hip and, with a smile that could blind Martin and a voice far more wonderful than any recording could ever capture, he tells the cat, “Hello again, Morticia. I’m surprised you don’t have some dead thing in your mouth, the way you suddenly went dashing off like that. Whatever could be so important that...you….”

Jon had clearly been exaggerating his look out for whatever exciting leaf or bird has caught the cat’s attention. Instead, he makes eye contact with Martin, and time fragments.

All Martin knows is this: One second, their eyes lock, and Jon’s subsequent exhalation of “Martin” sounds as if it’s been punched out of him. The next, all distance is gone, and Jon is, for the first time in two and a half decades, in his arms again.

Jon’s hair is tickling his nose and Jon’s hands are clutching his jacket and Jon’s heartbeat is pressed to his own and Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon. He’s encased, engulfed by Jon, his scent and his body and his voice and his everything, and Martin feels like he’s drowning, if drowning brought you back to life.

Jon is the first one to pull back, but only enough that he can shift his arms from around Martin’s back to his neck. He hadn’t seen it initially, but he can feel Jon’s wedding ring against his skin, bringing about another crashing wave of joy.

The centimeters between them don’t last longer than the seconds it takes for Jon to look pointedly at Martin’s lips and tilt his head in an obvious question of Can I?, Martin to nod, and for them both to be kissed within an inch of their lives.

Or, at least, for them to attempt to be kissed within an inch of their lives. The reality of it is much messier, tear-stained and continuously interrupted by both laughter and sobs. Martin wouldn’t trade it for a perfect, storybook kiss in a million lifetimes. The fairytale version wouldn’t even begin to capture how much he is so, so in love.

He had never fallen out of love with Jon. The part of him dedicated towards romance had adamantly refused to leave Jon’s side, even if Jon was an entire universe away, instead building a geode around itself that had just been rapidly smashed back open. As it it turns out, sharing a love with Jon that got to be an active participant rather than a well-worn memory was countless, infinite times better. Judging by how enthusiastically Jon is kissing him back, Martin would wager than he feels the same.

After several minutes of frantic touching, the need to both confirm the physical existence of each other and start working off a 25 year debt of smooches calms into something significantly more gentle. They transition from grasping to holding to simply resting their forms against each other, foreheads pressed together and lips free to actually speak.

All of Martin’s big (anxiety-ridden) questions, mostly about whether Jon would still want him, or if it’d be awkward, or if they were truly still in love, had been, ah, thoroughly answered. So, naturally, it’s Jon that breaks the silence. “We should, um, we should probably talk.”

Not quite yet bothering to open his eyes, Martin gives an airy, “Hmmm. Yeah, probably.”

In an admonishment that’s far too giggly to stick the landing, Jon lightly shoves his shoulder and says “Martin,” so different than the tone from earlier and yet still so able to send a thrill down his spine.

Martin, begrudging mostly for show, separates their foreheads and opens his eyes. Significantly less begrudgingly, he hits Jon with the multiverse’s soppiest smile and takes his hand, a gesture that makes his entire body sing with the rightness of it. “Alright, alright. Let’s talk.”

Ever so gently, Jon leads him deeper into the cottage, until he settles them knee to knee on a couch far more comfortable than any they had ever owned. There’s a determined set to the line of his jaw, and he’s clearly about to launch into a whole speech, but first his eyes soften with distraction. Staring at Martin’s face, he brings the hand not still held by Martin’s up to cup his cheek. Quietly and full of wonder he asks, “You are real, right?”

Martin happily leans into his hand, replying, “I’m real as long as you are.”

Martin, in all his rose-colored remembrances, had forgotten just how soft Jon could be. “I am. I’m..likely more so than I’ve been in years.”

Then, after Jon strokes his cheek with his thumb, a frown forms on his features. Luckily, it’s one of consideration rather than upset. He continues, “I wasn’t...I never truly expected you to come here.”

That’s enough to cut through the blissful haze Martin’s been floating in. “What?!”

Jon shrugs, and smiles in that terribly self deprecating way that Martin wants to permanently kiss out of existence. “I couldn’t really allow myself that hope, and..I thought you would move on. Live your life, likely remarry within a few years-”

Martin snorts, which earns him a glare. How dare he interrupt Jon’s solemn wistfulness with the truth, apparently. “You have a incredibly generous view of my dating prowess.”

“What, all this time, and you still don’t know how easy you are to love?”

Lifting Jon’s left hand to place a kiss on his wedding ring, Martin accuses, “Sap,” as if he could talk. Then he continues, “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one that thinks that, but even if I had a thousand suitors clamoring at my feet, it was only ever you that I was in love with. I already told you, I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

Looking at Jon, he’s never not amazed to find the depth of love he feels for him reflected back in Jon’s own features. Loving Jon always felt obvious, instinctual, even when they fought or bickered or struggled. Jon loving him back has yet to stop feeling like a miracle. Jon pulls away the hand resting on Martin’s cheek to envelop both of Martin’s in his own. He idly rubs his fingers over the wedding ring on Martin’s own finger before his eyes drop down to it, a flash of guilt on his face. “You..you did though, correct? Live a life out..out there? You..look older.”

“Yeah I..is that okay?”

“Of course, besides,” Jon smiles back up at him, letting go with his right hand so that he can wrap one of Martin’s now naturally grey curls around his finger, “we match now.”

The playful tone eases off as Jon asks, “How long, um. How long has it been? Time..doesn’t exactly work the same here.”

Martin had already guessed that by Jon’s lack of aging, but it’s good to have that confirmed out in the open. “I just had my 57th birthday.��

Lighter than a breath, Jon replies, “Oh. Twenty-five years. Then..why come here now?”

With a one shoulder shrug and a falsely laid back air, Martin tells him, “I wanted to go home.”

Jon grimaces at that, which sends a corresponding hit of panic through Martin, until he explains, “As..as overjoyed as I am to have you here, to see you again, this isn’t..this isn’t a very good home. The days and nights are impossibly long, and while the days are mostly fine-”

“-Jon-”

“-the nights are more like nightmares. Sure, during the day, you can conjure whatever you like, barring living things, though occasionally a stray animal will wander through the barrier, hence the cats-”

“-Jon-”

“but the, the nights. The Fears, they, well, they don’t really have anything left to feed on other than the avatars, and clearly you are one now, and so what they do is create terrible dreams that you can’t separate from reality while they’re happening, and they feel indefinite while they’re happening, and if you try to rest during the day, you can only get about an hour before They set in again-”

“-Jon-”

“-and even then, the days can get lonely. There’s simply not many people populating this realm, and while Annabelle or- or Oliver might occasionally visit, it’s still mostly isolated, and I never wanted that for you-”

“-Jon. I don’t give a shit about the realm. I was talking about you.”

Jon lets out a little hum, then presses their foreheads together once more. “I know, love, I just. I wish I could’ve warned you. I’m...I’m hardly worth all the trouble.”

“Fuck off, of course you are. You always have been, Jon. Even..even if spending only half of our time navigating a hellspace wasn’t literally twice as good as we had it in the apocalypse, getting to have a home with you and too many cats is everything I could possibly want.”

Jon stares at him for a moment, tracing his features before asking, “Are you sure?”

“With every part of me.”

Finally, Jon shifts their positions so that instead of being face to face, he can curl up against Martin’s side, tucking his head underneath his chin. With a glowing content, he tells him, “I love you.”

Martin kisses the top of his head and wraps his arms around him. “I love you too.”

“Hey, Martin?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“Welcome home.”

#my fic #tma #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years

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Humans? Up MY Beanstalk? It's More Likely Than You Think!

AO3 Link

Danny's back on her bullshit and here to make everyone suffer with another WIP that's part of a fic trade with my beloved @hiddendreamer67 <3

Summary: I mean, Jack made it all sound so easy! Climb up the beanstalk a few times, steal enough riches to last himself ten life times, and live happily ever after as a heroic giant slayer with absolutely no repercussions.

Seriously, how hard can it be?

Aiden was no stranger to life events going from bad to worse at the drop of a hat, but more often than not he was able to go with the turbulent flow just enough to keep his head above water and out of any serious trouble. Such a feat was most evident in his adaptation to living within the labyrinth-like walls of the oversized castle he had foolishly sought refuge in weeks prior. Had it been weeks? Months, perhaps, or maybe only a handful of days. The passage of time was just as foreign to him as these massive surroundings, these massive people , and he didn’t have the gall to weasel his way towards an opening near the outside to gauge how high or low the sun was sitting in the strangely pink sky.

The irony was almost funny; where was that fool hearted bravery he had been swimming in when he first started his ascension up the winding stalk that sprouted who knows how many decades ago to reach its impressive height? He knew the stories of young boys trading cows for beans and getting far more than they bargained for. He knew it was down right suicidal to scale the plant in general given he hadn’t a lick of training when it came to climbing anything other than a ladder. The opportunity to live within a legend was too good to pass up, unfortunately. The flimsy promise of riches and adventure beyond his wildest dream outweighed the need to even consider how he was going to get back down from the towering growth when he was inevitably disappointed by the lack of golden eggs.

But he didn’t succumb to the thin air or fall to his death, and he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was given everything he envisioned. Almost everything. When he broke through the cloud line, he discovered the vine had tapered off in favor of clinging to a cliff side he was unaware even existed from below. Green tendrils served as almost a ladder to aid his climb up the mysterious rock formation until he was able to pull himself, huffing and panting and muscles tingling from overuse, over the edge to collapse on horizontal land. So the fabled kingdom of riches didn’t actually rest on the clouds, it seemed. A small let down, but hardly anything worth dampening the mood as Aiden took in his new world view.

He felt as if he had switched places with a weevil seeing how the small patch of grass he was in came up to his chest rather than swishing against his ankles. The euphoria of this great new discovery once again drowned out the more rational side of him, favoring exploration over potential survival. The logistics of returning home could be dealt with later, after he had slayed a giant and stolen only a penny of its wealth that would no doubt provide for him for the rest of his life. Naive. Gullible. Fool hearted.

Aiden had only trekked for a few hours before nearly getting swallowed up by a winged beast he likened to a bat, washing away over the edge of the cliff in a stream, and getting trampled by hulking soldiers doing their rounds. Each close call he survived by the skin of his teeth, luck and adrenaline driving him blindly to find a moment of safety. However, with each incident his bravery withered away into trepidation, especially the closer he came to the giants that roamed the lands. None of them had noticed him yet and part of him wondered if they would ever notice something as miniature as him scurrying around, but he wasn’t feeling bold enough to stay out in the open just for their reaction. No, once he had slipped into the fortress of metal and stone, out of sight from any predator's eyes, the will to venture back out had faded into near nothingness.

If he had it his way, he doubted he would ever again have the gung ho to leave the confines of his newfound sanctuary, not even for the bittersweet desire of returning home. He had made his bed in his haste to seek glory out of tall tales and now he must lie in it. Though his heart ached with anxiety and his hands ceased to tremble, his traitorous stomach refused to let him continue a life of solitude amongst the dusty beams. A weaker part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to live with the gnawing pain until it eventually overtook him. A fitting end, would it not, to starve to death like a rat in the walls? Alas, he was weak, but not weak enough to endure such aggressive cramping by the end of the second day, and so he mustered all the strength and courage he could just to snatch a few stale breadcrumbs long forgotten behind what he assumed was a cast iron stove.

Aiden truly was living up to his new rodent lifestyle, wasn’t he.

It was disgusting, but it was food, and though it made him ill the remainder of the night it had at least provided him with enough energy to go back out the next night in an effort to find something an inch more sustainable. By the end of the week, his newly discovered drive to live had him exploring every corner of the expansive kitchen during the wee hours of the night, when no giants hurried back and forth between the counters and the galley to serve platters of meals that could have fed his own village for months at a time. The rich smell of hot breads and meats made him dizzy, even more so now that he was getting accustomed to surviving off of dusty scraps he found on the floor. He needed to play it safe, he reminded himself as he watched one of the chef’s throw out an entire pan of fresh loaves because there’s too many chives in this! It’s too bitter for his tastes! , hardly resisting the urge to dive into the bins after the wasted food.

But...if they were so keen as to throw away an entire batch of fully prepared food over the fact that it was unsuitable for one person’s palette...surely there was no harm in taking what would be considered a nibble. Not when it was unwanted.

There it was again, that fool hearted bravery. If only Aiden had used it to find a way out of this unofficial prisoner rather than fuel his greed. He couldn’t be happy with the bare minimum he was given, could he? Always had to push the boundaries when he knew exactly where they lied, always run headfirst towards danger and then act surprised when it would bite him in the ass moments later. At least this time around he had the forethought to formulate some type of a plan, as flimsy as it was. Having become quite familiar with the inner structures of the fortress, he was able to determine the abode he was in was something along the lines of a castle. It was certainly sprawling enough, decorated with dark colors and glittering riches and constantly bustling with workers ranging from lowly servants to chittering socialites. Whether or not this was indeed a house for royalty he was unsure, having never been able to pinpoint which of the ambling lords or ladies might be the esteemed ruler of the lands. Assuming monarchies even existed this high, that is. Perhaps this was merely the norm of their society’s standards. It was unlikely, but it wasn’t as if he had many outside resources to compare this way of life to, not even in the way of his own village.

In theory, the heist should have been easy. In theory . All he had to do was wait until the dead of night for the bustling kitchen to fall silent as it normally did and he could slip out from the crevice closest to the scraps bin. Scaling in and out of the bin might prove trickier than he anticipated, but that remained a problem for future Aiden. The most important part of his newfound mission was being able to fill his stomach up with day-old bread and cold meats before they were discarded for good. If all went well, this could easily become a nightly routine of his, a way to feast like a king whilst living like a rat within the true royalty’s walls. He knew he was getting ahead of himself with that kind of fantasizing, perhaps that was even the beginning of his downfall, but he had so little to look forward to these days that he dared to get his hopes up for a semi-decent meal.

He hadn’t even made it halfway across the counter before he was spotted and subsequently captured.

But he had been so careful , he lamented to himself when the air was roughly knocked from his lungs after a massive hand slammed on top of him, pinning any squirms. True, he reflected as the stars cleared his vision, he never actually bothered to see if the kitchen remained vacant all night given that he was asleep...but he just assumed! Who in the world would be up during this hour!? Someone else sneaking a snack, maybe, just as he was. He could use that to his advantage, try and gain a few sympathy points by connecting with the giant on that level, convince them that all he needed was just a fraction of whatever they were probably getting for themselves and he would be on his way for good. A lie, of course, but the giant didn’t need to know that.

Once more, that short lived plan would never be put to use when Aiden felt himself being lifted in the air within a bone crushing grip, metal and leather digging into him in various places from the glove the giant wore. His eyes barely adjusted from the dizzying movements and dim kitchen before they were blown open at the sight, constricted breathing still entirely for a heartbeat. This was no ordinary giant, not like the ones he had grown accustomed to glancing at from the nooks and crannies. At first glance, however, it did fit the bill for the most part -- biped, guard’s armor, a human face -- but...did these giants typically have glowing purple eyes? He couldn’t recall for certain, yet the more he looked the more he found that appeared off. The outline of the guard’s figure seemed...fuzzy, like they were blurred rather than a solid defining line. His face, harsh and scrutinizing, was greyer than a corpse. He was otherworldly, and it was at that moment Aiden was painfully reminded he was in another world, one he didn’t belong in. One he knew he would be leaving quickly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the guard rumbled, his voice grating more like static than a growl.

“N-no…” Aiden agreed. Anything to get on his good side. “I’ll go, I’ll l-leave!”

Though he had found his voice, he had yet to find the strength to attempt any kind of struggle, not that he thought he’d be able to budge the massive fingers in the slightest. However, if he showed just how eager he was to depart from this situation, maybe the giant would believe him and grant him that small mercy. Instead, he was given another rough squeeze that made his spine pop, the fist clenching him raising higher so that he was more at eye level with his captor.

“How did you get in here, human? ” The guard spat. Good news was that humans were a known creature, at least. Bad news was that humans, apparently, were not known for any pleasant reason.

Aiden panted, trying to suck in a much needed breath after all of his were forced out. “I-I don’t know…” He squealed in discomfort when the fingers tightened again, refusing to let up until he gave a more satisfactory answer. “Th-the walls! I came through the walls! ”

The guard snorted and slackened his grip to allow an inch of breathing room, “Of course you did. Little pest that you and your kind are.”

“Wh...what are you…?” A bold question, but since he was sure it was to be one of his last, Aiden saw no reason not to ask.

He wasn’t given an answer, the giant instead lowering him slightly to exit the kitchen and pace down the halls. The scenery whizzed by so fast that it made his head spin, catching a few looks at other giants that were loitering about. Just like the guard, they were similar to the ones he would see in the daytime but...different. The two guards they passed looked to be of the same race of whatever the one holding him was, a noblewoman in a shimmering capelet eyed him suspiciously and he could have sworn her ‘capelet’ flittered before settling back down her shoulders. How had he never seen any of these attributes in the day? Then again, he often viewed the giants in the fortress at a distance and never for very long, they could have all been magically endowed for all he knew. Or, another theory, the ones he was coming across now were merely nocturnal and their more...normal housemates were sound asleep as he typically was while these creatures did their rounds and had their fun.

The wonderment was short lived when the giant shoved his way through a heavy wooden door at the very end of a lesser used corridor. With each step down the spiraling stone staircase, Aiden felt his heart sink just a little lower. The long shadows casting against the walls from the torches mounted to them gave the dank atmosphere an even more sinister vibe, leaving too many unknown things able to hide in the darkness. Even the guard, who did not appear to be an overly friendly fellow to begin with, looked twice as menacing with how the shadows concealed the few human features he did have. Aiden swallowed thickly, unsure of where they were heading but already knowing it wasn’t good.

His hunch was confirmed when the guard entered another hall, one lined with cramped cells that were partially occupied. He tried not to look at them and their fates, not wanting to see what might be awaiting him as well. Likely not, though. He was far too small to shackle and imprison. A different punishment would have to be in store for him. Further down the hall, the dungeon changed its holding cells from ones with iron bars to ones with solid steel doors instead, obscuring whatever poor bastard was locked within. Was that considered a crueler punishment? Perhaps that was where the torturing took place, if such types of creatures indulged in those acts. He saw no reason why they wouldn’t and as a result could very easily imagine himself being thrown in there next.

Fortunately, or not, the guard instead opened another wooden door that was adjacent to several of the isolated cells, coming to stand before another giant sitting at a table. Aiden couldn’t tell what was on the desk or what this new giant was using these unknown things for, but from the jist of it he must have been busy.

“Sir,” the guard holding him said while raising him higher for the presumably important one to see better. “A human has been found within the perimeter.”

The guard, a captain if Aiden were to guess, frowned. “Any others?”

“None that I could sense in the immediate area.”

He sighed and waved his hand. “We’ll do a sweep before daybreak. Who knows the amount of damage it’s done...what it’s taken, what it’s told.” He fixed Aiden with an icy glare that made the poor human try to shrink in on himself.

He wished he could have found a way to defend himself, plead his case, but his voice was nowhere to be found now. All cowardliness and no self preservation.

“And how shall I dispose of this one, sir?” The guard asked and Aiden paled. Dispose!?

The one in charge shrugged a shoulder and resumed what he was doing previously, fiddling with tools and books and papers for one reason or another. “Put it on lunch duty. Give the lizard another rat to keep him busy.”

Aiden didn’t quite follow the logic of the order. Lunch duty didn’t sound half as bad as being disposed of. The ‘lizard’ was news to him, but regardless the guard nodded at his order and left the office back down the corridor of steel doors. He wasn’t sure if he should speak up and ask for clarification while he mulled over his rather lenient sentencing, doubtful the giant would even regard him. From the looks of disgust and distrust he had been given numerous times in the short span of time he had been discovered, he could gather that his presence was an unwelcome one, though why he was still unsure. Evidently, he was going to be put to work and he could most certainly live with that. Earn his keep, he reasoned. Give rats to lizards or something. Would these rats and lizards be the same kind as the ones back on his homeworld down below or would they be to scale with the giants? Another question he should probably speak aloud before he got in over his head.

Or, at least, he would have asked, had a wad of cloth not been jammed into mouth hard enough to make his jaw click uncomfortably. He gagged, trying to shove the offending material out with his tongue, but it was packed into his cheeks too tightly to budge. A different material, a thin rope, was quickly wound around his chest to pin his arms to his sides before wrapping further down to bind his ankles. It had happened in the flash, the guard giving him no warning or reasoning for the sudden confinement, but it wasn’t as if Aiden could offer up much protest now that it was all said and done. He was completely immobile, spun up like a fly in a spider’s web. The guard had done it with such efficiency that it must be something similar to a routine for him by now which did not bode well. In a last ditch effort to save his hide from whatever...this was, he looked up at his captor with wide, pleading eyes, begging for just a shred of sympathy or at the very least an explanation of what was about to happen.

All he was met with was the same cold, violet eyes as all the other giants he had come to pass. Equally cruel and indifferent. And it was then he understood, as he was being roughly shoved through a hand slot at the base of one of the sturdy metal cell doors, that he was not the one who was meant to be delivering the meals during “lunch duty”. He was the meal. He was the rat, which meant the lizard was…

Aiden wriggled as best he could manage in his position until he was able to roll onto his back and get a good look around the cell. It was massive to him, but compared to the size of the giants he could tell it was rather cramped. Dark and depressing, much like one would expect a lonely prison cell to be, with the scattering of tiny bones and grime along the stone walls. His breathing quickened as he tried to tell just what type of origin the gnawed remains had been, however it was too difficult to tell at this distance in such gloom lighting. Perhaps that was for the best, giving his brain a little boost of reassurance that maybe they weren’t all human bones, that this wasn’t a common fate most of his kind befell when they made the same foolish mistake of invading where they clearly did not belong.

Trying to avoid the glare of bones only worsened his situation tenfold when he turned his head and was met with what was, obviously, the lizard as previously mentioned. Well, partially a lizard? More human-looking than lizard just going off a quick glance which led Aiden to believe the nickname was meant to be a derogatory term for whatever species it was. It...he? Yeah, he was kneeling on the floor, not by choice, but rather due to the shackles that bound him at the wrist and was tethered to the floor with a pitifully short chain. The clothes he wore reminded him of something he might have caught a few nobles wear given the level of craftsmanship and hand woven designs. It was a shame they were soiled now in what he could only assume was sweat and dirt, how he hoped that was dirt. The prisoner picked his head up when he heard the food slot screech open and shut, waiting for any other sound before sighing at the responding silence.

The chain jingled as he shifted to reposition himself into something a little more comfortable, Aiden now catching sight of the black nails that blended into scales littering the back of his hand when he flexed his fingers. A tail briefly flicked into view before concealing itself behind him once again. As the human let his gaze trail further up his face, fully prepared to see another hateful glare burning a hole through his weak soul, he couldn’t help but notice another spattering of black scales along his cheekbones and down his neck, presumably up to his eyes as well, but...well, he couldn’t tell. Not when there was a tattered, red cloth tied around his head, effectively blinding the sense. He wondered if this was an ailment the giant already had or if this was another part of his punishment, curious if he even had any eyes still in their sockets beneath the shoddy wrappings. Whatever the case was, the “lizard” obviously couldn’t see him and Aiden was unable to alert him to his presence with the gag shoved down his throat, leaving them at an awkward stalemate.

A stalemate that lasted all of two seconds before the giant wrinkled his nose and frowned. “The hell kind of rodent is this…? ” he muttered to himself.

So much for not knowing he was there. With great effort, Aiden twisted his body until he was able to turn on his side, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He froze when the giant started to move as well, pointed ears twitching in response to the light scuffling he was making against the floor to pinpoint his location. Despite one of his senses being dulled, it was evident his remaining ones were still working in perfect order, maybe even heightened to compensate for the lack of vision.

“Another live one,” he sighed, fingers flexing again, “Sorry about this little buddy. I don’t like live prey any more than you like being it, I’m sure, but, well…”

That was the only warning Aiden had before the giant lunged, teeth snapping an inch in front of his frozen body. From this close, he could see the needle-thin fangs previously hidden behind a grimace and instantly wanted to be far, far away from them. His only saving grace was the short lead the other had on his cuffs, preventing him from pushing off any closer and cutting him off just shy of his prize for the time being. He growled in annoyance at having missed the offered prey, pulling back to realign himself for a better pounce.

“Come on, just make this easy for the both of us,” the giant huffed.

Oh, absolutely not. No, no, no. No, this was not how Aiden wanted his adventure in the skies to end. Fuck the adventure, he wanted to go home and he wanted to do so alive and in one piece. Being ripped to shreds was not a fate he ever envisioned for himself. He wasn’t going to die like some...some rat!

The giant was inching closer, moving along the side as much as the chain would allow to get a better angle. It didn’t matter whether he ensnared the tiny between his claws or teeth or even batted its little corpse within reaching distance with his tail, so long as he was able to get a hold on its fresh flesh one way or another. Desperately, Aiden began to rock back and forth to shimmy his body across the floor, painstakingly putting centimeters of distance between them that the giant was able to make up in a single shuffle. When the chain pulled taunt again, the human rolled to the side and narrowly missed the clamp of teeth once more, hot breath blowing against his back and covering his body in goosebumps. Undeterred, however, the giant followed his scent that was so tantalizingly close and moved his body in unison with Aiden’s. With another bite, he was able to find purchase on the ropes that burned against his arms and sunk his fangs in what he supposed was meant to be an animal's tender flesh.

Aiden had tried to avoid the attack but simply could not scramble away quick enough, his only luck being that he was just far enough that the gnashing teeth only managed to puncture through the fibers of rope rather than his actual skin. He was lifted into the air when the giant pulled back, kicking and thrashing to the best of his ability against the hold. The humid air blowing on the back of his head made him nauseous now, only able to envision how the feeling would quickly be enveloping him entirely when he was thrown back and swallowed down the creature’s gullet. With one, final twist, Aiden prayed his limited strength would be enough to somehow dislodge himself from the giant’s maw and give him another chance at playing this unbalanced game of chase.

And then the rope snapped.

Having already been sawed and frayed in several places from the giant’s fangs, Aiden’s pull was all it needed to rip apart entirely, sending the human sprawling onto the cold ground. His vision clouded when his head smacked against the stone, ironically thankful for the wad of cloth in his mouth or he most certainly would have lost a few teeth. Without a doubt, he was going to have a nasty bruise coloring the majority of his right side in the near future, the ache still pulsing with every wheezing breath he tried to gain back. While the stars faded from his eyes, he watched distantly as the giant curiously grinded the material in his mouth before dropping it. He pursed his lips in confusion, expecting raw meat and the rush of blood rather than some scratchy coils of what almost tasted like hide.

“Gods, what even is this,” he cringed.

Me , Aiden wanted to cry out, it’s me, it’s a human!

The giant’s hang up with his unusual meal faded into resignation much sooner than Aiden would have liked. He was hardly to blame, though, if he had been given nothing but live pests to blindly hunt down without the use of his full mobility for an undetermined amount of time. They were in a similar boat, really. Creatures trapped in a home they had no business being in, trying to survive on what little scraps were thrown their way. The human sorely wished he hadn’t been relegated into the scraps category, but there was little he could do about that now. Knowing his prey had a pretty straight forward drop, he moved again with an open mouth to seal the foreign creature’s fate.

The sight of teeth rushing to greet him was exactly the adrenaline rush Aiden’s body needed to get moving again, much more successfully this time now that he had arms to push up with and legs to carry him a greater distance. As much as he would have loved to have sprinted to the other side of the cell, even find another crack to slip through if fate would feel the desire to be so kind to him today, he only managed to stumble a few feet out of the immediate danger zone before tripping over himself. His right leg screamed in agony from the second fall, a sign of something being sprained somewhere he was sure. He wanted to scream out loud as well had it not been for the gag. The gag he realized he could take out now. Unsure of how useful his last words would even be, the human ripped the wad of cloth out of his mouth in a frenzy while the giant prepped himself for another attack. If anything, at least Aiden could find catharsis in leaving some sort of statement about himself behind for someone to hear, even if it was just confirmation of his fool heartedness.

“Stop!” Aiden yelled, voice raw and itching his throat like it hadn’t been used in ages rather than half an hour. “Please, stop! G-get away! ”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the giant to do as a result, but one thing was clear and it was that he most certainly wasn’t expecting his meal to say anything. He reeled back like he had been physically struck by those words, if his eyes were visible he was sure they would be as wide as serving platters. It was almost comical how he stumbled back, the menacing creature suddenly so fearful of a tiny vermin it was trying to consume moments prior, mouth agape as he tried to process what was going on without being able to actually see it.

“You...did you just, oh my gods,” he gasped. While he was glad he was being spared for the time being, the giant’s nervousness did little to quell the anxiety that had been brewing in Aiden’s heart since the moment he came upon this accursed land.

“Ple-please…” Aiden whimpered, suddenly drained physically and emotionally from the whole ordeal and settling to just drag himself any extra distance he could away from his unofficial death penalty. It was a pathetic display, but on the bright side, one he wouldn’t be mocked for. “Don’t h-hurt me…”

The giant shifted again, hesitant, closer , and Aiden braced himself for the final bite to end it all.

“You can talk!? ”

#g/t #fearplay #g/t writing #giant/tiny #macro/micro #gianttiny #my writing #hiddendreamer67 #MANDY MY BELOVED #also these are officially her OCs so don't ask me for ANYTHING about them #these are HER KIDS NOW i sign over my parental rights #well #i guess they're mine until I get chapter two out

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owl-with-a-pen · 3 years

Text

Kara had been putting on a brave face all afternoon. Alex figured it would have been a little more obvious to everyone had it not been for the fact that they all were.

Each of them had been affected by the Phantom’s fear visions to some degree, but in typical Super Friends fashion, they’d found the remedy to those fears in each other’s company.

It almost felt too normal, gathering at Kara’s apartment, playing board games, eating and drinking, laughing and pretending that the last few weeks had been nothing but a bad dream.

Nothing was that easy, though, no matter how hard they tried. After all, it didn’t escape Alex that Lena had more than overindulged in her fair share of scotch since her arrival, or that Nia had practically remained glued to Brainy’s side the whole afternoon, fiddling with the life projectors beneath his shirt as they lay curled against each other on the couch. Brainy held her just as tightly in return, as though he was afraid to let her go. It was clear he was way more on edge than normal, hyper-aware of his surroundings, startling at just about any loud noise. So much so that the pop from the champagne cork earlier that day had very nearly sent him reeling right out of the room. After that, Alex had put the group on a strict twist off cap rule for any future bottles that were to be opened in Brainy’s presence.

Alex knew that Kelly had seen something awful there as well, but her girlfriend had been doing everything to keep the morale of the team boosted, instead assuring her that she was working through it on her own terms, and that she wanted Alex to feel comfortable talking to her about her own nightmare as well.

As much as Alex wanted to take Kelly up on that offer - right now - sitting there with her friends, drink in hand and her sister’s head resting on her shoulder… this was how she was getting by. She didn’t need to talk it out, at least not in that moment. Being in the presence of her family, feeling the soft fibres of Kara’s cardigan between her fingers, this was more than enough to keep her fears at bay.

But, she knew that Kara was struggling.

Despite the strength Kara was trying desperately to maintain, Alex could see the strain behind every smile. Even now she was home safe, decked in sweats and curled up under her favourite blanket, it didn’t take from the fact that whatever she’d seen in the Phantom Zone still lived within her. Providing all the comforts in the world wasn’t going to change that.

Still, having a chance to focus on family, junk food and stupid card games was at least beginning to alleviate some of the tension in the room. By the time day rolled into night, the laughter they shared together felt that much more genuine, and Alex was even able to goad Kara into a very competitive, high-stakes game of Trivial Pursuit.

Brainy and Nia won, not like the room stood much of a chance against a twelfth-level intellect who had also taken the opportunity of studying even more pop-culture references since his stint in 2009. But, with the alcohol running through everyone’s systems, the match had been closer than any one before it.

Eventually though, it was time for the Super Friends to head home for the evening. Well, everyone apart from Alex. She’d been pretty clear from the moment game night had been proposed that there was no way in hell she was leaving her sister alone that night.

If anything, Kara had seemed relieved at the idea. Alex knew she was still processing everything that had happened, but the horrors of that place were still fresh on her mind. Maybe she hadn’t been alone, maybe she had found family along the way, but that didn’t take from the awful things Kara had witnessed, even with her father at her side.

Alex wasn’t sure what to think of Zor-El quite yet. J’onn had given him a place to crash at the Tower while he gathered his bearings on Earth, and she knew he’d likely be contacting Argo very soon with the news of his survival. Kara hadn’t spoken much about her father since getting back, but then again, she’d spoken so little about her time in the Phantom Zone that Alex didn’t think it strange. She was looking to move past this.

They all were.

Just… moving past it wasn’t going to be as easy as they were hoping for. Kelly was already trying to encourage everyone into a group session to talk things out, although the bottle of wine she’d toted had probably made her sound a little too eager about the idea at the time. In any case, Alex hadn’t missed how Kara had shrunk into the sofa at the suggestion, or how quickly she’d diverted the subject before Kelly had a chance to go into any details.

She’d have to talk to someone eventually, and privately Alex hoped that Kara might let her in. Since Brainy and Nia had gone back in time, Alex couldn’t help but fall back to those years when she’d left Kara behind for college, how anchored she’d still felt to her sister’s life even from miles away. There were times she’d blamed Kara for everything in her life that wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t take from the moments, however small, where things had been just that.

Perfect.

The longer Kara had spent in Midvale, the more she’d opened up about her home world. Alex had found the topic all kinds of uncomfortable at first, serving as yet another reminder that she was responsible for this alien tween that had somehow stumbled into their lives, disturbing her otherwise normal existence. But, Kara had been able to fill every one of her stories about Krypton with such wonder. Even when she hadn’t been fully confident with English, she’d still managed to describe her planet with such passion that Alex could even imagine those great glass spires for herself, could see the vast cities that glimmered in the distance from Kara’s old bedroom window.

Kara had never managed to get through one of those stories without crying.

Alex could still remember clambering over to Kara’s bed in the dead of night, bundling her adopted sister in her arms, expecting it to feel so alien, so wrong. But, it hadn’t. If anything, it had been the most natural thing in the world.

She’d whispered to her then, rocking her, telling her oh so gently that everything would be okay.

Kara had believed her every time.

Now, though?

Now, Alex wasn’t so sure.

Once the party disbanded, neither one of them had the energy to say much to each other, but that didn’t matter. Sharing one another’s space was more than enough. Assuring Kara that she wasn’t alone tonight - that was enough. It had to be.

When Kara headed to bed, Alex set about making herself comfortable on the couch, curling beneath the duvet that Kara had left out for her.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, which only made it all the more alarming when she was suddenly jerked awake some hours later.

Alex’s throat was dry, and there was a crick in her neck where she’d been lying awkwardly across the sofa’s arm. She groaned out, raising her hands in a half-assed defensive stance that would have been way more threatening had she actually had a firearm to grab a hold of and not a medium sized throw pillow.

“Alex?”

Kara’s voice, trailing feebly in the dark. Alex blinked, finding her sister’s bright eyes staring at her in the dim setting of the apartment. Even with no visible source of light, they still managed to shimmer, like tiny beams of sunlight had been captured within her irises.

“Hey,” Alex managed, clearing her throat with some effort. She frowned, reaching for her sister’s arm. “Are you okay?”

Kara’s lips trembled into a weak smile. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.

“Figures,” Alex said, noting the state of her sister’s hair. It was tied up into a messy bun that had clearly fallen victim to Kara’s violent tossing and turning habit. Alex forced herself into a half decent sitting position, glancing towards the kitchen. “What d’you think, will tea and honey cut it?” she asked, feigning a dramatized yawn. “Or, do we have to pull out the big guns?”

Kara’s smile widened. “Oh, big guns for sure.”

“Hot cocoa it is.” Alex grinned. “You can boil the water.”

---

Ten minutes later, Alex found herself sat on Kara’s bed, legs crossed as she nursed her piping mug of hot cocoa, enhanced with a generous splash of whiskey. Kara did the same, taking a sip before she closed her eyes, leaning her back against the head rest.

“Oh Rao that’s good,” she murmured.

“Y’know, I think I’ve even improved upon mom’s recipe,” Alex mused. “The student becomes the teacher, or whatever.”

“Don’t tell Eliza that, she’ll kill you.”

Alex pulled a face. “God, never. She’ll take that recipe to her grave.”

Kara chuckled, sobering slightly. She pressed her lips together, staring down into her mug. “I missed this,” she murmured. “When I was… trapped there… everything felt so bleak. Like the world was trying to suck the happiness right out of me.” She shuddered, tightening her grip around her mug. “I tried to hold onto happy memories, the taste of my favourite foods, anything that’d keep me grounded. But, the longer I was there, the more I thought I’d never find that happiness again.” She breathed out sharply, forcing a smile. “That I’d never taste hot cocoa again.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like,” Alex said softly. “I mean… we were only there for a few hours and look how badly it affected us. You were there for weeks and I—” Alex choked, shaking her head. “Things got pretty bleak here, too. And, well, let’s just say I didn’t need a Phantom to start losing hope.”

“Alex-”

“It’s not your fault,” Alex said automatically. “So don’t you dare go apologising for this.”

“I- I wasn’t.”

Alex gave her sister a pointed look.

Kara’s face fell. She shifted uncomfortably, drawing her knees up towards her chest. “Okay, maybe… so maybe I was. But- I don’t know what else to say, Alex! I am sorry. Sorry any of this happened. That we lost each other.”

Again.

“We always find our way back,” Alex said firmly, pressing the warmth of her mug against her chin retrospectively. Her lips curled. “That might as well be the Danvers’ sisters motto at this point, right?”

Kara snorted into her own mug. “It’s got a ring to it.”

“We could make t-shirts.”

“Okay, that’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But you kinda love it, right?”

Kara’s nose crinkled when she grinned, one of those classic Kara smiles. So simple, so easy, as though she wasn’t holding the weight of the world on her shoulders at any given moment.

It didn’t last long, but when Kara looked back up at her, Alex thought that a little of the pain behind her eyes had begun to ease.

Then, Kara yawned.

Alex’s smile faded. “Okay, you really need to get some sleep.”

Kara bit her lip, glancing away. “I know. I just…” She blinked with a sudden revelation, turning back to Alex in the same motion. “Would you stay?” she asked impulsively, patting the sheets at her side. “Here, I mean. While I sleep? Like old times?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Alex said, already scooting over towards the empty space. “Of course I will.”

---

The last time Alex had laid in Kara’s bed, she’d been alone.

When the wound had still been fresh, her heart was so heavy that Alex had needed to feel Kara there with her somehow. She’d used the spare key to get inside, curling up beneath her sister’s sheets, still smelling of Kara’s watermelon shampoo, and hugged her pillow close to her chest, burying her face into the soft cotton.

Now, Kara lay at her side, and yet Alex still had to fight to prove to herself that this was real. That Kara was home.

She hadn’t told anyone about what the Phantom had showed her just yet - not even Kelly. To think how terrified she’d been of not being the first face that Kara saw, that somehow her stubbornness might ruin everything, that to get Kara back, she’d have to sacrifice herself, because it was her job as the older sister. Even when she’d faced those fears, when she’d chosen to let herself go to keep Kara safe, it didn’t take from the horrible all-consuming vacuum that had surrounded her. The unforgiving, ice cold chasm of space that had crushed her body the moment she’d been pulled from the ship’s sheild.

But, when Kara had barrelled through that door, Alex had seen her light at the end of the tunnel. When Kara had wrapped her arms around her, nearly forgetting her own strength, squeezing the breath right out from Alex’s lungs, her fears had all but evaporated alongside it. Instead, she’d only hugged her sister tighter in response, whispering nonsensical reassurances into Kara’s ear as she’d crumpled beneath the weight of everything she’d seen, breathing heavily into Alex’s throat.

Now, Alex ran her fingers through her sister’s hair, tugging the elastic out so that she could knot the blonde strands into loose plaits. She’d taught Kara how to braid her hair in a similar fashion when they’d been kids, playing with her hair for hours in front of the mirror, going through every style she could think of in some of her mom’s old magazines. Alex had never been a big fan of dressing up, but Kara had been so excited to learn about Earth fashion and Alex had been seldom to disappoint.

It wasn’t long before Kara relaxed into the gesture, her back curving against Alex’s chest as she sank deep against her pillow, pressing her face into it with a soft exhale.

Alex didn’t know what kind of nightmares Kara had faced the last time she’d fallen asleep, but she vowed that she’d do everything in her power to give her sister the peace of mind she deserved.

When Kara finally began to doze and soft snores escaped her lips, Alex wrapped her arms around her front, burying her face between her sister’s shoulder blades.

She was warm in her arms, solid and real. Alex could feel every rise and fall in Kara’s chest, could hear the steady rhythm of her pulse beating against her forehead.

The girl of steel had always needed to appear unbreakable to everyone, but what people rarely thought about was how that so often extended even to Kara Danvers. After all, it would be Kara Danvers, not Supergirl, who would be turning up at CatCo in the next few days, pretending as though she’d been out getting the scoop of the century.

No one outside of her family knew what she’d been through, and so none of them would offer her the proper time she needed to heal.

And, as much as it hurt, Alex knew that by tomorrow, Kara would already be flying around National City again, reassuring the world that Supergirl was still there for them all.

But, in small moments like this, Kara could at least let her guard down. She didn’t need to be anyone’s saviour right then. She was Kara Danvers, Kara Zor El. And at the heart of it, she was still Alex’s little sister. No matter what happened, nothing would ever change that.

Maybe she couldn’t protect her sister from whatever tomorrow brought with it, but she could make damn sure that not a single nightmare touched her tonight.

That would have to be enough.

#supergirl #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl season 6 #danvers sisters #kara danvers #alex danvers #kara zor el #6x07 #my writing #this might turn into a whole fic for mini chapters surrounding a bunch of character interactions in the aftermath of 6x07 #mostly because i rEALLY want to explore every angle of that SO. BAD.#so. if i do get the time for it stay tuned i guess.

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

a mourning dove

here it is! a little late, but this is my @secret-sanders-sized gift for @roseof-alltrades3 !

i apologize for the lateness! i was so excited to work with your prompt that i ended up biting off more than i could chew and writing quite a bit more than planned! still, i hope that you like it! <3

warnings: blood, capture, fear, referring to a person as an ‘it’, random jerk giant

Logan was in the middle of breaking seven different rules when he was almost caught by a human.

He’d been frustrated with his teacher, who refused to even consider the possible benefits of human technology, and with his best friend, who got upset at even the mention of humans being anything but dangerous, evil creatures. Nobody ever listened to him, not about the things that mattered. He’d seen some of the tools humans had, and he was certain they could benefit greatly from studying them!

Of course, he’d only caught glimpses of those tools because he’d gone past the borough’s boundaries… far past them. But his point still stood!

Incensed by being disregarded, Logan had abandoned his daily tasks to find his way to the edge of the woods again. Now, he was searching the forest floor for any possible human artifacts he could bring back as evidence to support his claim.

Unfortunately, most of what he’d found was trash. Human litter tossed out of car windows or blown in from nearby fields. Logan grimaced, angling his wings to bank left, away from another shiny wrapper he’d mistaken for metal.

Though their creations were interesting, Roman did have a point. Humans themselves were rather repulsive, in both mannerisms and appearance, what with the lack of wings. He almost pitied them. Almost.

Distracted as he was by scanning the ground, when he finally caught sight of the human, it was just as the giant creature was crossing the boundary into the woods, only meters away. He froze for a moment, seized by some primitive instinct that overrode his logical mind screaming to flee before he was seen.

The human’s eyes flicked in his direction, and then promptly tripped over a stray tree root and toppled over with a yelp and a loud crash. The ground seemed to almost vibrate with the impact.

Shaken by the quick movement, Logan finally managed to break out of his terrified haze and snapped his wings to swiftly dive towards the nearest branches for cover. He was going too fast to manage his usual precise landing, but managed to slam chest first into a thicker branch and cling to it, tawny wings tucked up against himself.

“Oops,” the human mumbled, picking a twig out of his bangs absently. “Sorry for the scare, little birds.”

He didn’t give the trees around him more than a cursory glance before continuing over to a nearby birch, settling easily at the base of it and pulling the shoulder strap of his bag over his head. Logan breathed a near-silent sigh of relief, letting his death grip on the branch ease slightly; it seemed like the human had mistaken whatever glimpse he’d caught of the winged tiny as a bird.

Still, the scare was enough to make his heart beat like it was trying to jump right out of his chest. He began to edge slowly along the tree limb, trying for a branch that extended behind the human’s field of vision. A leaf fluttered down, shaken loose by his movements, and he followed it with his gaze to where the human was sitting with a strange, rectangular device in his lap.

Logan bit the soft inside of his lip. He should go back to the borough, warn Roman and the other guards of the human wandering near, especially after such a close call, but…

Below him, the human opened the rectangle up, forming a right angle that was almost like an open book held sideways. He hummed a cheerful tune as the inside panels of the device suddenly changed color. Logan locked his legs around the branch, peering down. The human hadn’t seen him, and was very intent on the device, so it couldn’t hurt to take a bit longer.

For the next hour, he watched curiously as the human pressed on the bottom rectangle, which was full of small square buttons that clicked, sometimes hesitant and sometimes so fast that it seemed as though he wasn’t even looking at what he was pressing.

More intriguing was the way the bright, color-changing part would respond to the button pressing, small black lines appearing on a white background or entirely new scenes flashing into existence. The device seemed to glow, like a light reflected by water or one of the boroughs enchanted lanterns, but he could find no source for the light to be reflecting from, and everyone knew humans couldn’t perform enchantments.

By the time the human stretched and changed the square back to a dull black, it was beginning to grow dark. The human closed the device back into its original form, and tucked it into his bag with easy motions. Logan sighed in disappointment, brimming with questions. He wanted to know everything about that strange technology- how it worked, what it was used for, where the human got it- but his only source of answers seemed done for the day, packing up and rising to his feet.

After all, it wasn’t as though he could speak to a human. He’d be killed on the spot, or worse, captured. He watched as the tremendous creature yawned, displaying a mouth with teeth large enough to bite him in half, and shuddered. He was fairly certain humans weren’t that barbaric, but it was still unnerving to see.

It was only once the human had vanished back over the hill that Logan finally felt at ease enough to stand on his branch, spreading his cramped wings a few times. He sent one last longing glance at the place where the human had last been, and-

Wait. What was that?

He glided down to the oddly bright colored shape on the ground, landing a few feet away and glancing over his shoulder warily, suspecting a trap.

Nothing jumped out at him, though, and when he prodded the odd rounded rectangle, it didn’t do anything but sit there like a rock. He cautiously reached out to touch it, lifting it up into his arms and inspecting it closely in the dying sunlight.

It was lighter than he expected, more like an acorn than a rock, and made of a smooth blue material that certainly wasn’t wood or spidersilk cloth. He ran his thumb along the hard surface, finding a strange divot in it, and pressed his thumbs against the line. It gave slightly, and Logan grinned victoriously as the shell of the device cracked open to reveal… another smaller and more angled rectangle within.

He blinked at the shine of metal, wondering what in the world the purpose of such a tool could be. It wasn’t sharp enough to be a knife. Was it made to open something? Some kind of human key?

A low hoot echoed nearby, and Logan stiffened, squinting at the bramble nearby in the low light. Roman would be having a fit by now, and it was too dark to do more investigating anyhow.

Pulling the shell-cap loosely back into place over the metal, he ran a few feet and then took off, flitting between the trees back to the borough boundary lines.

Taking care to avoid the night patrol, he kept the human item tucked closely to him as he reached the small aspen that held his home in its trunk. Luckily, he lived fairly far from the crowded borough center, and nobody took note of him slipping quietly in through one of his ceiling entrances.

At least, that was what he thought until he touched down on his bedroom floor and heard someone clear their throat pointedly behind him. He whirled around, not entirely surprised to see his best friend standing there.

Roman was the son of the king and part of the guard, well-known and well-liked for his charming personality and looks alike. He had broad red hawk wings that flecked with gold whenever he cast enchantments, and many of their small town would sigh with longing or admiration whenever he passed by.

Logan wondered how many of them would still have crushes if they knew how much of a worrywart their prince was.

“Roman, what have I said about entering my home without permission?” he scolded automatically, his grip tightening on the item.

“Maybe I’ll actually listen to that when you start listening to the elder’s rules,” Roman shot back, his hands on his hips and his wings distinctly ruffled with his annoyance. He squinted at the bulky item in Logan’s arms. “What is that?”

“... A human artifact,” he admitted, already drawing himself up in defense of his prize. “I found it, and I intend to study it.”

“Oh, and I suppose that it was just laying around within borough limits, huh?” Roman scowled at him for a moment, before dragging a hand over his face. “Logan, you can’t keep doing this! We both know stealing from humans is dangerous.”

“I wasn’t stealing. The human left this behind,” Logan defended, turning away to set the device on the floor next to his bed.

“The human? As in, a particular one?” Roman’s voice went up a pitch, and Logan hid a wince.

“I meant whatever human left the device. There was no human in sight when I retrieved it, of course. I’m no fool, Roman.”

It was technically mostly the truth, but he was careful to keep the tips of his wings still anyhow, since they tended to flick around when he told lies. Roman sighed, looking caught up in his own thoughts.

“Right, of course.” It was the closest they got to apologies, admitting the other was right. “I just wish… maybe we could meet up and work on spellwork more often? It’d keep me from worrying about you, and I miss when I had a decent partner to spar with.”

Logan pulled his wings tight against his back, irritated by the guilt welling up inside him. “I’ve told you before that I cannot help you progress any further. I have imparted all I can in theory work, and you have already surpassed me in terms of casting, traditional and freeform. There is no sense in having me present to sit around uselessly when you are busy working on bigger and better things.”

“Oaks above, Lo.” Roman swore, ruffling his hands through his hair in frustration. “You’re not useless.”

“Of course I’m not,” Logan sniffed, staring intently at the device to avoid Roman’s gaze. “I am simply better suited to spend my time researching other matters to help the borough, namely the potential of human artifacts, regardless of what you or our mentor are so set on believing.”

“Ugh! I don’t know why I even bother when you never listen!” Roman groaned, hands dropping to his sides.

Logan scowled. “I am listening, and that’s why I know you’re being ridiculous. I don’t need to be under constant supervision. I can take care of myself.”

“Fine, then! Keep dropping feathers in wolf dens, see how long it takes for one to hunt you down.” Apparently fed up, Roman flared his wings up and launched himself upwards, exiting through the skylight. Dramatic as always.

Logan shook off his lingering unease with an absent flap of his wings. He refused to let himself linger on his friend’s ominous analogy, choosing to instead refocus on the mysterious item.

He would be fine. Humans weren’t wolves, anyways.

The next day, Logan found himself once again heading for the edge of the woods, the device strapped securely to his lower leg.

He’d spent hours fiddling with the thing, attempting to understand how it worked to no avail. He’d considered taking it apart by force or trying more dangerous experiments, but ultimately he only had the one, and he didn’t want to ruin something that could potentially be vital to proving his point about human tech.

At least, not before exhausting all his other options, which included seeing if the human had another one, and if Logan could catch a glimpse of him using it. It was a long shot, particularly since he wasn’t even sure if the human would return at all, let alone happen to use a duplicate of this item.

Still, he had to try, and so he spent a few hours staking out the treeline from the leafy branches above. Taking the odds into account, he hadn’t honestly expected the human to return, so he was more than surprised when the giant actually did appear, several hours earlier than the previous afternoon as well. He leaned in to watch as the human scoured the forest floor, holding a black box to his ear and speaking to it.

“No, I remember having it in my bag at the end of class, for sure. It has to be around here somewhere, because this is the only place I went between campus and home, and I already searched my whole car!” the human said, voice growing more distressed as he went on. There was a pause, faint sounds coming from the box. Logan wondered if it wasn’t some sort of communication device.

The human took a deep breath, settling down onto the dirt for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s a very nice professor. If I explained, I’m sure I could get an extension to redo the work, but that’s not what I’m really worried about.” A sniffle. “That thumb drive isn’t my normal school one. It has a bunch of old family photos stored on it, and I don’t have them saved anywhere else. If I can’t find it…”

With a pause to take a deep, shuddery breath, the human managed to keep from crying. “I’m just going to keep searching, okay? It’s kind of windy, maybe it got blown a little ways away or something. Yeah, I promise to stay safe. Are you sure-? Okay. I’ll text you when I’m done here, then. Thank you… bye.”

Logan watched as the human took the box from his ear, tucking it away into his pocket and beginning to sweep his hands over the dirt again. Searching, Logan was fairly sure, for the device currently tied to him. He stuck his leg out to look at it, studying the size. It certainly didn’t match up with any of his body parts, but for the human… he supposed it was vaguely thumb-sized.

Thumb-sized but somehow containing something important to the human, something relating to his family. Logan felt a traitorous sting of guilt, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as though he’d known the human would miss the item when he took it, not with its size. And there was no way he could return it now. Could he?

He supposed if he managed to place it just right… and maybe, if he was lucky, the human would do something with it to check that it still functioned, and Logan would finally have at least one question answered.

His desire to return the item was purely scientific. It had nothing to do with how the human had to take breaks from searching to push his glasses up and rub at his eyes with the back of his hands. Nothing at all.

His plan came together simply enough; the human was traveling from tree to tree in a line, apparently not sure which one he had sat under the day before. Logan remembered, of course, that it was the birch next to the log with the oyster mushroom colony, and knew that the human had already passed it. He flitted over to the birch in question, climbing down the branches until he was as low as he could get.

As soon as the human was a solid four trees away, he dropped to the ground, banking with his wings to slow his descent. He stumbled slightly upon meeting the dirt, and hurriedly ducked so the tree was between him and the human, heart pounding in his ears. He took a deep breath.

There was no reason to panic. Humans were dangerous, yes, but he wouldn’t have to deal with a human so long as he was smart. He was always smart, therefore, nothing to worry about.

Checking to make sure that the human was still occupied, he hurried over to a boulder entangled in the tree’s roots. It was prominent enough that the bright blue of the device’s shell should stand out noticeably against it. He carefully laid the device on top of the rock and then took off, returning to the treetops.

He was careful to conceal himself thoroughly in the branches, well aware that the human might find the sudden mysterious appearance of the ‘thumb drive’ suspicious. He certainly would, but he knew that humans were generally as ignorant as they were huge, so he wasn’t overtly worried.

The human continued to search further and further, enough so that Logan began to worry that he’d bypass the tree entirely on his way back, but luck was on his side. Shoulders drooping with defeat, the human turned around and headed back the way he’d come, only to stop dead at the sight of the thumb device sitting innocently atop a rock.

He blinked, and then rubbed at his eyes for a moment as though wondering if he was seeing things. The thumb device remained real, and he knelt to pick it up with a growing smile, opening the case to check the metal inside with ease.

In the next moment, his head snapped up to search the woods around him, and Logan was careful to remain completely still, not a feather out of place. As expected, the human didn’t spot anything, and Logan watched as he rose to his full height, feeling a small twinge of disappointment as the device disappeared into his pocket.

Unexpectedly, the human spoke. “To whoever is looking out for me, thank you very much!”

He placed a hand over his heart and did an odd little half-bow, eyes curious, and then waited a few moments before straightening again and beginning to walk back along the path out of the woods. As he left, he held that little black box up to his ear again and began to talk into it after a few moments’ delay.

“Virgil, I found it, I found it! I don’t know how, but I think a friend helped me…” Logan’s feathers ruffled slightly as the conversation continued outside his hearing range.

What a ridiculous human. It was almost a shame Logan would probably never see him again.

“Hello, little bird!” A cheerful voice called out, nearly making Logan topple off his perch.

He clung to the wood beneath him and peeked through the leaves, eyes widening in disbelief as he confirmed that it was, in fact, the human from before.

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you that, since we weren’t formally introduced!” the human continued, spreading a blanket along the ground in front of the birch to sit on. “My name is Patton Hart!”

He paused, and the only response was distant birdsong. Patton seemed undeterred.

“Well, little bird, I’ve deemed this area my lucky spot, so I hope it’s okay that I study here!” He pulled his strange color-changing rectangle out of his bag as he spoke, and Logan couldn’t help but lean forward with interest.

“Thankfully, I was able to turn my final in on time with the files from the thumb drive! It worked perfect, so thanks for keeping it safe for me!”

Logan perked up, immediately spotting the small blue thumb drive- or rather, half of it. The shell had been opened, and the metal part was plugged into the large rectangle. So it was a key!

He waited for the human to elaborate on how it worked, what it unlocked and what it’s purpose was in conjunction with the rectangle, but he seemed content to sit and work in silence. Logan opened his mouth, and then snapped it closed again. He may have broken many of the rules already, but this one would put more than just him at risk.

No, he couldn’t talk to the human… but he could listen.

Scolding himself for leaving his notebook at home, he settled in to watch the human study, noting certain patterns or phrases the human used whenever he started off on some random tangent addressed to “little bird”. As far as nicknames went, it was... tolerable.

What made the encounter even more interesting was that when the human packed up to leave, he left something behind again, this time on purpose, going by the “Freely given, little bird!” he had announced before leaving. Logan had spent a good while agonizing over whether or not to approach such an obvious trap, but in the end his curiosity won out.

When he dropped down to the ground to investigate, he found that a small, embroidered piece of cloth had been set out with a variety of objects on top. Some he dismissed easily, like the oversized human food- undoubtedly drugged or poisoned- and the simple carved toys, but others were more intriguing.

Of course, there was no way he could take anything back to his home, not now that the human was likely waiting for that exact thing. He couldn’t remain here to investigate either, seeing as the sun was setting and he could get… immersed in his work. Anything could sneak up on him.

Deciding on a compromise, he took the objects that interested him- a small white cylinder with an orange protrusion, and a band with a metal face- and carried them to a nearby abandoned woodpecker nest inside a sturdy trunk. Once they were safely tucked away, he resolved to study them in the morning and headed home.

His evenings were strangely quiet without Roman there to laugh and tease. The heir was still giving him the cold shoulder, not that Logan had done anything to rectify the situation. Having Roman keep an eye on him would make his daily excursions all the more difficult. That was all that mattered.

The next morning was spent fiddling frustratedly with the items he’d taken, trying to understand how the switch triggered flickering light, what the light was meant to do. It wasn’t near warm enough to burn, so was it simply a light source? It was so dull that he’d need several to properly light up his room, let alone a human home.

The face of the band was no better, covered in symbols that clearly held some sort of meaning, and moving parts that continued unpausing in a cycle around the center of the symbols. It reminded him vaguely of a sundial’s rotations, but he had no way to guess the meaning of the human writing.

When he went to see how the human reacted, however, he found that not only was he completely unconcerned by the missing items, but even enthusiastic to see what had been taken.

“Are you a curious one, little bird?” he asked, carefully clearing the other objects away. “That little fake candle and the watch… I guess you’re light on time, huh?”

Logan watched as his human grinned brightly without explaining his words at all, and bemoaned the fact that he’d gotten a human that spoke in riddles. At least he knew what the items were called.

The next day, his human left more objects, none of them wooden toys. He wondered if maybe the human was conducting an experiment of his own, with how what he brought seemed to build off the few that Logan selected to take. Excluding the food, which was always replaced with new food despite the fact that he’d never touched it.

His hidden nook got crowded quickly, and he expanded it to a few other trees, careful to keep the precious items safe from rain or mold.

His curiosity about his human also grew with each passing day, learning small things about him from his daily chattering. He was going to college, which was what he was studying for, and he lived with another human named Virgil. He was incredibly forgetful, and whenever he forgot an item, he would politely request it back and then count down from sixty with his back turned and his hands covering his eyes.

The first time he did this, he was sorely disappointed, seeing as there was no way Logan would fall for such a trap, not even when baited by Patton calling him shy, which he most certainly was not.

The next day, however, found his human delighted by the return of his ‘keychain,’ and Logan continued to tell himself that he was simply being practical, since the item had no discernible use. His human’s smile had nothing to do with it.

Eventually, he started to get sloppy. When things were too large, he snuck them back home. When Patton lost his keys and did his customary turn-around-and-count gesture, he dropped them from the trees and fluttered barely a safe distance away to watch him reclaim them. Worst of all, he became… almost relaxed in Patton’s presence.

This lapse in caution was the only explanation he had for what happened next.

He had been running late, held up by one of his teacher’s lectures, and so cut through a swath of trees nearer to the road in order to arrive at their customary meeting spot.

Once he got close, he spotted something glinting in the grass. Normally, he’d assume it was another stray bit of litter and move on, but with Patton, one never knew when the human would accidentally lose something, or where. He sighed and dipped down to land, squinting at the… wire? Next to a pile of sunflower seeds?

Distracted as he was by the unnatural sight, he didn’t notice the top netted part of the trap until it slammed down on top of him, triggered by the shifting plate underneath his feet.

The impact knocked all the air from his lungs, leaving him wheezing and thrashing weakly under the mesh. He forced himself through a breathing pattern, over and over until it no longer felt like he was choking on nothing. His overwhelming panic calmed momentarily, he shoved against the trap with his wings, grunting in frustration when the bound edges of the net didn’t even budge.

There was no question about it. This had to be a human trap, and he didn’t want to be in it when the human came to collect.

A bit more desperately, he wrapped his hands around the edges of the trap’s thick wiring and pried at it, cursing when his foot slipped and plunged through the holes in the bottom netting.

Before he could wrench it free, he felt a distant, rhythmic rumble in the ground. It grew louder and closer, and a chill ran down his spine as his movements became frantic.

As soon as the giant boots creating the noise stepped into view, his whole body froze up, as though back in the clearing on the first day Patton showed up.

Seeing a human from the ground was so much worse. His body began to tremble uncontrollably as the human approached the trap with easy steps, each one heavy enough to trample him into dust.

The stranger was wearing a dusky camo jacket and bristle across his jaw, but Logan’s attention was entirely riveted on the long, serrated hunting knife in his hand.

“Shh, little thing. You’ll be f-- what…”

Logan heard the exact moment the man realized that he hadn’t caught a bird, and he resisted the urge to curl into a ball and hide behind his wings as a huge gloved hand approached. It gathered the netting of the trap up into a makeshift bag with him stuck in the center. Logan writhed against the hold, his breathing becoming quick and shallow once again as he stared at the knife.

“Easy, little thing,” the hunter muttered absently, turning his hand this way and that to see Logan’s ensconced form better. “What are you?”

Logan shuddered at the fascination in his eyes, pushing out against the net despite the fact that there was no way he could beat those massive fingers.

His silence cracked as soon as those same digits pinched down roughly on his wing, spreading it to its full wingspan.

“Agh! Let go!” he yelled, body shaking as the muscles in his shoulder were overextended. The man released him, more out of surprise than anything else.

“You can talk? Incredible!” The man prodded at him again. “Go on, say something else.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something that he would likely regret, but a different voice spoke first. A familiar one.

“Hello? Is someone over here?” Patton asked, pushing a low branch out of his way as he peered over at the hunter.

The hunter jumped, and for a second Logan believed he’d be shoved in a pocket, but the man seemed to decide showing off took precedence. He held Logan out slightly, net and all. “Take a look at this!”

Patton stepped closer, the furrow in his brow growing as his gaze fell onto Logan. His body vibrated harder with terror, betraying him easily at the sight of two humans looking at him.

“Um, did you… catch him?” Patton asked, voice hesitant.

The hunter barely seemed to notice. “Sure did… I was trying for-- well, it doesn’t matter, this is better. I think it can imitate human speech!”

Logan felt another shudder run through him, and Patton’s soft brown eyes found his.

“I think… I think you should let him go,” Patton blurted, surprising all of them. He drew himself up, nodding once. “You’re not supposed to be hunting here at all, anyhow.”

The hunter’s grip on Logan tightened, and a strangled whine escaped his throat without his permission. “Man, you actually pay attention to that conservation notice? This place is abandoned, park rangers haven’t checked on it in years. Finders, keepers as far as I’m concerned.”

“That doesn’t apply to people that can talk!” Patton protested, stepping closer with his hands lifted placatingly. “Look, just let him out, okay? I won’t report you to the authorities if you take your traps and leave.”

The hunter snorted, gesturing vaguely with his knife. “Yeah, right. I’m a careful guy. They’re not going to find anything that I don’t want them to find, and with the money that this,” he lifted Logan slightly, “will bring in, I won’t have to worry about cops anyways.

“You don’t have any leverage over me, so turn around and mind yourself before you get in trouble,” the hunter finished, turning on his heel and beginning to walk away. Logan, ironically enough, felt a thrum of panic at leaving the other human behind. He wasn’t entirely sure that two bickering humans were better than one malignant one, but it certainly felt that way at the moment.

Footsteps thumped loudly behind them, and the hunter whirled on his heel in time for Patton to catch both his wrists, Logan grunting as he was tossed about in the net.

“What are you--?”

“Let him go, now!” Patton was frowning, arms visibly straining with the effort it took to keep the other man’s hands still. Logan stared down at the dizzying drop beneath him, wondering if it would kill him on impact if he was dropped now.

“You little--!” The hunter pried his knife-wielding hand free, and Logan watched as Patton swung his now unoccupied hand back and slammed it against the side of the hunter’s head, cupped right over his ear.

The man cried out and fell back, his grip on the net loosening, and Logan felt as though he was near heart failure as a new pair of hands gently closed around him, prying the trap away from the hunter.

Patton - for who else could it be - brought his hands close to his chest and bolted, making everything around Logan bounce rhythmically. He eventually pressed close to one of those large palms and clung to the edge of a finger, his head aching with the abrupt motions. He’d been ‘rescued’ from one human, but now he was securely in the hands of another.

No matter what Patton said, he was still a human. It had to be some sort of trap, some long con that he was trying and failing not to fall for.

The movements came to a stop with one final thud as Patton’s knees hit the ground, breathing heavily. Moments later, the hands surrounding him cracked open like a bird’s egg, sunlight pouring in.

Above him, Patton was flushed with exertion, and he was still breathing deep as he spoke. “Are you okay, little bird?”

His face creased with concern as Logan stared up at his giant features, body frozen like a deer before a mountain lion. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. It’s gonna be okay.”

It was a ridiculous claim for a human to make, but he found himself relaxing fractionally anyhow.

“I’m gonna- um, take this off of you, okay? I’m gonna get you out of there, don’t worry.” Patton shifted him delicately to one palm, wincing at the way Logan’s wings flapped ineffectively, and began to carefully pry the net open. The trap which had given him so much trouble was barely an obstacle for a human. Logan shifted uncomfortably as Patton untangled it.

“How- how did you know?” he asked, since his mouth had never known when to stay quiet. To Patton’s credit, he didn’t even blink at the question or the tiny winged person it had come from.

“It was just a guess!” Patton offered, a grimace crossing his face briefly. “I normally feel like I’m being watched when I’m out in that clearing, but today there was nothing, so… I got worried. Oh, unless you’re asking about the ear clap. My best friend signed me up for a self-defense class, because I… uh, ‘have a marshmallow heart’ and I’m ‘exceedingly liable to get into trouble,’ allegedly.”

It felt like a fairly accurate assessment.

“There we go,” Patton managed, finally getting the net completely open. Logan bolted for the exit before he could change his mind, spreading his wings as soon as he was in the open air and gaining some distance before turning.

Patton hadn’t moved from his spot. He was smiling, bright like his smiles when Logan helped him, and Logan couldn’t help but flutter a bit closer and return the gesture, so grateful for this strange, kind human.

“Glad… I’m glad you’re okay,” Patton said, and then winced, a hand dropping to his side.

When he pulled his hand away, it was glistening with blood. They both blinked at it for a moment, smiles faltering, and then Logan followed his gaze down to where a dark stain was spreading slowly through his shirt and jacket. He realized suddenly that Patton, one hand busy keeping Logan secure and the other busy boxing the hunter’s ear, hadn’t gotten away from the man unscathed.

In the process of rescuing him, his human had been stabbed.

“Oh,” Patton said weakly, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell into a dead faint.

#g/t #giant/tiny #sanders sides #secret sanders sized 2019 #avian #ts logan #ts patton #writing #my writing #secret santa gift #roseof-alltrades3 #waaah i hope you like it!#bird borrowers #a mourning dove #amd

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moonknightly · 4 years

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So Ruthless, Darling : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: FO!Poe x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Excerpt: “His devilish smirk still stood and she still looked completely uninterested, as if the knife in her hand was a pen and the blood coating her fingers was merely ink.”

Warnings: Blood, violence, cursing, gets a little heated. Drugs, I guess what could be considered a brief mention of torture? This is...dark.

You fuckers better thank @tintinwrites for making me write this.

Complete darkness. Absolute silence. He was disoriented, the lack of sight and the inability to hear leaving him dizzy in a way he never imagined possible. Two of his senses, completely stripped from him, taken by some unknown drug unwillingly pushed through his veins, the small pinprick of the needle setting his skin on fire as the combination of chemicals swirled into his bloodstream.

It still burned. He could still feel, though moving was a different story, and every sensation felt electric, but not in the way he usually enjoyed, like when her hands wandered across the expanse of his back or when her fingers tangled themselves into his short curls. It was overwhelming — the feeling of the hot sand beneath his bare feet and hands gripping his arms so tight as he was marched towards some unknown location. It hurt, and Poe could usually handle an impressive amount of pain without even flinching.

He could still taste the blood in his mouth, leaking from his split lip, or maybe it was from his bloodied nose, because he could smell the familiar, tangy iron so strongly he was sure that it was the only thing keeping him from passing out at how fucking dizzy he was.

Time was a foreign concept to Poe in that moment. How long ago had he been walking through dark streets, alone and head just a little too fuzzy for the dismal amount of alcohol he had consumed at a bar earlier that night? They had slipped something into his drink too, he was sure, because even drunk he never would have allowed himself to be captured by a lousy group of Resistance members.

Would she be awake yet? Had she noticed that he wasn’t in bed beside her, that he hadn’t made it back to their small ship from the bar?

The idiots who took him definitely didn’t account for her, and the thought brought a proud smirk to his face — one that didn’t falter as the burning sand beneath his feet turned to cool stone, and remained on his lips even as he was forcefully pushed to his knees, the coarse feeling of rope scratching against his wrists as his hands were tied behind his back.

Could the Resistance not even afford a decent pair of stuncuffs?

His head snapped back suddenly, from the force of a fist meeting his jaw. Poe grit his teeth, fresh blood filling his mouth, hot and heavy like red wine. He shook his head, the look in his eye somewhere between lethal and defiant, though they were still unseeing. He hoped that whoever had hit him was standing close enough, because he spit and wanted nothing more than for it to splatter in their face, and it was safe to assume that he was successful even temporarily blind because his actions were met with a blow to the temple from the butt of a blaster.

And he laughed. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it in his chest, and he could tell by the way it rolled off his tongue that the sound was dripping with an underlying venom so caustic, he was sure the eyes of his captors held the terror they had hoped he would be the one to feel.

He only felt excitement. He wasn’t worried, had no reason to be. His girl was more than capable of finding him, more than capable of getting him out of this. They wanted something from him, if they didn’t they would’ve shot him back in the streets. The drug hadn’t even begun to wear off yet. She had time. He wasn’t worried.

And the pain — it was almost delicious. The wet, sticky red on his face, the bruise he could already feel forming between his ribs where a boot had just knocked him on his ass before a set of hands yanked him back up to kneel, the friction of the rope against his wrists burning so enticingly.

He liked it.

The more pain placed on him, the more they would endure at her hand.

The thought was erotic to Poe.

But when had the Resistance gotten so dirty?

It seemed a little too dramatic for Organa, but he could remember seeing the familiar symbol stitched onto the sleeve of a leather jacket worn by one of the men — it had been the last thing he had seen before his vision faded to black. He supposed the jacket could’ve been stolen.

But it didn’t really matter. If they were with the Resistance, the carnage left behind would be one hell of a message for their precious General. If not, then it would still be a story, a warning.

The Dameron’s had a reputation for being ruthless, and that would only be further solidified in the wreckage they left behind — in the remnants of the hurricane that his wife would bring.

They had really fucked up.

He took every blow, every kick, every drag of a blade across his skin with complete silence, with the controlled discipline he had learned in his years of serving the First Order. Poe wouldn’t give them even an ounce of satisfaction. They could brand him, and he would only grit his teeth at most while violent pictures of her filled his mind.

Time still didn’t exist to him. All he knew is that his ears were beginning to ring and he could see blurry shapes dancing around his vision. He almost liked the nothingness more than the inbetween.

He guessed another thirty minutes passed, and his vision returned before his hearing, and he didn’t even try to hide it — his eyes following the movements of the one wearing that leather jacket. There were two others, another man with a spotty mustache and a woman, none of them paying any attention to Poe at that second.

They were talking, and Poe didn’t read lips well enough to be able to make out any words other than his name here and there. He rolled his eyes, already growing annoyed with the muffled ringing in his ears.

It was bullshit.

And the blaster fire that sounded throughout the room minutes later only made it worse.

But it also brought that signature proud smirk back onto his lips, his eyes full of delight as he watched each of his captors fall to their knees as they were shot out from under them, their own blasters sitting on a small stone table a few feet away from Poe, completely out of their reach.

Maker, they were fucking stupid.

Organa really needed to get her shit together.

She walked into the small hut, her pace slow, expression almost bored though her eyes showed how truly pissed she was. They were cold, harsh, yet blazing with an unforgiving and relentless fire that he adored to no end.

She didn’t even glance his way, but he caught how her shoulders stiffened, and the way that her hand twitched. She had seen him, and the initial rage she had felt only intensified ten times over.

And Poe watched, that satisfied smirk still on his face, as she let that rage fuel her actions.

Time suddenly made sense again, and he reveled in the twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds his wife spent working her magic. His devilish smirk still stood and she still looked completely uninterested, as if the knife in her hand was a pen and the blood coating her fingers was merely ink. The only other indication that Poe was enjoying this was the callous laugh that flew from his lips as the last body, the man in the leather jacket, fell to the ground with a solid thump, chest still moving with shallow breaths that would only last another minute or two, his eyes holding Poe’s as his wife made quick work of tearing her blade through the thick rope binding him.

He stood swiftly, as if he hadn’t just been kneeling for Maker knows how long, rubbing at the red marks around his wrists before turning, one of his arms encircling her waist while his other hand fell to her ass, pulling into a searing kiss that might have been just a little exaggerated for the sake of showing his lame excuse of a captor just how exhilarating the whole thing was for him. The sinful moan that dripped from his lips however was one hundred percent truth. Watching his wife tear those who tried to wrong them apart was undoubtedly a turn on.

He only pulled away once the urge for his own thirty seconds of vengeance became too much.

Poe wasn’t sporting a smirk anymore, instead choosing to adopt the rather bored expression that still adorned his wife’s face as he glared down at the other man, his fingers twitching at his side as he thought for just a moment. He knelt down, grabbing his jaw with bruising force as he simply looked him over, eyes daunting.

“You made one real stupid fuckin’ mistake,” Poe chuckled darkly, straightening back up to his full height before bringing his foot down onto his face, once just to hurt, to hear the satisfying crunch of bone breaking under his boot, waiting several long seconds to relish in the scream that sounded throughout the room before bringing it down a second time.

All that followed was silence.

He turned away from the body on the floor, his eyes immediately finding hers across the small space. He could see her hands trembling, and the fire that had been in her eyes quickly gave way to another emotion Poe hated to see.

She looked terrified.

But not of him. No, never of him.

Poe slowly closed the distance between them, taking her hands between his, looking down at them, covered in crimson that he knew would stain. He shivered gently, and let the feel of her skin on his deliver another wave of comfort that he would only ever admit or show to her.

“I almost lost you,” she mumbled, her voice breaking his small reverie.

“I would’ve found a way back to you,” he replied instantly, tilting his head to the side. “No way in hell am I going to die at the hand of a few lousy Resistance members.”

His words didn’t seem to do much for her. She only shook her head, mouth falling open and shut again several times as she tried to find something, anything to say.

Poe didn’t give her the chance to even attempt to speak again, though. He took one of his hands, grasping her chin lightly between two fingers, tilting her face up until her eyes met his once again. His other hand softly encircled her wrist, and he held her gaze intently as he brought her fingers up to his mouth, his lips closing around each individual digit as he licked the blood away from her hands, his eyes fluttering shut as he gave her other hand the same treatment.

But he stopped at her pinky, quirking an eyebrow as he slowly offered it to her, his eyes flickering down to her lips as she pulled her own finger between her teeth, sucking it clean, no longer trembling, eyes no longer haunted.

And that damned smirk fell back onto Poe’s face just as his cock twitched in his pants, and he couldn’t refrain from pulling her flush against his torso, dipping his head until his lips found hers in a greedy, passion filled kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to push his tongue into her mouth, pushing past the bittersweet taste of iron until he found one that was entirely and completely her — so familiar, so inviting.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled against her lips, bending so that his hands could sweep her knees right out from under her, her hips meeting his as he held her tightly against him.

“I’ve got you.”

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #star wars #poe x reader #sw #tros #tlj #tfa #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #first order poe

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

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The Silmarillion as a TV/Netflix Show (Part 5)

Season 5 centres on Túrin, Tuor, and Dior - and, later, Elwing and Eärendil. The last two seasons have looked hopeful for a while but ended on tragic notes (the Bragollach and the Nirnaeth); this season is going to flip things by being almost unremittingly tragic but ending on a hopeful note.

There are a few key things to do here:

1) Draw out parallels and common threads between our main characters. At first I wanted to shift the timeline a little and have key events in Túrin and Tuor’s lives happening at the same time: Túrin as outlaw, Tuor as thrall and then outlaw; Túrin in Nargothrond, Tuor in Gondolin; Túrin and Finduilas, Tuor and Idril. But it felt like there were too many big events happening simultaneously, and it was hard to fit them all in. Still, the parallels between the cousins are present.

Dior needs more characterization in order to be able to hold his own, narratively speaking; we have very little on him in canon.

2) The Fëanorians will be very important in the last few episodes of the season, so they need to be worked into the storyline of at least some of the earlier episodes to keep them in view. I’m going to go with them being based on Amon Ereb for this period; it fits some of Tolkien’s versions, and having them in Ossiriand at the same time as Beren and Lúthien and Dior would feel like a massive Chekhov’s Gun that is never fired.

So, with that in mind:

Episode 1: Túrin is going to take centre stage here, with the episode covering everything from his departure from Hithlum up to the death of Saeros and Túrin’s departure from Doriath. (And the episode will start with the Words of Húrin and Morgoth.) There will also be a few scenes from Tuor’s and Dior’s childhoods, which were comparatively more stable. Since Beren and Lúthien had such a large part in the last season it will be nice to see their experiences of parenthood. Lúthien, never having met mortal children, will be shocked at how fast Dior grows up. (He definitely ages on a Mannish scale - he’s married at 22, a king at 27, and dead at 30.)

Near the beginning, the episode will also include a scene where the Fëanorians attempt to invade Doriath and are turned back by the Girdle of Melian. It doesn’t function as a direct, physical barrier; it causes confusion and disorientation and strange visions and a loss of sense of direction, and you look around and find you’ve ended up outside Doriath again. This eerie, hallucinatory quality fits Melian’s background as a Maia of Lórien, Master of Dreams. (And hey, if you can work some subtle prophetic/ominous foreshadowing into the visions, all the better!) The purpose of the scene is to show that the Fëanorian’s aren’t idle; they do want pursue the Silmaril, but for the moment it is beyond their reach. The brothers will have varying levels of enthusiasm about the plan, with Celegorm and Curufin being the ringleaders.

Episode 2: Heavily focuses on Túrin’s time as an outlaw, from his first meeting with the bandits through to Dor-Cúarthol, the fall of Amon Rudh, and the death of Beleg. This is a lot of material - joining the bandits, becoming their leader, the first meeting with Beleg, finding Mîm and Amon Rudh, Dór-Cuarthol, and the fall of Amon Rudh and the death of Beleg. There may be a need to streamline it, with Beleg only finding the outlaws once they are at Amon Rudh, and staying with them then.

There’s a lot of good characters here, and a lot of good personality confllicts - it’s practically a short movie in itself. Particular care needs to be taken with Mîm, who cannot be allowed to become a caricature.

This episode introduces Anglachel, so it would be good to have a short Gondolin scene with Maeglin (bearer of Anguirel) to establish the symmetry. And also to keep Gondolin in the viewers’ minds. A short scene in Nargothrond showing their reaction to Dór-Cúarthol (positive: it is or was their realm, and he’s doing more to defend it that they are) will set up later events,

Episode 3: The focus splits between Túrin in Nargothrond - particularly his relationships with Gwindor and Finduilas, and his growing prominence, with him becoming de-facto in charge at the end of the episode - and Tuor as a thrall and later outlaw. Tuor’s personality really comes to the fore here: he’s patient, and steady, and kind. He puts up with considerable abuse an a thrall, escapes when there’s an opportune moment, and can’t be effectively pursued because he’s made friends with all of his captor’s hounds. (I especially like that last fact.) The episode ends with him leaving Dor-lómin by the Gate of the Noldor.

This is also a good time to build up the romance between Dior and Nimloth. Nimloth must be Laiquendi, as those are the only other people Beren and Lúthien would meet in Ossiriand; I rather like the idea of them being childhood friends, to offset some of the more love-at-first-sight romances. Dior is now in his late teens and - this is important - very, very good-looking, even by elf standards. He’s also very interested in his Doriathrin heritage, and asking his parents a lot of questions about his grandparents; that sets up his determination to be Eluchíl later on.

Episode 4: Tuor’s meeting with Ulmo and his coming to Gondolin, the Fall of Nargothond, and Túrin in Dórlomin. The fall of Nargothrond and deaths of Gwindor and Finduilas form a nice counterpoint/contrast with Tuor’s meetings with Voronwë and Idril and his arrival at Gondolin. Túrin’s impulsive actions in Dor-lómin contrast with Tuor’s approach in the prior episode as well.

Episode 5: Focus is on Túrin’s story. Journey of Morwen and Nienor to Nargothrond and its consequences, and Túrin in Brethil, through to his slaying of Glaurung and his and Nienor’s deaths.

For extra bonus irony points, parallel the wedding of Túrin and Níniel with the weddings of Idril and Tuor and of Dior and Nimloth.

Episode 6: Wanderings of Húrin through to the Sack of Doriath and Beren and Dior’s fight with the dwarf-army. (Dior isn’t mentioned as being part of this fight in the Silm, but it’s an excellent moment to include him here.) The Fëanorians reenter the scene, attempting to intercept the dwarf army carrying the Silmaril, but arriving too late. This is the best chance they’ve had st recovering a Silmaril yet - they’re not going to ignore it.

The line “while Lúthien held the Silmaril no elf would dare assail her” is typically read as it just being something no one would consider on a moral level - and that’s a valid reading - but I like the idea that the Fëanorians aren’t going after her because they’re freaking terrified of her. This is the woman who defeated Morgoth single-handedly! Holding one of the most powerful artifacts ever created! Who knows what she could do! (The Fëanorians absolutely make concessions to practicality when it comes to the Oath - otherwise they would have attacked Angband sometime in the 400 years of the Siege, or after the Nirnaeth as a way to die pursuing their oath in a decent way rather than slaughtering kin. It’s only the final attack by Maedhros and Maglor after the War of Wrath that they attempt in the face of impossibility, and by that time I think suicide-by-Valarin-army makes up a solid portion of their motivation.)

Episode 7: The refounding of Doriath, the Second Kinslaying, and the capture and treachery of Maeglin. Broad theme of the episode being Bad Elvish Behaviour all round, with elves doing Morgoth’s work either directly (Maeglin) or on their own initiative (the Fëanorians).

My idea on the refounding of Doriath, and on Dior’s title of Eluchíl (Thingol’s Heir) is that this quickly and breifly becomes the core of Elvendom in Beleriand. Dior, as Lúthuen’s son and Melian’s grandson, likely has some degree of ‘magical’ power beyond what is usual for elves. Not enough to reestablish the Girdle of Melian, but enough to provide some general deterrance against evil forces. Doriath is also, for the first time, open to all the other free peoples of Beleriand, and is the only true realm remaining aside from secret and mysterious Gondolin. Not only do the Doriathrin Sindar and some of the Laiquendi and the northern grey-elves unite around Doriath, various Noldor, remants of lost realms and destroyed armies, join them. Dior is becoming in truth what Thingol claimed to be: King of Beleriand. All the more so when the Silmaril comes to him and Doriath blossoms like a memory of Valinor in the Ages of the Trees.

And this would fit with why the Fëanorians would regard Dior as ‘proud’, this would offend them more than anything, because what he’s achieving is exactly Fëanor once boasted that he would achieve, long ago in Tirion. This would fit with the sheer visciousness of the Second Kinslaying, with the abandonment of Dior’s young sons in the forest. Celegorm’s people aren’t even thinking in terms of hostages; they just want to destroy Dior’s entire family line, because his existence, his kingship, what he’s achieved are such an affront.

But Elwing escapes, and the Silmaril is still out of their hands.

(The attack is at Yule, whuch sets up a strong and deliberate parallel - Morgoth’s earlier attacks on the Lamps and the Trees were also at times of festival/celebration, so the Fëanorians’ actions are being deliberately equated with his.)

Episode 8: The Fall of Gondolin. This is your absolutely epic big battle scene. Balrogs! Dragons! Eagles! Maeglin acting like a cackling B-movie villain! (I have not read The Fall of Gondolin, but I’ve hear that Idril swordfights Maeglin in it, and this absolutely needs to happen.) Ecthelion kills a Gothmog! Glorfindel kills a balrog! It’s tragic, but it’s also extremely exciting television (unlike the kinslaying the previous week, which was mostly just really depressing and horrific.)

The episode ends with the survivors of Gondolin making their way to Sirion, where the survivors of Doriath have already settled. I think that the survivors of Nargothrond should also be there, to keep things simple and allow for some extra drama.

Episode 9: This one starts with a timeskip, so we can have adult Eärendil and Elwing. The episode is a quieter one, mainky setup for later events: the departure of Tuor and Idril, the marriage of Eärendil and Elwing, the birth of the twins, and Eärendil’s departure to seek the aid of the Valar. The voyage of Eärendil is dramatic and can take up some of the episode.

Episode 10: The Third Kinslaying, the destruction of the Fëanorian base on Amon Ereb, the voyage of Eärendil and Elwing to Valinor, and the Valar’s decision to go to war. The nain reason I wanted the Nargothrondim in Sirion is so that we can get Celebrimbor fighting against the Fëanorian forces here, because that just increases the level of emotional drama. The whole thing’s a traumatic mess. Fëanoruan solidiers throwing down their swords and surrendering. Fëanorian soldiers switching sides to defend the people of Sirion. It’s hard to overstate how teagic this is - here is almost the last remnant of elves in Beleriand, and they are being destroyed not by Morgoth (from whom they would be protected by Ulmo’s waters), but by their own people.

But at the end of the episode, Valinor is marshalling for war, and things are finally. finally, looking like they could get better.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #edain #elves #túrin #tuor #dior eluchil #eärendil #elwing #sons of fëanor #nargothrond #fall of gondolin #idril #maeglin #adaptation

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elmidol · 4 years

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The Shackles of Fate - Seven

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben/Reader

Warning: nothing explicit for this chapter

Tagged Readers: @dream-a-little-nightmare

The Shackles of Fate

Seven

You did not move as the dark half of the faerie prince unwound his wings from himself. They fluttered, sending up a gentle breeze that caressed the palm of your hand. Your eyes widened. You had not expected to see him in flight and it caused a spark of wonder to flow through you. How would it be to see a full-sized Kylo or Ben fly? The tiny faerie drifted upwards. He alighted on your shoulder after rising to directly above your ear. The weight of his feet nudged your shirt’s material. Its collar tugged towards the side, prompting Kylo to step over it. The leather of his gloves tickled the shell of your ear when he touched there. You licked your lips as you listened, hearing his voice. It was just as deep as when he was full-size. The difference here was that it was softer in volume; you would not have been able to hear it had he maintained the distance that had existed mere moments before.

You felt as though someone had pierced your heart with a lance. Just as blunt as ever, the darker half was more forthcoming when it came to the danger you now faced due to altering his fate. Those in armor dyed blood red. His repetition of the line from the nursery rhyme lacked the mocking tone he had previously adopted.

The syragh would be incapable of protecting you against those servants of the demon king. Whatever music Finn played, it would not stop the praetorian guards from pursuing you. It hardly mattered what you touched or did not touch if you remained in the realm past the point of the seal’s weakening. You considered Finn and the light half of the faerie prince. As far as you could tell, neither of them were armed with a weapon. You did not know enough about magic to say whether or not they could fight without one. And unless fate decided to favor you at long last, you sincerely doubted the red armored guards would have visible threads for you to magically cut.

It may have been inappropriate that you snorted in amusement over the mental image of using your fingers as scissors to cut some thread.

“Is it true?” you asked once you recovered. Ben’s eyes darted to his other half then returned to your face. He offered you a nod by way of response. You felt your hands begin to tremble. It was difficult to erase every sense of nervousness from yourself now that the danger was becoming more imminent. It was harder to deny that any of this was real. The most terrifying thing? You truly did not want it to be some dream. All your life, you had feared that you were just some nobody, someone unwanted. Not that it mattered who your parents were—they had chosen to leave you no matter their reasons. Now you were part of something larger than yourself.

Except you were not sure how you felt about being some heroine. That was a bit much, wasn’t it? It was not like you were a Skywalker or one of the other heroes you had read about as a child.

Not that Skywalker had lived up to all your expectations. It was clear that Ben had become Kylo at least partially due to Luke Skywalker’s failure. That was what scared you. The idea that you were a heroine who could fail.

Recounting the vow that you had made to Ben, you forced aside your doubts. You raised your right hand, crossed it over your chest, and held up your index finger to where Kylo would be able to grab on. He opted to pet the digit instead then pat at it, shooing it away. He was content to remain on your shoulder. You did not press the issue. Although, you had to admit, it did make you a little self-conscious with how close he was to your neck.

Ben drew you out of your thoughts once more as he approached Artoo. The Cait Sidhe flicked his tail, lowered himself onto all four legs, and executed a quick spin. The air shimmered around him. The creature used his magic, unveiling the hilt of a weapon. Ben knelt briefly, grabbing it, and then walked over to you. The faerie prince spared his sygraph a final glance. They nodded at one another in understanding. Artoo and Finn were standing side by side when Ben seized you by your upper arm and steered you out of the hut. Kylo crouched down on your shoulder. He was ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. You hoped there would be no need for this.

“Maybe I should have a weapon,” you supplied. After all of you had re-entered the garden, the fae had dropped his hand off of you. You glanced at the object that he had received from Artoo. Ben looked at you with his eyes alone. Neither of you stopped walking even as he informed you that the weapon had belonged to his grandfather then uncle. It was a family heirloom. “I don’t have to have that weapon.” Though you said this, there was something that drew your gaze to the weapon again. It was the one from the stories of your childhood. For that reason alone the weapon seemed to call to you. “Why doesn’t Finn come with us?” You had to think of something, anything, to distract yourself from that call.

Ben grabbed at your wrist, giving a light jerk to indicate a turn. “The guards would kill him in an instant.” It was not comforting in the least, this implication that they would not immediately kill you. This was what it meant to have a marked soul, wasn’t it? To constantly be looking over your shoulder…

You did just that as another faerie creature peeked at you from one of the trees. It ducked back into the shadows before you were able to catch a decent glimpse of it. A glint of silver entered your peripheral. This, too, you could not identify, although the reasoning was different. Ben shoved you away from him. You felt your kneecap hit the ground. You hissed in pain, your hand shooting out to prevent your face from meeting a similar fate. Rolling, you narrowly missed a chain being wrapped around your body. It ricocheted back to its owner. It had not been a faerie, you realized.

Not at all.

You stared up at the red armored being whose face was concealed behind a mask. Despite this, you felt his eyes on you. Or was it her eyes on you? You shuffled backwards. You tried to slide your foot faster in order to stand, yet found yourself being forced to roll onto your hands and knees instead to avoid another attempt at being chained. You sprang forward. Kylo had ducked around to hide behind your neck. You did not think him a coward for these actions; his quiet voice was loud in your ears. Offering you instructions—you understood that it would be more detrimental for the guard to realize that Kylo and Ben had switched places than for the dark faerie to hide. Ben had moved out of sight. He was covering his bright clothes with his wings.

As of yet, there was only one of the red armored guards. You hoped that that number did not increase.

You also wished that you had insisted on grabbing the weapon from Ben. Kylo told you to go left. Having been headed rightwards, you gave a rather unladylike curse and stumbled into a run to correct course. Your eyes were in constant motion. As like when you had dealt with the dark fae, you searched for any object that you could use to defend yourself. You checked over your shoulder to see how far away the guard was. He was pursuing you at a leisurely pace. Toying with you just as Kylo had informed you he would do. The praetorian guard could smell your scent, which was not as strong as before now that you had the dark half of the faerie prince with you. The demon king’s minion would try to identify your species before he became serious in his attempts to capture you. That quick look allowed you to see that you could not identify any random threads.

When you commented on this fact, Kylo voiced his approval. It was better if Snoke did not learn what you were.

“Am I ever going to learn?” you snapped, your hand snatching at a thin, half-broken branch that you threw into your pursuer’s path. A smile formed on your face when you heard it hit his ankle. It did not stop him, but it did momentarily slow him down.

You began to circle back. You made a wide arc to prevent capture and searched for Ben. He was not where you had left him. All you could make out were yellow-leaved weeds spotted with green petaled flowers. It would help you to gain more speed if you chose to drop your bag. Except you were not sure if the guard would grab it up, would possibly find a means of identifying you or the household that you worked for with it. You were not even sure if going home was a possibility. Your mind flashed through Rose’s warnings.

“We are heading for the portal. Not back to me.” That was an interesting way to phrase things. You sighed heavily. Your lungs burned as you changed course while listening to instructions given by the tiny dark faerie. This was not how you had hoped to learn the location of the portal—or one of the portals—that linked your realm with this one. Ben would meet you there, or so his dark half said.

Does he have double-vision? You were getting a headache trying to keep your own thoughts together, and you were not split into two.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent yelp of pain when one of those small hands grabbed a lock of your hair and tugged. You doubted he had purposefully hurt you. You lifted a hand, exploring along the area that you had last felt Kylo. You were forced to reach farther back and quickly learned why he had pulled your hair. He was hanging on with one hand. From the other, you felt something warm. A hissed careful stilled your exploring limb. Not a minute later, you moved it again by his order that you move your hair out of his way. You were cautious when doing so, ensuring that you did not knock him loose from the strands he was holding. The heat emanating from him increased. Light blinded you on that side. You squinted then closed your eye.

“What are you doing?” you asked. You needn’t have.

The chain zipped past, a loud clink sounding in your ear where the dark faerie had used his power to deflect it, else it would have wrapped around your neck. The red armored servant of the demon king was fast losing patience. Learning your species could come second to his capturing you.

“This will hurt.”

“What—ah!”

A body collided with yours. Darkness enveloped you, a soft darkness that you recognized as Ben’s wings, and you were tugged away from the chain as it began a reverse path back to the guard. The pain of that collision failed to prepare you for the agony that threatened to overcome all reasoning. Tears formed in your eyes. They started to roll down your cheeks, and your fingers scrambled against the material of Ben’s clothing as you tried to grab hold of something, anything at all. You felt as though knives were carving along your flesh. Your muscles were screaming. As though someone was twisting them in all sorts of directions and tearing them apart.

The faerie prince had warned you in the past about how painful a portal could be. You had not expected this. You had believed he was exaggerating.

The sound of metal, a chain, cut through your cries. It did not erase an iota of the pain assaulting you. Kylo was speaking. You understood not a single syllable. Ben slipped his arms around you along with his wings. He held onto you. It was his murmuring that cut through the pain. Not that you heard the words he spoke. Simply the sound of his voice had a calming effect; it had to be a white magic spell, that was what you told yourself. You heard more distinctively the metal chain when it struck the second time. It met its target this time, wrapping around Ben’s wings and tightening them against your body.

This is what it feels like to be under his full control.

You knew without being told that you had not been meant to hear Kylo mutter those words. They revealed more to you than his frustration. It was one of the reasons that he had not taken you to Snoke when he had caught you out of bed during the witching hour. He needed his light safe. Not chained down by the demon king, as the guard now did.

The smell of smoke entered your nostrils as you reopened your eyes. There was a small body that you caught sight of in the corner of your eye. It was male. Had pointed ears and horns, the latter of which caused you to lean away to avoid being pierced. His black, equally sharp wings flapped, keeping him hovering in the air. Kylo thrust himself forward and uttered out a single word, a name, Hux. The imp king. A third eye opened on his chest, as did a mouth filled with fangs on his abdomen. The mouth upon his face morphed into a grin.

“Such a predicament, Ren.” His voice was smooth and filled with confidence. “I hadn’t believed it to be true, and could not check due to that wretched syragh.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled your scent. You curled your hands into fists. If it wasn’t for all of the sharp protrusions, you would have grabbed for him. “Ensuring the bargains were made with Snoke, that was only the beginning.” The imp king held a single finger up to his lips. A dark aura surrounded him. It spread outwards, drawing out a shout of pain from Ben. The chain loosened; you could hear it. “You will be quite useful as well, girl.”

A return of the smoke as the sound of something shattering—the chain, though to your ear it sounded like glass—made you flinch. In the half second it took to reopen your eyes, everything had changed. The darkness that resulted from Ben’s wings was gone. There was no pain. The world around you was semi-familiar. The stars above those of your realm. The demon king’s servant who was armored in red had failed to follow when the portal had spat you out. When the imp king had forced the portal to spit you out.

Your heart stuttered. You fumbled to locate Kylo with your hand and heard a yelp from either side of you as the limb wrapped around the body. It was like an echo. You reached up with your other hand without thinking. A repetition of the cry preceded Kylo swearing at you. You held onto the sprite and small dark faerie, loosening your grip to reduce the pressure, and brought them down to where you could see them.

The braided threads remained attached to the three of you. They swung back and forth, seeming to phase through your flesh each time they would have knocked against you.

“It’s still night.” The seal was weaker there though the witching hour had clearly ended. Ben and Kylo spoke in unison. You could see their mouths move but did not hear them. You began to pull Kylo closer, paused, brought Ben nearer instead, and once more hesitated. A strangled noise of frustration escaped you. You pulled the pair of them up to either side of your head. They again spoke in unison, their voices an echo.

You need to run!

The air was spiraling around, warping on itself. Three slices of red armor began to appear. You did not wait for the guards to fully arrive. You obeyed the command of the faerie prince and started to run.

“Now would have been a great time to use that weapon, you know?” you quipped. The sprite cupped said object with both of his hands and shook his head. He did not want you to fight. That was frustrating. It made you feel more strongly for his dark side, who had nodded his agreement.

The lights were out in the buildings of the city behind you. Still, you could hear the cries of the witnesses of the night’s victims. You gave a silent prayer that the children were all safe. Rose had to have succeeded in keeping the twins and Dean out of harm’s way. The baby would be easy. He always was. You ran further away from the city and the house in which those you loved were, hopefully, sleeping. The stars above twinkled except for when they momentarily disappeared to permit entrance to another of the red armored demons.

You yanked your arm when it felt as though something snagged—the braided thread. You inhaled sharply. Your hand sprung open. The two halves of the faerie prince shifted onto your shoulders, holding tightly onto the material of your shirt. The hand that had previously held Ben was instead wrapped around something else. Something larger. The hilt of the weapon that Artoo had given to him. The weapon that had belonged to Luke Skywalker, and his father before him. Your eyes widened in astonishment and a thrill ran through you. It was a welcomed sensation, no longer feeling completely defenseless as you were hunted by the red armored demons.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #faerie kylo #elmidolfanfic #theshacklesoffate

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cheerfulmelancholies · 4 years

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Escape

The car lurched and rocketed down the street in a cacophony of tires and engine. Jet black like the sky and equipped with techno-80's taillights, it stood out with its wheels and the small wing on the trunk. A group of friends strolling over to a theater had to leap back as the vehicle blasted past them, dust and debris in its wake. Anyone in their path had to lunge out of the way. The driver yanked the wheel and the car flew around the corner, bumper hitting something on the way. They kept going as curses and threats echoed after them.

The city sprawled in all directions; a perch on the tallest skyscraper in its epicenter couldn’t yield the horizon. Bright lights, crowded streets, massive constructs and an endless variety of businesses made up the man-made behemoth. It was like a casino with its confusing layout and distracting décor. Every sign demanded one buy something, regardless of what that something was. If it could be sold, there was an advertisement for it.

Progress City, despite its lackluster name, hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of the world in terms of decent society. It got its name from its technological advancements and nothing more. The rest was every bit twenty-first century archaic as it could get and it was maddening, though the populace didn’t seem to care.

Rynn needed an escape and she needed it now. If she stayed put any longer, tending to her father’s affairs and working the shit shift at local dives, she was bound to end up on the news. She’d probably be proud of it too.

She pushed the accelerator and watched the city sights turn into indistinguishable blurs as the needle arched higher and higher. Some of those blurs were people and she found herself far enough gone to not care. She always knew this place was ruining her and wasn’t pleased to find she was right. She should have looked for a way out sooner. Better yet, she should have planned more. The authorities were bound to be on her tail any second now. Driving an old-fashioned car was already illegal, doing so on pedestrian territory–or anywhere on the ground, really–would net her years in jail. There was no way she could pay the fine and she wasn’t betting on her father either.

He’d probably discovered the note by now. If she did get captured, she hoped it would be the authorities.

Rynn spied flashing blue lights in her rearview as several cruisers lowered to her level. She cursed. She’d been hoping for just a little more time.

The car veered left, cruisers in easy pursuit. She wasn’t planning on being able to lose them–they held a maneuverability advantage she could only dream of. Instead, she tried to lead them away to somewhere a little less dense, if such a place existed. She grit her teeth as they closed the distance. When their preliminary time limit wore off and one of them pulled up alongside her she had no choice. Flipping a plastic cover next to her dash, she pressed a button and shut her eyes at the blinding flash. Everything around her went dark and the cruisers fell to the ground and skidded or tumbled until they crashed into something sturdy enough to stop them.

As sparks, screams and fire flickered behind her she could only hope that no one had been struck by one of the vehicles. Robots taken care of, she drove further into the darkness.

The EMP had traveled much farther than she thought it would. The city did become bright again after several miles of shadow but her spirits did not. There was just no end to this place. She grit her teeth and tried to keep her frustration at bay. There had to be a way out. How else would people have any knowledge of places other than here? She’d spent most of her life in this city, always knowing there was something beyond and wanting to get back to it. If it weren’t for her ‘father...’

The radio beeped, startling her to the point of jostling the car. She looked down at it, taking several seconds to overcome her shock and read the I.D.

So he did find the note.

She dismissed the call and kept going. She was closer now, she could feel it. Dark eyes narrowed at the distance and she let out a quiet chuckle. The radio beeped again and she ignored it. She was almost there. She was so enamored in the promise of beyond that the drone of the engine faded like the city lights she passed. Another beep. More cruisers appeared behind her but she was too close to the edge now. Was it really always this close? It was right within her reach and she’d never noticed. She’d never gotten a chance to lift her head above the stifling atmosphere and look before.

The radio beeped once more. Against all common sense, she finally answered.

“What?” came her harsh greeting, tone thick with disgust.

“I just wanted to say, congratulations.”

She snapped out of her longing reverie. Though his voice held its ever-present growl, there was a sort of sincerity behind it.

“I’m actually very proud of you,” he continued in the silence. “Personally, I never thought you’d have the stomach for this sort of thing.”

She was dumbstruck. “What are you prattling on about, you piece of shit?” She bristled when he laughed, the sound raspy and unpleasant. Always was.

“You never were one for intimidation though,” he said when he calmed down. “That’s why I never let you do my work.”

She let out an indignant growl. “Why’d you ever take me in then? You knew from the beginning I wasn’t cut out for this. Why did you do it?” She passed the threshold of the city then, police lights staying behind her as open air encompassed her. But it wasn’t what she thought. There was no real road here, only uneven ground, and though stars began peeking out from the sky, they seemed dull. Haunted. It was as if the beauty of life had been drained from them, spread thin until it was hardly visible.

His voice couldn’t have found a better backdrop.

“I took you in because you wouldn’t know how to survive in the outside world if I didn’t. I’m sure your parents meant well but there’s a reason why they aren’t still around. You’ve seen first hand what happens to kids like you. Did you really think I wanted the same?”

Rynn took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “I always thought you hated me. Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I don’t hate you. I don’t love you, but I don’t hate you either. You’ve seen what happens to people I don’t like.”

“Then why?” She was trying not let her emotions get the better of her. She cursed. He definitely heard how pathetic she sounded.

“The world’s full of too many spineless weaklings. You were never an exception. Like I said, I didn’t do this because I loved you. If I did, you never would’ve seen the true side of the world. I would have shielded you from it and you would’ve ended up like everyone else: blissful, ignorant and happy. I did this because I got tired of seeing the same old thing. I didn’t want to see anymore potential wasted.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, blinking as her vision blurred.

“You can think whatever you want of me, I don’t care. But just know that you will thank me for this, even if you don’t know it yet. Even if you won’t admit it once you do. Goodbye, Leanne.”

The connection dropped and she let the car slow to a stop. For as long as she could remember him, he’d never called her that. Not since she became old enough to understand what was going on. He didn’t even comment on her moment of weakness.

She looked up at the sky. Bleak and depressing and not at all how she imagined. She could make out lights in the distance, no doubt another city. There was only one way to find out who was right.

I wanted to test out a different sort of writing style for some wips I had. This in particular won’t be anything serious, though I’ll probably use it as inspiration. I just wanted to do a little bit of character/world building. I kind of like how vague it is.

#writing #creative writing #wip #inspiration #just for fun #writing practice #should this be a thing?#@anonwrite #writersociety

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astudyinimagination · 5 years

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Warning: long post ahead.

So I’ve been reminded recently that Luke/Mara is one of my favorite ships, going strong for… 13 years now? That’s how long it’s been since I first read the Thrawn trilogy, holy cow…

Anyway, Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade. Gosh, they’re so CUTE. I mean, pretty much even when Mara was all “IMMA KILL YOU” and Luke was like “Okay, but have you considered: you’re actually probably a decent person and I like you already?”

I mean, seriously.

I’m forever salty that the old Lucasfilm writing board or whatever it was that controlled the old EU didn’t let us have enough Luke/Mara (Zahn was gonna write a book about them doing a family trip with their son! We were ROBBED, I tell you!). But what we did get of the two of them was that they adore each other, that they complement each other well, that they’re a badass team, and that they help each other heal.

Ding-ding-ding! That’s the sound of all my Optimal OTP boxes being ticked off.

Over the years, I’ve come up with a lot of wild AUs, most of which never fully see the light of day, but I always work in Luke/Mara because… you know, I’m contractually obligated. My as-of-yet-unwritten-just-thought-out stuff for the Obi-Wan adopts Mara AU (The Hermit and the Orphan) is my favorite, because Luke and Mara actually grow up together as best friends (not excluding Biggs, mind you!) and sort-of sweethearts. Also, there may or may not have been a time that they snuck up on Jabba’s palace to graffitti it and then ran the heck out of there. They Never Speak Of It, but Obi-Wan knows they did SOMETHING stupid and dangerous that one time, he just doesn’t know what.

But I’ve been thinking recently about a different sort of AU, one that, for the first time out of ANY of my AUs, is actually focused on the two of them.

A lot of Luke/Mara AUs make their relationship serious a whole lot earlier than Hand of Thrawn, right? A popular scenario is that they get serious soon after The Last Command. Which is all good stuff, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like to see more (and maybe they do exist and I just haven’t found them yet) fics in which Luke and Mara meet DURING the Rebellion. During the timeline of the films.

And there are different directions to take this, of course, but the one I want to do is much the same as Hermit, wherein she discovers on her own that Palpatine stole her from her parents and murdered them. (This, btw, is the backstory for Mara in that oneshot I did a while back for a prompt wherein Mara is a siren and Luke is ace and doesn’t understand why the Rogues go goo-goo-ga-ga over her.)

So Mara eventually joins the Rebellion as a defected Imperial agent. Imperials do defect to the Alliance sometimes; it’s not unheard of. The Falcon gang—Han, Chewie, Luke, Leia (and Artoo & Threepio)—are assigned to be Mara’s probationary team. (Han gripes initially but he and Mara hit it off pretty quickly.) Luke eventually adds her to the Rogue Squadron roster and the Rogues are delighted to have someone new to adopt.

And then the Rogues are on a mission and things go very, very sideways. And Mara has to use the Force to save the day somehow.

And it makes sense to Luke now, why he always had a funny feeling around her. He’s still very untrained, mind you, and he didn’t realize that he was picking up on the presence of another Force sensitive, albeit a very muted one—Mara naturally doesn't want the Emperor to have any inkling of where she is.

The Rogues keep her secret. They sometimes discuss what Luke and Mara might be able to do together, everything from serious questions to telekinetic ball games.

But then one day, somebody outside the family finds out.

Mara gets hauled before a tribunal, and some people are wanting her to be locked up or even executed, but the Rogues and the Falcon gang step up and say no. They’ve seen Mara’s heart, they know she’s a good person, they know they’re in no danger from her, they’re not gonna lose a sister. Not this way.

So Mara ends up in the clear and… she was already starting to heal, but this was big. She knew she’d be as safe from the Emperor as she could be in fighting his rule and she’s got the opportunity to get back at him, but she never thought she’d find a family here.

And then the Battle of Hoth happens.

Luke had already told Mara that he was going to go check into a possible living Jedi Master; Mara’s skeptical but wishes him luck. And no, she doesn’t go. She doesn’t want to think about what a Jedi Master might have to say about her, if one would even speak to her at all and not just try to kill her outright and eliminate a potential threat. Instead, she goes with the rest of Rogue Squadron and tells High Command that Luke is following a lead on a living Jedi, and she’s therefore out of the action for most of ESB…

Except that she has flashes of visions of Han and Leia and Chewie in pain. But they can’t be anything to worry about, right?

Until she feels Luke’s pain, in the present. However far away she is physically, they’re close by this point, they’ve done what training together they could, they communicate telepathically sometimes, and she can feel his pain on Cloud City. It’s only a comm from Leia that prevents her from taking off on a wild goose chase to find him.

And it scares her, how bad Luke looks and feels, like he’s been through Hell and back, and he’s Luke, he’s the irritatingly sunny farmboy who never gives up, that’s his schtick, he’s not supposed to be like this.

She’s the broken one.

He’s not supposed to be broken, too.

Mara stays with him a lot while he’s recovering. After one night of sensing his nightmares, she bunks up with him. Totally chaste. She’s there to help him sleep. (And it works, because of course it does. This is still shippy fic. You are going to get the Person A sleeps with Person B to help them through the night trope and you are going to LIKE IT.)

And eventually, in the midst of planning Han’s rescue (and Jabba’s downfall), Luke opens up to Mara. It’s the kind of secret that is begging, screaming, to be told, and if anyone could understand what he’s feeling right now, it’d be Mara.

And the sad thing is that Mara feels more kinship with Luke now than ever.

So, here’s a sidebar: I LOVE the Luke/Vader subgenre of fic in the fandom. It’s just—*clenches fist*—SO GOOD. I love the trope of villainous fathers with heroic sons, and it started with them. And if the heroic son helps the villainous father redeem himself, even better.

But here’s another thing: I’ve also been writing heroic daughters being in conflict with their fathers for a long time. It was years before I understood what I was doing—I was working through my own real life issues. And the thing is that here and now, years after that understanding, I’m still writing that dynamic.

The closest thing Mara has to a father is Palpatine. And, more or less, that’s how she thinks of him. He is the man who raised her. He raised her, and trained her a little, and made her his assassin.

And he also kidnapped her as a baby and murdered her real parents.

All that love that Mara had for him turned to hatred, and there is no hatred more powerful or more complicated than the kind that used to be love.

And yet, she still thinks of him as her father. She can’t get away from that.

But like hell is she going to let Luke go through what she’s going through if she can help it.

Darth Vader, the man Palpatine used to encourage her childhood fear of, is the Anakin Skywalker she’s heard snatches of stories about while running around the galaxy with Luke and the Rogues.

And maybe there’s a chance that he’s not as far gone as everyone would assume.

So she takes a ship and uses her old Hand code to get herself docked in the Executor. Vader definitely wants to know what this is all about, because that code is specific to Mara herself, the one Emperor’s Hand who went truly rogue. And she tells him straight up that, look, she doesn’t care about him one bit, but she does care about Luke Skywalker. She’s never gonna be able to get to know her own father (slipping that in to let Vader know why exactly she left), but if Luke still wants to have a relationship with his father, she wants him to have a shot at that.

(At some point during this conversation, Vader threatens Mara, and she’s scared, yes, because she knows he’s more powerful, but she points out: “You just tortured your son’s best friends and cut off his hand. You have a long way to go in the goodwill department.” He doesn’t need to be hurting or killing yet another of his son’s friends.)

He wants to know what she has in mind, then, and she tells him straight up: get Han back. She says outright that if he doesn’t do it, she and Luke and only a handful of friends are going to go rescue Han because the Alliance can’t spare anyone else, and she doesn’t like those odds. Vader has the resources and they don’t: send people to Tatooine to free Han and the slaves and overthrow Jabba. As a goodwill gesture, it’d be pretty weighty.

She gives him a private comm number and says that if Han’s returned to them safe and sound, she’ll try to help him and Luke meet somewhere just to meet. Has to be totally neutral ground—she’s not gonna help Vader capture his son. But she’ll help them try to have a conversation more or less like normal people if they’re both willing to try.

“Why are you doing this?”

“If you knew Luke, you’d know why. I want him to be happy. And even after everything you’ve done to him, and to the people he cares about… he still wants his father.”

And Vader comes through. Han is freed, and the slaves are freed, and there’s rumors that Jabba’s corpse was fed to his own rancor.

Mara tells Luke what she did. At first he can’t believe it, he starts throwing around things like how could you’s, but in the end he listens. And he’s not sure what to do. He knows that Mara’s intentions were pure, but how can he hope to think the same of his—of Vader?

But also. Vader freed Han. And the slaves. And took out Jabba, one of Luke’s oldest and most cherished wishes.

After a long while of going back and forth with himself about it, Luke agrees to a meeting under truce, only as long as Vader will honor it.

The meeting does happen… and I have no idea what happens from there. Especially because… well, look, Anakin definitely had every right to be the one to kill Palpatine, and I don’t want to take that away from him. But also… I really want Mara to see Palpatine one last time. I want her to look her father in the eye and tell him every way he wronged her.

So I have no idea how this ends. I want it to be a happy ending, of course. Sad endings are for one-shots that you don’t have to commit to. But I have no idea, after several weeks of thinking about this, how this ends.

#Mara Jade #Luke Skywalker #Darth Vader #Palpatine #Star Wars #SW AU #Sky writes stuff #Luke/Mara #sorry guys that this ends so unsatisfactorily #I'm hoping that writing ABOUT it might help

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katedoesfics · 5 years

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Under Shadow: Chapter 12

Najia’s body ached from sleeping on the hard ground. When she was alone, she preferred to stop somewhere where she could make a decent bed for herself. The desert ground was less than ideal, but she knew she was already on thin ice with Shane. She figured, in the circumstances, she could learn to sleep on the ground. After a month on the run, it wasn’t the first time she had done so. But she still missed the luxuries of her life in the city. She adapted only because she had to, but made every effort to make things as easy as possible for her. Including packing the car with every single useful thing she could find during her travels, and moving those items from one trunk to the next when she needed to seek out a new vehicle. She supposed she learned that from her father. Always be prepared - it was the boy scout motto, after all.

Shane, on the other hand, did not care for such luxuries. Of course, having luxuries were much harder when all you had was what you could carry. And Shane carried the bare minimum.

As Najia wired the car, she started to realize that she would likely need to adjust further still if she wanted to make it to Stardew Valley. While it seemed foolish to give up her supplies, they wouldn’t last forever. Shane had obviously made it with the bare minimum; perhaps she would be wise to learn to do the same. But then again, the time hadn’t come for such drastic measures. Why not enjoy what supplies she had for as long as she could?

Najia dusted her hands together and smiled as the engine purred. She let Shane climb into the driver’s side and she slid in beside him. She pulled out the map from the glove compartment and found their estimated location.

“There’s probably an old gas station up the main road, somewhere,” she said. She traced the line on the map with her finger. “We could fill up a couple more tanks there it be set for a while longer. Assuming it hasn’t run dry yet.”

Shane shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

They drove in silence. Najia focused her attention out the window, trying to imagine the desert scenery passing in the daylight. It was likely just as boring a view as it was in the dark. She sighed loudly, but Shane did not acknowledge her.

“We need some music in here,” she muttered.

“Too bad radio stations don’t exist anymore,” Shane remarked snidely.

“What if one did exist, though? Someone in some abandoned station trying to deliver an S.O.S.”

Shane peered at her in his peripheral vision. “Don’t you think the Shadow People would notice and capture them?”

Najia slunk back in her seat and crossed her arms. “You have absolutely zero sense of adventure.”

Shane tensed. “You think this is an adventure?” His voice raised. “You think this is some game?”

Najia hesitated. “No.”

Shane narrowed his eyes at the road before him as he continued driving in silence. Najia shifted uncomfortably before opening the glove compartment. She fished through the odds and ends she had secured in there, pulling out an old, tattered CD case. She smiled to herself as she zipped it open and flipped through the contents she had collected.

“What are you doing,” Shane said quickly.

Najia selected a CD with the word ‘mixz’ scribbled in sharpie on the front and pushed it carefully into place inside the radio. It hummed quietly as it read the disk and the first track began to play. Shane groaned loudly as the song started, and Najia did not miss a beat as she belted out the song.

“I stay out too late!” she sang. “Got nothing in my brain! That’s what people say!”

Shane rolled his eyes.

“I go on too many dates, but I can’t make them stay,” she continued.

“I can see why,” Shane muttered.

Najia ignored him as she continued singing. She turned the knob on the radio and the music got louder.

“But I keep cruising. Can’t stop, won’t stop moving. It’s like I got this music in my mind saying it’s gonna be alright.” Najia danced in her seat as she sang out the chorus.

Shane winced and, having enough, ejected the disk from the radio. Najia stopped dancing and stared at the disk as it popped back out.

“What did you do that for?”

“You’re singing is as terrible as Taylor Swift.”

Najia crossed her arms. “It’s a fun, upbeat song. We could use a little fun in here.”

Shane pinched his lips together but didn’t respond.

“Do you have some beef with my girl T. Swift?”

“Please stop,” he muttered.

“Fine,” she said sharply. “What do you want to listen to?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “No music. It will only draw attention to us.”

Najia watched him closely for a moment before returning the disk to its case. She shoved it back into the glove compartment, humming to herself. She focused her attention on the dark road, leaning back in her seat with a sigh.

“Wanna play a game?”

“No.” His voice was stern.

“Were you always this much fun?”

“Yup.”

Najia rolled her eyes and turned back to the road. “I see. I bet the women flocked to you.”

Shane said nothing. Najia turned back to him, eye brow raised. “Men?”

Shane shot her another angry glance.

“Both?”

He sighed loudly.

“I bet you had tons of friends with that charming personality of yours,” she muttered.

Shane shrugged. “Maybe I did.”

Najia scoffed.

“Can you really blame me for being Mr. Brightside?”

“You could at least make an effort to be happy at the fact that you’re not the only survivor.”

“Of all the people in the world to get stuck with,” he muttered.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“What does it matter?” he muttered. “We won’t survive much longer. Might as well not get attached.”

Najia sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “Might as well make this as miserable as possible for ourselves.”

“Might as well.”

“I don’t buy it,” she said. “There’s some hope left in you. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you didn’t have some kind of hope. You’re going after something; that’s hope. Hope that something’s still out there.”

Shane was quiet. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the wheel.

“Fine,” Najia said, sensing his tension. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave it alone.”

They drove in silence once more. Najia let her mind wandered as she stared into the darkness before them. It was still early in the day. Najia couldn’t imagine another six hours in the car with Shane. She didn’t know what was worse; the silence, or his bubbly optimism. She rolled her eyes to herself at the thought. She only hoped they would reach the coast soon. Maybe then they could part ways and she could make her way to Stardew Valley. If Stardew Valley even existed.

“Jas,” Shane said, breaking the silence.

Najia turned to him, but he continued to focus on the dark road ahead.

“My goddaughter. And Marnie, my aunt.” He hesitated. “We were separated when the attack happened.”

Najia looked at her feet. “I’m sure you’ll find them,” she said quietly.

Shane shrugged. “I hope so.”

#under shadow #chapter 12 #us12 #stardew valley #fic #fanfic

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

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And your next line is...

Strike a pose!

Hello, the name is Aylo and I am a dedicated on and off role-player with a tendency of writing original stories in the hope that one day, my own vision gets pushed out into the world. But that dream is still a far away concept as most of my works are still in the making. Since I am still on summer break, I’ve got some time at my hands that I’m interested to fill it with some juicy writing.   Roleplaying is one of my greatest hobbies on the side! I enjoy it greatly as it gives you the opportunity to build a world and gripping plot with a partner. Also, a little about me before dive into it. You must be at least 18+ of age when you want to start original roleplay with me, just to be upfront and honest with you. I am in my twenties, thus I have no quarrel, or rather much prefer, mature adult themes. I accept anyone, but they have to be willing to fill some of these categories mentioned down below. What I expect is a decent (if not, very good) grasp on grammar, the ability and will to write creatively and shoulder half of the plotting and responsibility as well as the passion for roleplaying. Of course this should be seen as a fun way of passing the time and inspiring one’s muse, but I really like to invest… I wish for my partner to take equal initiative.  

 This request is a bit of an unusual one as I am targeting a fandom that you may have or have not heard about.  Currently I am on the hunt for someone who would like to start a JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure themed RP with me! Yes, as odd as it sounds, but the series had captured my heart in the most bizarre way (I couldn’t resist, apologies) and I simply fell in love with this odd, quirky world of JoJo. I started binging the series a year ago but now, I really became invested and grew to crave for an experience in writing it with a partner!

Regarding which era of the JoJo’s we could take this, I am fairly open, though I have yet to watch Part 5.   Since the world of JoJo is so vastly open and brimming with possibility, there’s no exact limit. Unless of course, the characters are overpowered, then we might have a problem. However I’ve rarely encountered cases, so I wouldn’t worry that much about it. I have a strong penchant for including original characters and ideas that can be added to the pre-existing plot. Also very happy to expand on the given worlds and open to AU’s. Okay so I am a really big nerd when it comes to the supernatural, mysterious, urban myth and fantasy. Love combining those given elements with organised crime, complex characters, cataclysmic events and dark schemes that all unravels as time goes on. JoJo is a perfect breeding ground for it all.

    Which JoJo is the best JoJo?

  In my opinion, I love all of them <3

Just to be frank here!  I am going to list all of the parts I am open and willing to do, down below:

JoJo: Phantom Blood (Part 1) 

JoJo: Battle Tendency (Part 2) 

JoJo: Stardust Crusaders (Part 3) 

JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable (Part 4)

Now I know there are seasons of the series that I’ve yet to read and watch, but there is so much of the world already, I am perfectly content with focusing the story on those four!    Writing: 3rd person perspective. My writing is wide-ranging and flexible, which means that frequently, word count will go up 1000+ per reply - though it highly depends on the given situation and partner. Quality over quantity as they say - but why not both? I love detail in description, and I am actively seeking someone of the same infamy. My partner should have a basic grasp on grammar, punctuation and somewhat of an interest in knowledgeable writing. I also double! (preferably, but we can always discuss whether it makes sense for our roleplay our not.)

 What it entails: 

Alright, so you are writing with some of mature age. I have 11 years of writing experience when it comes to the game. This will be a fair warning that this request is not for the faint of heart. There will be violence, swearing, gore, intimate scenes, uncomfortable subjects, drama, conflict and other dark themes included within the story. I have few limits but I will respect the boundaries of my partner, so do not shy away from telling me. Just so you know, I won’t fade to black or skip out on the nitty gritty. Go big or go home. Interests: My line of interests are very dynamic when it comes to genres. I love conceiving my own lore inside a stories, be it an original or a pre-existing story. Gothic fantasy among others are one of my favourites. I am not opposed to tapping into some science fiction, action, romance, crime, action or thriller genres, in fact I encourage it. Inspirations for me are Lovecraft, Hellsing, Blade, Underworld, etc. As for the fandom inspired RPs, I am more than willing to bend some rules and be a little indulgent. World building and sharing the burden: You should be active and help me shape the world around our characters. Even if we discuss many things during and before the roleplay, how we wish for things to play out and take its course, I am always happy to be surprised with a secret of my partner’s character I didn’t know before. You don’t need to lay out all your cards on the table… keep it a little mysterious and suspenseful. Just enough so we can work with the ideas, but not completely kill off the suspense. Characters: I write canon as well as OC characters. Faceclaims, GIFs, drawings, mood boards or just a plain physical description is absolutely sufficient. Whatever floats your boat when it comes to visualising your character and their backstory, I’m on board. Characters should be written as opulent, flawed, unique, talented, heroic, villainous, spiteful, angry, and everything in-between figures. In other words, don’t be scared of making them ‘human’, even when they are non-human. Romance: Openly play and accept characters of both genders, preferable m x f pairings, but I am open to m x m and f x f relationships as well. I have more experience with m x f relationships, so I might be more adept with this one. If the chemistry of two characters compel me, I will ship them no matter what! When it comes to sexual scenarios and intimacy (intercourse, foreplay, all that jazz). I encourage erotism, but always in a tasteful, sensual manner (that goes for romance as well). The passion must be felt through the screen, even if it’s just a mere description of someone’s deep train of thought. Content: Drama, violence, implication of sexual content, metamorphosis, symbolism, action, romance, pretty much everything is a-okay. I am unbothered by certain subjects that may or may not be uncomfortable for the general public. Roleplays are fictional stories and we best keep viewing them as such. If there are things you are uncomfortable with, name them and I shall respect those boundaries. But don’t be surprised when suddenly one of our characters bites the dust, or gets tortured. It may be difficult to write and read, but it is all part of the story and furthering the plot. My roleplays imply and involve brutality, mayhem, psychological and physical torture among other things. But I also greatly endorse beauty, serenity and placid moments, scenes or characters. I love it when it comes full circle… everyone- and everything has a beautiful and hideous side. Both should be embraced like Yin and Yang. Communication and friendship: OOC-chat friendly! I love meeting new people and making friends and as we all know, communication is key. Plus it strengthens the compatibility between us. Communication is the alpha and the omega. If there is anything that bothers you, or if you think you are left out in some way (be it a mistake on my part or if we’re both at fault here), don’t be frightened to tell me. Really, it won’t be taken personally since I know that we all slip up every now and then. We’re only human after all. It is also completely sufficient if you only type out a few messages per week. I am super chill about it. It doesn’t bother me re-writing a scene to fit the narrative more. If there are mistakes, they can be corrected - just to get that out there. We can always exchange opinions and see what would benefit the story most. I will also voice my opinion should something arise that could be bothersome. Partnership: An active roleplayer is wanted without a doubt. Can’t do the thinking for two now. Let’s row this boat together Limits: Subject matters I avoid are pedophilia, bestiality, necrophilia, vore, scat, furries and various other bizarre fetishes. Also no one-liners or text-talk messages. The sentences have to be cohesive, coherent and decently structured.    I live in CET central Europe. My response rate varies throughout the weeks, depending on my schedule.  If I should hit a hiatus, I will let you know as soon as possible. I understand when you are busy as well and won’t be able to respond, though I highly appreciate if my partner does disappear without notification. At least give me a heads up on what’s going on so I can adjust and put the roleplay on hold if needed!  Mediums I roleplay on are email and google-docs. I also have Discord in case for OOC chat, but I rather much prefer email at first because Discord can be somewhat messy from time to time.  I prefer if my partner messages me first on email, giving me a brief description of themselves, their cravings as well as ideas. That way I can see if we’re compatible and if it bears any potential.   Message me here:

EMAIL: [email protected] Hope to hear from you soon! Lots of love!    

Sincerely yours, Aylo

#independent roleplay #oc rp #multiple paragraph #para #long term #email #tumblr #aou rp #submission

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kafkasgods · 3 years

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new year’s eve event: brandon & frances

brandon chung

it had been a long time coming. that was brandon’s only thought as he searched the middle of the dance floor, standing a head above the rest of the crowd dancing. time was rarely on his side, so despite having set the time, he was still a few minutes late. he could only hope ino had the patience to wait, or even that she’d wanted to met at all. he hadn’t much left room for a no. a single form was still, juxtaposed by the rest, and brandon gently tapped her. “ino?” it’d been smart of him to take his plague mask off before meeting her, replacing it with one that allowed clearer vision—he wanted to capture every detail of his pen pal’s emotions.

frances casey

ultimately, she waited for homer. it was what frances was good at, waiting. and today wasn’t any sort of exception. she tried not to feel disappointment as ten pm came and went without anything to show for it. she debated leaving, debated crying, tried to ignore the feeling that she assumed to be a halfway decent champagne buzz. and then someone’s hand brushed her shoulder.

her heart in her throat, frances’s head turned and tilted upwards at the question. he was bigger than she expected-- in her experience, the well-read weren’t really on the buffer side. she took a step back, just to take him in more fully. “homer?” she confirmed, a little nervous and a little thrilled just the same. “you hardly look like someone who’d read sylvia plath,” she confided after a second. a cautious smile met her lips for a moment before it melted back into curiosity.

brandon chung

brandon couldn’t help but smile at the warm welcome he’d received. “too often you judge a book by its cover, ino. i would have thought you’d spare me the same treatment.” in the middle of the dance floor, they were too oddities standing still. much like their very beings in a time that kept going. but they were here now, in the midst of the hullabaloo, so brandon leaned down slightly, raising a hand for her to take. “might i ask what sort of man did you impress onto me?”

frances casey

the emotions that he radiated were unfamiliar to frances, which was something of a disappointment. not someone she saw frequently, then. curiosity continued to bubble forward even as she heard his commentary spoken out loud for the first time. she shrugged lightly, not apologetic in the least.

“that’s a complicated question,” she mused, slipping her hand into his after just a moment of pause. “i don’t know if you ever had a physical impression. just a presence i was expecting maybe more my height so i wouldn’t have to look up so much.” she was suddenly desperate to hear his thoughts on her. “what about you? i’m sure you imagined me much taller, too. and you knew i was going to be a little judgemental.”

brandon chung

brandon shrugged as there wasn’t must to say about his height. taking her hand as she gave it, he proceeded to place the other on her waist, and smoothly transitioned into a dance. “that i did know,” brandon laughed. “but it doesn’t mean i can’t make fun of you for it.” the question she prompted made him think. it was hard to recall what he imagined of her before when her physical presence now dominated anything he thought previously. “taller? yes, probably. and brunette, that checks out. maybe older? you look more youthful than your letters let on. just the effects of the casino or are you a descendent of hebe as well?"

frances casey

frances was transitioned into dancing so smoothly she didn’t have a chance to protest it. a blush rose to her cheeks to match her color scheme of the night and surprised her so thoroughly that she didn’t have any witty retort. instead she settled into being led through the dance, inspecting what lines of his face she could see while he considered.

“no,” she replied, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice at the thought of her mother. “my time with the lotus eaters was very brief, and i was young to begin with. i had more time to adjust than some of the others. and it took me half a decade to figure out your cypher. it was very difficult, i didn’t think i’d ever crack it.” that was something she’d never admitted to before, and it tumbled out of her mouth before she could even track the thought.

brandon chung

they had talked about their time with the casino, but he supposed it had never come up, to talk of ages. it was such a hard number to grasp, even now, and there’d been too much else that took precedence. “admittedly, i didn’t think anyone would. it was a letter to the void,” brandon raised her arm, spinning her, easily. “imagine my surprise when the void answered back. i am grateful for it though.” he rested his hand on her again. “you have gotten me through many dark points in my life. at times, i don’t remember anything about my own time with the lotus eaters besides the remnants of our letters.”

an unsettled feeling nagged at him, one that always was present when it came to the casino, so brandon shook it off. “but we’re here together. on this wonderful occasion and, you, in a beautiful dress. i don’t believe it’s the time to ruminate on the past, do you?”

frances casey

“it’s not just you,” frances reassured him. “i think you’re my best friend, outside of witney. my best friend on paper, i suppose.” she started to laugh a little, but the shift in his emotions had frances scrambling internally to set him to rights again. had she said something wrong? reacting in real time to his thoughts was new to her. not as difficult as she expected it could have been, but an obstacle just the same.

“sure, we can move past it easily enough,” she agreed. the warm color in her cheeks had yet to recede, and frances suspected it wouldn’t. “you just had a birthday, right? happy belated! i hope you did something fun to celebrate.” she understood the sentiment, but didn’t follow that pattern herself. frances just hoped that didn’t make matters worse, again. “and you really dressed for the occasion tonight. you look like a fairytale prince.” the easy admission made her heart skip a beat. mortifying.

brandon chung

“oh? i’m your best friend?” brandon repeated with a slight grin. “i wouldn’t have guessed.” it seemed an obvious thing to simply exchange identities. to be friends right there in person. but something would die then. the letters would fade and the hold they had on the past would cease to exist. brandon couldn’t be the one to break it. “i have to say, i’m not at all sure how well i’ve presented myself in pen versus the person before you.”

brandon swayed with her, a little surprised as she wished him a happy birthday, if only because he himself had forgotten it. it was a day or two ago and would have slipped his mind had his brothers not reminded him. “as with the holidays, i spent it with my brothers. there’s never any predictability with them, but they do get me a chocolate cake that is divine time and again.” he flustered slightly, wondering why his conversation sounded so tired and banal.

“ah, thank you. i just sort of figured time in the present should be lived large. and i had a cane that tied it all in together. you, on the other hand—” once again, he twirled her, making a point, as her dress circled her for a moment. “i think i have a new favorite color.”

#brandon:frances #brandon chung #frances casey

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nyrator · 6 years

Text

okay so I think I’ve undead-ed myself from my ten hour workday to talk about stuffs

specially yume nikki stuffs

and that is is that I’m excited for this game

so many people are all upset and stuff and I’m just sitting here enjoying this like

like the devs of the engine that YN was made on, want to do more with the game, with a group of YN-fanboy devs who mostly localize Japanese games (including the official version of YN), who manage to get in contact with Kikiyama and start making their own 3D fangame, except with Kikiyama themselves at the helm giving them ideas and vetoing ideas it sounds like

like it ain’t gonna be the best game ever, I fully expect wonky narmy coding with animations that’d make Zero Time Dilemma feel proud about itself, PS1/PS2-tier type of game (which I’m okay with since I love sixth gen games) I expect changes and cringy moments and whatnot, but that’s part of the fun- like I’ll still be critical in places and hope for good things (like decent number of worlds to explore and decent sound design, the art style is already good enough for me if a bit standard horror), but I’ll also enjoy the bad and silly things too.

the original game will always exist, only kikiyama knows what the heck any of it means, and now this is just another retelling, just like the manga, just like the light novel, except this time Kikiyama’s directly working on it too.

way I see it, we either get: Kikiyama’s complete-r vision, Kikiyama helping out some devs make their own interpretation while just being the person who gives the Okay to things, a group of devs lying to the public to sell a game, or what have you. It might be good, it might be terrible, but hey, Kikiyama’s original game still exists and even if they made a bad sequel that doesn’t capture the spirit of the original, that just means they’re human too

like face it YN is a project that is beyond Kikiyama’s control at this point, anything they do or touch diffectly will be under scrutiny, so might as well just enjoy it for what it is or ignore it no need to throw a fit or anything

(sure you might get the young audience in once it inevitably becomes Youtube bait but hey a few of those people might be alright and start bringing the fandom back into motion, for better or worse, and eventually it’ll die down and the two will peacefully merge except for the bitter veterans of the Yume wars who insist that anything past 0.08 was a sham let alone 0.10)

also

modding potential and 3D fangame potential has me super excited

also things I want to see (or at least some variation of):

FC world (and the Glitch)

NASU

the Flying Witch Broom event

the Crick in the Neck

the Toriningen party

Aztec Rave Monkey (at the very least the music)

the original YN somehow fully playable in this game somewhere (highly doubtful but)

now all we need is Masaaki Yuasa to do the anime adaption

edit: also like

people complaining about 20 dollars being too much for a game without having even seen it, when it already looks to be worth 20 dollars and has like, ten employees working on it who need to be compensated for their efforts somehow, sure it won’t be worth the value as much as say A Hat in Time was (fantastic game...) but still

#text stuffs #honestly so far my only disappointment is going full-on horror so far #YN was always surreal but never horror to me so I know some things won't make the transition #but mann I really them to treat the music right I want to hear good covers of all those songs #the trailer music has me hopeful since it doesn't all sound like stereotypical dark things

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riisinaakka-draws · 7 years

Photo

Under the cut there are some thoughts on the process and ideas behind the drawing JOURNEY INTO THE DARK if you are interested :)

I thought it would be too big of a burden to mention all of this within the art post. This is also for my own archiving purposes (so I won’t forget what was involved! :D) and it’s always nice to see how things start and develop...

Long post ahead! (contains spoilers for the show)

COMMENTARY:

I continued this work bit by bit over a period of several months (I started this just when s4 started airing) and only finished it recently. A few hours then and then (whenever I felt like it or had time for this), but I can’t really say how much time it took all together. Occasionally there were weeks/months that I just forgot about it and was more focused on other things...

Most of the thoughts here are fleeting ideas during the process (how a thing X lead to thing Y) and some personal fun and not something I actually spend too much time on dwelling or planning (or researching lol). I have probably forgotten some already and some happened by accident and some I am just incabable of putting into understandable words.

None of these are any actual instructions (or limits) of “this is how it’s to be seen”. Art doesn’t have to be or even shouldn’t be explained in some cases, but I just wanted to document the process and open up the symbolism since there were a lot of (random) things involved.

It’s also fun to look back on things and how they evolved and what their connection to other things were.

You are free to have your own interpretations of course and I hope this additional post doesn’t ruin any of those :)

The initial idea and motifs:

Flint decends the steps from light to darkness and Miranda is standing behind him as an accomplice/orderer. Stepping stones get bloodier by every step and gold coins are glimmering on the path (Urca de Lima’s gold). Sword is drawn out for war and slaughter. Black water as in the opening credits + general darkness to represent the abyss. Reflection shows James when he was happy (him returning to Hamiltons) and how much he has changed compared to that (McGraw vs Flint). Sort of stage / antique/ greek tragedy(?) setting with marble columns, red curtains (like a myth, a monology or a story or something).

A white feather shining in the dark to show there’s always hope and another way out. I already explained this in another post, but here it is again:

Short answer: Silver (although some of you may not like it) Long answer: the feather is for “hope and an alternative for war” (the dove of peace..haha). Also remember the trap Flint laid in season 1? The feather and the logbook in his drawer -> leads to Silver’s capture later.

The feather is also a reference to the swan of Tuonela (in Finnish mythology the river of Tuonela separates the world of the living and the dead (compare Styx in Greek mythology I guess). Flint decents to the world of death (also represented here by the pale and dead-looking organic shapes of the opening sequence’s sculpture… thing).

Anyway, the feather is mainly about Silver: both how they end up meeting in the beginning (the trap, and then some new hope along the way and eventually some light in Flint’s miserable life) and what (who) also ends up being “the end of Captain Flint” (a tiny nod to the swan guarding the border between the living and the dead).

Visually I wanted something to shine in the darkness to remind there’s always hope and another way out. At one point it had an additional thin string leading to Thomas’ hand. You know, a connection to the memory (and to the reason of Flint’s revenge and war path and so on) but the idea didn’t work so well and felt too distracting so I left it (the string) out. And then the finale happened (!!!) and the reflection became also the future.. :D

a way out of the darkness… :)

There was also a post going around a long time ago about the empty space (the absence of Thomas) next to James and Miranda in some scenes, so I incorporated that in here, too. Unfortunately I cannot remember who did the post, so I cannot link it right now :| It was something about how some of the New World scenes were framed in a way that it looked like there was something missing (aka the third person of the trio).

Here’s the early drafts again so you don’t have to scroll back:

I didn’t like the first composition that much and continued it into another direction with similar elements and the main ideas.

The stepping stones changed to wooden planks: angrier zigzag lines (rage) and also the idea of “walk the plank” (except that you don’t know when and where the nightmare ends...)

I ditched the gold coin idea. The overal setting became more spacious and gloomier to emphasize the vastness of abyss and the smallness of people. The stage / arch became the staircase seen in Flint’s dreams.

The whole thing is sailing on a similar sculptural thing seen in the opening sequence which for some reason made me think about the floating theatre in the Moomins (when the Moomin valley is flooded in one dangerous midsummer. LMAO):

(*coughs* lots of water, a stage and some drama after a disaster...so..)

(At one point I was also thinking about Howl’s moving castle and how that too is a monstrous looking vessel travelling between worlds (well, opening doors) but how the moving castle itself is also composed of various other things... and how in the drawing Flint would be stepping out of the ride for a moment to do some dark deeds in one of these ‘worlds’ etc.)

Black Sails opening sequence - is there a term for that cool monstrosity?

Some other inspiration and references:

Akseli Gallen-Kallela’s “Lemminkäisen äiti” (Lemminkäinen’s Mother, 1897).

(notice the swan, the black water, blood-covered stones, ‘the mother’ and the red-bearded ‘son’ waiting/asking for a spark for new life after the mother has combed his broken parts out of the river and assembled them back into the shape of a man)

I must admit that I didn’t bother to think any deeper parallels with Lemminkäinen and Flint (or the Mother and Miranda) beside this (more about it later though) and mainly had my thoughts just on this painting and its visuals because it is so well known (and liked) in Finland.

Moving on.

Screencaps from season 2 (source here):

I chose the latter stairs for the reflection (although modified) only because they were in London and there is an arch above them (to mirror the window in the drawing)

Some steps futher when the needed elements are more clear:

At some point I tried things with a lot more light and coldness (below, left pic) to channel some of the the dream sequence in s3 but in the end I chose the darker atmosphere, faces in shadows and I also wanted to preserve the red colour somehow (right pic):

The reflection sketch (at some point), although most of it cannot be seen in the finished work and thus didn’t need too much details. Young lieutenant James McGraw returning to London from his voyage:

Also, (and I am so sorry about this, but it was “fitting” and I decided to keep it..) in the reflection (when flipped and put in its position) the plank (their unfortunate blood-covered war-path and future) accidentally hides Miranda’s face and decapitates her so to speak and she won’t be there anymore ;_;

Thomas, on the other hand, is in the reflection to meet James - both in the past and again in the future - but not in ‘the present’ where Miranda is.

Miranda in Flint’s visions (s3 ep3):

When I first met you, you were so Unformed.

And then I spoke and bade you cast aside your shame, and Captain Flint was born into the world. The part of you that always existed yet never were you willing to allow into the light of day.

I was mistress to you when you needed love. I was wife to you when you needed understanding. But first and before all I was mother. I have known you like no other. So I love you like no other. I will guide you through it, but at its end is where you must leave me. At its end is where you will find the peace that eludes you, and at its end lies the answer you refuse to see.

And then in s3ep5: You can't see it yet, can you? You are not alone.

The end part of it is seen in the fandom as a reference to Silver (and his partnership) and how Flint’s mind is telling himself to see it too. And I agree on that. I don’t think James had any hopes for Thomas being alive (especially in s3). As I mentioned earlier I originally did the reflection to show him (Thomas) only as a memory. Then the finale happened and the reflection got its double meaning :)

And here again Miranda as the mother (there has been better discussions about this topic and speech in the fandom so I won’t go more into that now). In the inspiration painting that I showed earlier the mother had assembled his son back together (for rebirth / reanimation) <--- Miranda being part of the creation (birth) of ‘Captain Flint’.

Aaaaand here’s the feather again and Silver’s words (and sort of motto):

“Take it from me, there's always a way.” (season 1)

“Nothing is inevitable here. I'm showing you a way in which we can survive this.″ (season 3)

Some further fixed details and adjustments. In the end the wall almost disappeared and to me it made this feel a bit like “floating alone without a shelter on your back or a place to return once you leave its premise”... I fixed the perspective of the planks (took me surprisingly long to notice what was wrong) and got the bloody red back on the planks (and not leaking too much on the water).

I wanted the water to be quiet, pitch black and endless and the reflection to seem like a dream. I probably should’ve done everything a bit more detailed or sharper, but in the end it didn’t feel so necessary (and it would have been way too much work, haha).

The final drawing:

The planning and initial idea was done after seeing s3 and just when s4 was beginning so there weren’t any thoughts linked to s4 while making this (other than the surprise connection with Thomas). Most of this I did paint after s4 though, but only to finish what I had already started.

One more thing. I also made “the doors of the warship” -drawing after planning the JOURNEY INTO THE DARK (although I posted the doors pic first, since it was finished earlier).

It has a similar lighting and the theme of James and Miranda facing together ‘the civilization’ although this time they are stepping towards the light again (in hopes of closure and the promise of new life... which doesn’t go well as we already know ;_;).

James and Miranda about to leave the warship and meet Lord Peter Ashe in Charles Town:

So, here we sort of have a beginning and an end for their journey in the dark (together) - believing that there are just the two of them left from the original trio.

Aaaaaand, that’s about it. Sorry about some repetition and messiness.

As I said in the beginning of this post, you are free to have your own interpretations (and I hope this post didn’t ruin any of them). These were just the things and thoughts that went into this work (or were stumbled upon along the way...), but you don’t have to take them to your heart.

Thank you so much for checking out this post and I hope it was worthy of your time! ( ˘ ³˘)♥

#black sails doodle #some interesting and silly meta about my own drawings #long post #for archiving purposes and vacant reading #(although tumblr is not forever but anyway)#I like to have secret meanings or personal easter eggs in my work although many of them are not that secret really #or well thought for that matter #and some probably don't make any sense (except to me)#good thing I made some notes during the process..#feel free to comment if you want #(I was supposed to post this yesterday evening)#(but I got stuck in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking with my flat mate until it was midnight and it felt too late to post)

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