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iisuya-simps · 3 years

Note

Hello! May I please request headcanons with the buster bros (+Samatoki? If that’s okay!) with an S/O who is into anime + idol (rhythm) games? Thank you! Hope you’re having a good day/night 💙

A/N: *Rubs hands together* Buckle up yall, this is a long one. I may have had too much fun writing this... :p lol enjoy~

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Ichiro Yamada

Ichiro first saw you at a manga cafe rocking some merch from your favorite game franchise and had to go over and talk to you

he also found out that you're into anime too

he may try and quiz you to test how into games/anime you are

his eyes light up and his heart pounds but he plays it cool

after a long interrogation conversation, he asked if you would meet him back at the cafe next week

he lent you the latest issue of a light novel that you never got around to reading

now he would have an excuse to see you again

a few months later one of your favorite animes was being played in the theatre once so you both went on a date to see it

if its a sappy rom-com he will 100% deny that he cried and brush it off as an eyelash caught in his eye

but he totally did

to be fair you did too

though he may prefer light novels over anime most times

he will totally sit down at watch the new season of an anime you two enjoy together

prepare for a brain malfunction if you tell him you're into cosplaying

"oh yeah I cosplayed them a year ago"

"y-you wouldn't happen to have any pictures, w-would you?"👀"

*cue nosebleed*

"That's it, I've found my soulmate" he says he's kidding but actually means it

ANYWAY

him being a weeb

Ichiro is also well versed in rhythm games

he will tell you if your waifu/husbando is trash or not

you both have your own little superstitions and rituals you do before gacha pulls

you might use a certain finger to click the screen because that's the lucky one

Ichiro turns the volume up and closes his eyes before clicking

"What no way!! CLICK MY SCREEN! YOU'RE LUCKY TODAY!"

"AHHH thank you y/n! Look at them! They're so cute!"

you both marvel over the cute characters

he is totally impressed by the songs you can do on pro/master

"NO WAY A FULL COMBO?!?!! You're amazing!" 😍

he will totally challenge you to see who can get a better score

but you always win

he did come close a few times

but gets flustered and flubs it up at the end when you're watching over this shoulder

he finds it cute when you're humming along to the songs while DESTROYING the beat map

Bonus+

*you unbox a package left on the doorstep to find a scanty cosplay* "Ichiro, what is this?!?" "What? I thought you would look cute in it" ;p "I'm not dressing up as your favorite idol!" "wh- babe why not?!" :"( "ok maybe..."

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Jiro Yamada

Like Ichiro, Jiro is a big nerd too

you two met in a soccer match of all places

you were taking a break during halftime when you quoted a line from some weird obscure anime

"No way you watch ___ too? I thought I was the only one!"

you haven't seen each other before because you're on different teams from rivalling schools

after the game he gives you his number then the rest is history

you two end up messaging each other all night talking about other animes and games you enjoy

he likes sports animes along with action and adventure

you also found out he plays rhythm games too

after a while, he'll invite you over to the Yamada household and show you his collection of light novels and games

"There's more where this came from, my big bro is a bigger nerd than I am."

you'll sit down on his bed and show each other your cards and play a few songs

"Jiro why is your tap sound louder than the music!?!?"

"I need to hear the beats or I'll fail the stage!!"

He might challenge you to see who can get a higher score

you both play on hard

but you're pretty evenly matched

"Haha! That's a point for me, y/n!"

"No fair! I don't know that song very well..."

If you don't have the best gacha luck Jiro will cry with you during your loss

he's not much better...

"NOOOO I PULLED THE WORST ONE"

and because of that, this boy spends all of his allowance on gacha...

"Jiro, don't tell me you actually bought a gacha pass..."

"I SPENT ALL OF MY GEMS TRYING TO GET THEM SO I HAD TO!"

"JIRO!!!"

"Y/N PLEASE, I NEEDED THEM!!" (╥_╥)

Bonus+

"Here Jiro I got you this." He excitedly opens the package. "No way! A ___ Figure??!" "They're your favorite right?" "YESS" He sets the figure down and bear hugs you. "Thank you y/n, I'll treasure this forever!"

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

Saburo Yamada

Saburo picked up anime from his brothers

they would all watch action animes together as kids

until Saburo started a fight with Jiro and they tried to one punch each other out of existence

"HEY GUYS CUT IT OUT YOU'RE NOT FRIKKIN SAITAMA"

ahem. moving on...

Saburo is a nerd too

but he may be a bit more casual (in his own way)

he spotted you playing a rhythm game in the corner of the hall during lunch break

"Is that _____? I play ______"

"Oh really? Whos your favorite?"

"What? you like them?!? You have no taste..."

"W-what?! Shut up! their cards always have good stats!"

"But look how pretty this one is!"

you two quickly become friends and meet up every lunch and discuss things like your methods to preserve gems

Saburo likes making charts and spreadsheets to predict what event will be next and what characters are featured

"Haha! look y/n I totally called it!"

He likes collecting cards and comparing the stats

cause that's fun too I guess :/

He must assemble the best possible unit

I can see you two having competitions to see who can get the best score

or who can rank higher in an event

Saburo is very good at analyzing the beat map at first glance

he will also point out patterns he sees to try and help you understand the rhythms

he usually plays on hard and pro

while you do pretty well on normal or hard

he likes a good action/fantasy anime

but he likes sci-fi too

maybe even mystery

he was nervous asking you over to his place to watch anime

because you suggested a slice of life rom-com

does this mean he makes a move or you just watch it together and that's it O_o

Bonus+

"Yes! New high score! Y/n, did you see that?" You giggle. Good job Saburo. You lean over to kiss his cheek then see the smoke coming out of his ears. "Y-y/n!" *blush blush* "Hehe, you're so cute when you're nerding out.

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Samatoki Aohitsugi

Rio invited Samatoki out to a neat cafe because they offered cool exotic blends

When they walked in Samatoki was intrigued spotting your crazy colored hair and tattoos from the corner of his eye

which was weird cause that's not his type

or maybe it was

After ordering the coffee and sitting down Rio noticed that he was distracted

"I see you staring, why don't you go over and talk to her?"

"I wasn't staring! But there's just something about her..."

you were sitting in the corner of the cafe reading manga when he approached you a few minutes later

"uh hey, I like your tattoos"

"Oh thanks! Do you watch___ too?"

*casual panic* "Oh yeah totally, what are you reading?"

You knew he was faking it but continued anyway

"Eh, what's the difference?" 😮 "The difference is--"

He didn't know much about what you were saying but he loved watching you talk about something you were obviously passionate for

through an hour or so of conversation, you realized you both had more in common than you thought

he asked if you would like to do something like this again and gave you his number

You were happy to explain plots of random animes and games to him

Samatoki may not get the appeal but he likes seeing you happy

You go on a few dates and make your relationship official

he's absolutely fascinated by you and your nerdiness

"BABE!!!" "What is it?! Are you ok!?" "I JUST GOT A SSR CARD OF (insert favorite character here)"

Tch, *rolls his eyes. "That's good, right?" "LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE!"

he may get a little jealous watching you fawn over you your fav

"Hmmph, why would you want a fictional character when you have a real man right here?"

*author sobs* :")

you let him try a song on normal difficulty

but it is still hard for him

"What the hell! Why are these notes coming at me so fast?!"

He doesn't pick up any manga or light novels

but he likes watching anime with you though

preferably a good action and or adventure one

he may become more interested when the female lead shows up on screen

hey, eyes up here buddy >:(

he won't say it but he secretly likes romcoms

maybe cause Nemu used to watch them growing up

I can see him getting so invested he'll yell at the characters

"Are you stupid?? She's trying to confess to you! Moron..." he huffs

(he does this with cooking shows too)

Bonus+

"Samatoki come on! The next episode of ___ is airing! You rush into the bedroom. "Hey, have you seen my pho-" "Shut up, I'm trying- to win." You laugh hysterically at him stealing your phone to get a full combo. "You got this babe, I believe in you!"

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

Thank you for reading!

#I may or may not do most of these things myself #hypnosis mic #hypmic #headcanon #hypnosis mic headcanons #buster bros #ichiro yamada #ichiro yamada x reader #jiro yamada #jiro yamada x reader #saburo yamada #saburo yamada x reader #mad trigger crew #samatoki aohitsugi #samatoki x reader

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rotzaprachim · 4 years

Text

Kalimat/كلمات

Yusuf al-Khaysani/Niccolò di Genova, 3.3k, teen, AO3 LINK

Yusuf translates medical texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling. --- It takes Niccolò lifetimes to learn Arabic.

(I've tried pretty hard to make this at least historically feasible but I'm very sure this is just. Jam packed with mistakes. As is the Arabic langauge stuff- I got booted from the class due to dyslexia. I also hope the representation of Islam and Islamic culture is accurate.)

Languages drop from Joe’s lips easily. Nicky struggles with survival phrases in lingua francas- What Hurts in Dari and Can you breath- nod yes in Swahili and How can we help in French, but Joe can easily lose himself in the sea of a new language’s words and come up swimming, not just stringing together sentences but swallowing poetry, drama, and music. In Ughyar, Bosnian, Zapotec, Spanish, Tamil, Sylheti, Albanian. The shelves of his books line their lives. That is important to Joe, that people be seen not just as they always seem to be in western news reports - as the bodies in the ruined city- but as poets. As storytellers. As humans who struck fire with language that will survive and burn anew.

Joe recites Khachatur Abovian to calm the fractured nerves of a former schoolteacher ripped from his home while he and Nicky rush to forge passports and visas for the teacher and his wife and his seven children to make new lives in America. In a post war displaced persons camp he speaks Yiddish, reads Sholem Aleichem and Avrom Sutzkever from paperbacks pulled from the fires and then decades later in the dust of Baghdad, Arabic and al-Sayyab. And he listens, listens even more than he speaks. He listens to stories upon stories of war and loss and human suffering with his ears and his eyes and heart and a clasped hand that says, I do not claim to know your pain but I have felt my own.

Nicky sets arms and delivers babies and administers vaccines and sorts endless boxes of quinine tables and bandages. He speaks with his hands, mainly, and his bedside manner is different from Joe’s. He learned long ago to keep lollipops in the right pocket of his jacket. The first language Nicky learned to speak was the sea and the second was the wind, and spoken words come to him slower, with less agility, blending into occasionally archaic jumbles. He means to ask an assistant for an antiseptic wipe at one point, has to dig through his mind through the piles of once vital vocabulary bleached useless by time, military jargon for battles lost nine hundred years ago and colloquial derja words for plants and crops gone extinct under the tides of modern monocropping, and comes up sputtering, asking if anyone, perchance, has a neckerchief?

The linguistic stumbling of an unlettered genovese sailor versus a middle class trader’s son who learned to love the written world on his mother’s lap.

It took Nicky a human life time to master spoken Arabic, in a few of her many varieties, with her tricky mazes of roots, more decades of listening and stumbling through conversations and gentle corrections than the average human mind could take before his own readujsted to the beauty of a world described through roots with all things connected to each other.

It took him another life time again to master fusHa, the complex turns of phrase and imagery and unwritten short vowells, and a brush and then pen always felt far more alien in his hands than a sword did. (Although the precision of a pen prepares him well for the precision of a scalpel, and that, perhaps, is the instrument with which Nicky writes history.)

A thousand years ago, in the same city who’s people Joe and Nicky will die again and again for to try and pull from the ruin, the man then Yusuf wrapped his hand around the hand of the man then Niccolò and guided him through this mysterious world of written letters. Alif-ba-ta-thaa and then nun-qaf-waw-lam-alif,

اسمي نقولا

For the first time, Niccolò wrote himself down.

The script contained other mysteries and hidden trap doors. The disappearing mem that could get swallowed by lam and alif and the mysterious shape-shifting ta marbouta and the categories of sun and moon letters that lent the marks on a page a tangible quality, the burning Mediterranean sole that Niccolò’s people marked their years by and la luna by which Yusuf’s people knew their own time by.

When they had reached their first truce in the battlefield and had to learn how to say things beyond various threats and claims of the name of God, they’d each had to remake the world in a new image, relabel everything they’d thought they’d known. Shams, the enemy man had said over and over again, pointing up, and Niccolò hadn’t known if he meant “sky” or “blue” or “above” or “God” or the color “blue.” Niccolò had drawn a line in the sand, the past running to the future and tried to map out the different tenses of his own language he didn’t fully understand himself, only knew how he’d use them in a sentence. He’d hatched an x in the middle for now, drawn two little stick figures and two blobby horses, us he’d said in zenaize, then future, right of the men, past, left.

“Ahhh,” the man who Niccolò now knew as Ana Ismee Yusuf, nodded. He stood up and pointed right. “Lelshar’.” To the left. “Lel’arb.” He smiled and Niccolò thought it might be worth dying, just to see again. “Si, si. Io capiscooo.” He stretched his syllables out in a deadpan imitation of a puffed-up Genovese noble, and Niccolò laughed himself.

Several lifetimes later and Niccolò tries to label his world anew again in writing. Yusuf writes out words in large, blocky script on pieces of scap paper, marks the harakat around the words carefully in red ink. He tacks باب to the door and سَرِير to their bed and even أنا to himself. He holds up a piece of paper to the sky outside, the sun blinding their eyes momentarily before they repair. الشَّمس, the first word. Yusuf even attempts to stick قِطّ onto Amira, the sharp eyed street cat who’s wormed her wait into their household. The scratches that earns him heal quickly.

It takes Niccolò far longer than he wants anyone to know before his mind properly started to see a word and see it as a word, something more than a collection of letters but a thing that existed, definitively, in God’s world. بَيْت, what he and Yusuf have now had in Basra, Palermu, Fustat. مُحيط, like the Mare Nostrum. فَتاة, a girl like like the sister he left behind.

And then the door was opened, and Niccolò could read, or at least, understand this process of reading for himself, and more than that, he could see this part of Yusuf, so crucial to the soul he nad come to love and this heart he now held in his own. Yusuf loved words, and books, and writing, he loved his Book as the word of God to his prophet and he loved his books as connection to the mother who had first taught him suras and his father who wrote in three languages, and, he had once gold Niccolò in the quiet safety of their bed, in the night, with the first boy he had ever loved, the other star pupil at their madrassa with whom he would lie composing lines of poetry under a lemon tree.

Niccolò thought of Yusuf reading in the small, cool courtyard of the house in Damascus that would for this lifetime be their home, his mouth moving silently in prayer as his fingers followed reverently over the verses. He thought of Yusuf moving elegantly through the world, his speech dry and witty or educated where his own felt blunt, trading jokes and barbs back and forth in the tea house and the market. But mostly, Niccolò thought of Yusuf writing, face still with all the steady focus and silent reverence of prayer, bent over a carved rosewood writing desk, the sunlight streaming in through the windows setting his curls on fire. And his hands, so strong, so reliable, moving unerringly across the page, line after line of the script that Niccolò once feared and mocked because he feared but which he now knew could contain all the beauty of the world.

He practiced by writing to the those he loved but no longer walked the world.

Oum, today sun bright. I see roses in market. I think of you, when I see roses in market.

Abba, in house of God happy I know you are, happy makes it me.

Maria, to read you will love, i know. Your son man now. Good i know. Peace to you.

Niccolò burned the letters in a fire and hoped God would make it so his 'aa'ila could read them. Yusuf and Niccolò were both young in the business of being immortal. They had not learned to shoulder the pain of it yet, so they faced the loneliness, together and alone. Niccolò thought that he saw the appeal of letter writing, then, imagined a world in which he could have written his family from the Holy Land, told them that no matter how many infidels he killed to cleanse this world for the Cross he felt no closer to holiness himself, told them that the one he killed and killed and killed again he had found holiness in, told his parents that their son died and died and did not die. That he missed home, the rocky shores and fishing villages of Liguria, but that he missed them more, because his family was his home, even if there were things about him that he hid in the darker parts of himself because he knew they would never understand.

His sister’s grandchildren- or maybe her great-grandchildren, he wasn’t quite sure- were still alive, probably, but there wasn’t a way they’d respond well to the idea of a relative who’d have been forty years past death even without war sending them letters written in the alphabet they’d been taught to hate, if they could read at all.

With the ashes of his letters, he lets his family go, and prays God looks kindly upon them, and shows them mercy, and grants them peace and understanding. Every century or so, he’ll check in, he vows, even from afar, because he owes Maria that much. He hopes her son or his son or his son has not wasted his life to die in a war on foreign soil like he did, or that her daughter or her daughter or her daughter has not been left a widow.

Yusuf’s family still lived in Tunis. His sister Maryam took over the trading business after his death and made the al-Khaysani family a great name and funded many hospitals and houses of learning. News of her death reached Palermu weeks after the burial, and it was one of the few times in their long, long lives that Yusuf had to walk for months alone, to process a grief as large as the world. He let the waves of the sea and the sand of the desert swallow him again and again, and when he did not die, he rose and lifted his head to the sky and swore he would make the world as good as she wanted it to be. In every city they go to with a cathedral or even a baked mud church Niccolò lights candles for Maria and for Maryam. Santa Maria, madre de dio, they’ll pick up one day, in a language centuries off from existing. You know she is named more times in our book than yours, Yusuf told him in one one of their many cycles of death and coming back, when Niccolò called out for her, bleeding out on the sand.

When Niccolò found Yusuf again they stood with their hands clasped at her grave outside the medina and then they prayed and set off again. New cities, new tongues, new people. To avoid suspicion, they alter the sounds of their names to match the sounds of the city. Yusuf and Naaqid. Giuseppe and Niccolò. Nikolai and Iosef. Every death is shorter.

Yusuf forges the documents and the names, barters and trades, even makes several seperate respectable fortunes as a merchant of cloth and then spices before even claims of pomegranates doing wonders for one’s health start to wear a bit thin and they have to fake their deaths again. He writes, and though home quickly becomes what they can carry, he keeps sheaths of poetry in tiny, perfect script in his saddlebag, recites long poems as they make camp in the desert. Some were written by and for men like them. Others Yusuf tweaks the gender of, chooses inta over inti. Every time they die they leave a generous waqf behind.

Niccolò takes care of the horses, and then he tries to take care of people. He learns as much of these strange healing arts of the east as he can from Yosef, and then from a doctor in Basra and a Jewish apothecary in the city of Fustat. It is not blasphemy to try to know the body, he is deciding, it is not sacrilige to try as hard as one might to save a life. At some point, the knowledge goes beyond what he can remember or what a diagram can tell him, and so it’s in Damascus that Niccolò decides, even with his previous failed attempts at the aliph-baa, to ask Yusuf to teach him how to read.

And he does. It takes time, years, before he can, before he feels more man than child with a pen in his hand and he does not smear ink across the page. And there are limits. He is never a poet. His language is always more practical than- and this is a word that will not exist for centuries but that colors his memories even still- than romantic. For him heart is a thing of muscles and chords that powers a life. He reads and takes notes on Al Razi far more than Abu Nuwwas or al Muttanabi. Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine astounds him just as Ferdowsi’s perfect schemes of monorhymes entrance Yusuf. His sentences do not flow into rivers like Yusuf’s do. They build squat, strong houses. They encode information that Niccolò can leave behind when he dies, only to return to a century later and find that have been added on to by scholars after him, the foundations for someone else’s palace. Sometimes, the things he thought were true are completely washed away in the flood of some new discovery, and he prays and begs the forgiveness of all those he caused unnecessary pain in his ignorance.

But even in his clumsiness, the power of words surges through. Yusuf’s words and his love of words surges through to Niccolò in the years of learning, until Niccolò loves words too, just as Niccolò’s love of the sea and her many tempestuous moods and promise of infinite freedoms filters through to Yusuf. Yusuf translates texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and just as with Mary and Maryam centuries ago on a battlefield, Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling.

And Yusuf’s love of words surges up into Niccolò’s love of Yusuf too. It took him about three weeks after their initial truce to realise the man was soft, which then took him a few decades to find more endearing than annoying. That he liked sweet things and flowers and goddamn useless hobbies like calligraphy and drawing complex borders of tulips and interlocking knots along the borders of his writing papers. And he knew he was a good poet, to his own ears, that he fit words together nicely. But being able to read Yusuf’s poems, even the unwritten snippets he leaves scattered around the house, often unfinished, is something else entirely. A glimpse into being seen, by the person who sees him best. But God above, he doesn’t think anyone alive has had their eyes compared to the beauty of the sea after the desert quite so many times, or wrung as many turns of phrase from the has the double meaning of عَيْن.

“The world,” he says one night as they sit and watch night descend softly upon the City of Jasmine. It’s a city to make even the woman who will come knocking at their door in a matter of decades feel young and insignificant, and even the colloquial name suits Yusuf’s pretensions annoyingly well. Steam from cups of tea curls into the evening air. The smells of horse shit and rosewater both on the air. The calm cradle of the evening after the maghrib prayer. “You see it …” He does not know how to end it.

“How, then, do I see the world, hayati?”

“You see the stars above a battlefield. You see the stars and then the fields that will grow again after the ashes are tilled into the soil. You see stars as gems, and the windstorms of the desert is the finest music, if you would believe your poems.

“And you are angry that I have seen the good in the world? I would not call the man who came to a foreign land to kill the infidel and came to spend a hundred years learning best to save their lives a man who does not see beauty in unexpected things either.”

“You are-”

He looks for a word, any word in his mind that has learned so many. Unchanging would not be right for the man who once killed him so many times and learned Greek and Latin to read him the words of the Apostles as they were written, who has accompanied him on pilgrimages to Antioch and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. He has changed as much as Niccolò has. No, it’s something-

“You are looking at me as you look at your patients.” Yusuf reaches out and brushes back Niccolò’s hair. He kisses his forehead. A kiss from Yusuf, no matter how chaste or how many, still sends lightning through his body.

“As if you were ill?”

“No. You look with such focus upon the world, with so much kindness about how to help it heal.” For a time whose number has since gone beyond count, their hands interlink. “We cannot save the world, but we can save some, and by saving some, we can save the world. We will work to repair what is broken.”

“I have found the cause of your affliction.”

“What do you consider me afflicted by, Doctor Al-Zenowaizi?”

The word romantic is still more than six centuries out, although they’ll soon wander through Europe during the heyday of the romance, and Yusuf will even write a few himself in Occitan and Provençal. For now, though, the word carries the implications of Roma and the waning Basileion Rhomaion to the north, to the al-Rum rite of the Damascene churches he now celebrates the Eucharist in, the river of his faith turned down a different course. For now, though, the word romantic remains firmly in the future. No, it’s something else he thinks of.

“Hope. You have a most serious case of hope.”

“And what do you suggest as remedy, Doctor Al-Zenowaizi?”

Niccolò pulls him in for a proper kiss, long and deep and hot and sweet and bitter from the tea. He loses himself in the warmth of his body, his hands in the curls of his hair, and he thinks how blessed he has been by God that this is the man he has been destined to spend forever with.

“Albi, I do not think there is one. I think you have been cursed with an incurable case of hope.”

#the old guard #joe x nicky #the old guard fic #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova #my writings

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Note

prompt: can they just hug each other. they are both scared and comfort each other at the same time. reassurances. so soft, thank you <33333

So this blended with @sammininoofthelord‘s request for Photographer Crowley, and things went a little nuts. Not quite as Soft as I wanted but I think very cathartic.

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a smile he didn’t really feel, standing awkwardly in what Crowley called a study. Large empty room with a desk and a throne. Completely absurd. “I suppose we…have our plan, then.”

“I hate it,” Crowley volunteered. “But yes.” His legs were crossed, ankles perched on the edge of the desk, trying to look relaxed. Perhaps he would have fooled anyone else, but Aziraphale could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, and knew the way his eyes would be darting behind those glasses.

“If you’re going to argue—”

“Not arguing.” A shrug. “It’s the least bad of several bad ideas. We can do it. But. Still hate it.”

A quick glance out the window. It was still dark, hours until sunrise. “I suppose now…we wait.”

“We wait.” He wouldn’t take Crowley’s frown personally. They each had their own way of dealing with the events of the day, the threat of the next morning. Crowley, apparently, preferred to simmer in rage, while Aziraphale would be quite happy with a book and…

Oh…

Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, trying not to think about that.

“What is it?” Crowley’s heels hit the ground with a click and he surged out of his seat, circling the desk.

“I…I don’t know what you mean…”

“I know that look. What’s wrong? Did you think of something? We can still come up with another plan.”

“Oh, nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale flapped his hands, trying for another smile. This one refused to stay on his face at all, and now his eyes were wet. “Don’t bother yourself…”

Crowley caught his hand.

His fingers moved stiffly, wrapping themselves around Aziraphale’s. Did they do that now? He supposed so. It was…quite novel, the way Crowley’s hand sort of…compressed his, holding in the tremors. No. Melting them away.

“You can tell me,” he whispered, voice strangely soft. “Whatever it is. I…don’t mind.”

“It’s foolish.” But Aziraphale drew a little closer, seeking more of that warmth.

“Don’t care. We’ve earned the right to a little foolishness.” Crowley’s feet shuffled, drawing closer, his forehead hovering close to Aziraphale’s. “You can tell me.”

“I…I just thought of the book I’d been reading, and it’s gone. I won’t be able to read the next chapter. And my whole shop is gone, my…my home…” his breath caught in his throat. “But…all I can think about is that one book. It’s not even rare…” His face burned with shame, and he found himself resting his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, lord, it had my favorite bookmark in it!”

Somehow, strangely, he felt he could have managed the loss of his shop if he’d just had that bookmark.

Crowley chuckled, low and rough, near his ear. “That is foolish.”

“Oh, I am well aware.” Aziraphale tried to push himself away. “You don’t have to – to—”

Long arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back in. “My Velvet Underground CD was in the Bentley,” Crowley said, and now there was a tightness in his voice. “You remember, you saw it the other day? Had my favorite songs on it. I never put it in the car, in case…something happened to it…turned into more bloody Queen…but I just needed it this week. And now…”

Aziraphale slid his own arms around Crowley. “I’m sorry about your bebop.”

“I’m sorry about your bookmark.”

They stood there, leaning against each other, trying to wrap their minds around what they’d lived through, what they’d lost, a little at a time.

“I had this…this little charm. On a shelf. Carved in Rome. I carried it around for centuries…”

“My mobile was in the back seat. I’d only just beaten 2048 – do you have any idea how long that took?”

“Oh, my second-best tie! It was in my desk drawer.”

“I – I had a drawing Warlock did. When he was seven. Kept it in the boot of my car.”

“I just…” Aziraphale took a deep breath, and the strange, smoky scent of Crowley filled him. “I just wish I had…something. Anything. You have…this flat…your things…but I…I have nothing left…”

“You have me.” Crowley buried his lips and nose in Aziraphale’s hair, twining his arms in a constricting embrace, as if to hold the entire world together. “Whatever happens, tomorrow, next week, a hundred years from now, you will always have me.”

“I…” But there wasn’t anything Aziraphale could say to that, just let himself slide further into the security of Crowley’s arms. He was having trouble breathing, and his eyes burned with tears. He pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder.

“S’alright, Angel.” One hand ran across his shoulders, slow circles. “I got you.”

Aziraphale clung to Crowley, until the trembling stopped, until he felt he could be composed again. He pulled away slowly, face turned away, wishing he could clean himself up. “I…terribly sorry…don’t know what…”

“Let me get you a drink.” Crowley’s hand rested on his shoulder, squeezed lightly, then vanished, leaving Aziraphale strangely cold.

It took longer than expected, long enough for Aziraphale to wipe his face clean with his handkerchief, long enough to make a circuit around the large room, long enough to consider each work of art with great care. Long enough to feel he could control his breath again.

Not quite long enough to remember how to smile, though.

“Alright, Angel. I, ah. I found something.”

He turned back to find Crowley holding a glass of water in one hand, and a thick book tucked under his arm. How odd. Crowley adamantly refused to admit he would ever have anything to do with books. He’d once spent an entire century pretending he didn’t know how to read, although the knowledge would return in a flash of insight any time he needed to order wine.

“What on earth is this?” Aziraphale eyed the book. Something about the pages was all wrong, but he couldn’t quite say what from this angle. There didn’t seem to be nearly enough of them, to start.

“It’s a…er…s’a photo album.” Crowley placed the glass on the side of the desk nearest Aziraphale, then settled the book in front of him. The cover was that deep red shade he liked almost as much as black, with a gold-colored shape pressed into it, like a very stylized feather. “I keep this…hidden, but. Nh. No point now I guess.”

“I see.” Aziraphale took a slow drink. “Photographs of what, precisely?”

“Ngk.” Long fingers nudged the album, straightening it, then pulling away as if burned. “S’not. I mean. Look, I just…I like cameras. Fun. Flashy. Always something new to try out. I photograph everything.” He slid the album closer to Aziraphale, then quickly stepped back. “But um. These are my favorites.”

Almost afraid of what he’d see, Aziraphale reached across to lift the cover. What he saw inside made him gasp. “Crow--! When did you--?”

“Look, I just – the lighting was a challenge, alright? Bright sunlight, deep shadows. Don’t – don’t read anything into it.”

Aziraphale slid the glass of water further away, and opened the album properly. The first page held a photograph of the inside of his shop, a few decades old. A beam of light landed on one book, resting on a table, illuminating it just a little compared to the shelf behind it.

He turned the page.

Four photographs, two square, two more rectangular, all taken ages apart. One showed Aziraphale, resting in his chair, eyes closed to enjoy his favorite record. Two were of him reading, one perched on a ladder, too preoccupied to fold it into a chair, the other standing with two more books tucked under his arm. In the fourth picture, he was clearly arguing with a customer, clutching one of his autographed Oscar Wildes quite defensively.

Page after page. Dozens, no, nearly a hundred photographs. A few of Aziraphale at the bakery or standing by the pond. One of him next to the Bentley, peevishly looking for Crowley, unaware the demon was right behind him. But nearly all of them pictures of the shop, of himself wandering happily through his home.

“Why…why did you…”

“Told you. S’a good place to experiment.”

“But this…this isn’t an album of my shop. It’s a collection of…of me.” Oh, his eyes were wet again. Aziraphale quickly took a drink.

“I mean.” Crowley shrugged. “I photographed the shop for the challenge. But, um. My favorites were always the ones with you in them.”

“But – you never said anything!”

“Ahhh.” He ran a hand through bright red hair. “Look. If anyone found it, I had to be able to say it was, I don’t know, surveillance. And you’re the worst at looking natural.”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are. You always do that – that smile, and you stand so stiff…look, no one would be fooled! So, I just…didn’t tell you.” He stuffed his fingers in his pockets. “Sorry.”

“I see.”

“And…nk.” Crowley shuffled his feet. “And…I didn’t want you to say no.”

Aziraphale reached the last page, where a large photograph showed him carefully unpacking his latest acquisition, a warm smile of anticipation as he studied the binding of the book. He slowly closed the album, and finished his glass of water.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered. He picked up the album, pressed it to his chest. “I…thank you, Crowley.”

“You can, um. You can have that.” Even with the glasses on, Aziraphale knew how his eyes must be darting nervously.

“Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he stepped forward, kissed Crowley on the cheek. “For everything.”

#good omens fanfiction #prompt fic #ineffable husbands #emotional h/c #hugs

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celeste-fitzgerald · 3 years

Note

Hey hey hey, I really love your writing and blog!! :) I was wo dering if you could do a modern!au of young george and ringo at a pride parade? They could be meeting for the first time at pride and falling in love, or they could be going together, I don't know what you'd prefer. I just really want more Beatles at Pride content. Thank you, hope you're having a great time :)

Ahhh, thank you!! For your kind words and the lovely request!! <3 (Hopefully my description of Pride isn't inaccurate)

AO3 Link (Rating: G)

---

This year’s Pride was in full swing. With the huge, bright crowd surrounding him, Ringo felt right at home. It was one of his favorite days of the year, no doubt about it.

As always, he’d dressed for the occasion. His shirt was striped with pink, purple, and blue, and his hair was (sloppily) dyed to match. And, of course, his bag and pockets were stuffed with the flags that people were handing out.

The parade wouldn’t be starting for a while, so Ringo decided to explore, see if anything exciting was going on. But it was perhaps the least exciting thing that wound up catching his eye: a dark-haired young man wearing a plain, gray shirt and looking quite uncomfortable—and quite handsome. Despite his better judgement, Ringo approached him.

“Careful there,” Ringo said. “If you get any more vibrant, you’ll blind us all.”

To his surprise, the man cracked a smile. “Good thing you’ve got your shades on.”

“What’re you doing dressed like that anyway? You can wear whatever you want of course, but if you’re trying to blend in, that’s not really the way to go.”

His smile faltered. “Sorry. I know. I just…I only told my parents I was going to a mate’s house.”

Ahh. “Well,” Ringo said, lightly touching his arm, “your parents aren’t here right now, are they?”

“Guess not.”

“If you’d like something to wear, I can help you out.” Ringo held up his arms, decked out in variously colored wristbands. “Take your pick—and I’m Ringo, by the way.”

“George,” he answered, tugging one of the rainbow bands off and sliding it onto his own wrist. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I, uh, had a feeling you haven’t spent much time at Pride before.”

George laughed, and the sound was a hundred times brighter than his shirt—than Ringo’s shirt, even. “How did ya know? I was hiding it so well,” he teased, rolling his eyes. “It’s my first year.”

“It’s an experience, isn’t it?”

“To put it lightly,” George said. “Kinda overwhelming.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to that,” Ringo said, waving dismissively. “And you can bring earplugs next time if it’s still too much—”

“Oh, no, the noise and the crowd are fine. I meant…god, it’s silly. Never mind.”

“Hey—d’you see my hair?” Ringo pointed at it. “You think I’m gonna judge you for being silly?”

George snorted and covered his mouth with his hand. It was adorable. “Good point.” He sighed. “It’s great being here—incredible, really. But seeing everyone so comfortable being themselves and kissing their partners just reminds me that I’ve never even been on a date with a man yet.”

“There’s no rush,” Ringo said.

“But I don’t even know when I’ll be able to. You know?”

Ringo did know. He knew too well. “Well, you made it here today, didn’t you? That’s something. You can figure the rest out too. And there’s hundreds of people here who can give you all kinds of advice.”

“That’s true,” George said, nodding. “Thanks, Ringo.”

“No problem. Now relax and try to enjoy yourself.”

When George gave him a warm smile that showed off his cute teeth, another idea came to Ringo’s head. “Or,” he said, making George’s eyes widen, “if you wanna get that first date of yours…” Ringo extended his hand.

“Oh—you don’t have to do that for me,” George said with flushed cheeks.

“I want to. A guy as sweet as you deserves a man who knows how to treat him right.”

George’s face slowly spread into a grin. “And what makes you think you’ll treat me so good?”

“Give me a chance and I’ll prove it to you.”

“…Deal.” George hesitantly slid his hand into Ringo’s. He was tense, and a little sweaty, but the huge smile on his face made it all better.

Yep. This was definitely Ringo’s best Pride yet.

#starrison

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 5

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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Chapter 5

[Ron]

How do people live in Las Vegas? Accustomed to the mild English sun, Ron finds himself wondering why the bloody hell someone would choose to reside in this heat. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he glances back at his phone. He's over halfway to his destination and can surely stand five more minutes of walking in the sun. Wishing he brought water, or even thought to put on sunscreen, he groans and continues on his way.

He's far beyond the flashy streets of the Las Vegas Strip, having ventured into a more run-down and understated part of town. The buildings no longer stand out, but blend together like a colorless mural, and his destination, Erised Elopements, is easy to miss. He's looking for a building marked by the number twelve, and it takes him a few passes down the block before he spots it. It's a skinny building, shoved between numbers eleven and thirteen, almost as if it's trying to be invisible. It gives Ron an eerie feeling, like it's hiding dark secrets inside.

However, any uneasy feelings vanish when he opens the door and steps into a wall of cool crisp air, inhaling a cold and nourishing breath. Thank goodness for air conditioning.

"Hello, sir! Welcome to Erised Elopements!"

Ron locks eyes with the bubbly receptionist beaming at him. He sends her a friendly nod, then scans the room. There's a large refrigerator stocked with bottled water, an indoor forest of tropical plants that look like prisoners in the dry heat, and in the corner of the room sits an elegant gold mirror that he recognizes from the logo behind the front desk.

Then his eyes wander to a pink plush sofa in the mirror's reflection. Sitting stiffly in a light blue sundress with her arms crossed in front of her body is Hermione Granger. Shit.

His heart rate spikes, and a prickling heat begins to rise up his neck as he dodges behind a pillar, sucking in a quick breath. Here he is again, hiding from women behind walls. It's becoming a theme.

"Sir? Are you okay?" The receptionist suddenly looks concerned as she rises to her feet. "You don't look well."

Coughing, Ron tries to obscure his voice. "Yeah, I'm fine," he huffs at a lower octave than feels natural.

"Well, there's water in the fridge if you're overheated, and you can have a seat on the sofa; we will be with you in a second."

"Erm, thanks."

Ron wants to leave. He's tempted to turn out the door and run away, right back to the hotel, heat be damned, but his curiosity roots him to the spot.

Why is she here? Does she know?

He takes a deep breath and approaches the pink fluffy sofa with trepidation. Hermione must sense someone nearing because she snaps her head in his direction and meets his gaze.

Her jaw drops, and her cheeks flush crimson. "What are you doing here?" she hisses.

"Hi, Hermione," he splutters. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Ron, seriously, why are you here?" Her eyes flit around the room as if looking for a hidden camera, some kind of confirmation that this is all a prank.

Sighing, Ron shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out their marriage certificate. "I'm here because—"

She interrupts him. "Did you know?"

Ron gapes at her, utterly confused as to how she found out, then nods.

"And you didn't say anything?"

Sighing, Ron shrugs. He meets her icy stare and sends her a look of apology. "I was hoping I could fix it before you found out."

"You could fix it? Without telling me? Don't you think I have a right to know?" She rises to her feet, uncrossing her arms to place them on her hips. Her frizzy hair crackles with static electricity, giving her the appearance of someone deranged. Theoretically, it should scare him into submission, but instead, her confrontational stance ignites a flame from somewhere within him. It gives him an adrenaline rush, and he doesn't hate it.

"I thought you'd prefer not to know, based on how horrified you were this morning," he challenges back, his voice matching hers in strength and volume.

"So how was I supposed to find out we were," she says, her eyes darting vigilantly around the room, "married?"

Even in the frigid air, Ron's palms begin to sweat. He shrugs. "Honestly, I didn't think that far ahead."

She scoffs, folding her arms across her chest again. Like Ron's palms, her forehead glistens with sweat that doesn't belong in the abrasive air conditioning. "That's the attitude that got us into this mess; how did you figure it would get us out?"

Matching her stance, Ron hardens his gaze. "What would you have done?"

"I would have told you," she says with an air of finality.

Ron laughs. "If that's the case, why are you here alone? Why did you ask if I knew?" When she doesn't answer and her eyes narrow, he adds, "You weren't going to say anything either, were you?"

She exhales audibly and stiffens her jaw, tense and trapped without a response.

"That's bullshit, Hermione, acting like I'm the dishonest one here."

"You're infuriating," she says, shifting her gaze out the window.

"You're just as responsible for this! Don't put it all on me!"

"Oh, come on, I never do stuff like this."

Scoffing, Ron says, "Trust me, I know. Spontaneity isn't your thing."

"Impulsivity isn't my thing. I generally think before making big life decisions."

"And I don't? Believe it or not, Hermione, this is the first time I've accidentally gotten married. And I was just as horrified as you to find out."

When she whips her head back to face him, her face is expressionless, and Ron wonders what it's masking. Like the building's secretive facade, it looks forced. "Well, at least we agree that it was a mistake. Let's just straighten it out, then pretend it never happened."

Pretend it never happened. That's what they both want, right?

"Okay. Let's just make it disappear," he says, and they both take a seat on the sofa, separated by a wall of thick, icy air.

"Well, hello! Can I help you two?" Ron and Hermione look up to see a short, stout man with circular spectacles and the beginning of a handlebar mustache. He's dressed in black golf pants and a polo shirt that's at least one size too small, and something about him puts Ron on edge. "I'm Dave, the owner and CEO of Erised Elopements."

Hermione is the first to speak. "Yes, actually. We have a problem, sir."

"So do I!" says Dave cheerfully. Ron and Hermione stare blankly at him, confused. He diffuses it with a hearty laugh, color flooding his cheeks. "Just a joke, just a joke. Come on into my office!"

They share a nervous glance as they follow his lead. Dread pools in Ron's stomach. Oddly, he feels like he's approaching the witness stand in a courtroom and makes a note to be careful what he says.

"Go ahead, have a seat! Make yourselves comfortable," says Dave, motioning toward two armchairs in front of his desk. They're upholstered with green velvet, and Ron wonders when they were last cleaned. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi, sir—" starts Hermione.

"Dave."

"Sorry?"

"Just call me Dave. 'Sir's' too formal, and here at Erised Elopements, we're all friends." Dave beams, revealing white, unnaturally straight teeth.

"Okay...Dave. Here's the problem. We got married last night." Hermione motions vaguely between herself and Ron.

"Oh, congratulations!" Dave claps his hands together in excitement.

"No sir…I mean Dave—"

"I knew I recognized your faces from somewhere. Hold on one second." Dave silences them with a finger, reaches for a remote control, and points it toward a large black flatscreen monitor on the wall. It lights up, and Dave scrolls through a few photographs, eventually landing on one of Ron and Hermione. Ron's holding her up and pressing his lips to hers, her arms snaking around his neck. Above them are the words "Just Married." Ron is horrified and glances at Hermione, but for some reason, she doesn't seem surprised by the photo. "There! It's Ron and Hermione, right?"

"Yeah," says Ron tentatively, still staring wide-eyed at the photo.

"Well, congratulations again. You two make a lovely couple!"

"Thank you," he mumbles without meaning it. The words feel like they've been extracted from him, and it's unsettling.

Dave leans back and stacks his feet onto the table, paying no attention to the stacks of paper, empty picture frames, and take-away lunch container he's knocked aside in the process. Hermione looks on with wide eyes. "Honestly, sometimes couples waltz into Erised Elopements and have everyone thinking 'oh for fuck sake, these two should not be getting married', so it's incredibly refreshing to see such a happy couple. Really, congratulations again."

"About that. We didn't mean to get married," says Hermione hastily.

"Ahhh."

"Yeah. It was kind of a shock to us this morning, actually," she says, shrugging. She smiles at Ron in a sheepish manner that doesn't match her fiery demeanor.

"How lovely!"

"Sorry? Lovely?"

"Yes! It's perfect!" Dave reaches for a pen and notepad and begins scribbling as if taking notes on their conversation. Ron shifts uneasily. "I just love the idea that the best things in life are surprises. It speaks to how important it is to keep an open heart and let life happen to you."

Ron and Hermione exchange confused looks. "I think you misunderstand."

Ignoring them, Dave continues. "We've been working on a new ad campaign, and that sums up our message perfectly."

"Sir—"

"Sometimes, you don't even know your heart's truest desire until it's on your doorstep—"

"Dave," says Ron firmly.

The pen stops. "Yes?"

"We don't want to be married," says Ron, his tone stiff and forced.

"Sure you do!"

"No," adds Hermione. "This was a huge mistake. We need to undo it, if possible."

"Undo it?"

"Yes, cancel it. The whole thing," she says, gesturing between them again.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Excuse me?" Hermione's eyes are wide and disbelieving.

Dave removes his feet from the table and sits up straight. Although short, he appears commanding. "What you're asking for is an annulment, and unfortunately, you waived your right to an annulment yesterday when you signed your marriage license." He opens a drawer, shuffling for a piece of paper. "See, here's a copy of our contract; it's all there if you read the fine print."

Hermione snatches the document from his hand. "This can't be legal."

"It's perfectly legal in the state of Nevada," he says, shrugging.

"You don't let anyone get an annulment?"

Dave laughs. "Wouldn't be very good for branding, don't you think? We pride ourselves on marriages that last. For most people, when they see a high annulment rate, they don't exactly think 'Happily Ever After,' you know? In fact, we go beyond that. We promise 'Blissfully Ever After.'"

Ron and Hermione join heads to scan the document. "So, you're saying we're stuck married?" Ron asks finally.

"Well, I wouldn't think of it as stuck, per se. You're starting to sound like my wife."

"You're married too?"

"Sure. Technically," chuckles Dave. "But you're not 'stuck.' With that mindset, your marriage will never work."

"We don't want it to work. It was a mistake," says Hermione, slowly and clearly. Ron feels his stomach clench at her words, but he's unsure why.

"Give it a chance! Even the good things in life require effort!"

"Listen, we barely know each other—"

Dave cuts her off. "Perfect! You have no history, no past that'll keep coming back to screw everything up."

"I'm sorry," says Ron. "I'm not sure what you mean by that—"

Dave gestures toward Hermione, who looks affronted. "Listen to me. This is an opportunity. She hasn't broken your heart yet, so when you see that she has an 'office happy hour' on a Friday night, you're not tempted to show up at the bar just to check on her. Even if you do show up and see her alone with her 'coworker'," his fingers make air quotes as he speaks, "she doesn't know about your 'addiction' to porn, or how much money you lost at the slots. She doesn't know anything about you, and that's a beautiful thing, Ron, because she can't use any of it to justify her affair and make you look like the controlling one. She has nothing on you, at least not yet. Trust me; a blank slate is a beautiful slate. You have a chance to keep it that way, so I'd recommend not fucking it up."

Ron's mouth drops open, and he glances at Hermione, who is also wearing an expression of horror. This is not about them anymore.

"Turn around," demands Dave. "Go on, your chairs swivel."

Reluctantly, they swivel their chairs and turn to face another mirror, identical to the one in the lobby and the one on the logo. Engraved on the golden frame are the words 'heart's desire', over and over again, in fonts that don't seem to match. Ron assumes it's not meant to be stared at too closely.

"What do you see?"

"Us," states Hermione plainly.

"Well, yes, you, but more importantly, this mirror shows your heart's one true desire."

"It's just a mirror," says Ron.

"It's your heart's desire," responds Dave firmly.

Ron stares at their reflection; his face is red and peeling from the sun, new freckles invading his features. Hermione is scowling, hair erupting from her head like a volcano, arms and legs wound tightly into knots. They don't look happy.

"Now, if there's anything else I can help you with, by all means, shoot. But if not, then enjoy your Blissfully Ever After!" Dave motions for them to stand, and they oblige. He moves toward the door, opening it and gesturing them through.

"If it's not working in six months, you're more than welcome to file for divorce," he calls after them. "But give it a chance, don't disrespect love. Honor your heart's true desire."

Speechless, Ron and Hermione stumble out back into the lobby.

"Come again soon!" says the receptionist as they pass her desk.

They press open the door and emerge back outside, once again engulfed by the aggressive heat. Ron glances at Hermione. "That was a disaster."

"I'll say."

"Er, I guess we just should go back to the hotel. Try to enjoy the rest of the day?"

Hermione nods. "I guess. And file for divorce as soon as possible."

Ron sighs. "You read my mind," he says, although it's not entirely true.

"I guess we're just so in tune," she chuckles, and Ron, surprised by her sudden pleasantness, suppresses a smile.

"That's why you're my wifey," he risks, glancing nervously at her to gauge her reaction.

"Please, don't say that," she groans, and her cheeks flush adorably red, most likely a result of the Las Vegas heat.

#Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ronweasley #hermionegranger #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #hp fanfic #hpromione #muggle AU #waking up in vegas #romione au

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chaoticevilbean · 3 years

Text

Four In One : Chapter Two

Lance nearly flailed when he woke up, only to stop and remember that the Altean blanket was still doing its job. His twenty-plus foot-long wings were hidden in the warmth of a mini space pocket, all four feeling better than ever because of the room within. It wasn't often that he got to stretch his wings, mostly because his wingspan was over forty feet long, and that was just his smaller set. Luckily, there were multiple ballrooms and training rooms that allowed him to practice his flying and properly groom, something that often took vargas.

It wasn't that Lance couldn't fly without extending his wings fully. He had taught himself from a young age to fly with one set of wings or the other, to fly in small spaces, with his wings only partially unfurled or unhidden, with one wing from each set, with only one side's wings. Just because he had four giant wings, didn't mean he was going to let himself fall behind others in something as common as flying.

But Lance didn't have as many opportunities to let his wings out as the others did. Not if he wanted to keep them private. And he did. He wanted to have some clue about how they'd react to wings like his. To impossible wings.

"MINE!" was the screech that tore Lance from his thoughts and woke him up so fast and fully that he did in fact flail, though much less than he had upon his first partial wake-up. And if he wasn't fully awake at that point, he was when a weight suddenly landed on him, forcing his reflexes to push Pidge away from his body. The girl had still been in his arms, and it seemed that she had been woken up by the screech as well.

"Keith, you can't just claim him!" Hunk called out, wrapping his arms around Keith's waist.

"Yeah, we were cuddling and he's warm," Pidge butted in, glaring at the mullethead who caused her to be shoved to safety.

"Please be quiet, it's only six," came a sleepy voice from under black wings. The four teens turned (as much as they could) towards the place where Shiro appeared to only just realize what he had said. Since they had come to space, the teens found it much easier to wake up and go to sleep each night because of the less stressful environment and positive atmosphere they now had. That meant waking up early.

Shiro's wing lifted just enough to show the very drowsy face of one man with a unicorn floof.

"Don't." The teens glanced between each other, before looking back towards their flock leader. "I swear, don't you dare." Keith slowly got off Lance, who was sitting up and hiding his wings, causing the Altean blanket to fall. Hunk let go of Keith as the boy kneeled beside him. "Guys, think about what you're doing." All four were slowly moving forward, standing or kneeling side by side, almost a half-circle around the now slightly panicked Space Dad™. "Guys. Gu-AHHH!"

The teens lunged forward quickly, tackling the man and pinning him with their weight. It was much like what had happened to Lance the day before, only now Hunk was holding Shiro's legs, Keith was holding his waist, Pidge had his stomach and Lance held him by the shoulders. Pidge's arms effective pinned the older man's hands, and he didn't dare use his Galran arm against his flockmates.

"Boop," Lance said as he used his left hand to bop Shiro's floof. The man glared up at his tallest space son, which was ineffective with the braided white hair still bouncing slightly.

"I hate you all."

"No, you don't," came four voices, followed by a flurry of movement as the kids swiftly left the nest, abandoning a seething Shiro. Coran was already in the kitchen, prepping breakfast but waiting to actually make anything for the humans until Hunk approved them as safe and actually delicious. The surrogate uncle was getting much better at telling if something would make his nephews and niece ill, or simply be downright disgusting to them. Allura was setting the table, something Lance starting helping her with immediately, a habit he had developed long ago.

With table set, Allura and Lance went to help Coran and Hunk bring breakfast out. Somehow, they had made the space equivalents of bacon, porridge, toast and eggs, along with a few Altean dishes. Upon returning to the dining room, the four were met with what seemed to be a two-on-one argument: Pidge and Keith versus Shiro.

"I know I saw one, Shiro! Why are you lying?" Pidge shouted, wings puffed up in an adora- irritated way. Keith nodded beside her, lower set of wings rustling a bit.

"Yeah, Shiro! What sort of example are you setting for your children?"

"What is the matter, Paladins?" Allura interjected, not setting down the food yet on the chance they begin launching it at one another.

"These two are obsessed!" Shiro pointed at the two as he moved to stand by Coran, as if the Altean man would protect him.

"Is this another cryptid thing," Lance asked, putting the two trays of food he held down.

"Shiro has scales in his feathers and he won't show us," Pidge pouted, moving over to Hunk to snatch some space bacon from the trays he had.

"If I show you my scales, will you drop it, ya cryptids?" Both of them frantically nodded, extracting a sigh as Shiro turned around. His wings spread out, and he carefully pointed towards the base of them, where they met his back.

The rest of the team pressed inwards, Coran gently moving a few feathers to reveal several streaks of scales, spattered as if someone was drizzling them outwards. They blended in perfectly with the colors of the feathers around them, which was probably how none of them had been noticed during grooming. Lance's breath caught slightly at the sight, because here was something that might be proof. Now, all he needs to do is-

"So do all of us have mutations?" Sweet, beautiful Hunk.

"What do you mean," Keith asked.

"Oh, I get it," Pidge interrupted. "I have unusual coloring, Keith has an extra set of wings, Hunk has extremely large wings, and now we know that Shiro has both feathers and scales. That means that we all technically have mutations." This was Lance's chance.

"Wouldn't it be cool to see wings with all four mutations?" Lance's palms got sweaty as everyone's attention snapped to him. At their looks of confusion, he continued. "I mean, imagine someone with, like, bright blue wings, and four of them, and both scales and feathers and they'd be huge."

"That'd be sick." Hunk's face had a huge grin on it, and he looked like he was going to explode with happiness.

"Can you imagine what sort of secrets wings like those could hold," Pidge exclaimed, bouncing in place before sitting down and bouncing while eating. Hunk joined in, immediately beginning to discuss the possible ways someone could up with wings like that. Coran was pulled in as well, adding his knowledge of more alien mutations.

"Forget the secrets, imagine fighting with four giant wings! Especially with both feathers and scales!" Keith grabbed Shiro's arm, dragging him to the table and blabbering about all the techniques that could be created with both feathers and scales. Shiro looked like he wanted to die, but was still mildly interested.

Allura, however, was watching everyone else talk, having slowly moved over to Lance. She gave him a side glance that was almost knowing. Leaning down, she whispered lowly into Lance's ear.

"Be prepared to be pulled every direction when you show us." Lance tensed, before seeing her warm smile. He nodded to her, and the quick squeeze she gave his arm relaxed him greatly. One down, five to go. The two rushed over to the table together, trying to get some food before the others devoured it all.

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

Lance was pulled aside after only one week in the Garrison, by none other than Iverson. Iverson had apparently seen the second flight Lance had gone for and most definitely seen his wings. But he didn't go crazy, and he didn't get mad, and he didn't in any way raise his voice. Instead, he seemed stern and somehow concerned.

"McClain, I can understand why you are worried, but there isn't a reason. Not yet." Lance remained tense in the chair across the desk from his teacher. "Your grades are good, you have the makings of a fighter pilot. However, you struggle in simulations because of the lack of realism. I've seen it before. Without the actual risk of crashing or hurting someone, you can't perform nearly as well as you could. I've talked with other teachers about this, and we all understand." Lance was very confused at this point. Where was the usually yelling man who everyone already knew as a jerk?

"McClain, you are right to hide your wings from the public. But, if we play the cards right, you might not have to."

"We?" Lance inquired, even more confused and highly curious about this change in behavior.

"Every teacher here has a reputation. My own is not exactly flattering. But each of us are simply trying to push our students. Outside this room, I might yell at you or seemingly insult you, but in here, I can tell you what it means. If you get the best grades possible, connect with whatever team you receive, work as hard as you can and prove that you're one of the best pilots we've ever had, one day the world won't care what your wings look like. I've looked over all your grades and classes and the only person you ever come second with is Kogane. You beat him, a natural prodigy, one I assure you doesn't try nearly as much, and you prove that it doesn't matter what impossible wings you have. You are the best pilot at the Garrison. Do you understand?"

For the coming months, Iverson was true to his words. Every time his words hurt, Lance would head to his office. Iverson explained what he had meant in far gentler terms. Every time he reminded Lance that he was second to Keith, it reminded the boy about their talks. When Lance told Iverson that he might be able to get better scores if his tests were translated, he found his teachers handing him the Spanish version of the tests. Both Iverson and him put on facades of hatred and mutual annoyance.

When Keith dropped out, Iverson pushed Lance even harder. He had a team, one he needed to connect with, and the struggle was real. Pidge couldn't focus that well on the missions, no matter if they were in the simulators or not (the students sometimes got to do real shuttle piloting, though those were far less often). Hunk had very high anxiety, which led to worrying and nausea, which led to vomiting. Lance did the best he could, meaning adding a puke bucket for his roommate, reminding him that the simulator isn't actually dangerous and quelling any anxiety afterwards. It also meant using the newest team addition's obsession against him. Lance reminded Pidge that if it really wasn't a pilot error that caused the Kerberos mission's failure, then something else happened. If Pidge didn't focus, the team would fail and possibly die. If Pidge did focus, the team might make it to higher ranks, maybe even getting to go to Kerberos themselves someday and seeing if they could find the real cause. It didn't help entirely, but it did help.

The night that the Garrison Trio found Shiro was also the night that Lance was going to show his wings to his teammates. They needed to come together, and he thought that showing such trust in them would lead to a better team dynamic. All he needed to do was get Pidge to sneak out with him and Hunk, and then find a safe place to reveal himself.

Then Shiro's pod crashed. Lance and Pidge rushed down to help with Hunk following. They successfully assisted Keith in saving Shiro. They made it to the desert shack. Hunk snooped and found the frequencies that lined up with the canyon picture Keith had. The cave markings lit up at Lance's touch, telling him that he was expected.

Flying the Blue Lion was an amazing experience. She connected to Lance's mind in a way that was unlike anything he had felt before, but at the same time, he knew the feeling. Slow sunsets, warm air, calm seas. She was home and at the same time, not. To bond to her, Lance simply had to be himself. His full self.

The Alteans were a sight to behold as well. Their wings were far more colorful than any humans, besides maybe Pidge's. Allura practically tackled Lance once she became semi-conscious. His lack of wings and pointed ears terrified her half-aware mind, and Lance began flirting to distract her. Coran was quick to realize that distraction was also needed, pretending to fight the air and arguing with the boy he had never met before.

Lance kept Iverson's words in his heart, many of which were beyond what the others could even imagine. For example, the whole "the Kerberos mission failed because of a pilot error" was apparently a ploy to keep the public calm while the government investigated the situation. Lance's rivalry with Keith spawned from the simple fact that Iverson tried to keep Keith out of the mess and he got a black eye for his troubles. Lance's overdramatic confusion about Pidge's gender was to hide the fact that Iverson told him about two hours into being on a team with her. That led to Lance carrying a small amount of painkillers, chocolate, and some pads and tampons, which was handy when there weren't any on hand in space.

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

"Alright, team," Shiro called, watching as the last of the food was swiped from the trays and disappeared in ticks. "We need to train today. Let's start with the invisible maze, then move on to long range weapons, and lastly short range weapons. Tomorrow we'll start close combat with no weapons."

Cheers rang out, since that meant a relatively moderate training day compared to what it could be. Both Shiro and Allura were getting better at judging what quintants were perfect for hard training and which quintants were definitely meant for more lenient drills. Food fights had greatly diminished now that Allura wasn't a tyrant with Shiro behind her.

"Last one to the training room has to do the maze first! And no wings!" Lance shouted as he ran full speed down the hallways. Keith was right on his heels, followed by a Pidge riding a Hunk. Shiro, Allura and Coran's laughter carried after them, the empty halls of the castle filling with sounds of joy.

#voltron #wing au #lance #hunk #pidge #shiro #allura #keith #lance mcclain #hunk garrett #pidge gunderson #takashi shirogane #keith kogane #coran coran the gorgeous man #lance-centric #purple #klance

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najatheangel · 3 years

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Hi! Can I have a private Seventeen, BTS, GOT7 and TXT selca ship and explanation too? Thank you so much! :)

@littlemixlover-2 Heyyy darling wow your so freaking pretty Oml. Your smile too like pls keep smiling it looks good on you.

From Seventeen, I ship you with…Mingyu

Omgahd ya’ll would be so immaculate next to each other! First of all you both give off gentle, caring and mature vibes just by how you look on your photos. When you both smile and laugh together, It lights up the whole room and instantly lifts everyone’s mood up. I can imagine him towering over you even if your a tab bit closer to his height. He’s someone that’s also into exploring outside his culture so he wouldn’t mind learning a few things from you as long as you were willing to dive deep into his culture too. You both also give me soft core aesthetic so it would make sense to blend the two of you together. I can imagine him being super protective and worried about you when’s he away performing. BOYFRIEND MATERIAL at it’s finest.

From Bts, I ship you with…Suga

I can imagine Suga finding you intriguing. He would love your gummy smile, your glistening brown eyes, the way you don’t have to try so hard to dress and best of all your natural beauty. I feel like Suga is someone that’s not too stuck on appearance, it’s all about what the heart wants and if he feels like he wants to be with you he’s going to work hard to win your heart over in the end. You both might give off different personalities and styles, but I feel like you two would be still a good combination. I can also imagine you two being very soft and shy around each other and holding hands every chance you get. That’s Suga favorite form of affection.

From Got7, I ship you with…Mark

Ahhh Markie Pooh! He would be crushing so hard around you. Once again you both give off very soft, gentle and friendly vibes, but I feel like Mark would be a bit more on the laidback side. I can imagine him doing small gestures with you like buying your favorite foods, inviting you over for couple movie night, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and sharing his clothes with you if you were spending the night. I can also imagine him helping you apply red lipstick on for you, red is his favorite color on you. :)

From Txt, I ship you with…Soobin

Your so lucky to be paired with this kid over here. Your both the ideal prince and princess Disney couple that everyone inspires to be. Soobin is a very lovable, mature, kind and best of all a gentleman. I can see him being so careful with you and would try his very best to make you happy. I can imagine you two also smiling and laughing together over each other’s silly mistakes or inside jokes most of the time. He would point out every feature he loves about you everyday until you told him to stop of course lol. Just a very sweet match that brings joy to the world.

Out of everyone I ship you with…Mark the most.💗

#submission #kpop ships #selca ships #got7 ships #txt ships #Bts ships #svt ships #seventeen ships #svt #seventeen #mingyu #Bts #Suga #txt #Soobin #got7 #mark

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crimsonbluemoon · 4 years

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6, 3, 7 H2OVanoss! You know me heh ( •ॢᴗ•ॢ⋈)

Ahhh Owlbun! So I hope this fits the perimeters of a cute-meet cause I don’t know if it does but I think it does? Idk, its cute, please enjoy this mess of a story. >.> It’s a diff style than I normally do, but….hope it works out!

AU: Coffee shopTrope: Meet cutePrompt: “You had no idea, did you?”

Pairing: H2O Vanoss

If Evan was being honest, he hadn’t expected the chalkboard wall at his coffee shop to make much of a difference. The Owl Cafe was a staple in the community, and he had an okay group of regulars that liked to come in and check out his new blends on the daily. There were ones he knew by name, like the 6 year old girl Momo who loved Brian’s hot chocolate, or the late-night writer Kryoz who always seemed to appear when the place was deserted. Some regulars he didn’t catch names for, so he titled them as he saw fit; Runner man, vlogger teen, cute sweatshirt guy. All had their place in his cafe, which was steady in its sales. He wasn’t rolling in cash, but it was enough to pay Brock and Brian, so he felt that he was doing alright.

The chalkboard had been something of a whim. A friend when he was younger had a wall in his bedroom with chalkboard paint that Evan had always enjoyed drawing on before bed. When he’d bought the cafe two years ago, he hadn’t really remembered the fun times he had scribbling across the bedroom wall. He was too focused on payments and attracting customers to stroll down memory lane. That had changed three months ago when bumping into Lui, the two speaking about their times as a child. The wall came up, of course, and Evan couldn’t let the memory go for days after. Lots of his customers had children, and college kids were always quick to bore when waiting for coffee. So one night, after a really good week at the shop, Evan went out and bought the paint in order to make his wall next to the waiting area a drawing board.

The result was amazing; people loved coming by and adding their own doodles to the wall, filling it with different styles of art or funny sayings. There were always the punks who tried to draw dicks or write derogatory marks, but street justice tended to stop the crimes far quicker than Evan or his friends picked up on them. Evan enjoyed looking at the board at the end of the night, seeing what secrets it held from the customers he served. He tried to guess who drew what, or where each blurb of inspiration writing came from. Was the struggling mother of three the one who drew the calm beach? Did the preppy college girl express her darker thoughts in the corner of the board? Or was that old couple who shared a coffee really sweet enough to write their 70th anniversary with a heart around it? All of the pieces of the board was a collection of minds, hearts, and souls, and the nights didn’t feel complete for the shop owner without gazing at them in appreciation.

His favorite part was the confessions; like an anonymous message board, people left words of secrecy every day. Evan felt it was a safe way for customers to express themselves without having to reveal their identity, and so far he hadn’t gotten any confessions that worried him. Brock always enjoyed reading the romantic ones where someone would claim their love for a friend, an ex, or a person they could never have. Brian’s favorites were the weird claims; he made Evan keep the ‘I like smelling feet’ confession up for three days. Evan couldn’t really say he had a type he sought out, because all of them were fun to read. If anything, he liked taking in the handwriting of the confessions, seeing whose were quaking with fear or more broad with confidence that only anonymity provided.

It was nearly two months into owning the board that a message caught his eye; it didn’t have much color or outlandish design to it, so Evan wasn’t sure why it stuck out to him so much. But the writing just…looked different. Friendly. A little messy but with long enough strokes to show some care went into it. The words only took up a small part of the board.

I come here every day because I think the owner is nice. And maybe cute? I wanted to ask for his name, but I’m too nervous.

Evan blinked in surprise, feeling his face heat up when he read it again. Someone…confessed about him? It was sort of risky, since this was his shop and he could have checked in on the board at any time, but it was also endearing. Someone was too shy to approach Evan, but felt strong enough about him to confess on his wall? He read the line two more times while he cleaned off every other drawing and confession, leaving the words in the middle of the board. Slowly, his eyes dropped down to the basket of chalk at the bottom of the wall, fingers twitching by his side. Despite having it for months, he’d never actually written on it. He left designing the morning greeting to Brock, as he was the artistic one of the three. But now…

He kept the confession where it was, drawing a little circle around it with the red chalk. Then, with block letters bright enough to catch any returning customer’s attention, he wrote out a simple reply.

It’s Evan. Nice to meet you.

He didn’t think about the teasing Brian would rain on him, or how unlikely it was for him to get a response. The confessions were meant to be anonymous, not openers for conversation. So sure that his words would be left unanswered, Evan didn’t look once at the board the following day, trying to keep focused on making his customer’s happy. Any time he wasn’t working, he rushed into the back, trying to stay occupied so he didn’t stare at the wall. The day dragged on forever, but when the final customer was out the door, Evan nearly fell flat on his face vaulting over the counter to move to the board.

“Desperate much, buddy?” Brian’s shout from across the shop went ignored when Evan scanned the wall, looking for any sign of a response. At first, the words around the response were disheartening; nothing connected to what he’d said. The drawings were still cute, and he wanted to read the confessions, but his heart slightly dropped at the sight. Had he scared off the anonymous messenger? He felt his frown start to capture his lips, but then his eye picked up on something. A blue circle had been wrapped around Evan’s words, and a line of chalk was drawn to the left of the board. Curious, his eyes tracked the line. Like thread in a maze, Evan was led to a familiar handwriting.

Your name fits you! I’m…Jonathan. Is that okay?

“Jonathan.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, his smile small when he finished. He knew instantly what his new secret penpal was asking, and he found the red chalk from before in order to scribble out his answer.

That’s totally okay. I bet your name fits you, too, though I’m not sure who you are. Care to give me a hint?

And for the next two weeks, the hints poured out.

I like to wear blue a lot. Luke says it matches my eyes. But I think yours are prettier.

Evan counted seventy three customers with blue eyes who wore blue that day, but it did little to limit his search.

I saw you drop that lady’s coffee on purpose. She deserved it for treating Brock like that. You’re a really good boss.

The incident had been in the morning around rush hour, which probably meant his penpal was at least his age.

You only wear hats when you clean the mocha machine; it really looks good on you.

Except this was something he did at night, so maybe he had different shifts throughout the week?

Whenever little Momo comes in, you always give her the best smile. Sometimes I wish you’d smile at me like that.

Evan’s face hurt from how many smiles he gave out that day, but there had been nobody who hinted at knowing why he’d been grinning so much.

You’re so beautiful. I really want to ask you on a date.

Evan’s face flush red for the rest of the night.

After the days of trying to piece together just who ‘Jonathan’ was, Evan was almost ready to throw in the towel. The little banter between them was fun, and peeks of Jonathan’s personality came out with doodles or smilies at the end of his sentences. He mentioned his friends, his dog, and if Evan closed his eyes, he could almost make out a voice to the words. Everything just felt so familiar about this guy, like he was already seated comfortably in Evan’s life. But he just couldn’t come up with a name, or anything to sink his teeth into.

So, with a shot of courage (Brian may have supplied the alcohol) and nothing to lose, Evan wrote out one final message.

Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.

Evan tried not to look at the board, just like the first day, hoping he wouldn’t scare away his crush by staring the wall down. Brock and Brian helped distract him, jokingly picking out old men and toddlers as ‘his secret admirer’ before laughing at the outlandish suggestions. Evan tried to smile and joke with them, but his shaking hands when giving out the orders always proved how nervous he was. Each time a customer came up to him, his back tensed, wondering if it’d be his penpal. But they never were, always asking for sugar or a bag for their half eaten muffin.

When the last minutes of the day ticked away, and just a few regular souls lingered in the cafe, Evan finally broke. He left Brian and Brock behind the counter to walk up to the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of the apron to hide his twitching fingers. Slowly, his eyes scanned the board, trying to find the blue handwriting he’d grown to adore over the couple weeks he’d gotten to see it. But there was nothing; his crush hadn’t replied.

“I scared him away.” Evan sighed and pressed his head to the chalkboard, eyes closing in defeat. His shoulders slumped down, unable to hide his disappointment. He’d just wanted to know who this guy was, because starting to fall for a chalkboard he technically owned was starting to feel a little creepy-

“Um.” An unsure voice made Evan bite back a groan, trying to keep his composure. Even if he was being ghosted by an anonymous customer, it didn’t mean he could ignore his other ones. Pulling back from the wall, Evan turned to catch sight of a familiar face. Cute sweatshirt guy had been a regular for months, always polite but never one to really engage in much conversation with Evan or the others. He always contributed it to the slight stutter in his speech, which only seemed to come out in longer sentences. It was actually kind of late for cute sweatshirt guy to be at the cafe; he’d bought his coffee close to an hour ago, and though he normally left right after, he’d seemed to linger now. He’d been one of the people who’d come up to Evan, looking like he was going to burst out in a confession, only to ask for creamer.

And sugar.

And a new cup.

…And more creamer.

For a coffee he always drank black.

“Wait.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes widened on the blue gaze nervously watching him, fingers curled into the worn down sweatshirt that was identical in color.

“Yeah, I’m-that was me. Jonathan. Who you were-I’m the guy tha–that, um, fuck. Luke said I should’ve just-but the wall was…was our thing.” Jonathan’s face lit up in color at the confession, the nervous laugh that poured out loud and uncontrolled. It echoed from the emptiness of the cafe, and both men jumped when Brian swore and knocked over a stack of cups in surprise. Tagging that as future Evan’s problem, he turned his attention back to Jonathan, who looked ready to let his sweatshirt swallow him whole. The smile he gave only lifted half his mouth, proving he didn’t feel confident. “You had no idea, did you?”

“None,” Evan admitted, hands pulling out of his apron at the defeated look that sunk over Jonathan.

“Right, that’s- I don’t have to ask you on a date if this isn’t what you…if I’m not who you-”

“Ask me!” Evan cut him off fast, not wanting to let Jonathan feel rejected for a second longer. He rushed forward, snagging hands that tugged the end of torn sleeves to entwine their fingers. Blue eyes widened above him, but Evan refused to let his racing heart of reddened cheeks stop him from repeating his confession from before. “Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.”

“Dinner? Can I-would you like to get food with me tomorrow?” Like a puppy, Jonathan’s body perked up at the possibility. Evan laughed before lifting their hands to cup Jonathan’s cheeks. He pushed up onto his toes, feeling the slight intake of his customer’s breath before he answered with a kiss.

But just to be safe, he wrote ‘yes’ on the chalkboard the next morning.

#kihoori #H2O Vanoss #H2O Delirious #VanossGaming #OTP boys #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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kylorensdestroyingthings · 4 years

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Color My Heart, Paint My Soul | Reylo

ao3 link

a/n: really hope you enjoy this soulmate AU!! warnings: minor mentions of death

____

Rey peeked out from behind her grandfather's legs, the 6 year old was not interested in the art camp he had signed her up for. It wasn't that she didn't like art, it was just that she didn't like the idea of leaving Obi-Wan for so long, plus he'd always been the one to teach her everything she knew when it came to art. The thought of someone else taking his place was scary to the little girl. He was one of the nicest people she'd ever met in her short life, no one could ever replace him.

"Rey, I promise you my friend Luke is very nice. His nephew will even be there." Obi said kneeling down to her level. The man was in his early 50's and each passing day made his joints ache even more than the last. Guess that was what happened when you were a war hero.

"But Grandpa," She whined.

"It will be fun, you'll make some new friends!" Obi told her brushing back the hair that was loose from her 3 buns. "Come on, there's Luke." The older man led Rey over to a slightly younger man who had a young boy pouting behind him as well. The boy had black hair and big features. Rey's favorite were his eyes though, even though she'd already said she didn't want to be here, the young girl already seemed to be changing her mind and wanted to draw this mystery boy.

"Obi-wan." The man said greeting him. He had sandy blonde hair that was beginning to go grey and a bright smile as he greeted them both. "and you must be Rey." "Good to see you old friend." Her Grandfather said from behind her before nudging her forwards. "and yes, this is Rey."

"Hi." She squeaked out shyly and managed to get the boy's attention from behind Luke.

"Welcome, I'm sure you'll love it here over the next two weeks. This is Ben Solo, my nephew." Luke said pushing 'Ben' forwards. "Why don't you two go find the other kids huh?" "That sound's like a great idea." Obi said kneeling down to give the young girl a hug. "Goodbye Rey." "Bye Obi." She said softly, not necessarily wanting him to go but also wanting to be a big girl.

"Ben will you take her?" Luke asked and the moody boy nodded before walking off. Slowly, Rey picked up her feet and followed the boy.

When they arrived in the brightly colored room with laughing and screaming children of all ages, Rey looked around in panic. They'd already established their own little groups, and didn't seem too open to inviting an outsider in. She watched as Ben took a seat in a black bean bag leaning against the wall in the far corner of the room. She found the young boy intriguing and decided to follow him, plopping down in the yellow one adjacent to him.

"Hi Ben." Rey said, he didn't say anything back to her. "I'm six, how old are you?" "I'm 8." Ben muttered out moodily. Who knew an 8 year old held this much attitude.

"I can tell you don't want to be here." Rey said with a slight pout. "But honestly, neither do I my gramps is the best teacher in the whole wide world. I'm only here to show him that I can be a big girl and prove him wrong." "Wow, 6 sure is big." Ben said with a roll of his eyes. "You're kind of a meanie." Rey said with a scoff. "You know what, I'm going to be super nice to you, and we're going to be super best friends."

"Why not just friends?" Ben asked with a smirk. He had to admit, he was enjoying the goofy young girls presence more than he enjoyed most people's. "Because super best friends are better." Rey said as a matter of factly."

"Ahhh." Ben said making a sound of understanding, when finally his Uncle Luke came in the room.

"Welcome! For those of you who are first timers at the Skywalker art camp, my name is Luke. I'll be your teacher on this two week journey." Luke said smiling brightly at every face new and old in his camp. "Today, is all about getting to know each other- your dorms are assigned and dinner is at 6. For now, get acquainted, these are your peers for the next two weeks, get to know the people around you, play some games, make friends and I know this will be an amazing experience for us all." --

Over the next two weeks, Ben Solo and Rey became friends. Even if Ben didn't want to admit that Rey might be right about being Super best friends. The fact was they did everything together, and wherever Ben Solo was you were sure to find little 6 year old Rey tagging along behind him. One of the final things they needed to do as Art Camp winded down was set up an art show where parents could walk through and view the progress their young ones had made.

Rey set hers up nice and neat, all of her work was up there with the exception of one sketch that was a gift. She kept that one neatly tucked away in the pocket of her coat. She wandered the halls of the small fair, admiring everyone's work until she found Ben angrily taking his pieces off of his side of the booth. She looked at him confused. "Ben!" She cried out. "What are you doing?" Ben stopped briefly looking at the young girl who looked appalled by his actions, before continuing to remove his artwork from the walls. "I'm taking this down. There's no point." "Why?" She said. Rey was almost on the verge of tears. She admired Ben Solo's work and thought everyone should view it.

"My parent's aren't coming, they'd rather work." He said angrily, he just wanted the approval from his parents that he was doing a good job. "They never come, no one wants to view this crap. It's not like I'm their only kid or anything." "I like your art." Rey said quietly. "I wanna see it." "Thanks Rey." Ben said quietly. "You should get back to your own booth, I'm sure Obi-wan is loving your portrait of him." "Wait!" She said wrapping her arms around the waist of the boy who was significantly taller than her. She reached into her pocket before pulling out the folded piece of sketch book paper. "I made you something."

When he didn't say anything she let go waving sadly. "Goodbye Ben, I really hope I'll see you next year!"

"Goodbye Rey." He said unfolding the paper. It was them from the first night. Rey had drawn them sitting on the bean bags, she colored every fine detail. From the bright sunshine yellow of the bean bag she sat in to the angry scowl on his face that was tinted red. It was a sweet gesture from the kid. On the back there was a little note.

To my Supr Best Frind Ben

From Rey.

Next to her name she drew a little sun. Ironic considering she was a little Rey of Sunshine around the place and Ben seemed significantly less moody when she was around. He smiled widely, placing the item in his pocket much more carefully than he had been handling his own artwork. Hopefully, he saw her next year too.

___

When Rey was 9, it was her 4th year of going to Luke's art camp. She kept improving every year. Luke even had told her if she kept working really really hard, that she might get into a prestigious art school when she was older. When she walked through the doors for the 4th year, Obi-wan had wished his granddaughter goodbye and spoke a couple words to Luke before leaving. Rey found Ben at their secret spot they'd claimed as their own during her 2nd year of camp. It was simply an old storage closet they'd found one year and the next year is was mysteriously decorated cozily with their bean bags, a small desk, a couple of string light, an easel, along with shelves of paints, pencils, crayons, pastels and any other art supply they could possibly think of.

After seeing the two kids bond so well, and knowing how hard it was for Ben to make friends Luke set up this spot for them. Allowing them to do whatever they wanted for the most part as long as they showed up to the lessons. "Hi Ben!" She cheered. He was 11 now, a big middle school kid. She was still in the 4th grade.

"Hey Rey." He said focusing on the painting he was working on. He had been attempting to better his skill with water colors but they just weren't working with him at the moment.

"Whatcha painting?" She questioned plopping herself down on her beanbag and watching him intently.

"My dog, Artoo." Ben says adding blue to the collar of the dog, blending it with grey.

"You have a dog?" Rey asks bewildered. "We're super best friends and you didn't tell me you had a dog? I'm hurt Ben." "Are you now?" Ben asked her, his back was facing her and she couldn't see the smirk that laced his lips.

"I am. Ya know, I've always wanted a pet, but Grandpa Obi says I can't have one because I'm already enough to handle and it would be just like bringing another kid into the house, and he says he's too old for that. I even tried getting him to compromise and get me a fish, but that didn't work either because he said I'd forget to feed it, or even over feed it and he'd have to clean the tank which he really doesn't want to do if the fish will end up dead in a month." He smiled slightly, as the young girl rambled on and on about absolutely anything and everything and he set his supplies down, listening intently to every word she said. Eventually, the dinner bell rang and they were forced to vacate the closet in order to go eat, either way- they found an empty table and sat down, eating the mac and cheese and drinking some chocolate milk. Ben even traded Rey his brownie for her fruit roll up, stating he didn't like chocolate (even though he did and this was just a ploy for the 11 year old to watch her eyes light up with joy and inevitably get chocolate all over her face, that he had full plans of sketching later).

When it came time for bed, Rey retreated to her dorm. This year she shared it with a tiny asian girl who had already unpacked all of her things. "Hiya! I'm Rose Tico!" She said sticking her hand out immediately. Rey stood there in shock, this is the first time one of her roommates actually wanted to talk to her. "I'm Rey Kenobi." Rey said shyly shaking the girls hand. "Is this your first year?" "Yeah, my mom thought it would be good. She says I've been ruining my sisters wall by painting on them." She said with a shrug. "What about you?" "This is my fourth year." Rey said taking a seat on her bed. "Really? Dude thats so cool!" Rose told her excitedly grabbing onto her pillow. "I didn't see you when we were introducing ourselves, where were you?" Rey blushed lightly. She didn't want Rose to think she got special treatment and make herself seem like a brat, but what else would she say. "I was with Ben, he's my best friend." Rey told her. "Isn't he Mr. Skywalkers nephew?" Rose asked talking so fast, the bun on top of her head bobbed up and down in a funny way. "I heard he was moody."

"Yeah." Rey said before defending her friend. "He can be, but he just doesn't like people. Except for me, because we're best friends!"

"Or maybe he has a crush on you!" Rose squealed excitedly. "What if you guys are soulmates and you get each others soul marks?" "Soulwhat?" Rey asked. She'd never heard of soul-marks before.

"Soulmates!" Rose said pulling out a small ipod from her bag and jumping on the girls bed. "Look, when you turn 16, the name of your soulmate appears on your wrists! It's the person you're supposed to be with forever!"

"I think you're ridiculous Rose." Rey said with a scowl that could almost match Ben's. "There's no way Ben and I can be Soulmates, we're just super best friends!" "Super best friends?" Rose asked questionably.

"Super best friends." Rey told her affirmatively. "Boys are gross" "Sounds like soulmates to me." Rose said with a giggle before jumping back onto her bed with a squeal as Rey threw a pillow at her.

The next morning, Rey sat on a stool placed in front of an easel right next to Ben. Rose caught her eye from across the room and wiggled her eyebrows and made kissy faces. Rey glared at her teasingly and looked away. Suddenly Luke walked in, ready to teach the lesson.

"Alrighty kids, today we'll be working with Oil Paints, and making Portraits with them." Luke said explaining everything in fine detail. "Why don't you partner up, and use your partner as inspiration." As always, Rey looked at Ben who looked at her. They'd already done this lesson multiple times during their previous years, now they had turned it into a fun game. Whoever could make the best portrait got the losers desert for the night.

Rey took in Ben's features carefully. When she began adding the final details, she made his nose red and shiny, and the tips of his ears red. She added hints of green and gold into his hazel eyes, and made his shiny black hair as soft looking as she could. By the time they finished they were covered in paint and their bellies hurt from laughing so hard. They turned the paintings around to show each other and beamed widely. Did their work belong in a museum? Not by any means. Was it more meaningful than anything in the entire world? Of course.

"Wow." Rey said as she took in his painting. There were warm tones throughout the entire painting, he had painted her in a yellow light, the tips of her nose was golden and her cheeks were a rosy pink, and her eyes looked extremely lifelike. The 11 year olds talent shocked her. "Ben that's really good." "Yours is too Rey." Ben said with a smile. "I think we tied." "I think so too." Rey beamed at him.

When Rey was 12, her grandpa Obiwan died. It devastated the little girl she sat off to the side during the visitation. She was sick of being in the front row, where everyone was giving her sad looks and whispering about the little girl who didn't have any family left. What surprised her though, was that Ben was at the funeral. He sat beside her wordlessly during visitation and put an arm around her shoulder pulling her into a comforting embrace. Afterwards, when everyone had left except him, Luke and two others she'd never met before he guided her over to the open casket to say one last goodbye.

"It's okay Rey." He whispered into her ear. "Take your time."

With that he walked away to sit on one of the pews, and gave her some space. When she came over she burst into tears and clung onto the boy who was now extremely tall and lanky. His hair reached his chin, covering the big ears she knew were underneath. They'd both changed so much over the years. Eventually a woman came over to them, placing a hand on Ben's shoulder.

"Hi sweetie." She said. "I'm Leia, Ben's mom. Your grandfather helped my family out a lot back in the day, and I promise we'll help you with whatever you need. Especially since you have been such a big help with Ben these past few years." "Thank you." She croaked as Ben rubbed her back gently. "I wanna go home now if that's okay." "Of course." Leia said walking away from the pair.

"I don't know if I'm going to go to art camp this year." Rey muttered quietly to Ben.

"I think Obi would want you too." Ben told her. "He always loved seeing what you created during the fairs." "It just wouldn't be the same." Rey said.

"Maybe not, but he loved seeing you happy especially when you were creating." Ben told her reassuringly. "If anything, honor him with it." "He always did tell me to pour my emotions into my art" Rey told him quietly with a soft smile. "Maybe you're right."

"One more thing." Ben said pulling out a small box. Rey took it gently in her hands examining it. "It's for you, if you ever need me, just give me a call okay? This way we can talk more outside of camp." "Thank you Ben." Rey said hugging him once more. "You're the best super best friend in the world."

"You're pretty alright yourself." Ben said with a smirk and she punched his shoulder lightly. "I'll see ya around." "Yeah, I'll see ya around." Rey said before walking over to her new legal guardian Maz Kanata. She was a tiny frail woman, but another family friend who Obiwan trusted everything with (even to have her explain why girls had periods when that time came).

"You ready dear?" Maz asked and Rey nodded slowly. She took one last look at the coffin and walked out of the funeral home with the phone Ben gave her in her hands and watched as his family pulled out of the parking lot.

She'd be ready for whatever the world through at her.

__ By 13, Rey had developed a serious crush on Ben Solo. Puberty did the boy well. He was even taller than before, and not quite as lanky as before. His facial features became more accented and Rey had been thinking of every new way to capture his beauty in her art. Suddenly, her phone buzzed on her desk that was covered in messy sketches (most of which where admittedly Ben). She picked it up, seeing it was him who had texted her.

Hey, did you hear Luke's doing 4 sessions this year?

He is? She replied, eagerly awaiting the boys response.

Yeah, one of them falls on your birthday. Another one on mine.

Really! That's awesome!

Soon though, the wide smile that laced her face was replaced with a frown. There was no way she'd be able afford all the sessions.

I know what you're thinking, Luke's already agreed you're coming to all of them- no charge.

Ben I can't accept that.

Yes you can. Luke loves you, besides he wants us to help him out with the younger kids. He's going to have his hands full this year.

Fine, you really have a way with words Solo.

That's why we're Super Best Friends, as a wordy 6 year old I used to know would say.

Shut up.

Never, he added a smiley face to the end of it and Rey sighed as her heart fluttered. She had it bad. Besides in a few months Ben would find out who his soulmate is and it wouldn't be the scrawny 13 year old that claimed to be his best friend.

During the fall session of Luke's camp, Ben finally turned 16. He refused to let Rey know the name on his wrists. Coincidentally he got really interested in the thick rubber bracelets with band names on them from hot topic to cover it so she couldn't snoop and see. "Ben come on!" Rey whined tugging on his arms. She had turned 14 two months ago and was filling out nicely. She nearly matched his height (okay not nearly but compared to most, she was the closest with only 5 inches separating them!). "Why won't you show me?" "I'll tell you when you're 16 Rey." He told her removing his arm from his grasp. "Benjamin Solo that's 2 years away!"

"Technically, it's only 1 year and 9 months." "You're ridiculous." Rey said rolling her eyes and pouting slightly. She wouldn't admit that she was a little upset, even though he knew. "Ben we're best friends. No! Super Best friends, we tell each other everything."

Ben sighed pulling the young girl in for a hug, lightly kissing the top of her forehead. Rey felt her cheeks heat up a lot, she only buried her head in his chest further hoping the blush would go away before he saw her face. "and I will tell you. On your 16th birthday, when you have a mark of your own." "You're no fun." Rey told him scrunching up her nose.

"I'll give you my brownie at dinner." "You're a little more fun." ___

When Rey was 15 she realized she was utterly and completely in love with Ben Solo. Which terrified her. Her soulmark would appear in less than a week and what if it wasn't him? It just had to be him. She didn't know what she would do if it wasn't. She had fallen in love with every little thing he did. Whenever, he texted he began to leave little smiley faces at the end of every text that made her heart flutter.

There was also his smile. Rey was absolutely positive that it was the best thing she'd ever seen on earth. Plus, the fact that she knew she was the reason it was there most of the time? Amazing! A feeling like no other. His laugh was music to her ears and there was no better sound ever. There also was that one time she walked in on him changing and saw him shirtless for the first time. That image was forever engraved in her mind and for that she was thankful. Ben had a nice body. Still, her biggest fear was losing him to another girl. Maybe that's why he refused to show her his soulmark, that they didn't have each others names on their wrists because fate was cruel and thought they weren't meant for each other. That when she turned 16, a different name than his would appear on her wrist and he'd explain to her that he wasn't as madly in love with her as she was with him. That was life, she didn't always get what she wanted.

She'd been acting weird the entire first week of camp. This is something Ben had noticed. She'd started hanging out with Rose Tico more often than him, it had confused him. He knew they were friends but she always wanted to hang out with him. Now he felt like she was blowing him off. Yet, he was grateful. It allowed him to finish her birthday present. He was painting it, and it took more time than he thought it would but he knew it would be worth it.

He was recreating the first picture she ever gave him, on a larger scale. He was sure she'd love it.

__ As the minutes came closer to midnight Rey was practically burning a hole in the floor of the dorm she shared with Rose with her pacing. "Rey, would you relax!" Rose cried out. "Everything is going to be fine." "It just needs to be him Rose." She sighed. "It just has to." "I know, but if it isn't it's not the end of the world okay? He's still your best friend." "You're right." She looked at the time. 5 minutes until midnight. "Shit! I gotta go Rose, I'm meeting him." Rey ran out the door and into 'their' spot. Ben was already in there. He had snuck one of the brownies from the cafeteria and placed a candle inside of it. He was in the process of lighting it when she burst inside.

"Hey birthday girl." He said with a smile.

"Hey Ben." She said panting as she tried catching her breath. That's when she looked down at his wrist. Instead of his usual band bracelets that decorated his arms a single wide red ribbon was wrapped around it tied neatly in a bow. "What's that?" He looked at her shyly. "I told you, you'd be able to take a peek when you turned 16 didn't I?" He asked.

She looked at the time 11:59. Hesitantly she spoke. "Y-yeah." "I figured this would be a fun way of doing it, like a present!" He said. She could tell he was hiding something. She just didn't know what. That's when his phone alarm went off. It was midnight. She felt a tingling on her arm, under the long sleeved shirt she slept in. She didn't look. She couldn't look. "Happy birthday Rey." He held out his wrist towards her, the red ribbon hanging. Slowly, with trembling hands she took the ribbon in her hands delicately. Very carefully, she undid the ribbon letting it fall to the floor. There on his wrist was the name, printed in her messy scrawl of handwriting.

Rey Kenobi

Quickly, as if she didn't believe it herself she looked at the name on her own wrist.

Ben Solo

His name was written there in calligraphy, one of his many talents. Slowly she looked up at him in shock. "You knew," She muttered. "You knew all this time. That's why you didn't tell me."

"It makes sense now, doesn't it." Ben said slowly, he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to look at a blank tarp covering the walls. "It's why I also made this." He reached around her, pulling the blank tarp down. She took in the image in front of her very carefully, looking at every beautiful detail he had made before turning around to face Ben. She reached up for his cheek and pulled him down to her level, encasing their lips in a kiss. The first of many. They were crying, as his hands pulled her as close as possible and she played with the hair at the base of his neck.

Behind them on the largest wall of 'their spot', the painted image of them smiled at each other. It was them now, no longer children, sitting on the beanbags hands intertwined with their wrists facing outwards, the names Ben Solo and Rey Kenobi, prominent for everyone to see and admire.

She was his, and he was hers.

#reylo #reylo au #reylo fic #star wars #starwars fanfic #kylo ren #rey #ben solo #soulmate au #soulmates #fanfic #reylo imagine #reylo fanfic #reylo imagines

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advernia · 4 years

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fic: the world in her heart, her heart in his hands

— there’s uncharted territory on the far side of the moon, like that forest near some village and that cottage on a hill. - the queen of hearts/alice the second.

1: yEEHAW you're welcome + thank you for requesting such a cute prompt!!! hope you enjoy this one! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ — additional post-reading notes here!

t h i r t y —

They land near a tree.

He lands first, light on his feet and grass crunching under his weight. When he raises his head to look up at the sky, there's a whole canvas of twinkling stars high above his head; but a mess of dancing blonde hair and multiple layers of blue cloth are about to fall upon him instead.

So he extends his arms and opens his hands, and within seconds there she lands - one arm comes across the fabric of her blouse and fingers grasp firmly onto the shape of her shoulder, while the other arm now supports her skirts and the back of her knees.

"Really now," he sniffs, looking down at her face that's covered by her hands, "is that what you're supposed to be doing when falling down from the sky? Close your eyes and wait for an inevitable impact?"

An eye tentatively cracks open, peeking out from lithe fingers. "Maybe - I mean, people normally don't just fall from the sky, Jonah."

"Do you realize that your statement loses all credibility when it's you of all people who says it?"

She huffs, a comeback at the ready but then the unfortunate oak tree behind them abruptly cries out in anguish: something crashes through its many fine layers of flourishing leaves, breaks loudly through a series of its branches, then announces its grand landing with a triumphant thump on the ground.

The pair just stare at the object for some time, stray leaves now floating about and around them.

"... What exactly did you pack into that suitcase?"

t w e n t y n i n e —

The clock tower she calls the Big Ben is a magnificent structure - it stands impressively high and complete with a spire that could reach the heavens, whatever mechanism keeping half the building alight makes its copper paint body shine a regal gold, and each detail of the four clock faces it has are visible from even quite a distance. He watches the hour and the minute hands of the clocks meet at the twelfth hour, and what happens as a result is a resonating chime from the tower that he's sure could reach every corner and alley of the city.

The deep boom echoes reaches deep in his ears and echoes in his very being, not so insufferably loud but the bell's melody that pours out from the tower is almost spellbinding. He's standing very still until she tugs lightly at his sleeve, taking the opportunity to slip her hand into his and twine their fingers together.

"If you keep on staring with your mouth wide open," she giggles, urging him to move forward, "something might just land on your tongue!"

He wrinkles his nose, a touch of heat spreading in his cheeks. He pulls their shared suitcase along, and they continue with their trudge through the otherwise empty cobblestone street.

"Wha - could you not exaggerate? My mouth was not wide open at all!"

"Yes, yes. Now, let's try finding an open inn first, shall we? It's nicer if we tour the streets of London during the day, and even better if we're both well-rested!"

The first inn they find is run by an aged couple - she's asking about the rates while he takes a look around the place, starting with the room's general structure.

Four wooden walls surrounding him, floorboards under his feet, lamps attached to a high ceiling - it's nothing new but at the same time it is, with how everything appeared... inexact, rough around the edges. If one would take time to observe the carpentry, nails on the same board took a different alignment to that of the other boards surrounding it, and every board didn't share an equal standard of security or alignment to the floors or walls at all. Then there's the ceiling, with some parts of its expanse decorated by planks over planks creating odd patch-like shapes... were those meant to cover holes? If so, it was a temporary solution at best, and it sacrificed any semblance of aesthetic in the process.

A true result of manmade labor, he supposes. The Land of Reason wasn't familiar with the luxury and convenience of magic, after all.

Even the sheets and covers drawn over their bodies were a touch different to his skin too - it wasn't a lack of warmth or comfort, but perhaps an issue of sensation. The air he breathes feels a tad too thin in his lungs, the noises outside their window unfamiliar and borderline grating, beams of weak light that managed to pass through the curtains forming shadows that were rather odd and suspicious.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her face coming into his line of view and slowly edging closer. The crease of her brow and the blue of her eyes are big and wide, and somehow it makes him wonder.

Is this what you felt the first night you fell into Cradle?

"I'm fine," he whispers, body moving closer to her side of the bed. "I was just wondering if you have an itinerary prepared, that's all."

"I wouldn't say it's an itinerary, but I do have a couple of locations in mind," she grins from ear to ear. "I've been thinking about them for a while now, and I think they're places in London that would interest you the most!"

"Is that so?" a mild discomfort ebbs away into a tinge of amusement, giving way to memories of staged dates that make him smirk. "Are you truly going to impress me this time?"

She seems to have understood his reference, because she's grinning more like a loon now. Her forehead presses lightly against his, her reply oozes with a nice confidence.

"Of course I will - just you wait and see!"

t w e n t y s e v e n —

It's their third day, their third sunrise in London - he finds the complementary teas that the old couple brew during breakfast to be quite wonderful, and he's wondering about what blend would be served today when she suddenly pulls him over to sit in front of the vanity, a question on her lips.

"Can magic crystals alter appearances - of course they can! Why are you..." he trails off with a frown, brows knitting together as arms cross themselves across his chest. "... Wait a minute. Are you suggesting I alter my appearance?"

Her smile reeks of guilt. "Maybe I am? Look, I know you intended to use those crystals in case of an emergency - "

"So are you implying that how I naturally appear is some form of an emergency now?"

"Ahhh - you saw what happened yesterday when your hat was blown away by the wind! People couldn't just stop staring at you and the color of your hair, even when we were practically running away from the Trafalgar Square!"

"Ah, that? Can you blame them? If anything else, I'm delighted to have effortlessly achieved that kind of effect on the citizens of London!" he shrugs casually, then his lips quirk upwards. "Hm, by some chance... are you also jealous of the attention I received from all those women?"

"Jeal - I am not!" she huffs, turning her head to the side. She's mumbling something to herself as her arms cross themselves across her chest too, and that makes him chuckle.

"... Really?"

"Really!"

"Hmph. Alright then, can you at least explain why - " he leans forward, one hand reaching out to gently take hold of her chin and turn her head to face him, " - your cheeks are as red as a rose?"

He holds his gaze and his grip on her with a smug smile lighting up his fine, very fine features.

Despite the embarrassment burning even further in her cheeks, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

The group of ladies seated at the table right behind them are staring while chatting, most definitely. She puts her teacup back down on its saucer and the china rings out, maybe a bit louder from what was considered to be polite - of course, he catches onto this and looks up from the newspaper he insisted on reading daily, those golden eyes set on her.

You and you alone, he promised.

"What's wrong?" his voice calls, bringing her back to the present.

She glances at that eyebrow, at his hair - what used to be silver was now a lustrous shade of inky black, a normal color to be seen walking around the streets of London. But that, combined with his ever so-noble bearing and a form-fitting suit of dark navy blue, made him seem... much more striking to the public eye, for some reason. The occasional passerby would even stop in their tracks and gaze at their direction with pointed looks, voices loud enough to be heard!

Royalty, she heard some say. A dapper gentleman, others would coo behind their feathered fans.

So much for being inconspicuous, she muses. Despite the not-so-subtle attention though, something like pride bubbled inside her.

"Nothing," her expression smooths into a smile, then she directs her energy and attention to her food instead.

t w e n t y t h r e e —

They end up in the London Library two hours after breakfast.

It's a curious establishment open to the public that smelled of aged paper, dried inks, and cheerful sunlight streaming from large windows - occupying both sides of the room and reaching as high as the ceiling, every section of tall shelves that extended from the entrance to the end of the hall are filled with books of various shapes, spines, and sizes; and positioned carefully in the middle of the room are two long rows of chairs and desks waiting to be used. They go through each topic and sections of every shelf, made possible with the aid of a ladder - she points out what's fictional and what's not, and when he pulls out a book and goes through its contents out of sheer interest, she reads along with him in silence.

They fail to realize that they spend their time reading well into the afternoon.

"Alright - so from my understanding, you're saying that the current monarch, Queen Victoria, rules over these group of countries; and as a whole it's referred to as... the United Kingdom?"

"That's right. And in this part of the map, in the country of England... here's London! It looks pretty small, doesn't it?"

"It really is... and to think that London is just one of the many areas around the country! Have you gone to other places around England?"

"Mm... just a few. Okay, let's start around here - there's the towns of Taunton, Bridgwater, and Glastonbury that are pretty close to the village I was born in, and..."

e i g h t e e n —

Repeated clanging of high-pitched bells rattle the group of birds that roost on tree branches, and the great noise is accompanied by the sharp squealing and creaking of metals till only the faint hiss of steam being released into the air remains. She pays no mind to the sudden disturbance to the peace of their sunny picnic in St. James Park, and instead proceeds to taking a bite out of her sandwich.

He's quite intrigued, though.

"Another mechanical beast has returned to the station, I see."

She manages not to choke on the lettuce.

"It's called a train, Jonah."

"I know. And if you have to be so technical about it, it's also called a steam locomotive, powered by a mechanism known as a steam traction engine."

"... I'm sure I asked this a few times now, but do you want to ride one?"

"Well! Since you keep on insisting, then I guess it wouldn't hurt to ride on that just once. Do you have a destination in mind, though?"

"Hmm... that's a tough question! Going up, we can visit Cambridge, Peterborough, or if you're alright with a longer ride, Nottingham! There's also Brighton, Winchester, and Southampton below... oh, or maybe Swindon, Gloucester, or Bristol! There's a chocolate industry in Bristol that I've always been curious about, and..."

"Anywhere sounds fi - oh, wait. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the town of Glastonbury is close to Bristol, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Oh, but there's a train that goes from London to Glastonbury, you know - do you want to take that one instead?"

"Not exactly. You see, I've been thinking about this a few days before we were to visit the Land of Reason..."

f o u r t e e n —

Her hand, warm as always, touches his forearm. When he turns his head to look at her, she's smiling softly.

"Are you nervous?"

He clears his throat, takes hold of her gloved fingers and squeezes. "Maybe. At least tell me that is going to be nothing similar to that terrible bus ride last week."

Her laugh sounds kind - she rests her head on his shoulder, thumb tracing soothing patterns onto his hand.

"Riding a train is much more comfortable than falling down from the sky, though. Oh, and it's better than teleporting using magic, too! No dizzying side effects."

"That's simply because you're not used to it," he rolls his eyes, but his lips are no longer a taut line. "Perhaps when we get back to Cradle, you should try getting accustomed to it."

She hums for a bit, but it's soon drowned out by a simultaneous ringing outside of their coach - seconds later there's the angry hissing of steam that joins the chorus of bells, shouts, footsteps; and on impulse he finds himself sitting straighter in his seat.

She chuckles, pointing to the blinds drawn over the windows. "Is it okay if I pull them open?"

He takes in a deep breath before nodding firmly.

"Yeah - it's fine."

n i n e —

Above and beyond his reach is the seemingly neverending stretch of a vibrant blue sky, no clouds drifting about and a bright sun leading their way.

Surrounding him are open lands of verdant green; from the swaying grass growing all around the mountains to the strange plants forming unkempt bushes away from the paths and to the groups of trees with their leaves clumping around each other. On occasion there would be a house standing tall or the body of a train moving towards some distance, but those sights would eventually be replaced by more views of the nature landscapes.

His boots follow the traces of a well-worn path that had long imprinted itself on the ground, each step a dull thump to the soil. Walking beside him, her boots make the same sound too; light and matching his pace.

They suit her better, modest blouses along with those skirts that go just a little further past her knees but not extending to her ankles or length on level with her feet. The fashion that women from London and Bristol adapted were skirts that were domed and bell-shaped, along with those tight bodices that would reach high up their necks. He has to admit though, seeing her dress similarly to the trend for weeks was unusual and... fascinating, especially when she started smoothing her hair into a neat bun that would rest at the nape of her neck.

The high ponytail she donned right now made her look equally adorable, too.

"Okay, now that we're walking from Bristol to Glastonbury, just like you asked..." her voice adapts a sing-song tune, "What do you think of the countryside?"

"It feels better, somehow. I don't mind the hustle and bustle of busy streets, but it's also comforting and necessary to have a change of pace," he turns to her, watching her blonde hair bounce along to her movements. "Are you really okay with walking all the way, though? That Bristol innkeeper mentioned that we would take at least eight or possibly ten hours on foot."

She puffs her cheeks and chest out with pride. "Of course I am! I'll have you know that I prefer walking to riding buses, carriages, or trains!"

"Is it because the fares can get too expensive?"

"There's that, but it's mostly out of personal preference!"

"Hmm, you sure sound confident. Does that mean I don't need to carry you even if you get tired?"

"Don't be silly - we can stop and rest in the villages we'll come across along the way! Besides, carrying me and pulling the suitcase along in this heat? That would be terrible!"

"Are you underestimating both my strength and stamina? I've gone through worse trials - why, I wager that I can carry you and the suitcase all the way to Glastonbury without a single stop for rest!"

"...! As if I'd actually allow you to do that!"

s i x —

There must've been some sort of celebration going on.

It's late and they're about to return to the inn, but then ecstatic voices, lively claps, united stomps of feet, and a happy number played out by the strings of guitars and violins catch their attention and have them looking their way to the Glastonbury town square; eyes wide open as they watched the spectacle not so far away from where they stood.

Pairs of men and women dance to the beat of the surrounding audience's encouragement and to the melody of a song, nimble footwork and spins of cloth all seemingly in sync. It's the pair in the middle that catches her eyes, though: she notes that the man is dressed in a dark suit, while the woman in a flowing dress of white with a veil on her head that's as long as her hair.

It's a wedding, she mouths.

That would explain the petals of colorful flowers thrown in handfuls, the great smiles and pelts of laughter, plentiful tables of food and tankards of ale on the sides, pretty lanterns and gas lamps burning their brightest to illuminate the whole square. The blanket of stars in the night sky seemed to agree with the occasion too, with even the smallest of constellations twinkling in their best light to congratulate the newlywed couple.

Jaunty steps and lively music played on as they continued to watch from afar - children close to the square catch them staring though: without even realizing it, they've been surrounded by the chirpy munchkins that tug at their hands and push at their backs, and they don't stop their assault until they've stepped into the square and are swept into the flow of the dance.

He had to hand it to those little brats, they went away as quick as they suddenly came.

"... Is this a dance commonly performed for weddings here in England?" he whispers as he mimics the movements of the pairs nearby - three quick steps forward, a dramatic sway forwards to draw one's face teasingly close to their partner's, then an abrupt retreat backwards in five strides. She chuckles as she chases after his trail in a series of twirls, and when she extends a hand to rest on his left shoulder, she also draws her face close and together they sway sideways.

"No," her voice is airy as he spins her once, and when they're facing each other again she's grinning. "This is a folk dance."

The men began to let go of the hands of their partners, and he finds himself doing that same motion too - her fingers slip away from his grasp and he watches her twirl away from him this time; her loose hair, skirts, and stray petals billowing around her frame as she went.

He doesn't need to glance at the pair across from them to know that he was to follow.

f i v e —

This is it.

They've arrived.

The wooden walls of the cottage on the hill are painted by the deep hues of sunset reds and golds.

Together they stand in front of a closed thatched door: she lifts her right hand up, curls it into a fist, knuckles about to rap on the surface.

But for some reason she stops halfway, lips pursed and gaze downcast. He waits for a few seconds before reaching out for her left hand, squeezing lightly.

She looks at the fine silver strands of his hair, the gold of his eyes, the confident smile on his lips.

He nods once, slowly but surely. She takes a deep breath before nodding back, then her knocks echo on the wood.

They wait for the door to open.

They wait for their future.

When the door creaks open and a middle-aged man comes into their view, he hears a year and a half's worth of emotion catch in her throat.

"Father," her voice cracks.

z e r o —

Her parents did tell him that when she was younger, she enjoyed camping by the village's woods.

A long time has passed since then - the little girl had grown into a lady and the woods have flourished even further too, but it doesn't surprise him at all that she seemed to still know her way through and around the winding forest paths. They leave the comfort of their shoes and a roaring campfire behind them for all that matters now is the grass and soil under their bare feet, slivers of moonlight passing through the numerous crowns of seemingly endless trees, and the touch of her hand pulling him along to her whims.

It's almost shameful, how he just allows himself to be swept along by another's pace. But in this forest and in this world; no one recognizes him as the Queen of Hearts of Cradle's Red Army or as the rightful heir to the Clemence family's long-standing legacy. Here and now, he's just a man named Jonah Clemence; a mere visitor to the Land of Reason, a man who willingly chose to stumble into the world - the wonderland - of his beloved.

He chose to fall because he wished to see the beauty of her world with his own eyes, to stand in the park that had changed her life and explore anywhere else beyond that point. And well enough, he's gone through a city and towns of various shapes, sizes, and stories to tell. He beheld and found himself fascinated by preserved landmarks and proud monuments even if he couldn't properly comprehend their exact significance, stared at paintings and sights bursting with all sorts of colors and depth that he's never encountered before. He witnessed variations of how the sun of her world would rise higher and higher on the horizon, observed how the stars would gradually take their proper places in a dimming sky.

He chose to fall because he wished to gain an understanding of her world and to see how different it was from his own, to surrender himself to the culture of a land where magic didn't exist and science reigned instead. Many, many, things have baffled him and caught him off-guard; ranging from all sorts of areas like social standing and etiquette, currency and pricing, languages and speech patterns, beliefs and philosophies, and the list went on and on each day that passed by. Books, newspapers, observations, and her explanations could only tell him so much, and when he finds himself at a loss and no closer to a satisfactory comprehension; he develops a greater appreciation for the similarities in both worlds that he always managed to discover when he's at the peak of his frustration.

He chose to fall because he wished to have a taste of the flavors she enjoyed the most, to know the origins of the occasional odd recipe she would cook up. It's strange how even something plain like water tasted and felt different from how his tongue recalls it to be; and there began his exploration of various cuisines, treats and desserts, beverages, aromas and textures that were as vast and variable as a painter's color palette. Each meal or snack brought about another interesting point of craftsmanship and consistency to ponder about, carved new flavors and aftertastes that made themselves memorable in his mouth.

And most of all - he chose to fall in hopes of seeing the place where she was born and raised, to walk the road leading to that cottage on the hill and to finally meet her parents.

A month's worth of time - years worth, even - simply wasn't enough for him to fully experience, see, feel, and savor whatever her world had to offer.

It wasn't enough time for him to learn, too - he's still in the process of pronouncing all those new words right, forming a clearer picture of the Land of Reason's extensive history, wrapping his head around the starkly different perspectives on what was called religion, analyzing the workings of the militaries throughout every country and continent.

But he's been welcomed into her village, introduced to and was warmly accepted by her parents - so that felt like more than enough time well-spent.

He's running in the woods.

The air rushing by is cool against his flushed skin, grass brushing against his toes soft and tickling, heartbeat roaring almost pleasantly in his ears. Tonight he relives the brief period of freedom he had as a boy, blood singing with the revival of childish enthusiasm and youth.

He's chasing after the fluttering ends of her white summer dress, after the locks of her blonde hair and her moonlight-touched skin, after the echoes of her giddy laughter and lighthearted taunts. It's like she's reliving her time in the woods too, and in an instant she is fleet-footed and so charmingly carefree.

He jumps over the roots of aged trees; she swings away using tall branches. She attempts to crouch and hide behind bushes and tree trunks, but he's already running towards her even before she can try. There were those close calls where he was sure that she was within his reach, but then she always managed to surprise him and slip away from his grasp.

They forget how their chase began in the first place and lose track of how long they have been running and running, but eventually they find themselves right back where they started: back in the clearing where their shoes are neatly set beside each other and where their campfire weakly burns, fireflies have appeared in their absence and taken residence around the area. They're a rowdy bunch that keep frisking up and down then left and right, go up in the sky then swoop close to the ground, and she becomes the first onlooker to the odd motions of their dance.

The moment she stops and stares is the moment he rejoices in the sweet joys of his victory - he finally, finally, gets to hold her; reaching out quick and circling his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and pressing her back flush against his chest. He buries his head on her shoulder and in the canopy of her hair, breathing in her distinct scent mixing with sweat and ears ringing with the sound of her surprised yelp. She squirms a bit but it's not enough to make them stumble and fall to the ground, to make them land on their unfurled sleeping bags that he insisted to be put very close to each other.

They just stay like that for a few seconds.

"You..." he breathes out when he finally lifts his head, and when he does she turns her head to see his face. "... you'd better not start running away from me again."

She giggles, resting her arms on his own. "I won't. I'm all yours, Jonah - and I always will be."

The bright full moon shines down on her face and illuminates her smile, highlighting the loving sparkle to the blue of her eyes.

There they were, standing in the middle of a sudden firefly-infested clearing, man and woman acting like silly children: they're both slightly out of breath, their skin is all sweaty, their hair and clothes are in mild disarray, and the soles of their feet caked in greens and browns.

She's a mess - the both of them are.

But that doesn't stop him from pressing his lips against hers, relishing her taste on his mouth, on his tongue - as if giving them some privacy, a modest cloud drifts by and covers the prying eyes of the moon, making the groups of fireflies silent witnesses to a love that transcended two separate worlds, swords and magic, conspiracies and a war, and most of all, of judgement and status.

When the cloud floats away from the moon their lips pull apart too - they share a knowing smile before they simply lean on each other and cuddle close to their mingling warmth, his arms still around her waist and the tips of her fingers drawing shapes on his skin.

They bask in the comforting silence, in the light of the moon and in the midst of jittery fireflies until his ears catch a play of strings - they're gentle and almost languid, the brief pauses in between plucks building up into a crescendo that smoothly shifts to the pace of an adagio, only to recreate the playful effect of the crescendo just a couple group of notes later. It's another tune he's unfamiliar with, but he supposes that it isn't unpleasant to his ears.

She could hear it too, her feet starting to tap along to the melody - seconds later he feels the shift of her waist as she sways, so he releases his hold on her and instead spins her around to face him.

The sound of the guitar still creeps into the forest, fireflies still flicker around the clearing with enthusiasm, their sleeping bags are still cold and their campfire has gone out.

"I recall someone saying that she would teach me the steps of her village's folk dance," he chides lightly.

She blinks for a moment, then a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.

"Someone has a sharp memory!" her hands draw themselves together into a soft clap. "Well then, does the good sir want to start learning now?"

He lets out a laugh, executing the elegant flourish of a bow before taking her hand and brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Only if the lady would be so kind as to start teaching me," he says with a wink.

The laughter that tumbles out of her lips sounds like bird song.

30 days remain before the next full moon...

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #jonah clemence #ikerev alice #awawa posted thru mobile bc i forgot to queue this yesterday sobs #i'll go over this after my rounds... tumblr mobile might've botched formatting lmao #on another note: i do hope everyone + loved ones are doing well & making an effort to stay physically + mentally healthy! please take care!

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cruddyborderlandstheories · 5 years

Text

Museum of Mayhem Art Analysis

ahhh it’s finally here and it’s AWESOME. Lots of credit to @ifalnasminiatures for bringing this to my attention! Also credit to Hayder Hype for providing (nat zero six on gearbox forums) sources (Ashley Landry on twitter) in the description of his video because oh man it’s a lot

you can view most of these art pieces on the borderlands instagram as well

lots to talk about especially regarding the calypso twins so let us dive right in

tl;dr: tyreen has a weird red marking on her face in some old designs. i think troy used to be blind and missing his metal plates. more proof for my elpis/chemical sludge/lost legion theory that the twins are using said chemical sludge to give their followers psuedo-siren powers bc a dahl pumping station (hyperion pumping stations on pandora) but dahl had a presence on the moon

one of my favorites, it reminds me a lot of the Mask of Mayhem, but for villains.

Punk Girl is shown again twice, probably further proving she’s tied in with the CoV somehow

we also got some crazy looking villains such as

baby face. which is all kinds of extremely fucked up

this dude who looks like he could be a miniboss with the glasgow smile and the cool goggles

this guy who i legitimately thought was dr zed for a hot second there

could it be

the evilest brother?? pfft nahhh

this girl who seems like she could be a unique character with a baseball cap. wondering if maybe she’s related to Punk Girl in any way. What’s the verdict on the other band members? 🤔

uhh let’s give it a solid maybe and move on

this piece! very interesting to me

so, the very first thing i noticed is zane’s eye patch being on the other eye lol

amara’s tattoos are also gone, however that might’ve been for reasons similar to the japanese cover art of the game.

most interestingly is a point @ifalnasminiatures made and it’s that the calypso twins are actually palette swapped! you can see Troy is the one with the white hair and Ty is the one with the darker hair. which I think mayyy play into a few things we see later about the twins

we also see a tiny ship in the background. i can’t tell if that’s sanctuary-iii or the blue/yellow ship, it all blends together a lot due to the quality of the pic. but it is next to the calypso twins, which makes me want to believe it’s the blue/yellow ship we see with red markings all over it. you know this one from the mural of mayhem wallpapers

you can see the reddish markings on the back right next to the engines

then we have ummm

this cover art

😬

thanks for not using this one gearbox cuz

oh my god

she just reminds me of suicide squad, that’s not a good image you wanna dredge up from the deep recesses of your fans’ brains

she might be a unique character given the clothes/hair? cuz you don’t normally see psychos with stilettos on. or yknow, shoes in general. the hair also seems way to clean and neat to be a psycho/cultist

i just feel uncomfortable looking at this, so moving on

a different logo. also not my favorite cover art, but at least im not physically uncomfortable looking at this. that poor girl’s pelvis... anyway

lots of silhouettes

interestingly, i feel like the roses might have been a thing they just put in for the new cover art. haven’t seen hide nor hair of them across any of the pictures i’ve seen.

we got a lot of figures. out of them i most definitely recognized amara, salvador, maya, another salvador?, zer0, moze (maybe?), and axton. i thiiink one of them is maya as well, but im not 100% on that.

i can guess why they didn’t pick this one: it’s hard to tell who’s who. a lot of these poses make the silhouettes kinda hard to see and the merging together at the bottom makes things even worse. i do think it’s interesting there are some bl2 characters on here as well, but hayder hype mentioned they very well could be placeholders, and given that i can’t make out fl4k or zane, im inclined to believe him.

this art which was used during the promo for this event

rip elpis i guess LMAO

a better look at the psycho himself from the promo released by the borderlands twitter.

there’s a new red planet which hasn’t been shown off before, looks like a gassy planet kinda like jupiter, but interestingly it has this green crack in the side?

very reminiscent of pandora’s eridium scar. i am wondering if this is because this planet had a vault opened, or if it is tied to the Eridians at all. be interesting if it was their homeworld.

also i have no idea what the symbolism is in the homeworld destroying another planet but maybe we shouldn’t think about it too hard e_e

the other planet that’s being destroyed... idk fellas

it doesn’t match up to me but like, this is only one shot

i don’t know 🤔 if you really squint, maybe you can see that hint of purple at the bottom there?

here

tbh, i thought this was elpis the first time i saw it due to the cracks, but i figured elpis doesn’t have like continents across its surface, just craters. and wayyy more cracks.

so it’s probably not pandora and it’s probably not elpis.

huh...

i do think the actual shot is suspended above promethea, you can see the familiar asteroid belt surrounding it

there’s also a planet in the background,

which i imagine isn’t pandora bc no eridian scar

could be elpis or eden-6, or the 5th planet we don’t know about. i kinda get the feeling the 5th planet may be that gaseous red planet tho. which is probably going to be super weird to traverse now that i think about it. they said oz kits weren’t coming back, right? i wonder how that would work. hmmmm

there’s also this redder planet here which i actually DO think is Pandora. if you squint real hard u can see the purple from the eridian scar. plus the color matches up pretty well with the pictures provided above.

there’s also these two bodies over in the corner where the light is coming from. i can’t tell what they’re supposed to be

there are also these little dudes in the top right

i assume they’re maliwan? they remind me a lot of the maliwan drop ship things that fly overhead when you enter promethea

YESSS okay this is the start of some PRETTY WILD twin stuff

troy: missing his tattoos, blind in one eye, has a weird mark above his eyebrow. also, no metal bits!

Tyreen!!! with a red stripe across her left cheek going up to her eye??? no tattoos on her left arm as far as we can see, but that might be for marketing reasons (she’s also covering up part of her bicep). she’s also missing her coat and chains and wearing a different glove.

we also have a bunch of bl2 VHs taking up space. again i think hayder hype is right in that they’re simply placeholders. not much else to say, but

this trend of Tyreen having red markings on her face and Troy being blind in an eye (or both) actually continues through a fair amount of these posters!!!

more cover art. one of my least favorites again... i just think it looks like the psycho is puking out the VHs. also, seems to be an older version of the psycho mask.

fl4k seems to be less rendered than the rest of the cast? like they have less detail, especially on their coat

also you can see an older looking space shuttle up at the top, which reminds me a lot of the one we use in TFTBL to get to helios. except less caravanny and more rockety

the splatter also reminds me of siren powers, with the purple and the glitter. it’s cool that it’s showing a different shot than what’s behind it. maybe a hint to siren powers because it’s sort of like a portal.

more puke!

this time troy is blind in both eyes it seems,

tyreen seems to still have a mark on the left side of her face, im wondering if this ties into her scars at all? it doesn’t seem as prominent as the previous red mark.

Zane seems to have an actual eye patch instead of his more high-tech eye patch, which reminds me a lot of the leaked character concepts from like january i wanna say

amara seems to be dual wielding lol i wonder if originally that was going to be one of her 3 skills but then they were like “wait salvador. wait. nisha. FUC-”

also fl4k is being obscured by this weird saturn-like planet. let them be free!

moze is missing, the saturn like planet shows up 2 times total, and that blue/yellow ship is seen again behind troy

as for the purple stuff? you already know my theory that the twins are going to be using the chemical sludge on elpis to empower their followers. it could also just be straight eridium/slag. you know, like the testing from the WEP with bloodwing and even krieg. we’ll have to see. it would be interesting if they tied krieg into the story through there.

i do lowkey think it’s chemical sludge though, because some of it is actually glowing blue in places, you can see it clearly below amara’s feet. maybe some tie in to siren powers cuz they glow the same blueish color. who knoooows not i

big shot of this psycho here, looks like he’s crumbling.

i really like the 4 VHs standing at the base with the elongated shadows. very dark vibes from this tho, probably not suitable for the series as a whole. i can see why maybe they decided not to do it.

i wonder if we’ll see this giant psycho statue somewhere on pandora. it would certainly be a sight to behold.

also i kinda wish we had cloaks like the concept art shows. cloaks are cool

more sketchy art. this one is also kinda strange, i definitely get why they decided not to go thru with it.

possibly tie-in with the ‘mother’ imagery we get on the propaganda signs across pandora.

lmfao the foot

very bl2 like, im glad they didn’t stick with this. i like that they decided to change things up

troy seems to be blind and also missing his metal implants on his face. his jacket also looks a lot different, it looks more like tyreen’s with the spikes and stuff across it. we also can’t see his metal arm at all, tho we do see his sword! which looks a lot different, im glad they decided to revamp it to be more visually interesting lol

tyreen is more interesting to me. it looks like her right arm has like a silver coating over it? unless that is a metal arm as well. she also is wearing a different kind of glove. her tattoos are missing as well, but again, it’s probably because of the cover art. her scars also definitely seem to have reached her left cheek at some point.

zane also looks a lot different, tho amara, moze, and fl4k look about the same.

another shot of the ship, this one is definitely the blue/yellow one. there’s gotta be some significance with that, right? either we’re getting skins for sanc-iii, we’re going to be painting it a new color, or it’s a different ship.

what the HECK

maybe the twins stole sanc-ii and we’re using sanc-iii. idek. this ship is driving me up a wall lol

gun head.

not a lot to say here. i actually like this one lol it’s very mellow and straight to the point. it’s nice that the logo is right in the middle, not at the top like most of them.

game. buy it. okay? cool.

similar to the other background we did, a bit different. again, like @ifalnasminiatures pointed out, the twins are actually palette swapped here.

Zane also has the old eyepatch on his right eye instead of his left eye, and his jacket is black instead of blue. fuckin’ edgelord.

one of my favorite ones out of all of them. it’s beautiful, i really wish they had kept it. Fl4k is missing but i assume they were meant to go next to Amara? i also think it’s interesting Moze is in the front, as I took Amara to be the leader this time around. Zane is also an older design, with the eyepatch back on his left eye again (starting to think this is an aesthetic thing lol) and a black jacket instead of blue.

We see the twins on the top. Tyreen has that mark on her face again, and Troy is the same as the last few covers.

We also see Maya, Zer0, and for some reason Brick? Which is weird to me considering we have a few other characters who initially feel much for important to the story (cough Lilith cough), but I’m not complaining.

the purple splatters again make me think this is a tie in to eridium/slag/elpis’s chemical sludge. i also like the logo being worked into the design instead of just thrown on top, i think that’s a nice detail

i couldn’t find a great shot of this poster which is a shame because it’s one of my favorites

a lot of baddies to go around on here. i love the dude up top, he reminds me of the Anchormen from the captain scarlett dlc in bl2!

these dudes

we can see Punk Girl on the left again

and this guy who appears to be in some medieval armor

i have no idea what’s going on there but i am EXCITED

i’ve been thinking and tbh i think the multiple planets thing was just an excuse for gearbox to go absolutely ham on the character designs/settings.

i mean why should they have to hold back all their medieval armor designs for another dlc like tiny tina’s? all their pirate/sea-fairing designs for a pirate dlc? fuck it! go WILD. i think they did, anywho

there’s also this post which... tbh i can’t make out much at all. again, seems like an older psycho mask design. it looks like there are characters in the splatter on the bottom left, but it’s very hard to tell who’s who, especially at this angle and image quality lol

if we get a better shot later on i may return to this piece and try to figure things out!

we also have this piece which is giving me huge ‘Happy Together’ vibes. very trippy

moze looks like she’s using an untextured atlas gun? dunno what’s going on with that tbh lol

i really like this one too. it’s cool. i get why maybe they wanted to go a little crazier tho, feels too simplistic for the MAYHEM vibe they’re going for.

oof! can we get an F in chat for whatever planet/moon this is

lots of pink floyd vibes going on here as well

we see a different looking blue/yellow ship flying away from the explosion. it seems to missing a lot of the parts that make sanc-iii so recognizable including the engines/wings

i like the destruction vibe they’re going for here, really sells the “universe destroying power” the twins are supposedly going to get.

anyway, in addition to the cover art pieces, we also got a few concept art pieces as well!

this bit which looks like a gun

you see the aiming mechanism up there? you see how it’s aimed at that planet/moon? yeah i 100% timed this so you’d see the above concept art with this immediately after :P (im kidding i didn’t but hey now you don’t have to scroll)

fuck yeah babey

we also have seen something similar to this in the gameplay trailer!

i didn’t actually think it was a giant fucking GUN tho. can we get an F in chat for Promethea and/or whatever else this thing gets aimed at

yooo

i thought this was opportunity at first cuz of the bridge but it’s more likely promethea

when u go meet zer0 you can see some water surrounding the city so i would guess this is somewhere else on promethea

im mostly interested in the giant fuckin triangle in the middle of that courtyard looking area

oh also the giant trench of destruction on the right there. that’s probably important, too.

more concept art!

i think the bottom of the 4 VHs is actually what was leaked in january.

some art of the twins on the left there, tyreen is so much shorter than troy omfg

and this does indeed looks to be a younger version of angel so credit to @prettypinkdork for mentioning that on my angel post. it is nice to see those tech-y wings in action, definitely does prove it’s her.

we can also see this art of what i think is Punk Girl, which is interesting to me because she looks to be doing something with her right hand. possible siren powers? maybe!

we also get a much cooler, bigger version of that maliwan ship people were talking about, with what look to be maliwan... eye bots? surrounding it. this is soooo fuckin awesome to me because it reminds me of a sailboat. and airships are fucking COOL

but something interesting is that i don’t think this ship was actually always maliwan

we got an A in the back here... for Atlas? i mean... you know it’s coming... the colors would match up. Yeahhhhhhh...

more interesting is that it actually looks like maliwan covered it up with their flags/tarps. i would not be surprised if this was claimed by maliwan possibly during the takeover.

a cyclone, with a whole fuckin lot of detail. just... holy shit.

not much else to say here though. i like the stuffed animal on the side, though

a better shot of jakobs manor which holy shit looks badass as fuck

big turret/observation thing on the right there? im not sure

pretty sure this is eden-6. also more tropical trees? possibly a water planet? but maybe just ocean on eden-6. also there seems to be like webbing on whatever is on the road, so maybe some spider-like wildlife?

most important to me is this

yeah i would bet that’s eridium/slag/the chemical sludge from elpis

im pretty convinced this is something on elpis mostly because the DAHL logo on the side. which again, they were on pandora yes but they were mining for iridium not eridium. if this was pandoran pumping stations, that would be hyperion.

i do think this is elpis. and i do think the twins are using the chemical sludge that mutated the lost legion into those fake siren things to give their followers superpowers.”holy holy holy” indeed.

this, plus the rakk wings on the psycho in the mask of mayhem are just convincing me more and more

that’s all for now folks. i gotta run

#borderlands #bl3 #borderlands 3 #OOF

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whumpitywhumpwhump · 5 years

Note

Heyyyy, I’m *loving* Noah! Can you please do falling from a great height, with Lilly somehow restraining his wings?

Okay, you must have read my mind, because I literally already had an outline for something like this saved on my computer! I took a little liberty with restraining his wings (she sorta restrains…all of him???) to kinda make everything flow in character. This was high key sooooo much fun to write, hope you like it!!!!

Lilly runs her fingers over the raised lines in his flesh.They are a soft pink color, puckered at the edges. The marks have looked likethis for two days now with no change—that indicates that this is as close tohealed as they’ll get for now. She snaps open the notebook in her hands.

Day 13 of Test 2: Specimen’s back appears to be permanentlyscarred. No change from yesterday. This marks the last day of the experiment. Conclusionwill be written at a later date.

Usually, Lilly writes her conclusion immediately, but she hasanother test in mind, for which she needs good weather. Today there are clearskies, but the forecast calls for heavy downpour for the rest of the week.Rather than wait to do the experiment, she’ll just put off writing the conclusionof the earlier one.

She turns off the camera, placing it back in the drawer itcame out of almost two weeks ago. Then she leans the tripod against the wall,clicking its legs into the upright position. Her notebook flicks open oncemore.

Third Test: Flight

Angels have wings, so it stands to reason that they arecapable of flight. However, it is yet to be seen how they achieve flight. Ihave x-rays on file from Specimen 003 that illuminate the bone structure (noteson that can be found in the files on Specimen 003). A question still remains: Doangels require grace to fly or is flight just a capacity of their skeletomuscularmakeup?

To test this, I will examine Specimen 006’s capacity forflight without its grace. This test will be conducted at the edge of the shortcliff on my property. The cliff is approximately 30 feet high, which means thateven if it fails to achieve flight, the resulting fall should be survivable.

To ensure that this Specimen does not escape, I will beattaching small nodes at the base of its wings, which are designed to release a surge of paralyzing electricity if I press the detonator.

Results:

She gathers the nodes, which were piled carefully on a shelfin the cabinet. Each one has microscopic needles that sink easily into the skinat the base of his wings. With a piece of clear medical tape, she secures eachone, making sure they don’t fall off at any point.

Next, the magnetic cuffs come off his wings. Lilly lightlymassages the muscles near the base—they need to be in working order to flyproperly. There are slight indents in the flesh where the cuffs were sitting,so she gently rubbed those areas too. Can’t take any chances with outsidefactors.

“Specimen 006, we are going to be conducting a new testtoday. This one requires us to go outside and travel to the site of the test. Itrust that you will be on your best behavior the entire time.”

Without waiting for a response, she freed the loop of chainattached to his wrists. Using it as a lead, she guided her specimen up thestairs and out into the kitchen. As long as we walk quickly, I’ll be back intime for dinner.

–

Noah’s shoulders ache from spending two weeks keeping hisarms above his head. Now his legs ache from being forced to walk so far afternot moving for weeks. More trees pass him by as they continue deeper into thewilderness that his human calls her property.

Just when he thinks he can’t walk any further, they breakout of the trees and Lilly stops moving. She slowly unfastens the restraintsaround his wrists; he frowns when he sees the red, angry skin under them. Thechilly outside air actually stings a little against them.

“Now, here is the test we will be performing. I want to see ifyou can fly as normal without your grace. There is a small gully here, maybe 30feet deep. I’d like you to fly out over the middle of it and then return to me.If you cannot fly, simply spread your wings and slowly glide to the ground. Ifyou can fly, do be mindful to return to me once you’re done. If you don’t I’llhave to take the necessary actions, which will be less than pleasant for you.Do you understand?”

Noah nods, afraid suddenly. Can he fly without his grace? Hedoesn’t know. Lilly steps aside, letting him move up to the lip of the edge. Helooks over it, chewing his lip. It looks pretty deep—

A hard shove against his back pushes him off solid ground. Withnothing but air beneath his feet, his wings start flapping. To his surprise andrelief, he feels himself lifting up in flight. He casts a glance back at Lilly,who’s watching him carefully. What could she possibly do to me?

He flaps harder, flying higher and further away quickly. Hechecks back, sees a stern look on her features. Noah doesn’t even considerslowing down, he’s so close to free, he needs to report back to Heaven on this—zzzzzzzz!

His wings seize, his body seizes, electricity slams up anddown the length of his spine. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t fly!

He’s falling, falling fast, come on, wings, flap, please!They do not flap. His wings won’t move. His limbs won’t move. The onlythings moving are his eyes and the world as it rushes past him.

The top of the gully flies past his field of sight, and hecan see the ground coming up rapidly. He couldn’t squeeze his eyes shut orbrace at all, so he aimed his eyes up and watched the sky.

It’ll be over soon, how bad can it be, gotta be almostthere, maybe? Maybe soon, maybe—

His feet collide with the ground. He hears sickening cracksand crunches, then he’s falling back, eyes still locked on the sky, then, likea light switch flipping, darkness.

–

Dusky sunlight swirls into his field of vision. Hazy bluesky, rusty orange cliffside, billowy white clouds—

Pain. Pain. Pain so much pain. PainpainpainpainpainpainpAINPAINPAINPAIN—

Noah tries to lean forward, just a bit, just enough to seewhat hurts so so much, but the movement makes his hips grate; he falls backwith a soft keen. He tilts his head to the side, glancing down his body—his stomachrevolts at the sight, convulsing, forcing bile up his throat. He can’t reallyroll over to spit it up, so he just turns his head and lets it run down his cheek.

His legs—what had previously been identifiable as his legs—arebone and blood and twisting and swelling and so many other unnatural thingsthat aren’t legs. The muscles of the left one spasm and Noah shrieks.

Ahhh, AHH, no, no, stop, pain, can’t, ahh, can’t move, don’tmove, ruined, ahhhhh, noo, nooo, legs, aHHhhh, please

He can’t string together a single coherent thought over thewaves of agony rippling up from his legs. His body is cold, shocked beyond anycapacity to register temperature. He shivers, and the resulting jolt of hislegs pulls a long, low moan through his lips.

His chest hitches, trying to sob—he can’t find the energy,no, the strength, to put tears behind it, so his chest just convulses, tryingto expel some of the misery, some of the brokenness, some of the wrongness.

“Didn’t I tell you not to try to escape?” He flinches awayfrom the sound, leg bones shift, breathy whimpers spill out. She practicallyappeared out of nowhere.

There’s a camera flash, the sound of pen on paper—the soundsfilter through his loud, wet breaths and sharp whines and harsh gasps.

Fingers wrap around his ankles. Bone grates, blood leaks. Ascream echoes off the rocks. “Please, no, no, please, stop, ‘m sorry, so sorry,stop, pleeeeeaaasee…” He trails off into incoherent begging.

Noah firmly believes this is the worst pain in the entireworld, the scrape of his bones under her fingers, the throbbing pulse of painracing up his body, the stench of blood and bile blending together. Nothingcould possibly be worse than this. He’s certain.

Then the tugging starts. She’s pulling him, by his ankles,his legs are shifting, bone is moving, joints are stretching, muscles are twisting,blood is flowing, shrieks are ripping their way out. As his legs twist and tugin ways shouldn’t be possible, his hearing fades to a ringing hum, his nose fillswith the metallic stench, his tongue burns from whatever is being ejected, his bodyfeels nothing but the pain, the overwhelming ache and burn and throb of agony,and his vision zooms in on a cloud, far away, high above this shattered body,and pulls that safe, distant whiteness overhis gaze, letting all semblance of consciousness fade away—maybe his mind willescape where his body failed. Maybe.

Feel free to send me requests whenever y’all want! Green means it’s completed, red means I have a request for it! Thanks y’all!!!!!!!

#bthb #bad things happen bingo #fandom: original content #falling from a great height #whump #my ocs #noah #lilly saeva #broken bones #blood #lol noah gets a bit cronched tbh #electricity?#angel #attempted escape

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noahscents · 6 years

Text

All Night - Noah Centineo Imagine

anonymous asked:

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you write an imagine with Noah going to braiding shop with his black gf even though she warned him multiple times how long it would be. He just wants to see the transformation. You can choose the hairstyle”

As a celebration for hitting 3k, here’s another imagine! LEGGO!

Here’s my masterlist!

Word Count: 1,424

“You know you don’t have to sit there with me while I get my hair braided, right?” You say to Noah as the cashier at the Beauty Supply scans the multiple packs of hair.

“But I wanna see the processssssss.” He says, taking your hand and whining.

“But you already helped me blow dry and straighten it yesterday.” You say looking at your amazing boyfriend.

“Duh, you tell me how your arms get tired. And you can’t see the back of your head, I can.” He says, sliding the cashier the money for the hair.

“Babe, I can-” You say.

“Girl, you know I gotchu. I need to make sure you’re looking fresh at the premiere in 3 days.” He says, running his hands through your freshly pressed hair. He stops and grabs a container of Murray’s Edge Control.

“Didn’t your braider say she needed this?” He says.

Your heart skips a beat.

I love this man.

“Yup.” You say taking it out of his hand and paying for it.

“Hey!” He says, taking the bag of hair off the counter.

“Babe, it’s like $4.” You say, grabbing the receipt.

You appreciated that he took the time to learn all of your ins and outs, considering that you two come from completely different backgrounds. At first, you were nervous to sleep in your signature bonnet once you moved in together. But that night he held you so tight as you fell asleep, and then you came home to a new one that he bought you in his favorite color. He’s seen your hair without product in it, and even helped you comb it out. You even took him to one of your famous family cookouts, and he blended right in. They even taught him how to play spades and dominos.

He unlocks the car and you hop in the passenger side.

“I’m going with you.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Noah--I shit you not--this will take like 8 hours.” You say, looking at him. “I’m getting really small braids. Your ass will go numb.”

“Doubt it, you know I’m a thickums.” He says, winking.

“Okayyyyy.” You say sighing, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, babe.”

Noah smirks at you, then presses the ‘Play’ button on his steering wheel and Wrong by EDEN blares through the speakers.

“but I could be mOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE... isn’t there MOOOoOoOoOOOoooOOORE?” He says, imitating Jonathan Ng.

You smile, then join him.

“Don't you dream of forgetting this? Have we forgotten what we want?” You say, grabbing his hand.

You two sang along to four more songs on the album until you arrived at the salon. Noah came to your door and opened it.

“After you.” He says, kissing the top of your head.

You smile and hop out.

“Thank you.” You say, taking his hand and walking toward the door. “Okay, so before we enter, I just wanna say-”

“HEEEEEEEEEY Y/N!” Your hairstylist, Tamika exclaimed, “Is this the little white boy who’s got you sprung?”

Your eyes widen in horror, and Noah laughs.

“Hi, I’m Noah.” He says, extending a hand before Tamika pulls him into a hug.

“Noah, this is Tamika.” You say, “She’s been doing my hair since middle school, and she’s the only person I let touch it.”

“Other than me.” He says, making Tamika let go.

“You’ve done her hair? I mean, you have some loose curls, baby.” She says, running her fingers through his hair. “But, her texture is way kinkier and thicker than yours.”

“I know, I know... But she taught me how to do it and what stuff to use, so I like to help her.” He says, smiling, “One time, I even slicked it back into a ponytail and swooped her...” He pauses, drawing semi-circles by his hairline with his finger.

“What are those called again?” He says, repeating the action.

“Edges... or baby hairs.” You say.

“Right, swooped her edges with a toothbrush.” He says.

Tamika clutches her chest.

“Sis, you better keep him.” She says, grabbing your shoulder.

“I plan on it.” You say, laughing. “Now, let’s gets braiding.”

You walk over to Tamika’s chair and Noah sits in the designated waiting area. There was a Real Housewives of Atlanta Marathon on Bravo in preparation for the next season, so you were good for the next 8 hours entertainment wise.

For the first 30 minutes, Noah was focused on your head and how Tamika effortlessly made minuscule parts and blended your real hair with the fake.

“You know what? Now that I’m seeing it happening in front of me, I understood what you were trying to explain when I asked how this works.” He says.

After that, however, he was totally immersed in the drama of the Atlanta Housewives.

“Okay, I’m sorry if this makes me a terrible person, but there’s no way that Kenya’s husband is real. And why did they bring Kim back? She adds nothing to the show.”

“Right!!” Tamika says, three quarters of the way finished with your hair. “That’s what I said. She should’ve stayed on her spin-off shows. The only thing bigger than her ego are those lip-fillers.”

“Preach!” He says, opening a bag of Organic Pistachios. “Yo, babe! How much longer do you think?”

“Ahhh, like 2 more hours.” You say.

“Mmkay, cool.” He says, unlocking his phone. You go back to watching your guilty pleasure ridden reality TV until...

“Hey guys, wassup! Guess where I’m at?” Noah says, into his phone.

Oh god, he’s on Instagram Live.

“Nope. I’m not getting a haircut, but I am at a salon with y/n.” He says walking over to you.

“No no no-” You say, but it’s too late. He already pointed the camera at you. You cover your face.

“You see this straight hair? I helped do that. But the lovely Tamika here,” He says as she waves, “is braiding my babygirl’s hair with a surgeon’s precision.” He flips the camera back around on himself, “I’ve been here watching way too much Real Housewives of Atlanta for about 6 hours and I gotta say, I now understand why you all are so in deep with reality TV shows...”

“He’s a keeper you know. He really loves you.” Tamika whispers as Noah continues his live. “I mean, most married men wouldn’t sit here all day with their wives. And if they did, it wouldn’t be with a good attitude like his.”

“Okay, so you all think Kim is ridiculous too!” He says to his livestream.

“I know.” You say, smiling at Tamika. “He’s honestly the best boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

2 hours and a semi-sore scalp later, the sun has set and your hair is finished.

“Alright, I’m gonna do get the hot water to dip them.” Tamika says before walking to the back to heat up some water.

Noah walks toward you, dumbfounded.

“Can I... touch it?” He says.

“Of course.” You say, giggling.

“This is so cool.” He says, lightly touching a handful. “I can’t wait for you to debut this at the premiere. Everyone is gonna love these as much as I do.”

You smile, then Tamika walks in with the pitcher of hot water and motions you over. She dips the ends slowly and pats them dry with a towel.

“Alright, you’re all set.” She says.

“Thank you so much!” You say as Noah comes and places his arm around your waist. “And I’ve Cashapp-ed you the fee, plus tip.”

“Thank you, baby! And it was a pleasure meeting your boyfriend. He’s a delight.” Tamika says.

“Awww, Ms. Tamika.” Noah says, placing his hand over his heart, “Bring it in!”

He hugs her, and the entire exchange makes your heart happy.

“Thank you so much for doing my baby’s hair. Now I know why she only trusts your hands... and mine of course.” He says, making her laugh.

“No problem! Now y’all have a good night!” She says, waving.

“You, too!” You say, grabbing your bag of left over packaged hair and linking arms with Noah as you walk out together. He opens your door and you hop in his Mini Cooper. He sits there in silence for a few seconds until-

“Okay, I know I said I wanted you to debut it at the premiere. But, I gotta do an Instagram live and show everyone how amazing you look right now.” He says before giving your lips a quick smooch.

You laugh to yourself and nod.

“Okay, ready?” He says.

“Mhm.” You say.

“Hey, guys! Guess what y/n just did?!”

#noah centineo #noah centineo imagine #peter kavinsky #peter kavinsky imagine #to all the boys i’ve loved before #tatbilb #Sierra Burgess is a Loser #jamey #the stand-in #brooks rattigan #swiped #lance black #black writer #black reader

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