i love how simple and totally uncomplicated and absolutely non headache inducing bts music videos are like in the blood sweat and tears japanese version namjoon is just a fallen rebel angel who tries to make jungkook also see the truth by forcing him to drink absinthe but jungkook cant really handle the truth initially so he throws it up but when it finally kicks in he rejects yoongi who is trying to keep jungkook safe and away from the truth which he also does to jimin when a version of jimin bites the (forbidden) apple and sees the truth and runs away to try to find the version of himself who hasnt bitten the apple and is just sitting there contemplating if he should when he is in a place that while absolutely dull and uneventful is also safe and comfortable but when he does find that version of himself yoongi manages to cover his face and he never gets to let that version of him know the truth and he ends up juxtaposed with hoseok who is the “boy” who meets “evil” and he struggles to reach out to the heavens while yoongi covers jin’s eyes as well from the vision of “the fall of the rebel angels” but when he gets into a fight with taehyung who is a representation of both lucifer and icarus and taehyung wins the moral high ground that he has taken against the rest of them ends up crumbling and he falls and breaks the same way that they did
how simple and uncomplicated and totally not headache inducing
(No gif because I’m posting from a hotel with crappy wifi…sorry, haha)
So our family vacation is going to throw things off a bit in terms of me posting. I probably will not be able to post on Sunday for the next two weeks, but I’ll still be writing, so when vacay is over, I’ll for sure be a ble to post a few chapters pretty fast. I already know what’s gonna happen in the next few chunks, it’s just writing them and then editing and then posting that’s the time consuming part, haha. Thanks to everyon who’s commented or messaged me and reblogged this story! It’s so amazing to see how much everyone’s enjoying it! Let me know if you wanna be tagged in upcoming chapters!
Also, special thanks to @sannvers for proofing this chunk!
Title: Second Chance
Pairing: Eventual Gaston x Fem!Reader
try to stop Gaston from shooting the Beast and falling to his death,
but you arrive too late to save him. As you sit there, sobbing, the
Enchantress offers you a second chance to save him.
Post 3x07. Clarke & co are determined Lexa doesn’t pull any of her stitches out. They figure out a compromise.
“…Shot…it’s not fatal…”
“…Where did he even get that gun?”
“…Is the Commander okay, Wanheda…?”
Lexa’s eyes flickered as she dozed in and out of sleep. The only thing keeping her awake was the sharp jabbing pain in her abdomen. Over the next few days it had dulled until it was nothing more than an irritating ache. It also meant that Nyko’s milky potion of pain relief knocked her out within minutes, which wasn’t ideal when she wanted to signal for more water for her parched mouth. It wasn’t ideal when it was just her and Clarke in the room, and Clarke was hovering over her, and all Lexa wanted to do was will her arm up to yank her down by the neck and kiss her.
She’d survived. Somehow, somehow the gods, the spirits of the Commanders—by some magic or Skaikru technology—she’d survived.
She saw flashes of a terrified Clarke, her hands covered in black blood. She could see Aden barging into the room with supplies day in and day out, his hair growing far too long. She didn’t have the energy to tell the boy to cut his damn hair.
The pain potion was too much. It dulled her senses to a point where she could barely count to ten. And it was on a warm day where the sun streamed through the windows, and Clarke took a particularly long time to fetch the potion by the windowsill, that Lexa grabbed her chance.
“Wait,” she croaked out, her eyes squinting at the sunlight. Clarke stilled. “Wait.”
“Lexa?” She spoke her name as if she would never say it again, and swivelled slowly, as if to make sure it really was Lexa speaking. Even if there was nobody else in the room. “Shit. Are you okay? Do you want more of—”
“Not the pain potion,” she forced out, wincing as her stomach pierced in response. “I can’t think, Clarke. I can’t do anything. If you’ll let me live, don’t immobilise me.”
“I’m doing the best I can. We’re doing the best we can,” Clarke said adamantly. “This’ll help.”
“Compromise,” Lexa said simply. “I would rather suffer a bit of pain and get to look at you than sleep all the time, painless.”
“Yes? I think my tolerance is quite high, considering I got shot by a Skaikru weapon by my own mentor.”
Silence fell between them, and with a heavy sigh, Clarke set the potion aside. It took a lot of coercing and a bit of charm—a lot of it—for Clarke to relent and hide the potion in one of the drawers. She supposed Lexa had a point. There was not much good in having a vegetable of a Commander when she was going to recover anyway. So long as she didn’t strain herself too much and throw herself into physicality straight away, there was no reason to keep her mollified for so long.
“Aden’s been worried about you,” Clarke said quietly as she dabbed at Lexa’s sweating forehead with a cold, wet cloth. She leant over, setting the cloth aside and cupping Lexa’s face. “We all have.”
“How is he?” Lexa asked for him as if he were her own child. Considering the nature of his parenthood, and how they had only recently been killed in an Ice Nation raid—he was of the Water clan—she supposed she had earned that title. Or maybe she just wanted it. “Is he under Titus’ tutelage?”
“Somewhat. He confided in me.”
“He told me that someone—” Clarke shot her a meaningful stare, “Advised him to take Indra’s counsel.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Lexa teased, a little weakly, because if she laughed, it did hurt like a bitch. “Did you expect me to tell him to go seek tutelage from the person who shot me? Aden would’ve tried to kill him, the reckless juvenile he can be sometimes.”
“He almost did,” Clarke admitted, and Lexa startled, only for Clarke to wave it away. “A story for later.”
“Okay. Trade me that story for your body against mine?”
It came out a lot smoother than intended, judging by Clarke’s eye-roll. Still, she relented—she did a lot for Lexa these days—and Lexa scooted over carefully, ignoring Clarke’s insistence on not to rip out the stitches. Eventually, after a lot of sweat, shouting and cursing, the pair managed to fit onto the double sized bed. And then it just came naturally. They had always been two missing pieces of a jigsaw, and they slotted together smoothly.
It struck Lexa then, that they hadn’t really spoken for what felt like weeks. She didn’t want to ask how long she’d been out for—she didn’t want to steer the conversation towards that direction today. Not while she could function and speak like a normal person, for the time being.
Lexa took the opportunity to rest her head against Clarke’s chest. Usually, she was the bigger spoon. The reliant one. And she never got to revel in how good it felt to just be embraced; to let that responsibility sit on someone else. To let everything in her head, in her heart, just rest on Clarke—just in that moment.
“There’s a lot I didn’t tell you,” Lexa mused, pressing a soft kiss to Clarke’s collarbone. Clarke hummed in response, quietly content in just holding Lexa. “When we kissed…when we were about to say goodbye…”
Clarke dipped her head to look at her, her lips quirked in a smile. “Three words?”
Lexa felt her words get stuck in her throat. “Hm?”
“I was about to tell you the same thing.”
“You know, in Trigedasleng, it’s four.”
“Ai hod yu in,” Clarke told her, and Lexa grinned at her clunky use of the language, pleased nonetheless. Clarke could feel the amusement resonating from her, and held her carefully as she laughed, by the stomach, so she couldn’t rip any of her stitches out. Lexa had long been healing, but she was still tender to touch, and winced when Clarke let go. “You’re made of words, Lexa. But sometimes you can just look at me and I’ll know. Aden says your eyes are green like the forest because that’s what made you. I think your eyes are just…” Clarke fiddled around for a word. “You.”
“Then—” Lexa cleared her throat, feeling her eyes droop in contentment. “I—love—you.”
Clarke laughed, and dipped her head again, this time, to press a proper kiss against Lexa’s lips. Lexa angled her head to deepen it, only to hiss in pain from her stomach wound. It would take a long time to recover, and though Lexa stubbornly ignored it, her hands roaming over Clarke’s hips, Clarke stilled her movements. It would be no good kissing Lexa if she’d injure herself in the process. Lexa closed her eyes and allowed it, feeling a familiar ache between her legs. It never seemed to go away whenever she thought of Clarke like that; it was like once she’d bitten the apple, she needed to eat the rest of it. And the way Clarke held her, her hands occasionally stroking up and down the side of Lexa’s body, Lexa knew she felt the same.
Aden visited on the third day without Nyko’s potion, his hair neatly combed to one side. In one hand he held the Commander’s red sash, and in the other, he—rather awkwardly—presented a bouquet of flowers. Lexa could’ve laughed at the sight of him, if she had the energy, but she smiled warmly instead and he strode in, bowing deeply before the foot of the bed.
“Heda,” he said, almost breathlessly. His cheeks were pink, as if he’d sprinted up the staircase. “I, uh, cut my hair. Clarke kom Skaikru told me my hair looked messy, and I wanted to be presentable. This—” He carried the bouquet in his hand, looking for some excuse to babble, “Is—well—one of the kitchen girls, her friend, well, she’s a florist, or something, and she said these flowers—I can’t remember the name—they’re for good health, and good lock, and—”
“They’re lovely, Aden,” Lexa settled him, and his shoulders deflated, the tension instantly gone. “How have you been?”
“Sleepless,” he rambled, setting the flowers to one side. He self-consciously patted his hair down. There was one particular strand that just wouldn’t sit down properly. “There is a lot of paperwork in being a Commander.”
“A lot of honeyed wine, too,” Lexa added, and Aden grinned a little guiltily. Already she could feel herself easing back into the regularity of life. They didn’t talk of the elephant in the room: Titus. Lexa decided she’d deal with him later—and personally. Aden didn’t need to get involved in this. “So. Tell me about your glorious tenure as Commander. Clarke tells me you’ve been doing exceptionally well.”
“For a replacement,” Aden added, cocking his head to the side as if to be sure. Lexa nodded at him to go on, and he pulled up a chair by her bedside, wringing his hands together. “It’s difficult, Heda. The clan leaders want this, and another clan leader wants that, and meanwhile, there’s a dispute in a village over some bread and meat, and…” He trailed off, contemplative. “It’s stressful, Heda. I barely get time to spar in the pits anymore, and I fear I am incompetent as a fighter, too. It feels like everything is taking a part of me, and I do not have the time to regain—anything.”
“You’re overwhelmed,” Lexa assessed him, briefly.
“Yes. And—and please tell me if I should stop talking,” Aden said. “It’s just—there are so many things I wish to say to you, Heda, and—”
“Don’t stop,” Lexa told him. “I find you soothing, Aden. Your mind has always been one I’ve been fond of. Say whatever you want to. I…” She shook her head. “Sometimes I speak too much and it is too much exertion. So tell me stories, Aden. And look at you,” she added, somewhat proudly. “Look at how you’ve grown.”
“You won’t notice. But your shoulders are broader; you sit tighter; you are more confident, not in me but in yourself. And that’s important.”
“I remember. You told me once.” Aden smiled brightly at her, pleased with her assessment. He was never one to be cocky; he was a good egg. There had never been anything too much with him. He was not the most well-read of the class, nor was he the best fighter, the speediest, or the most agile. He was average—but Lexa found he had the biggest heart of them all. And perhaps that was why he’d won her over so quickly. He was not naturally intelligent, but he was eager to learn. He was not an excellent fighter, but he would spar in the pits whether it was raining, or too hot, or too cold. He was the first there and the last there. The tenacity of his spirit would be rewarded—Lexa was sure she’d see to it.
“Go on then,” Lexa teased him. “Who cut your hair? It looks good.”
“Bessie,” he said, and the tips of his ears burned. “She said I looked handsome with a neater, shorter cut.”
“She’s right. So…Bessie?”
“She’s two years older than me, Heda,” Aden said quickly. “And Madden said that she had kissed him twice behind the art-house. He teased me about it, actually,” he added, a little crestfallen. “He’s three years older than me. So I think she must prefer older men.”
“Madden is not a man. He’s a boy.”
“So am I!”
“There you go.”
They spoke idly of crushes and food and haircuts and fights—there was one story Aden was so reluctant to tell that Lexa practically had to pull it out of him—and it made her near-cackle at the childishness of it. But it made her grateful too. Aden still had the glimmer of youth and optimism in his bright eyes; he was mature and he’d have made decisions in her wake that she wouldn’t dream of putting on his shoulders. Yet despite all of that, he’d decided to pick a fight with Indra in the sparring pits just to impress pretty Bessie. He’d been beaten roughly ten to twelve times before Indra had muttered into the ear she hadn’t bashed that maybe it was enough. But he’d kept going for more, and by the time Indra was finished with him, he was bleeding from nearly every orifice.
Sadly, it hadn’t worked.
By the time Aden left, with an ample basket of cheeses, bread, fruit and some of the best snacks from the Polisian stalls in the Square, Lexa found herself grinning.
“You,” Clarke was disgruntled, and Lexa tried to placate her by rubbing her arm. Clarke shrugged her off. “You are one piece of work. I told you: gentle exercise! That does not mean sparring with Indra!”
“It was gentle sparring,” Lexa defended herself meekly, as Clarke redid her stitches. It hadn’t been a big thing, and not all of the stitches had been ripped open. They’d mostly healed, to be honest—and it wasn’t only until Indra had noticed speckles of blood on her tunic that they’d stopped the session. They’d only been lightly sparring, finding Lexa’s feet on the ground again.
It had felt good, to breathe fresh air, to see Indra’s face light up in relief, to feel the mud squelch beneath her boots. It felt good to just be doing something.
Clarke’s fingers traced over the stitches, and covered it with a bandage and surgical tape she’d attained from her medical bag of wonders. “Doctor’s orders,” she reprimanded, mock-seriously. “You’re not allowed to spar with Indra for a week.”
“Five days,” Clarke bargained, knowing she’d won when she pressed a lingering kiss to Lexa’s lips. Lexa closed her eyes, relishing the way she tasted. She tasted of earth, and laughter, and life.
“I thought you said a week,” Lexa murmured against her lips, kissing her again, briefly.
“Two days for bedrest,” Clarke said. She pampered Lexa’s pillows, and gently pushed her down. Lexa was ready for the milky potion until Clarke clambered on top, both legs straddling her sides, and her eyes widened. “With me.”
“Are you sure?” Lexa asked, for once, thinking about the stitches.
Lexa didn’t need telling twice. With one arm supporting herself as she leant up, she kissed Clarke fully on the mouth, cherishing how she tasted. Every fibre of her body told her to slow down, but she hadn’t kissed Clarke in so long. Hungrily, she deepened the kiss, coaxing Clarke’s mouth open with a low moan as her tongue delved inside. Clarke’s hands fisted into her hair as Lexa’s teeth nipped on her bottom lip, drawing out another moan from Clarke as she supported herself up with her arm.
“Lie down,” Clarke whispered.
Lexa sank against her pillows, her eyes blown wide open by Clarke sitting on her. She could see where Clarke’s line of vision drew to—the red sash Aden had returned earlier. With a cheeky grin, she took it from the headboard and played around with it, raising her eyebrow at Lexa. “Do you trust me?”
“I’ve missed you,” Lexa pled, her hand reaching out to palm Clarke’s breast. Clarke closed her eyes. Lexa was a heady, intoxicating mixture of pleasure and irresistibility. “I’ve missed…”
“I know what you’ve missed,” Clarke said lowly. “You haven’t given me a chance to tell you what I’ve missed.”
“Okay.” Lexa eyed the sash. “What have you missed?”
Clarke made quick work of tying Lexa’s hands against the rails of the headboard, smirking at her half-hearted struggles. A ping in her heart told her she was doing it just so Lexa didn’t exert herself too much. The overpowering part of her heart told her she just wanted to capture every essence of Lexa’s body, every curve, every crook, with her lips. Just like Lexa had. Lexa had worshipped her like a Goddess, her lips kissing and sucking of reverence. And tonight, Clarke would do the same.
She bent down to kiss her again, hard. Their teeth clashed as Lexa startled, quickly settling into the rhythm of the kiss. It was desperate, almost brutal as Clarke bit down hard on Lexa’s lip, feeling Lexa’s groan all the way down to the ache between her legs.
“You,” Clarke panted against Lexa’s lips, “are a piece of work.”
“You are a piece of art,” Lexa whispered back.
Clarke smothered her smile with another kiss, rapidly moving down the side of her neck, biting and sucking her way down to her collarbones. With a pair of medical scissors on the desk, she cut apart Lexa’s tunic despite her protests and tossed it to one side, taking a moment to stare at her. She was scarred and bruised—but she was so, so beautiful. She was, from Clarke’s point of view, flawless. Every scar was a raised mark of beauty, and just as Lexa loved to relish Clarke’s breasts, Clarke did the same, her lips enclosing around a nipple as her fingernails raked up the sides of Lexa’s body.
Lexa arched up from the bed, craving more contact as Clarke sucked on her nipple, and licking in a swirling circle as her eyes danced back up to meet Lexa’s. It was almost ravenous, the way Lexa looked at her, her eyes hooded and dark in desire. She imagined it was somewhat of a mirror. Clarke grinned rakishly at her as she nibbled, eliciting another one of those moans she’d longed to hear. One of those moans she’d imagined in the back of her mind as she slid a hand under her pants, the nights Lexa were unconscious, and she’d just wanted to—
“Jok…” Lexa was breathless as Clarke licked a trail down her navel, her fingernails digging into skin. Lexa loved it when she did that; she loved the brief burn of pain and the erotic sensation of pleasure afterwards. She loved watching Clarke’s messy blonde hair move downwards as she spread Lexa’s legs, feeling the sticky wetness, for her, all for her, even as they’d rushed this like two eager bitches in heat.
Lexa rocked against her as Clarke nipped at the inside of her thigh, careful to hold her in position in case she injured herself. Steadying Lexa with both hands, she slowly licked Lexa’s clit with the flat of her tongue, enjoying the long and almost torturous moan Lexa let out. It was near torture for Clarke, seeing Lexa wanting to writhe and feeling it in her hands and trying to stop it for fear of ripping her stitches out. But Clarke’s desire felt like an unrelenting storm, and she kissed her clit and then sucked hard on it, groaning as Lexa cried out, bucking her hips uncontrollably. Clarke gripped tightly onto Lexa’s side as one hand failed to resist and she coaxed a finger inside, feeling Lexa clench for her.
It felt like it had been so long since they’d been rolling around in bed, enjoying each other, feasting on each other without a worry in the world. It felt like forever since Clarke had last traced Lexa’s tattoos, and the peaceful kiss they’d shared upon wakening. Everything since had been a horror story, but Clarke was determined to fuck Lexa so hard that she’d forget everything.
She slid another finger in, pumping fast and hard as Lexa bucked into her face, her mouth still in a determined ‘O’ shape as she sucked on her clit. It was overwhelming for Lexa as she shuddered, feeling every muscle in her body spasm at the mere sight of Clarke staring hungrily up at her as her mouth gorged on her cunt, animalistic and desperate. It was a mix of sharp jabs of pain in her abdomen and an immense tidal wave of pleasure as Clarke curled her fingers inside her. Lexa tossed her head backwards, exposing her neck, and she could feel Clarke clamber up her body again, her fingers still sliding in and out of her.
“Come for me,” Clarke whispered in Lexa’s ear, her mouth still sticky with Lexa’s juices. She kissed a wet trail down the side of her neck and then Lexa yanked her by the head, pulling her up so her mouth was hot and heavy against her ear. Lexa nipped at her earlobe and then she was coming, hard and fast, cursing heavily as she bucked against Clarke’s hand. It had been quick and hard and fast—and Clarke could feel the heat pool in the bottom of her belly as Lexa came loudly in her ear, panting and panting and panting—
“Fuck,” Clarke groaned, the ache between her legs growing even more as she watched Lexa’s head loll back in pleasure. She could already feel Lexa’s hand straining down Clarke’s body, but she stilled it, near-torturing herself.
“Takes as long as it takes,” Clarke told her matter-of-factly, knowing that an orgasm wasn’t (quite) worth Lexa pulling out her stitches again. Breathlessly, Lexa laughed at the reference and sank back against the pillows, making room for Clarke’s naked, sweaty body pressed against hers.
“Will you replace my tunic?” Lexa murmured, pulling up the covers so they could huddle in each other’s warmth.
“Don’t see the need,” Clarke replied cheekily, snuggling into her. Her hands roamed Lexa’s enticing skin, and if she could get drunk off sheer desire, she was far gone. Lexa smiled lazily, pressing a soft kiss to Clarke’s lips, then to the tip of her nose, and then to both her eyelids.
“Reshop, Clarke,” Lexa murmured dozily, her hand raking through Clarke’s hair.
Clarke’s eyes fluttered shut at the soothing sensation, nestling her head against the crook below Lexa’s chin. “Reshop, Heda.”
Prompt: Mine: Sunlight withdrawing into its darkest shell of green / coils ring by ring like a yellow snake in a tight burrow. (The Art of Sideways, Claire Potter)
It pushes up from the ground: a single sun-furled trillium jerking side to side. The rain patters the green leaves and the fleshy white triad. It’s grown close enough to the edge; Pangara could reach over and pluck it. The sun slants through the rain and she decides it’s too precious to kill. The frantic down-callings of songbirds in the trees flitter through the canopy.
“Any sign?” He asks from below.
She feels him shift and her balance wobbles for a just a second - a moment of suspended breath and blood before he shifts his grasp on her legs and she can kneel. For extra purchase, she walks her hands down the craggy silt of the exhaust shaft, red caking her hands and knees. But when she is sitting on his shoulders, instead of lowering her further, Solas walks with her away from the hole in the ceiling.
The apostate is lanky, but a broad and tall man. The dark wood beams abandoned to weather in this mine pass close to her head. Pangara snatches down to hold onto his tunic and her toes curl as she laughs. “You gonna let me down?”
She sees him press his lips on the side of her knee. She can feel his chuckle through her feet.
“I thought to take you back to your bedroll. There may be old nails.”
Pangara leans forward and directs a meaningful look straight down.
“I possess enchantments,” his tone is lofty, just a hint of smugness, and in response she digs her thumb to the sensitive point where his ear meets his jaw.
His yelp is anything but dignified.
“Put me down, or I won’t tell you what I did see.”
She is able to pick up the way his sigh is an exaggeration of mournfulness, able now to catch the subtle rise of his brow and the way his lips suggest their mirth as he kneels and she walks off of him. He straightens, she turns. He easily links his fingers into hers when she presses their hands together, and he steps closer when she tugs on him just lightly. He ducks his head near to hers and if it weren’t for the way his eyes look like he’ll die without a taste of her, she might almost think he’s happy. Then his eyes close and he kisses her. As always, it is quicker than she can think; his arms slip around her waist, he palms her ass, he nudges her up around his thigh and when she rocks he makes a noise into her mouth like a man begging.
“Solas,” she says, her bottom lip pulled between his teeth - because he’s acting drunk.
“Vhenan,” he murmurs, and he wants her. She can feel.
She breaks the kiss but holds him close, and he rests his forehead against hers. His lips twitch again. Rueful, this time.
He steps away from her and his arms drop to his sides. His head ducks lazily, watching her. The way he regards her is so loose. She knows he’s hurt himself in their escape, in their desperate retreat from the troll; neither of them had noticed the drop-off in the middle of the clearing. They’d tumbled down into the mine. The way the stone had shaken around them had buzzed her teeth in her skull.
A night of fitful half-rest, interrupted by the occasional stomping and roar of the troll above. Sounds mistaken for the calls of Inquisition scouts, or Cassandra’s shouts. But no one had come. Solas had said the Dreams were too quiet here for him to walk in sleep for reinforcements. He’d rolled root and smoked in the quiet dark.
And this morning, rain mixed with the sun. “Halla’s Breakfast,” she’d said, peering up at the sky and the wrinkled red rock carved up to the surface. The mine isn’t all that deep.
He’s been siphoning mana into his wound to heal it. A subtle set of charms, but she’s felt him draining the ambient magic out of the stone-swallowed air. Some internal break, she is able to guess. But he’d insisted that she save her strength. Refused to let her examine him. Smoked. Insisted this morning that he could lift her to the crest of the shaft to see if the troll slumbered nearby.
She puts her fingers against his chest, trying to make the touch like a seduction - but he senses her intent, and gently guides her hands away.
“And what did you see in the rain above us, then?”
He makes her grin by lifting his hand and twirling her under his arm. His breath does not hitch. He does not flinch.
“Red-winged soldernut, chased off by a pickersjay.” She pulls away and settles onto her bedroll. He leans up against the rock next to her. She pulls his backpack near and opens it as he closes his eyes, and she pretends she does not notice the wavering of the Veil as he weaves a weak spell into his body.
The bag is worn leather, soft to touch and smelling of woods and sharp grasses. Pangara gently pushes aside a soft bundled fur and a small canvas sack that holds his bar of soap. She can smell it like crisp comfort, peppery and herbal. The coarse scrape of a ball of jute meets her touch. She finds the jerky and apples in a tight bundle and unwraps the package, portioning it out evenly between them. He resists his portion of the jerky, though, looking into her eyes and saying softly, “I have no appetite for it, vhenan; but one of us should eat it.”
Why he’s being so damn stoic, when she could help. It’s baffling to her.
They eat in comfortable silence. The sun shifts slowly over the ragged opening to the world above. He nibbles the small, lumpy apples - eats them cores and all - and above them rises the chorus of birds in flight, and their songs at nest. The rain has made a small rivulet that dribbles down the shaft and into the mine.
“We could probably risk it,” she murmurs between bites of jerky.
“Mm,” he agrees, but neither of them stirs.
It’s a peculiar feeling: sitting under, looking up. The ground around her feels oppressive as ever - but the opening up into the world, beyond the unexpected cloister of this dark and hidden den, feels suddenly like a rift into a world where she will spiral. Where she will be called on and needed. The varied songs of birds wanting to nest, to mate, to warn, to build, to share, to summon, and to greet whisk a cloud of sound beyond that portal.
He has taken her hand in his hand and he rubs across her knuckles with his thumb. The red silt on her hands comes off on his fingers.
“Lovely pigment,” he says when he notices.
A soldernut alights on the edge of the opening and calls out. Pangara whistles a sharp, short whoop then three high notes in return. Solas laughs.
“That’s very good!”
“We have soldernuts up north, too,” she grins. And then she mouths through a series of songs and calls, sometimes bringing her hands to cup her chin, or putting her fingers to her lips. He watches her sideways and tries to hide a smile when he recognizes a call - and she’s not a little proud of how she can pull the phrases from memory, recalling long-ago mornings spent competing against her uncle to match the squeaks and rolls, the throaty whoops.
And then, after Solas takes another apple from the backpack and bites it, swallows, and clears his throat, she realizes he’s decided that it’s his turn.
Chatter, curlews, and impossible trills and krees, smoothly folding into soft and uncanny tu-whus and back up into the high registers. His mouth barely opens, though his cheeks pinch back, and each song is reproduced rapidly, precisely, and loud.
Pangara feels herself recoil. She seizes up, cusses, and pulls back. Because how is he that loud? It rings off the damp rock walls, buzzes and trills and the soldernut above replies in alarm before winging frantically away.
“How are you doing that?” She presses over the wall of song, and he only grins and shifts away as she pulls at his sleeve. He is done now with all the calls she knew and is moving on, whistles yipping and chirruping in songs more elegant than she’s ever heard, songs that say greetings in deep forests and territorial warnings on the banks of long-forgotten rivers filled with snowmelt. The songs he weaves - they are beautiful.
But this man is never loud, and this? Solas may be a woodsman, and she knows this about him, and he may have developed skill in birdsong and calls… but this volume? She covers her ears, begging him with her eyes to stop. And his eyes have gone sly. And they’re still a little unfocused as he smirks at her. Unless he is using the very thin magic remaining in this shallow hollow in the earth…
Pangara narrows her gaze and he shifts away from her again, pure mischief in his eyes.
“What have you got?” She says loud over the cacophony, and when he scoots another handswidth away from her, still whistling, she lunges at him, catches his side and pulls herself close, scrambling over him, then his songs falter around his laughter as she wrestles with him and tries to get him to open his mouth. “What have you got!” She repeats, pressing against his chest, knowing there’s a trick, and he refuses to part his lips and only grins at her, taking the chance to nuzzle at her neck and then when she pries her fingers into his mouth he suckles on them, dirt and all. She shakes her head, trying hard not to be infected with the dopey, ridiculous grin he’s got twisting his lips around her fingers, and she roots around in his mouth until her fingertips touch the device.
They come to a brief stalemate in which she glares at him and he tries to look both unaffected and dignified with her hand stuffed in his mouth.
Flat on his back, he releases her fingers with a chuckled snort and she pulls out a remarkably simple little instrument covered in his saliva. A flat of apple bitten into a bean-shape, with a small sheet of apple skin adhered to the surface by a very simple spell.
She holds it up. “You could have just swallowed this?”
His grin drops a little and he seems a little stunned as he considers that. “I… suppose.” And then she notices his hands cupped on her backside, shifting her forward a little on his lap, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he traces his touch up her back; her chest is pressed against his, and his gaze flicks down from her eyes.
Pangara feels herself redden when Cole says, “Found you.”
“He’s got a broken rib, and he’s been keeping the pain down,” she says as she staggers off and away from Solas, who sobers at once and nods pleasantly to Cole, lifting himself on one elbow.
“Cole, thank you for locating us. Has the danger been cleared above?”
“Yes, the trees shook and shook and all the woods hurt but where were you? Everyone asked but there is so little… ” Cole’s hands spread, and Solas nods.
“Spirits would have difficulty navigating to us here, you did well. We’re grateful.”
Pangara links the belts on the bedrolls and Cole snaps out of existence - and the refinement drops out of Solas’ eyes the instant they are alone… leaving the heat.
She says, warning, “Whatever your game, it let me find what you were hiding.”
“A worthwhile sacrifice,” he admits, and he manages, when the rope ladder drops to them some time later, to pull himself out of the ground.
The swoop and curve of eyeliner makes her slightly inhuman
in a way that she deserves.
With a flash of teeth she has bitten apples from the claws of trees.
In a pyre of swept-up petals and mouse guts she burnt her final offering.
She only took off her sunglasses when it reached full dark.
She didn’t take me along on the first foray or the third adventure.
I frost her lips in blue because it was never the point to make her look like a real girl.
When I tried to slither through the gate she plucked me up and told me wait.
She had to speak to something in the soil first.
Through the black coil bars I watched her drive stakes through the ground.
She tasted the dirt and said it wasn’t ready.
With a flick of my brush I forge her cheekbones sharp as splinters.
What am I preparing you for? I ask. Can I weave myself up your arm like a vine and come with you?
This isn’t armor, she says, as I dust her eyes pollen green. It’s an opening.
The bees won’t listen unless I’m in bloom.
Okay what???? I want thinking through the whole thing, “PAIRINGS! JUNG KOOK!” And then the bathtub appeared like excuse me Big Hit can you can some sort of continuation plezzzz.
Anywho’s lets get on with the break down :D
So we see Yoon Gi appear at a musical instruments shop. He picks up a rock and throws it at the glass in the door, breaking in and setting off an alarm.
This reminded my of when he was in the hotel room in I NEED U, flashing lights were seen moving across the room.
Both scenes are connected to Yoon Gi so there may be somethings going on here. I saw a lot of people thinking it was a police car/ambulance/fire engine, who knows, maybe it was because a police car appears later in short film #4.
And then Yoon Gi immediately heads to a piano:
Can I just say now that this was why I was thinking that the piano in short film #1 wasn’t the Danger one, they didn’t look the same. Here is the piano that appeared in BEGIN.
Suga starts playing a tune on the piano, completely ignoring the siren. The tune is the same one that we hear being whistled at the beginning of BEGIN. The very same whistle starts echoing ominously through the town, which is why Yoon Gi gets up and leaves, following the sound.
This is where he ends up, and I think we all know what this is supposed to represent. The place where Jung Kook got hit by the car in I NEED U:
Here, while Yoon Gi is looking around, a car comes out of no where, and almost runs him over too:
These two shots look very similar too:
Except Yoon Gi manages to move away in time, unlike Kook.
That experience caused Yoon Gi to have a flashback, remembering when Jung Kook got hit by a car on the same road. He then hears the sound of a crash, the same sound we heard in short film #1 when Jung Kook was having a nightmare. And then a new ‘splatter’ appears on the road. Look at the screenshot from before for reference:
It’s clearly Yoon Gi imagining the scene of where Jung Kook’s death happened. He’s reliving his memories…
When he runs away from the scene and ends up back at the shop, it turns out that the sound of crashing was real as the car crashed into a building instead of Yoon Gi.
And this is where it gets interesting! Because of the Korean that appears right before:
난 달라졌을까 다른 길을 택했다면 멈춰서 뒤돌아봤다면 - it’s from BTS hidden track in 2 Cool 4 Skool - Path. It translates to:
Would I have changed? If I had chosen a different path, if I had stopped and looked back.
I SCREAMED WHEN I SAW IT!! This is Jung Kook’s line too so it’s no coincidence! And think about the lyrics, would I have chosen a different path. If I stopped and looked back. This is Jung Kook saying ‘what if I looked, what if I didn’t go that way, would I still be alive?” And it;s also significant because that’s what Yoongi did! He stopped and looked back, he chose a different path by moving out of the cars way. He did what Jung Kook didn’t. He chose a different path and the car hit the shop instead!!!
And due to the impact of the car, the piano set on fire:
Now, in BEGIN, Jung Kook’s eye has the piano burning shown in it, as if he was reliving memories. But he didn’t see it, Suga did! It kinda makes me think, and i know it’s far fetched, but what if they’re connected? Like, mentally or something. I think it has something to do with the whistling as well. The first time we hear it in FIRST LOVE - Yoon Gi played on the piano. The second time it was just before he got hit by the car. The third time was after the piano set on fire. These are all significant moments in both short films.
In BEGIN, we hear it at the beginning of the film, then we see Jung Kook having a nightmare where he wakes up after seeing the piano burning and ‘re-living’ the car crash. Also, we hear the piano version when he’s about to paint the picture, and then he sees the piano burning again. So I believe that maybe this whistle is some sort of trigger for both of them, causing them to re-live those moments.
Of course the part that has us all confused is Ji min. First, it was the bubbling bathtub. Secondly, it was the fact the Yoon Gi’s ‘dot’ appeared and then merged with Ji Min’s dot, creating a new one. I’ve made a small post on how I think that everyone’s dots connects to their film. Jung Kook got a feather, Ji Min got a bitten apple, Tae got a crack (in glass). For Yoon Gi, it was a piano, before the piano and the apple came together and made the zig-zag-y pattern.
So this is a very big stretch but if you haven’t already, you may need to read my ‘Maknae’s Drove the Hyungs Out’ post.
In there, I talked about how Ji Min must have lied about something to cause J-Hope to go away. The thing is, Jung Kook’s piano appeared for a brief second in LIE. Right in the middle of Ji Min singing ‘caught in a lie.’
Credits to Yoongiefied 93 on YouTube for the Eng Subs
What I’m saying is, what if Ji Min had a part to play in Jung Kook (and Suga’s) death? (Like I said this is a stretch so… yeah) I won’t get too deep into this though.
Last point, the bathtub. In Ji Min’s film LIE, you see the water flowing backwards, back into the tub. While pleading for someone to save him from punishment.
Credits to Yoongiefied 93 on YouTube for the Eng Subs
And in Yoon Gi’s First Love film:
(Makes you realised how filtered the Lie film is lmao)
Wait.. shit… what did I just say? Filtered? As in, a facade, not the real thing. A LIE?! WOAH!
Okay, I’m sorry that just came out…
So like I said, maybe Ji Min played a part in it. After Yoon Gi hears the crash and while he runs to the shop, this scene happened. The water is bubbling, like something’s coming out of it? Like someones just let out their breath?
But we know that in LIE, Ji Min falls into the tub, maybe this is him finally getting out of it. Almost as if something has stirred him and caused him to get up. The thoughts of Suga running to the store? The thought of Jung Kook dying? Again, I’m imagining links here, but it’s just an idea.
So that’s all for now everyone! Please give my theories a glace and let me know what you think as well! :D
- Widzz (who really cant be bothered to deal with Big (S)Hit anymore)
I think sometimes Sangwoo purposefully makes shitty moves because he loves the adrenaline and sense of danger the risk of getting caught gives him. I’ve started to think so when Bum is all worried about ‘what if we get caught?’ and Sangwoo’s reaction was just a tense laugh and a 'well, we’re fucked’ as if he was talking about stealing candies instead of burying a body. Maybe he purposefully placed that bitten apple there because he just loves risk and to test his luck a bit too much. And maybe that’s also why he got a boner when he couldn’t find Bum, while it indeed worried him, he also couldn’t help but find it exciting.
The moment Yorumei’s name is brought up, Jayley makes a face as if she had just bitten into a rotten apple. Her nose wrinkles and her lips pull into a small frown. “He’s weirds.”
She huffs. “Ands nots ins the… haha sorts ofs quirky types ofs weirds. He’s justs plain weirds. Alls he does is speaks ins riddles ands I’s fairly certain he does its nots because he musts buts because he justs likes to fucks withs peoples. He’s a dick.”
She pauses, glancing to the side. “But he’s a usefuls dick. His ability withs odds ands strange magics ares seconds to nones. Excepts maybes Hawu. I’s don’ts know. I’s sats ins ons a conversations betweens the two ya knows.” Jayley looks off in to the distance in a thousand yard stare. “I’s hads no fuckin’ clue wha’ theys was sayin’s.”
She heaves out a breath. “I’s thinks he’s okays, I’s guess. I’s likes his teeth. Maybes I’s cans makes a deal withs hims to claims thems ifs he dies. They’d makes a nice necklace.” She pauses, ear twitching. “But he’s saveds my ass mores thans a fews times, evens thoughs he owes me nothin’s.” Her brows furrow. “I’s thinks he mights haves a goods hearts. Somewheres ins alls those whites robes.”
1. Namjoon read “My parents’ house made up one realm,… This realm was familiar to me in almost every way - mother and
father, love and strictness, model behavior, and school.”
The quote is an excerpt from Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair’s Youth by Hermann Hesse. This is a continuation from the quote Namjoon read in Wings #1.
2. Familiar setting of a hospital/asylum
We’ve seen a similar setting in BTS’ Run mv (and Namjoon’s Joke mv).
I’m pretty sure this is an asylum. Why?
3. The Rorschach test
Extract from Wiki: AKA the Rorschach inkblot test, it is a psychological test in which subjects’ perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed using psychological interpretation, complex algorithms, or both. Some psychologists use this test to examine a person’s personality characteristics and emotional functioning. It has been employed to detect underlying thought disorder, especially in cases where patients are reluctant to describe their thinking processes openly.
Little innocent Hermione, who had bitten the apple. Who was tired of always helping and fixing everything, and no one returning the favors. Who seemed to exist for the use of others. She had craved knowledge, and control and power. So when Riddle offered her the world- and an apple, she didn’t hesitate to take it.
Little muggleborn Hermione, who had never gotten her Hogwarts letter. Little muggleborn Hermione, who had bitten the apple. Who was tired of always helping and fixing everything, and no one returning the favors. Who seemed to exist for the use of others. She had craved knowledge, and control and power. So when Draco offered her the world- and an apple, she didn’t hesitate to take it.
Took England out and about with me today to get some pictures in better light. :) I found this weird moss-and-apple… thing on the windowsill of one of the old derelict buildings on the street where I work, haha. Perfect for a photo! …I’m sure people walking past me on the street wondered what the hell I was doing, though. (…I hope they didn’t think I’m the one who left my gross bitten apple there!)