Is it possible to die a second time? First those pics yesterday from that new photoshoot and now that teaser....... dammit, Jon Bernthal, you have ruined me for any future boyfriends... urgh!
Call me a cat because I have nine freakin lives with the amount of times I’ve died these past couple days!! OMG and we still have tomorrow with the SDCC to come!! MORE NEW JON PICS!!! MORE NEW FRANK FOOTAGE!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!
i have this theory that every time we dream, we see an alternate reality. after all, in string theory, all universes exist. i have died many times there. i get déjà vu a lot. i wonder if i am in someone else’s dream, and she has just woken up. maybe she’s screaming at me to stop, to move a little to the left, to watch out. when i wake up i always wonder if i’m the same me or i’ve been replaced by the girl in my dream. if i died there to get a second chance here. or maybe here is where i’m learning how not to die so violently. i don’t know. i don’t get much sleep.
Darkness Manipulation, Tactical Analysis, and one hella smooth voice.
Better late than never! Introducing Jumin, the team’s financial support and dark magic guy. His powers come from that little purple cloak (or so he claims, but he probably just wears it to look cool)! He can manipulate shadows easily, making him a formidable enemy at night, and has extensive knowledge over all sorts of malicious and deadly spells. He also has a cat, because no proper wizard is ever without one, right?
Also, bread shoes is an inside joke between me and @omelette-douche-fromage. I grew so frustrated drawing his loafers that I screamed “i hate bread shoes” right at her face hahah rip me. She laughed so hard I think she almost died.
“We both tried to grab at the last copy of that desired book at the same time and had a tug of war.” (from this post)
Sterek ficlet, T, ~1.6k words. Basically, I was going to just do a tiny little drabble as a warm-up for working on one of my WIPs, and then I was having too much fun with it to stop.
(Btw, if you couldn’t tell, I totally made up the book series in question. Any resemblance to any actual book is completely coincidental.)
It’s definitely some kind of torture that on the day the seventh and final Path of Wolves novel comes out, Stiles still has to go to school like it’s not the most important day of the year or anything.
And okay, so it’s not like anyone else in Beacon Hills has even heard of these books except Scott, and then only because Stiles can’t shut up about them, but still. Stiles spends the entire day practically vibrating out of his skin with the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken in a word any of his teachers has said today. The only reason he doesn’t try to make a break for it during lunch is that he can’t afford another detention on his record, and even so, he’s still sorely, sorely tempted to risk it. In the end, he has to get Lydia to hide his car keys from him.
(He was going to ask Scott to do it, but Scott would have caved as soon as Stiles started begging, and Stiles is definitely not above begging, so Lydia it is.)
The instant the final bell rings, though, Stiles is out of there, flying across the parking lot and gunning the Jeep. The bookstore probably only ordered a few copies, and if Stiles isn’t holding one of them by the time he leaves, somebody’s about to get murdered.
Not that he actually expects any competition, but it’s better not to let these things go to chance. He already messed up once by procrastinating on pre-ordering until they were sold out; he didn’t think it was possible for a Path of Wolves novel to be sold out. He was wrong, and now he’s paying for it by having to physically go to the bookstore to get it.
Either Stiles vastly overestimated how many copies the store was going to order, or else he vastly underestimated how many people in Beacon Hills read these books, because when he skids to a stop in front of the New Releases shelf, there’s only one copy left. One beautiful, perfect hardcover copy.
Lucky for him, one copy is enough.
Except that when he grabs ahold of it, someone else does, too.
For a long second, Stiles can’t even believe what he’s seeing. Another hand, on his book. Another hand that’s not letting go, even though Stiles has already clearly and unambiguously grabbed it by the spine and isn’t letting go, either.
Stiles turns his head incredulously to get a look at this usurper, and it’s Derek Hale. As in, made-of-muscles, leather-wearing lacrosse captain Derek Hale.
Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.
“It’s hard to tell the truth, and it’s hard to hear it. It involves feelings. It could make us feel uncomfortable with each other. But, to all of us, [hearing the truth] wasn’t bad. I believe Solar’s words strengthened our unity.”
Lars sat with his knees pulled close to his body, leaning
against the rough-hewn surface of the kindergarten wall. He trailed his finger
through the thin coating of dirt on the rockbed floor. He drew distracted
shapes and wrote out words and names in the dirt, all of which he wiped clean
and started anew, his brow furrowed.
Pad watched from behind. Unseeable, her eye flickered
between Lars and the drawings in the dirt. She picked up the hem of her dress
and moved to his side, sitting down with only a few inches of space between
them. Lars said nothing. Pad didn’t either, for a while.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Me? Nothing,” Lars muttered. He erased a smiling sun and
started anew. “Thinking.”
“…About?” Pad asked after a moment of hesitation.
“Stuff,” he answered. He picked his hand up from the dirt,
seemingly lost for what to do. “Like, about this. Here.” Lars motioned to the
rock walls stretching too high to measure, filtering through just enough light
to see the rock dust trailing through the air, large and enveloping. “Where I’m
stuck. Forever, maybe. And I’m thinking about if just…if I coulda avoided any
of this if I’d just stopped being a coward sooner. That ‘stuff’.”
“Oh,” Pad answered. She stuck her own finger in the dirt,
tracing squiggles. “No, you couldn’t have. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Lars blinked. “I didn’t even explain.”
“You’re concerned that your fate may have been avoided if you
had helped Steven escape from Topaz sooner.” Pad added her own smiley face
among the squiggles in the dirt. “Or perhaps if you had saved your blond friend
on the ship when Aquamarine and Topaz descended upon you.”
Lars straightened, back against the stone wall. Then he
pushed himself standing. “How do you know this stuff?”
Pad paused, her finger trailing midway through the dust. “Oh.
Oh of course. My future vision is broken. It can only see the past.”
“So you can see…what, everything that happened?”
“And everything that might have happened. Like an endless
tree.” She stood, and dusted herself off. “Most Sapphires can see all the
possible things that might happen. I can only see the things that might have
Lars swallowed, and he stammered, and slowly he found the
words. “The things that might have happened.”
“So you can tell me what would have happened to me if I’d done this differently.”
“What would have happened if uh…what if I had helped Sadie
when she needed help on the ship?”
Pad remained silent for a few seconds. A hollow wind blew
through the caverns. “Ah yes, I see that vision now. You would have plummeted
into the water with all the human others. And Steven would have vanished on
the ship. You would have returned solemnly to your home. The next morning, you
would have entered into a building with a large ring on the top.”
“The Big Donut.”
“Yes. That’s what the sign would have said.”
“What about Sadie?”
Another few seconds of silence. Pad clasped her hands
together. “She would be there too. But you would not speak much with her. The
disappearance of Steven would have left you both in turmoil.”
Lars wrung his hands together. “Okay… okay okay. That would
have happened a couple days ago, yeah? What would be happening right now? If I
was home? Where would I be?”
Pad shook her head. “Oh. I can’t see the possible presents.”
Lars licked his lips. Then he nodded. “Okay so…if I asked
you tomorrow, would you be able to
tell me what would have happened today? If I never left home?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I would be able to tell you that.”
“Okay. Okay then.” Lars leaned against the wall, sinking
slowly down it. He patted the dusty ground beside him. “If you’ve got some time
now. Then could you tell me what um—if I had gotten off that ship, and stayed
home—what would I have done yesterday?”
Pad picked up the hem of her dress and dropped into the
offered spot. She fell silent a few moments before her mouth opened. “You would
have returned to your place of work once more—the Big Donut. And you would have
spoken to Sadie. She would have been difficult to console, as would you, but
you would have triumphed eventually. She would have laughed at a humorous
remark you found from the internet. This would have made you proud.”
Ten years pass quickly for Gems, not so much for humans.
Lars wasn’t sure how these last ten years had passed for him, slow and fast at
the same time. His physical body has not changed much, though his hair has
grown much longer.
Lars leaned his back against the rough stone wall, free of
dust now, and he waited for Pad to appear by his side.
When she did, Lars sunk to the ground, knees against his
chest, and patted the same spot as always—as he did every day—for Pad to sit.
“So…tell me about yesterday. If I had stayed home, what
would have happened yesterday?” Lars asked with urgency. It was the same
question he had asked every day of the last ten years, but he was anxious now.
He knew what might occur.
Pad smiled. She clasped her hands together. “You would have
taken Sadie out to a food place along the beach. It would have been the one she
told you she loved as a small human. And you would have taken that polished and
cut stone out of your pocket, in the soft black box, and you would have
presented it to her. You would have lowered yourself onto one knee first, and unfurled
the box, and said, ‘Sadie, would you marry me?’”
Lars’s heart pounded in his ears. He swallowed dryly,
leaning in. “What would she have said?”
“She would have said ‘Of course Lars. Of course.’”
Lars let out a strained breath, a noise of relief, or
perhaps disbelief. He blinked harder, and leaned back against the wall, and
traced his hand through the dirt. “Oh my god… Oh my god she would have said
yes. She would have said yes.”
“Yes, she would have,” Pad answered.
The noise Lars made was soft, and wet, and it echoed out.
Bouncing against the vast and dark heights of the kindergarten walls, absorbed
and deflected in the cold hollow shells of Gems long extracted. And then it was
lost to the cavern, that isolated and dark sealed off place. Inescapable.
A hollow wind replaced it.
Lars’s hand traced the shape of a heart in the dust, and the
small strained noises from his throat dried up until only tears leaked down his
cheeks. His hand stopped once it trembled too hard to trace anything more.