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that-dinopunk-guy · 11 months

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The Mirung

A Deinocheirus is in this one.

(From the travel journal of Janusz Kansk)

I know we’re in trouble when everyone goes quiet. I turn to my traveling companion and ask her what’s going on.

“We’re entering gullah territory,” she tells me, and I understand. Gullahs are notoriously territorial and ill-tempered, so it isn’t surprising that our Iwak guides wouldn’t want to attract their attention. At nine meters long and weighing over five tons, our canoe wouldn’t be much more than a speed bump to one.

We row on in silence. Luckily the sun is up, and we can see around us. I wouldn’t want to pass through gullah territory in the dark. The reeds grow tall and thick on either side of us, and every time we hear something move within we hold our breath. At one point we hear the sharp, booming GULLAH! GULLAH! call that gives the iquanodont its name, but thankfully nothing comes charging out at us. Eventually our Iwak friends begin talking again, and I know we’re through the gauntlet.

I’m in Tam’s Laistun Province, traveling up the Nanshan River with Egato Leng. Egato is a conservationist working in the provincial capital of Phonguoket, and she’s made it her life’s mission to get Deinocheirus, known locally as the mirung, off the International List of Threatened Species. If I hadn’t been on board with her goal when I began this adventure, I certainly would have been converted along the way. Egato is a petite, skinny woman in her mid-thirties, with crinkly golden-brown skin, an infectious smile, and a crackling natural energy. She almost feels like a melding of two disparate worlds, with her traditional helmet-shaped Hamur headdress festooned with metal discs and baubles clashing with her thoroughly modern t-shirts and jeans. She’d attended college at Amsant’s University of New Morris and speaks more or less fluent Andrish, which is fortunate since I don’t speak a word of any of the half-dozen dialects used in this region.

Egato’s enthusiasm for what she does practically pours off her. I honestly don’t think the woman is capable of talking about mirungs without getting a big goofy grin on her face, and I usually can’t help getting one myself soon after. She never just talks; she has to animate, enhancing every conversation with wild gesticulations that sometimes border on flailing. After the three days spent getting to know this woman as we navigated the sludgy rivers of mud that pass for roads in Laistun and canoed up the Nanshan I feel like I’ve been brainwashed into loving mirungs nearly as much as she does. I couldn’t wait until we got to the Gon marshlands and I’d have a chance to see one in the flesh.

I pass the time by taking pictures. I shoot our Iwak guides and they flex and pose for the camera, throwing Diojin street gang signs that they almost certainly haven’t earned the right to use. I turn around to shoot Egato and she giggles and covers her face.

We pass through a mangrove forest, where the branches are so low and the water so shallow that Egato and I have to lie on our backs while our guides get out and shove us through. On either side of us the mud is dotted by dark fiddler crabs, waving their brightly colored claws at us and each other. The display brings to my mind the gang signs our guides were flashing earlier, and I can’t help but laugh. Then an armored cricket the size of a small potato drops onto me and refuses to let go of my shirt when I try to sweep it off, and everyone else laughs.

As the trees open up one guide wades on ahead to check for any further obstacles, and a few minutes later we hear him shout back to us in Iwaki. I’m asking what he said right as several big fish come down the stream at us, leaping through the shallow water. Egato shouts as one of the fish jumps right into the canoe, flopping and banging around in an attempt to get back to the water. We both pull our feet in as the other guide falls on it with a knife, stabbing it several times before holding it up triumphantly. He grins and says something, and when the laughter subsides and we can all breathe again Egato translates: “Dinner!”

Finally we leave the mangroves, and we’re in the Gon. The broad marsh spreads out around us, dotted by aquatic grasses, bulrushes, and cypress trees. Long-tailed dactyls swoop and dip over the water, coming up with little fish snared in their snaggletoothed jaws, and a smooth-scaled, gharial-looking champsosaur with a head like a long-handled frying pan slides off a half-submerged tree into the water as we pass by. Almost immediately we’re surrounded by little blue damselflies. The sun is shining, birds are singing in the trees, and I feel like if I burst into song right here I’d be surrounded by dancing cartoon animals by the end of the first verse.

Both guides are back in the boat now, citing fears of crocodiles. Probably wise, given what I know of these ecosystems. While we don’t see any crocodiles, we do come upon an impressively sized baryonychine. It’s sitting on the bank of a low island, and as we pass alongside it gets up and heads further away from the water.

And then, finally, we see what we’d come all the way out here for: a mirung. We come around a stand of cypress trees and there it is, lumbering through the water in all its shaggy, long-necked, long-armed, hump-backed glory. It really is kind of a ridiculous-looking animal, with its bright red and yellow head, shaggy gray-brown feathers, and weird posture and proportions. The impression I get is of a fat kid laboring under the weight of a heavy backpack, who got his neck caught in a taffy puller. I don’t dare say that to Egato, though.

I look over at her, and of course she’s grinning from ear to ear. Our guides stop rowing and let us coast towards the giant animal, and it just watches us approach with a dumb sort of look on its face. I’m reminded here that mirungs are essentially huge, odd-looking ornithomimosaurs that gave up running, and it definitely looks the part. Ornithomimes were never known for their intelligence.

Amazingly, the mirung doesn’t budge even as we come up alongside it, and in fact it even comes over to investigate us. The guides and I instinctively lean away from that massive beaked head as it dips down to sniff us, but Egato is braver than we are. She looks like she’s about to cry as the animal’s breath ruffles her shirt, and she even reaches up and strokes its snout as I photograph the encounter.

Eventually the mirung has its fill of us and moves on, and the guides and I share satisfied glances. Such a close encounter was much better than anything I’d come down here hoping to get, and I’m very happy. Egato, meanwhile, looks like she’s just had a religious experience, complete with tears running down her face. I’m pretty sure I just photographed the single greatest experience of her life.

#dinopunk #writing #my writing #fantasy writing #fiction #short stories #deinocheirus #lurdusaurus #suchomimus #champsosaurus #dinosaurs #short fiction

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volinare · 6 months

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dream last night:

I was on a drive with my father and brother. I saw a dark gate in the clouds as the sun was low in the sky but not quite setting. I wanted to take a picture to send to my uncle.

This did not go well for whatever reason, does that ever happen to you in dreams? you have a goal or something you want to do and you make moves to do it (in this dream take out my phone) but it just. doesn't happen.

anywyas so the clouds start getting darker and darker and eventually they are right up next to us. They're no longer clouds but dried lava.

We get out of the car, I'm not wearing shoes.

were at some sort of theme park, to meet my fathers friend who lived in the woods. Theres a bird there, I go to see it and behind the camp in the reeds I see a very large crocodile (NOT an alligator) and its 100% absolutely got its sights on me. so i fucking bolt.

I run until I find a tree that splits in two, one of the trunks it cut. I dream jump onto the stump hoping that the croc cant climb.

it can. of course.

so i jump and run to a playground. jumping around on the equipment while the croc follows close behind.

After I leave the playground it gets a bit blurry. But at some point the crocodile turns into a woman my age. And shes like, way stronger and fitter than me and even though I've got my dream jumping/flying shes able to just. run and then climb to where I land. And the timing is like.

i have to fake her out a lot, or jump as soon as i land. I'm like, willing my self to jump farther and for longer but she always catches up.

this dream was a bit stressful and i was glad I woke up before anything happened because i fucking hate getting injured in dreams. dream pain suuucks

#dream log #i have not been remembering to use that

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goblin-witch · 4 years

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ꉔꏂ꒒꓄꒐ꉔ ꓄ꋪꏂꏂ ꋬꇙ꓄ꋪꄲ꒒ꄲꍌꌦ

Celtic Tree Astrology is the astrological system practiced by the ancient Irish. It is based on an ancient Celtic symbol system. The Celtic Zodiac is drawn from the beliefs of the Druids and is based on the cycles of the moon. The year is divided into 13 lunar months, with a tree (sacred to the druids) assigned to each month. Each tree has particular magical qualities whose secret mysteries come from the ancient Celtic alphabet, the Ogram.

The Celts envisioned the entire Universe in the form of a tree, whose roots grew deep below (in the ground) and whose branches reached up high (into the Heavens). In time, the Celtic people eventually designated a tree to each of the 13 Moon phases in their calendar, in accordance with its magical properties. As such the Celtic Zodiac is based upon the cycles of the Moon, with the year divided into the 13 lunar months established by the Druid religion.

The Druid religion was based mainly upon an awareness of natural and supernatural energies. These energies were identified with spirits and the Celtic Druids believed that trees were given these spirits, who dwelt within, and were perceived as attributes of the Supreme Being. Thus, trees were considered living entities, possessed with Infinite Knowledge and Wisdom, symbolically representative of the Cycle of Life, Death and Renewal, and symbolically connected with the three planes of existence: mind, body, and spirit.

Birch – The Achiever

December 24 – January 20

If you were born under the energy of the Birch you can be highly driven, and often motivate others they become easily caught in your zeal, drive and ambition. You are always reaching for more, seeking better horizons and obtaining higher aspirations. The Druids attributed this to your time of birth, which is a time of year shrouded by darkness, so consequently you are always stretching out to find the light. Birch signs (just like the tree) are tolerant, tough, and resilient. You are cool-headed and are natural-born rulers, often taking command when a situation calls for leadership. When in touch with your softer side, you also bring beauty in otherwise barren spaces, brightening up a room with your guile, and charming crowds with your quick wit. Celtic tree astrology Birch signs are compatible with Vine signs and Willow signs.

Rowan – The Thinker

January 21 – February 17

Celtic tree astrology recognizes Rowan signs as the philosophical minds within the zodiac. If you were born under the Rowan energy, you are likely a keen-minded visionary, with high ideals. Your thoughts are original and creative, so much so, that others often misunderstand from where you are coming. This sometimes makes you aloof when interacting with others as you feel they wouldn’t understand where you are coming from anyway. Nevertheless, although you may appear to have a cool exterior, you are burning within your passionate ideals. This inner passion provides inner motivation for you as you make your way through life. You have a natural ability to transform situations and people around you by your mere presence. You are highly influential in a quiet way and others look to you for your unique perspectives. Rowan pairs well with Ivy and Hawthorn signs.

Ash – The Enchanter

February 18 – March 17

Those born under the Celtic tree astrology sign of the Ash are free thinkers. Imaginative, intuitive, and naturally artistic, you see the world in water-color purity. You have a tendency to moody and withdrawn at times, but that’s only because your inner landscape is in constant motion. You are in touch with your muse, and you are easily inspired by nature. Likewise, you inspire all that you associate with and people seek you out for your enchanting personality. Art, writing (especially poetry), science, and theology (spiritual matters) are areas that strongly interest you. Others may think you are reclusive, but in all honesty, you are simply immersed in your own world of fantastic vision and design. You are in a constant state of self-renewal and you rarely place a value on what others think about you. Ash signs partners well with Willow and Reed signs.

Alder – The Trailblazer

March 18 – April 14

If you are an Alder sign within the Celtic tree astrology system, you are a natural-born pathfinder. You’re a mover and a shaker, and will blaze a trail with fiery passion often gaining loyal followers to your cause. You are charming, gregarious and mingle easily with a broad mix of personalities. In other words, Alder signs get along with everybody and everybody loves to hang around with you. This might be because Alder’s are easily confident and have a strong self-faith. This self-assurance is infectious and other people recognize this quality in you instantly. Alder Celtic tree astrology signs are very focused and dislike waste. Consequently, they can see through superficialities and will not tolerate fluff. Alder people place high value on their time, and feel that wasting time is insufferable. They are motivated by action and results. Alder’s pair well with Hawthorns, Oaks or even Birch signs.

Willow – The Observer

April 15 – May 12

If you are a Willow sign, you are ruled by the moon, and so your personality holds hands with many of the mystical aspects of the lunar realm. This means you are highly creative, intuitive (highly psychic people are born under the sign of the Willow) and intelligent. You have a keen understanding of cycles, and you inherently know that every situation has a season. This gives you a realistic perspective of things, and also causes you to be more patient than most tree signs. With your intelligence comes a natural ability to retain knowledge and you often impress your company with the ability to expound on subjects from memory. Willow Celtic tree astrology signs are bursting with potential, but have a tendency to hold themselves back for fear of appearing flamboyant or overindulgent. It is your powers of perception that ultimately allow your true nature to shine, and what leads you to success in life. Willow signs join well with the Birch and the Ivy.

Hawthorn – The Illusionist

May 13 – June 9

Hawthorn signs in Celtic tree astrology are not at all what they appear to be. Outwardly, they appear to be a certain persona, while on the inside Hawthorn’s are quite different. They put the term “never judge a book by its cover” to the test. They live seemingly average lives while on the inside they carry fiery passions and inexhaustible creative flame. They are well adjusted and can adapt to most life situations well – making themselves content and comforting others at the same time. You are naturally curious, and have an interest in a broad range of topics. You are an excellent listener, and people seek you out as an outlet to release their burdens. You have a healthy sense of humor, and have a clear understanding of irony. You tend to see the big picture, and have amazing insight – although you typically won’t give yourself enough credit for your observations. Hawthorn signs match up nicely with Ash and Rowan’s.

Oak – The Stabilizer

June 10 – July 7

Those born under the Celtic tree astrology sign of the Oak have a special gift of strength. They are protective people and often become a champion for those who do not have a voice. In other words, the Oak is the crusader and the spokesperson for the underdog. Nurturing, generous and helpful, you are a gentle giant among the Celtic zodiac signs. You exude an easy confidence and naturally assume everything will work out to a positive outcome. You have a deep respect for history and ancestry, and many people with this sign become teachers. You love to impart your knowledge of the past to others. Oak signs have a need for structure, and will often go to great lengths to gain the feeling of control in their lives. Healthy Oak signs live long, full, happy lives and enjoy large family settings and are likely to be involved with large social/community networks. Oak signs pair off well with the Ash and Reed, and are known to harmoniously join with Ivy signs too.

Holly – The Ruler

July 8 – August 4

Among the Celtic tree astrology signs the Holly is one of regal status. Noble, and high-minded, those born during the Holly era easily take on positions of leadership and power. If you are a Holly sign you take on challenges easily, and you overcome obstacles with rare skill and tact. When you encounter setbacks, you simply redouble your efforts and remain ever vigilant to obtain your end goals. Very seldom are you defeated. This is why many people look up to you and follow you as their leader. You are competitive and ambitious even in the most casual settings. You can appear to be arrogant but in actuality you’re just very confident in your abilities. Truth be known, you are quite generous, kind and affectionate (once people get to know you). Highly intelligent, you skate through academics where others may struggle. Because many things come to you so easily, you may have a tendency to rest on your laurels. In other words, if not kept active, you may slip into an unhealthy and lazy lifestyle. Holly signs may look to Ash and Elder signs for balance and partnership.

Hazel – The Knower

August 5 – September 1

If you are born under the energy of the Hazel, you are highly intelligent, organized and efficient. Like Holly, you are naturally gifted in academia, and excel in the classroom. You also have the ability to retain information and can recall, recite and expound on subjects you’ve memorized with amazing accuracy. You know your facts, and you are always well informed. This sometimes makes you appear like a know-it-all to others, but you can’t help that; you’re genuinely smart and usually know the right course of action because of your impressive knowledge base. You have an eye for detail, and like things to be “just so.” Sometimes this need for order and control can lead to compulsive behaviors if left unchecked. You have a knack for numbers, science and things that utilize your analytical skills. You like rules, although you are typically making them rather than playing by them. The Celtic tree astrology sign of Hazel joins harmoniously with Hawthorn and Rowan’s.

Vine – The Equalizer

September 2 – September 29

Vine signs are born within the autumnal equinox, which makes your personality changeable and unpredictable. You can be full of contradictions, and are often indecisive. But this is because you can see both sides of the story, and empathize with each equally. It is hard for you to pick sides because you can see the good points on each end. There are, however, areas in your life that you are quite sure about. These include the finer things of life like food, wine, music, and art. You have very distinctive taste, and are a connoisseur of refinement. Luxury agrees with you, and under good conditions you have a Midas touch for turning drab into dramatic beauty. You are charming, elegant, and maintain a level of class that wins you esteem from a large fan base. Indeed, you often find yourself in public places where others can admire your classic style and poise. Vine signs pair well with Willow and Hazel signs.

Ivy – The Survivor

September 30 – October 27

Among other cherished qualities of the Ivy Celtic tree astrology sign, most prized is your ability to overcome all odds. You have a sharp intellect, but more obvious is your compassion and loyalty to others. You have a giving nature, and are always there to lend a helping hand. You are born at a time of the waning sun so life can be difficult for you at times. This sometimes seems unfair because it appears that obstacles are coming at with no prompting on your part. Nevertheless, you endure troubling times with silent perseverance and soulful grace. Indeed, Ivy signs have a tendency to be deeply spiritual and cling to a deep-rooted faith that typically sees them trough adversity. You are soft spoken, but have a keen wit about you. You are charming, charismatic, and can effectively hold your own in most social settings. Ivy signs are attracted to the Celtic tree astrology sign of Oak and Ash signs.

Reed – The Inquisitor

October 28 – November 24

Reed signs among the Celtic tree astrology signs are the secret keepers. You dig deep inside to the real meaning of things and discover the truth hidden beneath layers of distraction. When there is a need to get to the heart of the matter, most certainly the Reed sign will find the core. You love a good story, and can be easily drawn in by gossip, scandals, legend and lore. These tendencies also make you an excellent historian, journalist, detective or archaeologist. You love people because they represent a diversity of meanings for you to interpret. You are adept at coaxing people to talk to you, and sometimes you can be a bit manipulative. However, you have a strong sense of truth and honor so most of your scheming is harmless. Reed people join well with other Reeds, Ash or Oak signs.

Elder – The Seeker

November 25 – December 23

Elder archetypes among Celtic tree astrology tend to be freedom-loving, and sometimes appear to be a bit wild to the other signs of the zodiac. In younger years you may have lived life in the fast lane, often identified as a “thrill seeker.” At the time of your birth the light of the sun was fast fleeting and so you took the same cue from nature. You are often misjudged as an outsider as you have a tendency to be withdrawn in spite of your extroverted nature. In actuality, you are deeply thoughtful with philosophical bent. You also tend to be very considerate of others and genuinely strive to be helpful. These acts of assistance are sometimes thwarted by your brutal honesty (which you openly share solicited or otherwise). Elder Celtic tree astrology signs fit well with Alder’s and Holly’s.

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smokeybrand · 3 years

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The Cape and The Cowl

A friend of mine posted a meme questioning who would win a fight between Doctor Doom and Batman. My gut reaction is to say it’s real bad for Bruce but, as i thought about it more and more, i kind of feel like its not so cut-and-dry. There is a lot of nuance that needs to be considered between the two characters rather than just a “smash the action figured together” scenario. Of course, there is the surface stuff like how would they interact generally? What would the catalyst be in order to incite said conflict? Why would Doom even see Bruce as a threat? If you think about it objectively, an all things are even, to Vic, Batman is just a crazy person losing his are on crime in a raggedy ass city. Victor von Doom is a the reagent of an entire country with a GDP that rivals some superpowers in the MCU. Like, the USA has diplomatic relations with a blip in Eastern Europe, because Doom has the military power to wreck he US in open aggression. Latveria will lose in a prolonged conflict, that’s just a question of resources, but that little country would absolutely inflict upon the US in a slow bleed. Imagine the War on Terror but with competent leadership and actual, discipline, military strategy. Why the f*ck would Doom care what the f*ck is going on out in Jersey? More than that. the similarities between the two characters is staggering.

We all know the origin of Batman. We’ve seen that sh*t how many times now? It’s like getting a new Spider-Man joint and having to watch Uncle Ben die all over again. It’s trite at this point but so essential to the character, we need a refresher every time Bats shows up onscreen. That trauma informs everything he is, as it would if you watched your parents gunned down in cold blood as a child, and then laid with their still warm corpses for however long until the police came. What a lot of people don’t know is the origin of Doctor Doom. Being a villain, Doom rarely gets his motivations explored outside of some megalomaniac Dr. No type f*ckery. However, Victor von Doom is a person. He started out life as a happy kid and learned to be Doctor Doom, just like Bruce learned to be Batman. Doom is actually a refugee. True, Doom was born an aristocrat, but Latveria was overthrown when he was still young so he was never able to be raised in that level of opulence. His mom was also murdered before he was ten years old. Just like Bruce, Doom experienced a horrific truth that would color his world perspective for the rest of his life. Doom would eventually find his way to the US as he was brilliant. Like, unheard of intelligent and it would be his exposure to the US lifestyle, after years of conflict and struggle, which would make him realize how easy life could be if someone just did what was necessary. And then Reed happened.

Reed Richards was, is, a fulcrum in Vic’s life. They have a relationship similar to Batman an Superman but the opposite. Whereas Batman values Clark’s perspective because it helps him keep perspective, Vic finds Reed to be absurd. He sees Reed for who e is and doesn’t understand why no one else can. Reed Richards is a reckless, excitable, short-sighted, glory-hog. He is. If you read the character with any semblance of realism, you’d see that. Ho many times has Sue comments on how she and the rest of his family, take a backseat to science? How many times has Reed, himself, sacrificed a relationship or to, in service to the solution of an equation? Doom saw all of that in college. Reed represents the structural issues of the world and it frustrates Vic to no end. In some continuities, the genesis of Vic going full Doom rest on an accident Reed commits because of that shortsightedness. It goes a long way to checking Reeds ego and he does become a better person for it, but it was at the cost of scarring Vic for life, both physically and mentally. Yet another example of the system, ruining Doom’s life.

Bruce, after his trauma, has kept a strong support system. First and foremost, since day one, he had Alfred. Doom had no one. Bruce then built a family, adopting all of the children and surrounding himself with love. Doom’s one true love died and was dragged down to hell. We know this because he punches out Mephisto whenever he can. Also, his mom is down there, too. Bruce eventually met Diana and Kal, becoming fast friends and life long confidants. Outside of Catwoman, I think Diana makes for the perfect romantic partner of Bruce and that is shown in several continuities. Reed just reinforced Doom’s disgust with the machinations of the world, eventually further degrading Doom’s tenuous hold of his ability to trust in others, by psychically maiming him. The negative impact Reed had on Doom’s life is f*cking profound, man. I’m not saying Doom should have taken it as far as he did, but it’s hard to argue against trying to kill a dude who had ruined years of your work, destroyed you reputation, and physically maimed you forever. That doesn’t seem wholly outrageous to me. I think it’s called justifiable homicide? The only reason Doom stopped trying to murder Reed is because Valeria was born. Valeria became the first person Doom felt real affection for, since the death of his wife. I think Morgan le Fay could be another, but that might have just been a time-space booty call. Valeria Richards and her relationship with he Uncle Doom, is what gave Vic the strength to be better. Bruce had that love his entire life, even immediately after his darkest day. Doom went decades without it.

Up until Valeria was born, all Doom had was his time spent as a destitute street rat, struggling to survive, to inform him about life and the world at large. That brazen cruelty for sure emotionally crippled him in a lot of ways, I'm not even going to start to defend his arrogance or superiority complex, but trauma does that. That's why i think Bats would eventually come around. They've both seen the absolute worst of the world and, in a lot of ways, go about righting those wrongs in the same way. If you pay attention, and the writer is worth their salt, you'd see that Latveria is an autocratic socialist paradise. Latverians are among the most literate, healthy, and happy people in the 616. Jobs are plentiful and crime is almost non-existent. Mans even cured cancer, which he made available to the world, if those people choose to make the trip to Latveria for treatment. The world of 616, at large, likes to paint Vic as this evil despot but, if you interview a laymen of Latveria, they’ll sing his praises. Most people forget that, before Doom returned for his birthright, Latveria was a whole ass occupied state. Think the relationship between Israel and Palestine. Latveria was basically falling into doorknobs for Symkaria and pretending that they weren’t in an abusive relationship. Doom showed up and changed all that. It was a bloody f*cking conflict, for sure, and i am certain Vic committed war crimes, but the end result was a free Latveria with a strong international presence. Doom is a hero to those people but a villain to other nations because of how he rose to power and, more importantly, how independent he made hi country from the world system. Doom did what was necessary to free his people, a march too far for Bruce and that’s why Gotham is the way that it is.

People who don’t know the character like to paint Vic as ego-maniacal villain, and that was valid when comics were just "hero smash bad guy", but we've grown beyond that. Every pop culture interpretation of Doom, outside of the comics, has him as this stoic, arrogant, asshole, dictator bu that’s just not an accurate portrayal of how Doom is in a modern capacity. Vic is definitely an autocrat but he’s no dictator. He can be cruel at times to specific individuals but he is generally benevolent to his people. He doesn’t portray himself as a strongman but he does let it be known he’ll nuke anyone or anything if it means furthering his overall goals which, currently, is the safety and security of Latveria. His country isn’t a police state and his people are free to do as they please but their is a line, just like everywhere else in the world. Doom just has a shorter one and enforces that with extreme prejudice. I’m not going to sit here and say everything is great in Latveria, it’s definitely not, but it ain’t so hot in 616 America either. How many Civil Wars have they had? What about that whole tidbit with Hydra Cap? There is nuance and gray nowadays, areas that both Bats and Doom comfortably call home. Batman is, objectively, not a pure hero. He is, at best, a chivalric anti-hero and similarly, Doom is more of an anti-villain than the mustache twirling, boogeyman, mastermind pop media portrays him to be. Batman and Doom are basically the same person, with the same motivations, only Doom is willing to go much, much, further than Bruce; A difference in method you an attribute to their respective upbringings.

If Doom had the same support system as Bruce, he’d create miracles. We’ve seen glimpses of that throughout the years. Dooms last run culminated with him essentially obliterating an entire universe where he had the support necessary to build a proper utopia. Our Doom couldn’t fathom the choices made by this variant Doom because of how broken he is. If Bruce was alone in his formative years like Victor, he’d commit atrocities. We’ve seen glimpses of that over they years, too. There are various narratives that explore just such a tragic turn of events, explored in the Death Metal series of books. Dawnbreaker immediately comes to mind. Bruce and victor are the same side of the same coins. It's literally a crap shoot as to which side of the alignment chart either leans. And as if to inform my point further, we just recently had Joker War. That book went a long way to exposing the absolute necessity of raw force, in order to properly “save”Gotham. Joker was able to completely dismantle that entire city by attacking the machinery put in lace to make it run. He effectively proved that The Batman was part of the problem and would never be the solution because Bruce doesn’t go far enough. He puts out fires but never address the sparks which start those blazes. He doesn’t go far enough. He never will. His code won’t allow him to. But Doom can. Doom did. Honestly, if you really want to keep it real, what is Bruce's endgame? What does a healthy Gotham City look like? It looks a lot like f*cking Latveria.

So to answer this question outright, i don’t think they even fight. The way this hypothetical was set up had three rounds: the first being a standard donnybrook, the second being prep time, and the last being god mode. To be perfectly honest with you, it wouldn't make it past the first round. If i had to say, with pedestrian or normie level understanding of he characters, Doom sweeps all categories. For Round one, Doom’s armor trumps all of Batman’s gadgets. For Round Two, Doom has more resources at his fingertips for prep. For Round The God Emperor Doom exists. He created several realities and killed a few Beyonders. Batman sat in a chair which gave him access to all the wisdom in the multiverse, and realized there were three Jokers. Doom all the way. My informed opinion as someone who adores both these character more than most would have me think there wouldn’t even be a conflict to begin with. I think they’d investigate the inciting catalyst, meet in person with intent to attack if necessary, size each other up until one of them made the proposal to just talk, they'd converse, and the fight would end with both of them walking away from each other with begrudging respect. Doom would admire Bruce's will and Bruce would understand the necessity of Doom's position in the world because, if you can make it make sense, Bruce will usually agree. Batman, for all of his shortcomings, is not naive to the world. He’s seen the same darkness as Doom. Doom, for all of his pompous arrogance, understands the struggle to maintain faith in those around you, even if that noble aspiration is misplaced. Bruce is one bad day away from Doom and Doom is a decades worth of days from being Bruce. They mirror each other and i think they’d see that, taking each other as cautionary tales before becoming collaborators. I don’t see them ever really becoming friends but i don't think they’d ever be true enemies.

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the-fantastic-mister-richards · 3 years

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@thegrimmthing

It had never been that Reed outright supported the hero ban. He hadn’t. Why would he? They were heroes. It hadn’t been the same situation as the Registration Act, where the goal had not been a discontinuation, but oversight and proper training. Still, whether he agreed or not, he had complied. The Fantastic Four had disbanded rather than resist, though for awhile he’d tried to pursue legal means of doing so. They’d all amounted to nothing. He hadn’t wanted that to entail going their separate ways, yet that was what had happened anyway. The effects continued to trickle down. He lost touch with Ben, Johnny had moved across the country, and eventually even Sue had left. That particular wound was still raw and only about a year old.

All signs pointed to him having waited too long. He’d kept himself busy, always tinkering with some new project or pursuing some kind of idea and experiment, but he’d neglected everything else. Reed had always been one to throw himself into his work and try to fit in life around it, but he’d taken it too far for too long this time. The Four could have helped Star City. Three of them had, apparently. Sue, Johnny, and even Ben had all been on the ground being what they were all suited to be. Heroes.

He was the one who was late.

Knowing Ben was in the city meant just spending a little time figuring out where. Reed had cursory knowledge of District X - its existence had been publicized, after all - and part of him was grateful that his friend had managed to find a place to go. It wasn’t his place to thank anyone for that, but he did it anyone when he crossed paths with Scott Summers. It took some convincing to get Ben’s address, but he was eventually able to show up at the apartment door and knock.

“Anyone home? It’s Reed.”

#ch: ben

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atarahderek · 4 years

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Surprisingly Relevant Children’s Media: Liberty’s Kids

I’m sure some of you remember a certain PBS cartoon series called Liberty’s Kids. It was an edutainment show following two young journalists and their tagalong kid companion as they navigated the American Revolution. It was extremely noteworthy for looking at both sides of the Revolution, never attempting to vilify, over-glorify or over-simplify anything about the Revolution (with one exception). The show repeatedly emphasized the importance of a balanced approach to journalism--an idea that is considered so outdated in today’s mainstream media that trying to write a balanced article is liable to get a journalist “cancelled” for “bigotry.” While that in and of itself, as well as the subject of the Revolution and the founding fathers, makes Liberty’s Kids still plenty relevant to today’s volatile political and social atmosphere that repeatedly questions the purity of the intentions of the founders and Constitution, I want to focus today on one particular subject discussed in the show: Protests and patriotism vs. mob violence and terrorism. Which one is truly the correct response to oppression and injustice? And where’s the line between them?

Today, we’ll be focusing on episode 3, “United We Stand,” and episode 27, “The New Frontier.”

We open episode 3 with a crew taking shore leave in Philadelphia, and they are advised to avoid getting involved in local politics. We will be following the young blond man in the white shirt and blue cap.

The characters formally meet the Adams cousins for the first time. James admires Sam Adams, leader of the Boston Tea Party, for being a man of action, while Sarah respects John Adams for taking an unpopular position on the Boston Massacre of 1770. James criticizes Adams for defending the British soldiers who fired on American colonists in that event, but Adams had his reasons for acting as their defense attorney.

Hindsight is 20/20, and history shows that Adams was right; this action of “police brutality” was actually one of self-defense. The colonists the British fired upon were, as Adam describes them, “a drunken mob spoiling for a fight,” rather than actual patriots. James isn’t convinced. In his mind, the “patriots” were peaceful protesters.

Later that night, while assisting with loading up donations for Massachusetts colonists adversely affected by the closure of Boston Harbor, James, Sarah and Henri witness the young sailor, a Mr. Parker, earning the ire of a group of drunks coming out of a tavern. The head of the group accuses Parker of refusing to drink with them because he doesn’t want to join their toasts cursing Parliament, while Parker claims he simply doesn’t drink and doesn’t want any trouble. The drunks decide he’s a tory rather than a patriot, and proceed to drag him off to be tarred and feathered.

Once Parker has been covered in feathers, a mob parades him through the city streets. James runs off to join the crowd in their “patriotic” mockery of a “tory,” while Sarah, a British loyalist, continues the real patriotic work of helping with relief efforts for innocent colonists in Massachusetts.

Sarah laments that on the same city street where an act of incredible compassion is taking place, an act of brutal bullying is happening just a block away--and James, who calls himself a patriot, is swept up in it.

Later, Moses takes James to visit Parker, and James is confronted by Parker’s doctor, who explains the process of tarring: Boiling hot tar is poured over the victim, and once it cools and hardens, it cannot be removed without also removing skin. Sure, that makes debriding a bit easier, but no less painful. And Parker’s injuries have already caused infection. Nonetheless, James tries to defend the actions of the assailants, but the doctor’s having none of it.

James is dragged into Parker’s room to get his side of the story. He’s shocked at the condition Parker is in and immediately regrets the part he played that night.

Let us jump forward five years, to 1779 and the episode “The New Frontier.” America has declared its independence by this point, but one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, Judge James Wilson of Pennsylvania, has withdrawn his support for the war and largely disappeared from public view.

Wartime inflation has made it difficult for most citizens of Philadelphia to keep their heads above water financially. The Pennsylvania Gazette can’t afford ink, and mothers are struggling to afford food for their children while their husbands are away serving George Washington in the army.

Growing dissatisfaction with how the local government is handling the situation has put all the denizens of Philadelphia on edge, with the wealthier residents retreating into their homes to wait out the storm brewing among the poorer residents. Eventually, Wilson and some of the other wealthy Philadelphians start to worry about their safety.

A local man gives a speech, voicing the people’s frustrations, declaring himself and his supporters the real patriots, and announces that he will host a meeting at a nearby tavern that evening. James agrees to report on the meeting for the paper.

The leader of the meeting gives his opinion and plan for what should be done with Wilson and tories like him. But this time, James isn’t taken in by the patriotic fervor. He’s learned to distinguish between patriotic protest and criminal acts of violence.

James is then threatened by the speaker for trying to talk the growing mob down, but he stands his ground. The crowd ignores him and goes after Wilson.

James does his duty as a journalist and reports on the ensuing riot, which comes to be known as the Fort Wilson Riot. Wilson had been warned and retreated into his home, where he was able to remain safe until Joseph Reed, formerly one of Washington’s staff, dispersed the mob. The riot is not without its casualties, as James reports five deaths and 17 injuries.

In his article, James forwards the lesson he learned half a decade earlier from John Adams and Mr. Parker.

Today, we see riots in the streets juxtaposed against peaceful protests of government overreach. We see the peaceful protesters called irresponsible due to an ongoing pandemic (for the record, a pandemic was happening during the Revolution too). But the violent mobs are praised. We see people being gunned down within the mobs by both their own side and authorities trying to stop the riots. We see innocent bystanders gunned down by rioters for having a dissenting opinion, or even for just trying to keep their heads down, like Parker. We see black lives being destroyed by an organization that claims with its name to believe that black lives matter. We see a rash of churches being razed--including black churches--by that same organization and its associates. Both the peaceful protests and the riots are being done in the name of justice and liberty. But clearly there is a line. Anger at injustice and infringement of liberty is understandable. But when anger turns into destroying the lives of the innocent, or into vigilante mob violence against an actual guilty party, it is no longer justified, and it is no longer useful to accomplish the goal that the crowd claims to have.

And that’s today’s episode of Surprisingly Relevant Children’s Media! Thanks for reading!

#Liberty's Kids #surprisingly relevant children's media #American Revolution #PBS #James Wilson #mob violence #BLM #Antifa #riots vs. protests

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sosation · 4 years

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On the Passing of Michael Brooks

I only relatively recently became aware of Michael, less than a year ago. In that time he has impacted my life more than any other media personality, more than anyone I’ve never met.

Even though the first time I voted was for Obama in 2008, my political consciousness really began during my 2nd stint of college at UTA circa 2014/15. My history undergrad was waking me up to the power dynamics and hegemonic systems that exist in our society. I was beginning to understand geopolitics under the tutelage of Dr. Joyce Goldberg and getting really wrapped up in 20th century diplomacy. The Snowden leaks had happened and the Michael Brown demonstrations in Ferguson were drawing attention to the militarization of our police forces and their tactics on US citizens. I began to see capitalism as consisting of, and causing and contributing too, countless problems. Then, the 2016 election cycle stoked my already burning interests.

During this time, there was little “left-tube” to be found. Since 2012, streaming on our X Box has been my wife and I’s primary means of entertainment. Slowly more and more of our time was being spent on YouTube. The Young Turks was really the only progressive voice on Youtube, to my knowledge, at that time. (I wasn’t yet aware of Pakman, Kulinski, Seder and Brooks.) And even though they were my primary source of news, I wasn’t crazy about the hyperbolic presentation, Cenk’s ego, or some of the attitudes expressed by various hosts at various times. That being said, I learned a lot. I was exposed to many many great journalists and they certainly helped me solidify and articulate many of the arguments I had been thinking and feeling during this time. I even became a Texas Wolf-Pac Volunteer right after Trump’s election.

I ended my bachelor’s and master’s programs under the Trump presidency. (May ‘17, Dec ‘18 respectively.) During this time I read and wrote more than I ever have in my life. Under Dr. Christopher Morris, Dr. Patryk Babiracki, and Dr. Pawel Goral, I read Marxist historical theory and studied the history of the Cold War from the perspectives of the US, USSR and Europe. I also began watching less and less TYT and more Secular Talk, David Pakman, and David Doel. While these shows are great, there was little to no international perspectives or geopolitical discussions happening. (Doel being Canadian accounts for something but, IMO, anyone who lives in the 5 Eyes is hardly a non-western perspective and therefore significantly less valuable in regards to gaining the insight of the peripheries of the globe. As the hegemonic “leader” of the world, Canadians, New Zealanders, Aussies and Brits, can point and laugh at the US all they want but they are taking our lead-systematically and economically.That’s not to say that their perspective is unimportant, just not the same as those outside the western sphere) Furthermore, there is still even less of a historical perspective being represented in regards to current events anywhere on YouTube. No one seems to have a long dureé, an understanding of how history plays out- again and again, and how capitalism is responsible for much of our recent history. Marx did. Michael did.

I began my teaching career in earnest last summer, 2019, as a Geography teacher. First time I’ve ever had a salary and the first time that I didn’t have to wear a hat (or hairnet) to work. My lunch was 2nd lunch, 12:35-1:15. Here in Texas, The Majority Report was live and it began showing up consistently on my youtube feed so I began watching them while I ate my sandwich and apple, before students from guitar club would show up for a quick lesson before 6th period. I had watched TMR before, particularly live streams on twitch during the first few primary debates this cycle. They reminded me a little too much of an east coast morning talk show for me to take them too seriously at first but I eventually began to see that while Sam is--well-- Sam, the others on the show had quite a lot to say and clear, logical and articulate reasons for their positions...especially this guy Michael. Once I heard that he had his own show it quickly became the most listened to podcast in my feed. (This in itself is no small feet. I’ve been listening to podcasts for hours a day (sometimes 8) since 2012. It, too, no doubt contributed to my education and understanding of our world during this same time period but that is another blog all itself.)

Michael was everything that I was looking for. He was unabashedly a Marxist. He was intelligent and enjoyed rigorous thinking and leftist theory. He was hilarious and did fantastic impressions. He also was compassionate, kind and empathetic. He was a humanist, in the truest sense of the word and he understood, and articulated to me, that Socialism is a humanist movement. After I became a patron, I once asked him on Discord what his credentials were and he said that his Bachelor’s was in International Relations, which explained so much. Again, he was the only media personality that I was aware of that was knowledgeable and curious about the same things I was. He understood history. He valued history and its importance, so much so that he dedicated a separate Sunday show just to “Illicit Histories” where he would invite Historians from all over the world to discuss leftist movements in their own countries and how we could apply those lessons here and vice versa. This was it. This is what was missing from our national discourse--an international perspective and voice, and a historical perspective and voice. Michael was both and he was damn good at it.

The Michael Brooks Show was an inspiration. Michael, Matt Lech and David Griscom were smart, eloquent, young men who articulated the systemic failures of our time, who critically discussed and analyzed our current political discourse and who pondered possible solutions based in history. The guests of TMBS, the network Michael created, really were the shining feature. Ben Burgis, Artesia Balthrop, Molly Webster, Glenn Greenwald, Adolf Reed, President Lula De Silva, Slavoj Žižek , Noam Chomsky, Dr. Cornel West, Dr. Richard Wolff...the list goes on and on and on. These people brought so much insight to the state of our world. Professors, Journalists, people who have spent their lives working on the cause, a cause for a better future, one based in humanity and empathy. Michael was able to bring his own empathy for humanity into his interviews, asking thoughtful direct questions that got to the heart of the issue-- while simultaneously bringing levity to a serious topic by making jokes in the voice of Gandhi, Mandela, Obama, or Bernie, to name a few. He, fucking, got it man. He understood how the world was connected. He understood that we are ALL humans, and that we all deserve to be treated with dignity, and he understood that Marx was right about a ton of shit and he wasn’t scared to remind you of that.

Michael, for me, was an exemplar. He was a role model. I looked up to him. I had no idea he was only 13 months older than me, I thought he was probably in his early 40’s just based on the amount of shit that he knew. My personal 10 year goal was to be on his show. I wanted to either become a writer or go back into academia. I even wrote into a show a couple of months back and asked him which was a better choice. He was honored to be asked such a heavy question but didn’t feel comfortable giving that kind of life advice and I don’t blame him. He recommended that I continue teaching high school if that’s what I enjoy doing, and I do, and I likely will. He has shown me how to speak up for ideals that are right, regardless of what people think. Like, I understood that in the abstract, but watching someone do it multiple times a week really put it in my head that I need to advocate for my position publicly. I tell people that I’m a marxist- which in Texas is unheard of, even among leftists. Mostly due to people not understanding labels and what that even means. So I tell them. Thanks to David’s weekly recommended readings I haven’t stopped reading leftist theory even though I finished grad school over a year and a half ago. If TMBS never existed I never would have had the opportunity to read any of that.

My heart bleeds for Matt and David. I can’t imagine what they’re going though. I want them to continue, to keep the community alive in his name. But I completely understand if that is just too painful.

I was thinking earlier, trying to find an appropriate historical comparison to his passing. There are many but as a North Texan, the one that I ended up landing on was the passing of Dimebag Darrell Abbot. He did a lot. He accomplished a lot in a short amount of time. He inspired many to do things like him. It was entirely unexpected and not one person, not one, has a bad thing to say about the guy. Dimebag was adored. He listened to people, strangers, fans. He was kind and open-hearted and treated everyone with respect. Which made it extra hard when he passed. The same can be said for Michael. For Michael, since Socialism is more than just music, he inspired us to educate ourselves, to ask questions, to remember the periphery-Latin America, Africa, and Asia,-- to remember history and value it, to be compassionate, to educate others and to be active in our own communities.

He will be sorely missed. The one thing I keep telling myself is that his death has the potential to bring even more attention to his message-- to help further catapult this movement into something undeniable. To bring more awareness to how power works and to finally activate us to become, as Michael said at Harvard on Feb 1, 2020: machiavellian.

“...we still have to put work into reminding everybody that (Dr. MLK Jr.) was on the left. He wasn’t a guy who came out once a year and said ‘everybody should treat each other nicely. ...The other thing I loved about this speech was he talked about the fallacy- that certain Christians misunderstand love as a seeding of power. And then Nietzsche came along and rejected christian morality because he thought it was denying someone’s vitality- the will to power in a healthy sense, and he said ‘Love without power is sentimental and anemic. And power without love is abusive and corrosive’ I’m paraphrasing. And that was when I saw, I thought, ‘well here, ok, we know the left-wing Dr. King. Well here is the machiavellian Dr King, and I love it.’ I want the left to have Machiavelli, so we can have the strategy, the ruthlessness, the clarity, to actually win these battles. And be ruthless with institutions. And then I want us to learn how to be really kind to each other, welcoming of a broad set, and actually have a movement that has the capacity to do that.”

Let’s do the best we can to make that happen. Educate yourself about power. Educate yourself about ideologies. Read Marx and Engels. Read Slavoj Žižek and Adolf Reed. Read Michaels book Against the Web: A Cosmopolitan Answer to the New Right. Don’t get caught up in identity politics. Never lose sight of class dynamics. Use this knowledge to educate others and make informed decisions. Register to vote. Run for office. Effectuate real change. Do the intellectual rigor that was happening on TMBS every week, multiple times a week. Thank you for all that you brought to us Michael, you will be sorely missed and I hope to see you at the clearing at the end of the path.

Anthony Sosa

7-21-20

#Michael Brooks #TMBS #History #Geopolitics #International relations #humanity #compassion #humanist #Socialsim #marx #economics

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moodforanime · 4 years

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Chihiro’s Return| Spirited Away fanfic|

A/N: This is the first chapter of an unpublished Spirited Away fanfiction I started writing and I need validation. Before anyone starts reading it, I’d like to note that I based it off an interview w/ the creator of Spirited Away mentioned in multiple articles where the creator said that at the end of the movie, when Chihiro leaves the tunnel along with her parents, she forgets everything that has happened in a matter of seconds. So I was like ‘Let’s write!’.

Word count: Like, 1.6K

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Anyone who knew Chihiro ever since she was a young girl could agree that the past decade has brought the girl a major glow up. The little, frightened girl they once knew turned into a confident young woman ready to face life. This all happened thanks to her parents’ decision to move away from their hometown and start anew.

Chihiro couldn't disagree- even if she hated it at first, it was a good choice. Yet… something was missing. Ever since she moved into her new house and attended her new school, the ghost of an undetectable memory didn't fail to remain with her in the back of her mind with an unbreakable loyalty. She tried to ignore it, to forget it, and to leave that eerie feeling of missing out on a dear memory, but it never failed to find its way back to her.

As she walked through her college dorm room, packing her bags, she paused for a moment to look at a framed picture standing on a shelf, a photo of her 10 year old self along with her parents. The girl in the picture grinned ear to ear as she stood between her parents, holding onto their arms.She picked up the framed photo and smiled. Summer returned and she had the chance to see her parents again. Although Chihiro didn't like to admit it, she did miss her parents terribly.

Honestly, she was more than happy to spend two months with her parents. Her parents were getting old and weren't popular for their strong immune systems, so only God knew for how long that Chihiro still had the chance to spend time with them. The door creaked lightly as it opened, without disturbing Chihiro from her meditation.

'Chihiro-chan.' A soft, female voice said, in an attempt to catch the girl's attention.

Chihiro's head shot up immediately, as she looked at the door curiously. A girl her age with short, dark hair and casual clothes looked at her from the doorway.

‘Asura. I thought you went to the bus?’

‘Did you pack your bags? Everyone is there already there,’ Asura said, ‘We're leaving in fifteen minutes, you know.'

Chihiro felt her face get pale. 'Ah… yes, of course. I was just closing my luggage.’

She put the picture in her luggage and fetched the last clothes that were lying on her bed right next to her, and threw them in her luggage. After she forced the luggage to close, Chihiro took if off the bed, grabbed it by its handle and pulled it behind her as she left the room with her roommate.

Luckily for the two girls, their bedroom was placed on the first floor of the campus building, so they weren’t at such a high risk of being late. They walked rapidly across the campus garden and only increased their steps more when seeing a female teacher waiting in front of the bus, looking at them with a disapproving, sour look.

‘At last, Ogino-san,’ the teacher said as the two girls arrived in front of her.

Chihiro bit her lip as she bowed deeply, along with Asura. No matter what her parents told her while growing up, she still hated her last name. She would not get used to its ugliness. It reminded her of a big, ugly plum, or a reed plain.

‘I’m deeply sorry for my tardiness, sensei,’ Chihiro apologised, ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘I hope not. Tardiness is definitely not a quality a young woman should have. Take your luggage and get on the bus.’

Chihiro did as she was asked to. Helped by Asura, Chihiro lifted her luggage in the air and walked on the bus. As she walked on the bus, Chihiro smiled as she spotted her closest friend. After bidding a goodbye to Asura, Chihiro walked to her friend and pushed her luggage on the tray above her.

‘I saved you a seat!’ The girl told Chihiro excitedly, as she pat the free seat next to hers.

‘Thank you, Fumiko. You saved my life.’

The two girls laughed, as the bus’ doors closed. Soon enough, the bus’ engines started and the bus began moving.

‘Going to your parents’ house for the summer?’ Fumiko asked.

‘Mhm. Gotta spend time with them, y’know? So they don’t think I’m ungrateful or that I stopped loving them.’

Fumiko nodded. ‘I know the feeling. I’ll visit my parents as well for a while, but I’ll mostly travel with Akio.’

Akio was Fumiko’s boyfriend. Chihiro met him a couple of times as she had nothing bad to say about him. His and Fumiko’s relationship was a steady one and he presented to be a good guy with a goal that kept him pushing forward. If he treated Fumiko right and both of them were happy, Chihiro had nothing to say.

‘That’s really nice, Fumiko. I wish I met someone like that, too.’

‘Oh, you’ll find someone, Chihiro,’ Fumiko said light-heartedly as she nudged Chihiro lightly, ‘I know you will. You’re an amazing person.’

Chihiro smiled. ‘Thank you. You know, when I get home, I might make a small trip myself. There’s this old, abandoned building near my house, with a tunnel for entrance. My dad says it’s probably some of those buildings that were abandoned after the revolution in the nineties. It always creeped me out as a kid, but now… I really want to see what’s behind it.’

‘Ooh, it sounds like an adventure!’

‘It’ll definitely be one.’

After that, the subject was changed and the two girls continued to chat throughout the ride. A solid five hours later, Chihiro found herself sitting on the seat next to the window, watching how her town bathed in the warm, orange tones of the sunset, as a certain feeling of nostalgia washed over her. Fumiko got off the bus about an hour before, so now Chihiro was left on her own. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have any other friends. It was simply that many people had already the bus already and even the few people left on the bus were all tired from the long ride and the chit-chat and were waiting for the time they would reach their homes. In that moment, everyone wanted to be left alone.

Ever since last summer, Chihiro’s town didn’t change much. The same buildings, the same colours and same people were hanging around the simple streets. Eventually, the bus entered a street on a hill that Chihiro knew only so well. All the houses looked simple, made out of bricks and were coloured in simple colours. The bus stopped in front of a seemingly large house painted in blue. The bus driver coughed as he looked at the list in front of him.

‘Ogino Chihiro.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Chihiro stood up and took her luggage down. She walked down the aisle between the chairs. Just before she walked out of the bus, she looked at the driver, a nearly bald man in his mid-forties. ‘Thank you for bringing me, sir. Have a good evening.’

‘You too.’

She stepped out of the bus and watched how the bus’ doors closed, before the bus turned around and drove away from the hill. Chihiro smiled as she looked down at the forest beneath the hill. The forest wasn’t big, it was a mere surrounding around the hill that represented the highest point in the village The view was lovely, with a capability to relax anyone who happens to witness it. The only thing that brought a sense of eeriness was a red building that found itself in the middle of the forest, at the end of a dirt road not too far from the hill. IT would give anyone a chill down the spine, and was the cause of many mysteries and nightmares throughout Chihiro’s early teens and teenage years. Chihiro wanted to visit the house very soon, but the plans were not immediate. She wanted to spend time with her parents first. She wanted to catch up.

As Chihiro walked closer to her door, she hardly had to knock to the door. As soon as her fist hit the white door two times, Chihiro didn’t find herself before a closed door but in the strong embrace of a well-build man.

‘Chihiro-chan!’ Her father exclaimed, happily, ‘Welcome back! How was the trip, darling?’

The man let Chihiro go and ruffled her hair as she took some deep breaths.

‘Thanks, dad,’ Chihiro said as she entered the house. She took her shoes of in the hallway at the entrance, before following her father in the living room, ‘The road was fine. It felt really long and it was boring after Fumiko got off, though.’

‘Any interesting boy to talk to?’ Her mother’s voice rang happily from the kitchen.

Chihiro laughed, lightly. ‘No interesting boy, mom. None that I know of.’

‘Good,’ her father approved with a strong nod, ‘You deserve better. I’m sure there might be some negociable options in the IT department, but with these new generations, it’s different, y’know? It’s not what it was in my time.’

‘Every generation is different, y’know?’ Chihiro pointed out.

‘Not all generations are good.’

‘Are you saying I’m stupid?’

‘Oh, not you! Certainly not you! You’re an intellectual gem among your peers. All I’m saying is that in some generations, a vast majority of people are a bad influence. Certain expectations and trends are set, which are absolutely not healthy at all.’

Chihiro puffed, lightly. Her father did make a point there. She’s had her fair share of bullies growing up, but the amount of bad people dropped considerably once Chihiro entered college. Most people attending college, she realised, wanted to be there. They were all there for a reason and various goals in life and saw a path in life. College offered Chihiro a much home-like feeling outside the place she grew up in and people she genuinely liked.

Chihiro’s mother came out of the kitchen and hugged her daughter tightly.

‘It’s good to have you back home, dear,’ her mother said with a smile, before tuning to her husband, ‘Akio, won’t you help Chihiro get her bags in her room before dinner?’

‘Ah, yes, of course,’ Chihiro’s father exclaimed, as he took her luggage in his hands immediately.

Chihiro followed her father up the stairs and into her bedroom. As her father looked for a place where he could place her luggage, Chihiro’s eyes ran over her bedroom. The room was clean, all the things she left at home being neatly arranged. The amount of time that had passed since Chihiro’s last been in her bedroom made the room feel rather empty. It was welcoming and familiar, but empty. It wasn’t as if you had a long day and finally could go home, in your safe space. It was as if going back to a nostalgic memory that you once were so at home with, but was now something that you outgrew. Like a sweatshirt you once got and loved but eventually grew small and had to eventually be put in a cardboard box in the attic or thrown away to save space.

‘It’s really nice to have you back, Chihiro,’ her father said as he patted her back, ‘this house is really boring without you.’

Chihiro laughed. ‘Don’t let mom hear you.’

‘Oh, I’d be a dead man then.’ Her father laughed as he made his way towards her door, ‘Your mom’s setting the table now. Be sure to come before the food gets cold.’

‘Sure will.’

Chihiro watched how her father left her room, closing the door behind him. Being left to her own devices again, Chihiro found herself laying on her bed and staring at the plastic stars she once glued to her ceiling as a twelve year old. Memories from her younger self filled her mind, bringing her back to all the experiences she found herself in. At the reminder of her past horror, Chihiro stood up and walked to her bedroom window, locking gazes with the abandoned building from the forest. The building pushed so many nightmares and fears upon her for so many years, but it wouldn’t have to wait much longer before Chihiro took the final step to overcome her fears.

For a moment, Chihiro scoffed at the building. Why was it so scary, anyway? It wasn’t some sort of magical portal. It was just a silly, old building that was out of use.

#spirited away #spirited away fanfiction #spirited away fanfic #fanfiction #ghiblli #ghibli movies #chihiro's return #chihiro ogino #chihiro spirited away

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chiiwifruit · 4 years

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TCM Day 20: Fairytales

A long time ago, in a country far away, there lived a princess. The princess had a father, a mother, an older brother, and a beloved childhood friend. The princess’ name was Sakura, and everyone loved her for her beauty and kindness. If someone was in trouble, she would try to help them. And even if she could not help, her brilliant smile would warm their hearts. Everyone in her kingdom loved her, but it was her dear friend Syaoran who treasured her most of all.

On Princess Sakura’s fourteenth birthday, an evil wizard came to her country. The king and queen welcomed him, for they were kind people and they did not know what harm he brought. In exchange for their hospitality, the wizard stole the princess’ magic and vanished into the night. The princess collapsed, very weak, and it was soon discovered that the wizard had taken her memories along with her magic. Memories are part of a person’s soul, and so the priest warned the king and queen that the princess would never be whole again unless her memories were recovered.

Syaoran told the king and queen that he would undertake the journey to fight the wizard and get Sakura’s memories back. The priest said that the princess would have to accompany him on the journey, as memories were fragile things, and Syaoran did not have the power or skill to bring them back safely. If Sakura was with him, the memories could be placed back into her body as soon as they were recovered.

So Syaoran and Sakura set out. The wizard had left no clues as to where he came from or where he was going, but Syaoran had heard rumours of a northern country that had been ravaged by an evil wizard. And so the pair headed north to search for clues.

The journey out of their desert country was long, for Sakura could not endure long hours on horseback in her fragile state.

On the seventh day since their journey began, the pair was beset by bandits. Syaoran was no swordsman, but he was trained in a kicking technique by a traveller many years ago. He put the princess behind him and tried to fight off the bandits, but there were five of them and one of him.

Suddenly, a warrior on a shining black horse thundered down the hill. It seemed to Syaoran that he slew all the bandits with one slash of his sword. He was a massive man, with hair as dark as a crow’s wing and eyes the red of fresh blood.

“Thank you for saving us,” Syaoran said, but he kept his body between his princess and their savior.

The man dismounted his horse and marched closer. Syaoran and Sakura flinched back as the warrior yanked a length of cloth out of Syaoran’s pocket. On it was the symbol of a bat, which Syaoran had torn from the evil wizard’s cloak before he escaped.

“Do you work for this man?” the warrior demanded, waving the cloth in Syaoran’s face.

“No. We are on a quest to recover something he stole from my princess,” Syaoran replied.

It seemed the warrior had encountered the evil wizard as well. The warrior was from a small town in the east, called Suwa. A number of years ago, the evil wizard approached his parents, the Lord and Lady of Suwa, and demanded that they give him a precious artifact, an ancient sword of great power that had been gifted to their ancestors by a dragon. The Lord and Lady refused, and were able to repel his attack. In retaliation, the evil wizard summoned waves of monsters to attack their land.

The Lady had powerful magic of her own, and the Lord was a great warrior. With the help of their magic sword, they were withstand the monsters’ attacks for many years. Eventually the toll became too great, and the Lord and Lady both perished. The rest of the town fell thereafter, leaving the Lord and Lady's son as the only survivor.

He was now on a journey for vengeance. He was reluctant to ally himself with Syaoran and Sakura, but did so as they had a common goal. He told them to call him Kurogane.

Now a trio, they continued their journey north. The weather became colder, and the terrain grew steep. They had to stop in a village to buy warm cloaks before pressing on.

On the way through a mountain pass, they were attacked by a magician. Fire fell from the sky, and Syaoran’s horse reared, nearly throwing him and Princess Sakura to the ground. Kurogane deflected the next blast with his magic sword, Ginryu, and the reflected fire forced the magician from his hiding place. He tumbled to the ground, holding his burned shoulder.

Kurogane leveled his sword at him. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The magician grimaced and got to his feet. He was blond and clad all in blue and white. Rather than answering, the faint glow of magic emanated from his spread fingers. Kurogane leaped out of the way, and Syaoran tackled Sakura out of danger. Part of the spell clipped his leg, and Syaoran grimaced with pain. He kept a tight grip on his princess, ready to defend her at all costs, but he wasn’t sure he could stand on that leg.

Despite managing to incapacitate one of them, the magician didn’t look happy. His guilt distracted him enough for Kurogane to leap in and cut a thin slice across his chest. The magician retreated, wounded. After gathering themselves, the group pressed on.

They stopped for the night at an inn run by a smiling man and his reserved wife. “What brings you to these parts?” The innkeeper, Sorata, asked over dinner. The dining room was almost empty. Sorata had told them that they got very few travelers through these parts, and the locals mostly stayed at home. They were all afraid of the evil wizard.

Syaoran explained the purpose of their quest. Sorata nodded and examined the bit of cloth Syaoran held out, which was their only clue.

“It sounds to me like you’re looking for Fei Wang Reed,” Sorata said. “Nobody really knows where he came from, but he showed up here about a decade ago and started throwing his weight around. We’ve had warriors and sorcerers come up to try and stop him, but he’s just too powerful! He also got our king on his side, and now anyone who stands against them is looking at execution or life in the dungeons.”

“How terrible,” Sakura said. She was sagging from exhaustion, but had refused to go to bed no matter how hard Syaoran protested. She wanted to know what was going on. She wanted to be helpful. Even as frail as she was with her memories missing, her heart was still kind and strong. When Arashi draped a thick throw over her shoulders, Sakura gave her a tired smile.

Kurogane was silent for most of the conversation. He spoke up now. “What about a blond magician?” he asked. “Know anything about him?”

Arashi straightened. “The one in blue?” she asked. Kurogane nodded. “I’ve heard of him. The neighbouring country has twin princes who are powerful magicians. They came here to help defeat Fei Wang Reed, but it seems one of them was captured. Fei Wang Reed is holding him hostage to force his brother to do his bidding.”

“So he just wants his brother back,” Syaoran said.

“It seems that way, yes.”

“So if we help him save his brother, he might help us,” Sakura said. Everyone looked to the princess, who sat straighter in her chair. “Do you know anything about where he might be held?”

“Well, yes... but it’s very dangerous,” Sorata said reluctantly. He glanced at his wife, who nodded. “There’s a tower farther north. The land is cursed, and I heard it’s guarded by a dragon.”

Arashi had magic of her own, and she assured the group that she was certain the other prince was imprisoned in the tower. She could sense him. She could also sense his brother wandering around searching for him whenever he wasn’t at Fei Wang Reed’s beck and call. She gave them a map and a bag, but cautioned them not to open it ‘except at their time of greatest need’.

The group left early the next morning. They travelled on uneventfully, but as they began to see the tower in the distance, that land grew silent and strange. The plants grew brown and brittle. There was no sound of animals or birds in the trees. Not even the wind disturbed the naked branches. Until the air was split with a loud roar.

Syaoran’s horse screamed as a large scaly body cut through the air above the group. The force of the wind in its wake forced the horses back a step. Syaoran dismounted to calm his horse, but Kurogane’s was a warrior’s mount and was trained to have nerves of steel.

Kurogane drew his sword and turned his horse to face the dragon as it rounded for a second pass. Its talons were almost as long as his body.

“Kurogane-san, it’s too dangerous!” Syaoran protested.

But Kurogane’s family were originally dragon slayers until they made a pact with their patron dragon, and Kurogane did not fear dragons. He swung his sword aloft and called out the name of his technique, “Hama Ryuu-ou Jin!”

Heavily wounded but not dead, the dragon plummeted to the earth. The ground shook from the force of its weight. Kurogane waited, sword at the ready, but the dragon did not attempt to attack again. Instead, it spoke.

“That sword...” the dragon said in a voice the was a mix of a hiss and a growl. “You are a child of the Suwa clan, are you not?”

“Yes. I am the only survivor of the Suwa clan,” Kurogane said.

“I see. Perhaps you can help me. I have been bound here by a wizard who forces me to guard the tower. If you cut the band around my wrist, I will be free.” The dragon stretched out its left wrist, which was bound with an iron manacle. “Only a blade such as yours, which was forged in the fire of dragons, can cut it.”

Kurogane cut through the manacle with one swipe of his blade, and the dragon was free to go. Before it left, it gave Kurogane a dragon scale in gratitude. “This will allow you to pass through the wards around the tower,” the dragon explained. “Without it, you won’t be able to proceed further than this.”

The dragon scale was bigger than Kurogane’s hand. The travelers split it into three parts, and each wore theirs on a cord around their neck in order to approach the tower.

If there was anything else assigned to the tower, it seemed too afraid to approach after seeing Kurogane dispatch the dragon so easily.

The tower was so tall that they could not see the top from the base. There also was no door in sight, though they walked around the base twice in search of one. They did, however, find a bell, which Princess Sakura rang before anyone could stop her.

A long golden rope woven of exceptionally fine material dropped from the top of the tower. The end stopped a couple inches above the ground. The group puzzled over it.

“Are we supposed to climb it?” Sakura wondered.

It was decided that Syaoran would be the one to climb it, as Kurogane had dealt with the dragon. Kurogane gave him a little dagger that Syaoran clipped onto his belt before he began to climb.

The ascent seemed to take forever. Syaoran climbed up and up and up, until he was among the clouds. He didn’t dare look down for fear that the great height would make him dizzy. Eventually he came upon a little window near the top of the tower, and he slipped inside.

The magician stood patiently beside the window. Syaoran was so startled that he nearly fell out at the sight of him, and the magician had to grab his arm and haul him inside. The shining golden rope was his hair, coiled in a tight braid and then wound around a hook by the door for Syaoran to climb up. He stared at Syaoran.

“You aren’t who I expected at all,” he said.

Syaoran squared his shoulders. “I’m here to rescue you. Your brother is looking for you.”

At the mention of his brother, the magician’s caution softened. “Yuui is? I’ve heard him calling me. I want to go to him, but I can’t get out of the tower. I could climb down using my hair, but I don’t have anything to cut it with.”

So Syaoran cut through the magician’s long golden hair, and after making sure it was tied securely to the hook, the two climbed down.

The magician’s name was Fai. He confirmed that he and his brother Yuui had come to this land at the request of the king to help fight Fei Wang Reed, but by the time they arrived, the king had fallen under Fei Wang Reed’s influence and Fai was captured.

The castle wasn’t marked on the map that Arashi had given them, but Fai knew the way. The castle was hidden with spells and enchantments that would have been impossible for the group to get through without a magician in the party. They had reached the final obstacle, a thorny wall of briars, when there was a sudden cry.

“Fai!”

It was the other magician. He ran and embraced his brother, and they both cried. Now that he no longer had reason to follow Fei Wang Reed, Yuui was happy to tell the group where to find the evil wizard.

But first, they had to fight the king.

King Ashura had been driven mad by the dark magic Fei Wang Reed cast over his kingdom. Perhaps there could have been a way to save him, but Yuui and Fai said that it was outside of their abilities. After a difficult battle, the king was defeated.

The group advanced further into the castle as it crumbled around them. It seemed that the castle was tied to King Ashura’s life, and now that he was dead, it fell to pieces. Princess Sakura could run no further, and so Kurogane carried her in one arm and wielded his sword with the other. They had to hurry. If Fei Wang Reed fled before they found him, they would have to start their search from the beginning.

They found the wizard standing before a magic mirror. Rather than showing his reflection, it showed a lush green land. “Stop him!” Yuui cried. “It will take him to another country!”

Syaoran launched himself forward. Fei Wang Reed ducked his kick, but he was not the target. Syaoran shattered the mirror with a mighty blow, sending shards scattering in every direction while Fei Wang Reed howled his fury. He cast a wide spell intended to kill the group. Yuui shielded the others while Fai counterattacked.

Fei Wang Reed’s next attack sent Fai skidding across the floor. He hit the wall and lay still as his brother screamed his name. Kurogane was forced to put the princess down and help with the fight.

In the same motion that Kurogane stabbed Fei Wang Reed through the heart, the wizard severed Kurogane’s left arm. Kurogane went down in a torrent of blood, and Syaoran knelt to attempt to stem it with his cloak.

Without Fei Wang Reed’s magic to bind them, Sakura’s magic and memories took the form of feathers and looked like they were about to scatter in all directions. The two magicians could not stop them, because Fai was incapacitated and Yuui was tending to his brother.

Sakura remembered the bag Arashi had entrusted to her, and the instructions to use it when she would need it most. She pulled hard on the drawstring, and the bag opened wide. A white creature came out, it’s long white ears streaming behind it as it flew to the centre of the room.

Syaoran recognized it as a bunny-like faerie creature from stories his father used to tell him. His father had said that such a creature was called a Mokona, and it had the power to go anywhere in the world. Some said it might even have the power to take you to a different world, any world you liked.

The creature breathed in. And in and in. It sucked up the feathers, and then it sucked up the adventurers as well. It wrapped them cozily in its white wings just as the remainder of the castle crashed down.

When the group came to, they were in the infirmary in Clow Country. Mokona had acted as a holding container for Sakura’s memories, and with help from the priest, was able to return them to Sakura’s body. The princess’ recovery was instant, and she remembered everything, including that Syaoran was her most precious person in the world, and not just a companion for her trip.

Kurogane and Fai both lived, though Kurogane would forever be without his arm and the blow to Fai’s back had cost him the use of his legs. Queen Nadeshiko said with regret that it was beyond her to cure either. In gratitude for helping save their daughter, the King and Queen offered Kurogane, Yuui, and Fai a permanent home in Clow Country, as well as a place of honour in the castle whenever they came to visit, which they did often. Fai liked to show off the fancy chair he and his brother had built to help him get around, and they even made a clockwork arm for Kurogane, though he didn’t like it so much as his real one.

The End.

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galadrieljones · 4 years

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur x mary beth #mary beth gaskill #the lily farm #happy valentines day!!#i am sorry for the long wait on this one #february has been insane #but i'm very proud of this chapter!!#i am excited to finally get here #<3

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endoftheworldpaul · 5 years

Text

It's still technically Wednesday for me so looks like we got another close call update!

@dbhrarepairs Here's my submission for day 3, wrong blind date.

Both Convin and Elijah/Leo bc I shouldn't brainstorm when I'm tired.

If you would rather read on AO3, you can click here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611682

Again, I apologize, but I'm having serious troubles with getting the read more break in here if anyone has tips I'm willing to listen Google isn't helping.

EDIT: I FIGURED IT OUT. Well, really, I just went on my laptop bc mobile, for all its benefits for my schedule, is super confusing when it wants to be.

Usually, Nines is rather reliable. Always prepared, always punctual, always one step ahead of everyone else.

Just not this week. Finals week had, as always, was hellish for most students. Even Nines felt some of the end of the year panic. And by some, it was more along the lines of going into an over-studying craze.

One problem that accompanies what his close friends have dubbed The Dark Ages is that he takes on too many extra projects in a failing attempt to distract himself.

One such project is promising four very confused and stressed friends to set them up on blind dates. Four friends that, he decided, needed something new to distract from the stresses of life.

Friend number one—Gavin Reed, a police officer closing in on his second year out of police academy—was the one who unintentionally gave Nines the idea to play matchmaker.

On a cold Friday evening, their weekly "chill day," Gavin was complaining about his coworkers, as usual.

"So, there's this new guy, a transfer from Dearborn, who is so fuckin' annoying. Dude spends his entire fucking break, I shit you not, to gush about his wife. Just got married. Who cares? Lotsa people get married, why should it be such a big deal? So I say to him, "Why don't you spend less time rambling on about the missus, and more time solving fucking crimes?" And the asshole has the gall to tell me that I'd change my mind if I could keep someone around for more than a week! What a dick right?"

While Nines loved spending time with Gavin, he made conversations interesting and he was honest, he got into moods and would, for lack of a better word, be a huge bitch about things he didn't agree with.

Nines shot a glance towards Gavin, taking in his position sprawled out on Nines' couch, one leg dangling off the edge, fiddling with his phone. "I suppose the only option would be to prove him wrong then. Show that you can 'keep someone around for more than a week' and rub it in his face, good ol' Gavin Reed style." He scowled, "But who would be this mystery date?"

Gavin looked up from his phone, shooting Nines a confused glance. "Well, I 'spose it could be one of those friends of yours. You've got like a million, it can't be that hard to find someone who'll like me. Even if I am kind of a dick!"

Nines hummed in confirmation, mentally creating a list of potential dates for Gavin. He had a lot of pros and cons lists to make.

Friend number two—Connor Stern, a newer acquaintance of his—was the catalyst for the second half of what would eventually turn into Nines' biggest embarrassment.

Connor had been more forthright with his date searching. On one of their shopping trips, devised when they found out they both lived at the same apartment complex as well as frequently shopped at the same local grocery store, he had suddenly enquired as to whether or not Nines could find someone he could go on a date with.

"I suppose, since it's been so long that I've tried dating, that I should consider pursuing romantic relationships. Now that I am about to graduate from the academy, I have more time to do so. So you have anyone in mind whom you think I could form a serious connection with, whether it be more friendly or more romantic?"

At first, Nines was a little surprised. But he quickly overcame that because a wave of excitement washed over him. Since he began planning a blind date for Gavin three days prior, Nines had closely analyzed the personalities of all of his companions. In doing so, he had gotten closer to narrowing down who Gavin's date would be. To find Connor a potential date, all he would have to do is make minor adjustments to his list of complementary personality traits and hobbies.

He gave Connor a small smile in confirmation. "I think I can come up with a person or two."

After narrowing down his list of potentials for Connor, he had to ask friends if they would be available in the set few days Connor had confirmed he would be free.

Option one, a close friend and classmate, North Dufay, stated that she had to take over for a friend who was on vacation at the taekwondo studio she worked at.

Option two, local street artist Markus Manfred, was also unavailable. His father was accompanying him to an art gallery showing in Paris, where both artists would present new works.

That left one person. The third friend roped into Nines' disaster of a plan, Elijah Kamski, genius and programmer, and massive introvert. It had been at least three years, half of the time Nines has known him, since he had even attempted to socialize with anyone outside of his immediate friend group. Jumping from one project to the next, he had a habit of ignoring any of Nines' attempts at getting him to redirect his attention elsewhere and relax. Nines hoped that, by introducing him to someone new who would match his wit and appreciate his devotion to his goals, it would encourage him to pursue other minor hobbies and allow him to de-stress.

Connor, who was sarcastic and determined, seemed like a perfect match.

Finding Gavin a date took a little more thinking than it did for Connor; he had a less approachable personality. Grumpy and irritable, many of Nines' friends would be unable to withstand sharp jabs and brutal honesty long enough to get to see his protectiveness and ambition.

North might've been a good option, but she had prior engagements. Tina might've gotten along well with Gavin, but they had dated in high school and agreed that being friends was better for both of them. At first, Chloe seemed like she might be a good match, but she had recently come out as aromantic and asexual, so Nines ruled her out.

The only option left was the chaotic ball of energy that was Leo Manfred, Markus' half brother. When he was younger, Leo had been in a bad situation, but finding supportive friends and a good therapist that encouraged him to redirect his anger to something more productive had helped him find a purpose in life, create goals.

Now a full time student, well on his way to becoming a psychologist, he was likely to enjoy Gavin's sass and dorky jokes.

People paired up, all Nines had to do was organize the details of the dates. For Connor and Elijah, he decided that a less crowded, but not isolated café just off of the main streets would be perfect. Or, was that where he had planned Gavin and Leo's date? No, he was mostly sure that he had made reservations for them at a local restaurant by Gavin and Tina's shared apartment. He didn't have time to worry about it at the moment; he had a final to study for.

Connor had the feeling that something was going to go wrong. Nines hadn't told him his date's name to prevent him from looking him up on social media platforms and form any opinions on him before their actual date. He was just told that his date was about average height, with dark hair, often wore glasses, and had horrible posture.

So of course, when someone matching that exact description walked through the door six and a half minutes after their scheduled meet up time, he hesitantly waved.

The man, indeed wearing glasses, seemed slightly out of breath. He hadn't seemed to try to dress up, dressed in a faded gray, long sleeved sweater and wrinkled blue jeans.

Flopping down into the chair across from Connor, his date sighed, stuck a hand out to shake, and blurted out "I'm so sorry I'm late! My roommate let my cat outside accidentally and I had to chase her down the street so that I could get her home and by the time I did, I had lime fifteen minutes max, and I still had to shower and stuff and then i realized that my dryer broke in the middle of this last load so most of my clothes are either soaked or horribly wrinkled and I couldn't find a shirt that made my eyes look really good and I forgot to put my contacts in and… yeah. I'm so fuckin' sorry, I wanted to try to impress you but I'm doing a kind of shit job at that huh?"

Connor blinked a few times, trying to absorb the story his date, who still had yet to introduce himself, threw at him. He tried to smile reassuringly, and shook the still outstretched hand. "Well that seems like a horrible afternoon. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Connor. You're also a friend of Nines' then I suppose?"

"Oh yeah! Yeah I am. Uh, I'm Gavin. It's nice to meet you." Gavin shifted in his seat. "Sorry again for being late. It really isn't normal for me, I swear."

"Well it happens every one in a while. It's sweet that you care about your cat so much that you would go out of your way to looking for her like that. What's her name, if you don't mind me asking?"

Gavin gasped and frantically pulled his phone out, unlocking it. "Her name is Dana and she's a menace! Look, she's so fluffy!" He shoved his phone at Connor, who takes in the fluffy black mass, staring up at him through the photo. Her bright green eyes reflect a tiny image of Gavin, holding his phone to take the photo and squinting in concentration. Cute.

Connor smiles. "Well, that is the most gorgeous menace I've ever seen. She looks so soft."

"Oh she is. If I don't brush her every day, she gets violent." Connor snorts. "Ha, yeah it's funnier when you're not on the receiving end of her tiny little dagger-teeth. I should probably stop gushing about my cat; you'll think I'm crazy soon! So, uh, how did Nines describe me? Because he described you as, and I quote, a kind of tall, dark haired twink with a nice smile."

Connor chuckled. "It seems like the stress is really getting to him if he could only describe me as a twink with a nice smile. He was a lot more bland when describing you. He said you're average height, with glasses and dark hair and a horrible posture. Which, I mean, at least he's been pretty accurate with his descriptions, even if they do seem rushed."

Humming in agreement, Gavin asked, "Hey, what do you do? You got a job or you studying or what?"

"Oh I'm currently in the police academy. I wanna be a lieutenant someday."

Gavin wiggled in his seat. "Oh shit, I'm a cop too! I escaped the academy two years ago."

"Really? Oh that's amazing! Maybe we'll get to work together on cases. It would be nice to have made a friend or something when I graduate from the academy. So what do you do now? What's it like, being a serious police officer like that?"

They continued chatting for the next two hours, occasionally buying each other snacks and drinks. Connor was hesitant to end the date, suggesting they walk to the park or go watch a movie.

They spent most of the afternoon together, before Gavin offered to walk Connor home. Standing on the sidewalk by the front doors, Gavin slowly took hold of Connor's hands and stood on his toes to kiss Connor's nose.

"I had a lot of fun, I'd love to see you again" Gavin murmured.

A blush crept up Connor's cheeks. "Well it's a good thing I'm free next Saturday, because I do too."

"Oh, well that's good." Gavin sighed. "I'm gonna hafta leave soon, or else Dana'll throw a fit. I'll see you Saturday okay? Is seven good? I got a half brother who can hook me up with some fancy reservations if you'd like."

Connor squeezed Gavin's hand before hesitantly letting go. "Sounds like a date. I can't wait. Goodbye Gavin."

"G'bye."

Elijah was hesitant to go on Nines' blind date. In a hurry, he only said that his date was a smart kid, a couple years younger than Elijah himself, with dark brown, curly hair.

He didn't want the guy to think too highly of him or else he might want to schedule another date, and Elijah didn't have time for that. So, he decided to show up "accidentally" almost half an hour late. Pushing the café door open, his gaze immediately landed on a grumpy looking guy, maybe twenty-ish, who was slumped over his phone in a booth in the far back.

Shambling over to the grumpy kid, he asked "Are you Nines' friend? I'm here for the blind date."

Grumpy guy glanced up at him, grumbling a "Yeah that's me. You a little late there dude."

Slouching into the other side of the booth, Elijah quoted the excuse he planned out. "I'm sorry. My car wouldn't start, so I had to get a ride from a friend. Maybe I can buy you like a coffee or a sandwich to make up for it?"

"Well, you don't have to bribe me. If you're offering though, maybe a blueberry muffin and a caramel macchiato. And also a name?"

Elijah raised his eyebrows. This kid was more blunt than he was expecting. It was… nice. "Hmm I suppose that it makes sense to give you my name. Elijah." He paused. "Kamski." Some people knew who he was. It wasn't that surprising for a programmer as young as he is to catch the attention of mainstream media if they're successful, which he was.

"Leo. Manfred." Manfred, Manfred. Why did that name sound so familiar? "Are you gonna get my stuff or were you lying about that part?"

If he had wanted to make a better impression, he might've actually laughed at that. Instead, all he did was not and stand up, heading toward the counter. As he was walking, he glanced around the café, observing a small family, a couple teenagers working on homework, and Gavin? On a date. Hmm. That's something to tease him about later.

Returning to the table, he expected Leo to still be on his phone, but instead he was casually observing him. Might as well pass the time by talking. That usually pushes people away pretty fast. "You have a job? Studying?"

Munching on his muffin, Leo hummed. "Mhm. Psychology." Maybe this kid is smart. "Don't worry though, I promise I only psychoanalyze on the second date." Oh. He's actually funny. Maybe this won't be as bad as he thought.

Elijah allowed himself to smile a little at that. "Well, well, well, looks like I have something to look forward to." Elijah what are you doing? Did you just insinuate that you would like to go on a second date with this guy?

Leo chuckles and sets his muffin back down on its plate. "Well you still gotta impress me first. Bribery doesn't work with everyone. If this were the second date, though, I'd have a hell of a lot to say about the lying and avoidance of revealing personal details. But, like I said, that'll have to wait 'til the second date."

Definitely smart. More smart-ass though. That was more appealing than Elijah was expecting it to be.

He sighed. "Well, since you caught me, I suppose I'll have to share something for the class. I'm a programmer. I'm currently working on developing AI tools that will recognise voices to activate or shut down household items, like a stove that shuts off to protect young children from lighting their homes on fire."

"That sounds pretty cool actually. Gotta babyproof the fancy smart-technology. I was expecting you to be something lame, like a very antisocial plumber or a dentist or something, but you're not that boring I guess."

This time Elijah couldn't stop himself from laughing. Maybe, just maybe, he'll let himself enjoy this date. "'Not that boring I guess' is a compliment of the highest caliber, coming from someone as attractive as you." Why not go full flirt, if he wants this to go well.

"Keep talking like that and I'll be swooning into your arms in no time. Seriously though, be careful, I'm starting to like you. That would be horrible, wouldn't it?" Leo raised an eyebrow.

Elijah smiled a little. "I guess it wouldn't be that bad. I think I'm starting to like you too." He snuck a piece of Leo's muffin, then hummed in delight. "That is a phenomenal muffin. You've just been hoarding it all for yourself over there? You are a cruel and unjust monster. Gimme more."

Snickering, Leo smacked Elijah's arm away from the plate. "Only nice dates who ask nicely get to share muffins."

Elijah sighed. "Well I suppose if it's for a muffin of this quality, it will be worth it. I would like some muffin."

Leo didn't budge.

"...Please?"

At this, Leo broke off a large chunk of the muffin and handed it to Elijah. "Well, since you asked so politely, I guess I'm required to give you some now. It's good date behavior. Gotta be good if I want ya to stick around I 'spose." He smirked. Then he glanced at his watch, a rather shiny silver. "Oh shit, I gotta go. I'm house-sitting for my half-brother and I gotta feed his birds."

Elijah hesitated in saying goodbye, even as Leo rushed to clean up. Suddenly standing, he blurted out, "Maybe we can schedule that second date?"

Leo paused, looking up at him. For a few seconds, Elijah thought he was going to decline the offer, but then he straightened his spine, smiled softly, and said, "Meet me at that Italian restaurant off of Main, next Tuesday? 6:30?"

"It's a date. I'll see you then. I'll accompany you to your car." The both of them walked side by side, just close enough that every once in a while, their knuckles would brush up against each other. Parting with a wave, Elijah started planning what he would do to show his thanks to Nines for forcing him to do this dumb blind date thing, because it seemed that it wasn't as dumb as he originally thought.

When Nines ran into Connor in the hallway, he had to see how the date went. "So, what did you think of Elijah?"

Connor froze, turned to look at Nines, brow furrowed, and asked, "Who the fuck is Elijah?" Uh oh.

#dbh #dbh rarepair day 3 #dbh rarepair week #dbh connor #connor rk800 #gavin reed #Convin #elijah kamski #leo manfred #leo x elijah #leo manfred x elijah kamski #eli n gav are half brothers #everybody's human

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