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starkrogerrs · 5 years

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you don't have to say you love me; [chapter 2]

catch up: chapter 1 //

pairing: stevetony - modern/college au/ fakedating

warnings/tags: tooth-rotting fluff, Tony can't adult, steve is a cutie

word count: 2k+

a/n: really sorry for the late update but i hope you like the chapter!

"Can't. Breathe," Tony muttered as Sofia crushed him in a bear hug. For a five foot tall person, Sofia surprisingly packed a lot of strength. Tony smiled when she finally released him.

"It's been so long, Tones!" she beamed from ear to ear. Tony nodded, his mouth twitching into a grin in spite of himself and took the two, heavy bags she'd bought along. Yup, she was definitely staying for a while.

The ride home consisted entirely of Sofia filling Tony in about everything and nothing at all, with the brunet nodding here and there to let her know he was listening. While, in reality, he kept zoning out and thinking what would have happened if he had merely said, No, Sof. I don't have a boyfriend so please stop irritating the fuck out of me about it.

He also wondered if he had it in him to be the one to invent time travel.

"It's not much but I love the place," he said, unlocking the door, once they had reached his apartment and held it open to let Sofia through.

His apartment consisted of one bedroom, a smaller living area and the kitchen. It was spacious enough for two people but since Tony lived alone it looked massive. Normally, there would be all sorts of metal scraps, circuits and random textbooks lying around but Tony had (with help from Rhodes) cleaned it all just this morning.

Sofia let out a delighted yelp. "It's so pretty!"

For a college student, Tony did have a pretty decent living space. The walls were a dull ochre and almost all of the furniture that came with it, midnight black. Since his course at the university was fully funded, he could afford to pay the rent of the apartment with the earnings of his part time job. It was only an added bonus that the apartment's owner was deeply impressed by him. What could he say? He was a born charmer.

"It's a bit noisy because it's near the road but I don't mind," he said, placing her bags by the couch.

Sofia plopped down on one of the beanbags that surrounded the tiny center table of the living area, letting out a drawn huff.

"God, the flight was long," she mused. She looked tired now; she'd probably spent the last of her energy chatting away.

"D'you want to eat something?" Tony asked, trying to remember if he had food in the fridge. He had stocked up on some groceries last night and could cook up quite a decent meal if required.

"I had a good lunch on the flight," she answered. "I think I'll just sleep for a while."

Tony nodded, understanding. Flying all the way from Italy was bound to make even Sofia, practically a ball of energy, exhausted.

"But anyway, tell me, how are you? How has college been? How is Steve?" she asked, pulling her long, dark hair into a ponytail and wriggling her eyebrows at him.

Not this again. Tony had been dreading this since the moment he had spotted her waving at him at the airport entrance. He'd questioned every decision he'd made, questioned his own smartness and beliefs, questioned everything that led him to this very moment. Nothing like a good old existential crisis on a cold winter afternoon.

"I've been aces, Sof. College has been a breeze so far and uhh.. Steve is hot," he answered, and he knew this was crossing lines but hey, Steve wasn't here.

Sofia was only a year older than him but she was the most motherly of all his cousins. In a way, her visit was refreshing because Tony did miss his mother at times but still, the thing with Steve outranked all of that. By a large margin.

"I think I'll lie down for a while," she said, touching her forehead. "If you've got any plans," she added suggestively, "—please don't let me keep you."

Tony winced internally. "Nahh, it's alright. Haven't got any plans. I'll uh, be right here," he muttered, throwing her a fake smile and hoped she would drop the subject.

Sofia frowned at that. Here goes.

"We are meeting him today, right?"

Tony tried to hide the surprise on his face. Meet him today?

"Uh—" Say no, Anthony! "— yeah. Yeah."

Fuck. Fuck.

When had it gotten so easy to sway him? How was he suddenly incapable of saying the truth?

Sofia grinned excitedly at that and Tony returned what he hoped was at least half of that enthusiasm in his smile. Anthony Edward Stark when will you stop screwing yourself over?

He didn't want to admit that some part of him did want to see Steve but the other (major) part of him knew he was asking a lot from him.

Fifteen minutes later, Sofia was dozing on the bed as Tony quietly shut the door behind him. He then ran to his couch, mind racing and rang up Steve, praying to the gods above that he wouldn't be pissed.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, what's up?"

Tony massaged the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply.

"Please, please don't be mad, but we have a problem."

Sofia woke up just as the sun was setting; the sky a myriad of colors ranging from a dark purple to a brilliant orange.

Tony was still sat on the couch, textbook in lap, half distracted by his own wandering thoughts. He gazed at the birds chirping on the telephone line that ran outside the window, thinking of the conversation he'd just had with Steve.

Thankfully, Steve hadn't been busy but there was something else in his voice which made Tony wish he'd never asked him of this favor. Was it hesitation? Regret? He didn't know. Really, what had he been thinking?

"Jet lag is real," Sofia declared as she waltzed into the room, smile turning into a frown when she spotted Tony. "Are you seriously studying right now?"

"Just thought I'd get ahead on a couple of chapters. You know I've got to be the best, Sof," he joked as she settled down beside him, on the couch.

"Whatever, nerd," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Tony grinned, shutting the books. He hadn't got any studying done though, he was far too distracted.

"So what's the plan? Are we going out or..?"

"He's coming over. We can watch a movie, eat and call it a night. Sounds okay?" he informed.

They had decided it was better to keep their- his- stupid idea as much under wraps as possible. Which meant, they couldn't let her see them around their friends. Or anyone for that matter.

"Sweet," she chimed, bringing out her phone.

The doorbell rang just then and Tony felt his heart fall into his stomach. He glanced at the clock, it was only half past six. Hadn't they agreed to meet at seven?

He stood up, breathing deeply and opened the door to a visibly awkward Steve. Steve, who was dressed in comfy jeans and a dark leather jacket thrown over a plain white t-shirt. Tony tried not to stare too much.

His brain at the moment didn't want to tell him how couples greeted each other, so he just smiled and let him in, and let Steve shut the door behind them.

Steve, however, had other plans. Before he could process it, the blond was pulling him into his side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tony felt the soft brush of his lips on his cheek, Steve's body flush against him and he thought his soul was going to leave his body.

What the fuck.

It was a long second later that he realised that Steve had already let go and introduced himself to Sofia.

"Oh god, Tony has told me so much about you!" Sofia squealed as Steve reached over to hug her as well.

Tony's brain was still lagging like a 1984 Macintosh but blushed at the mention, nevertheless.

"Well, I am a good boyfriend," Steve replied, glancing at Tony, a grin playing at his lips.

How in the world was he so good at this?

"Ah.. oh.. um yeah," Tony said intelligently, as Steve sat down on the opposite end of the couch from where Sofia sat. Tony flopped beside him, their hips touching accidentally and he forgot how to breathe. He was still reeling from the kiss, and if he'd pondered over it any longer, it would've sent him into shock.

"I am going to just go freshen up a bit," Sofia announced, and Steve nodded. She smiled at him, clearly excited and Tony cringed internally.

The moment she had locked the door to Tony's room behind her, Tony jumped away from Steve.

"Jeez, would you relax?" Steve hissed, eyebrows knitted. "Why are you so nervous?"

Tony looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "What do you mean why am I nervous? This is fucking weird!"

"It was your idea, shellhead!"

"I know but-"

"If you want her out of your hair, act natural man. You're gonna blow your own plan."

Tony sighed. He did have a point. And if Steve had no problem acting like this, why was he being weird? Well, he knew exactly why but he would ruin things with Steve if— You're thinking too much, he chided himself.

Sofia returned just then, having changed into different clothes. She was also holding a small package in her hand.

"Hey, I bought this for you," Sofia said, handing the package to Steve who looked somewhere between awkward and shocked.

Tony nodded at him assuringly and also hoped he could see the apology in his expression. He had forgotten to tell him about how Sofia could be a little over the top, but knew Steve wouldn't mind that much.

The blond accepted the gift gratefully, lips stretched into a thin smile. God, this was torture of the purest form. If Steve stopped being his friend after this, Tony wouldn't be surprised.

"So.. should I put on the movie?" Tony asked, enthusiastically, reaching over for the remote. The room had a weird energy now and Tony wasn't exactly a big fan of awkward silences.

Sofia nodded, as did Steve and Tony silently maneuvered to the Netflix app. He settled back into the couch, in between Sofia and Steve as the movie loaded.

The title track blared into the room then, and Tony felt himself relax a little. He didn't know his muscles had been tensed all this while.

As luck would have it, he spoke rather, thought, too soon.

Steve reached over just then, his right hand finding Tony's and laced their fingers together. The brunet tensed at his touch immediately, eyes wide. Now, Tony and Steve had held hands before but this, this felt so different and oh, so much better.

Steve looked up at him then, bright blue eyes peeking out from under the long eyelashes. Relax, they seemed to whisper.

Tony's body uncoiled, as if on command. He felt himself sink down further into the couch, aware that they were holding hands but it felt almost... natural.

Steve shifted in his place a little then, adjusting himself so he could comfortably rest his head on Tony's shoulder. They were pressed together now, almost cuddling, Tony realised. He was cuddling. Cuddling Steve.

He didn't know what the movie was about, didn't really comprehend what the protagonist was saying. He was too fixated on the way their legs were touching, the way Steve's large hands clasped his smaller ones. He flicked his gaze to Steve then; eyes trailing over the golden bangs, down to his long lashes, to the bridge of his sharp nose and then to the cupid bow of his perfect lips.

There were little things about Steve that not many people noticed, like the fact that he had a little green in those sparkling blue eyes or that he wasn't as shy when he was with his friends or just how kissable his puckered lips looked right about now.

He had to look away when Steve glanced up, pausing to look at him for a moment. His breath stilled when Steve relaxed back into his shoulder, sighing deeply. Tony's heart was beating really fast and he was sure Steve could hear it.

A part of him wanted to believe that Steve had feelings for him too but the casual ease with which he was sat beside him right now, told him the contrary.

Tony, unlike the boy leaning against him, was a nervous wreck. His thoughts spun around Steve and Steve only, in spite of him trying to switch his focus to the device in front of him. This sudden and close proximity with Steve had thrown his senses into a dizzy but... he wasn't sure if he wanted anything to make sense again. What he was sure of though, was that he wanted to live in this moment forever.

He dared to glance at Steve again and a feeling, thick as cement, settled into the base of his stomach because, with a start, he realised that he was in deeper waters now.

Because this wasn't an average crush.

Because Tony had never, ever, ever felt this way before.

Because when Sophia "awww"ed at him when she noticed him gazing fondly at Steve, he was doing anything but pretending.

Because he had fallen for his best friend and fallen hard.

#stevetony #tony x steve #stevetony angst #stevetony headcanons #stevetony fanfiction #stevetony au #stevetony fake dating #evansdowney #steve x tony #steve rogers x tony stark #mywriting #ydhtsylm

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 5 years

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What Time Forgot Chapter 1

Aaravos x reader

Summary: Viren is being suspicious with all those books he just ruined, and someone recalls a tale of a spell that would cause that damage. Could it be the clue she’s been looking for to track down her love?

Word Count: 1844

Viren wanted to scream when he saw that every text he’d found that referenced Aaravos turned black. “Is nothing safe?!”

“Issues?” a female voice asked.

He whipped around to see a woman standing there in armor similar to his least favorite general’s. “That is none of your concern.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose skeptically. “Because it looks like you’ve poured ink on those books, and I know the keeper of this fine library won’t be happy about it.”

“And yet that is still not your business.”

“Whatever you say . . .” Y/E/C eyes rolled as she wandered off.

Leery of being caught by guards, Viren slunk back to his secret chambers to think. Little did he know that the woman, Y/N, moved to look at those ruined texts as soon as the dark mage was gone. That particular style of page-ruining magic struck a nerve with her; it seemed incredibly familiar.

“Aaravos . . .” she breathed thoughtfully. “Why would Viren be looking up a Startouch elf?” Eyes widened. “Unless . . .” She closed her eyes, digging deep into her memory to try and recall what was there scratching at the surface of her mind, begging to be remembered.

It was long before the current generation, during the war of removing humans from all that was magical. And the humans were losing. Badly. Honestly, it had been reluctantly expected given that Xadia had practically all the power with their magic, dragons, and overall experience. In truth, it was a miracle and a testament to how truly conniving the high mage was that they hadn’t lost yet.

He had known they needed help in order to continue holding out, much less to have a prayer of winning. For years, he had heard stories of an elf. A Startouch elf that was able to use all primal sources. And he was supposed to be neutral thus far in the struggle. Finding him and convincing him to join their cause, however, was bound to be a difficult issue.

Which was how that one fateful morning went so far off the rails for Y/N.

For her, the day started lazily--like most days, honestly. As a human firmly on the Xadian side of the border, she didn’t get out much to the nearby elven town. At one point--before the world went to hell--she’d been one of the Crownguard of Katolis. There, in the castle, was where she met the man that was currently acting as her pillow and running his fingers through her hair. With as much time as she spent in the library, it seemed inevitable that they met in the first place.

She lightly dragged her nails across the star-dappled chest, earning a quiet hum. “How long have you been up?” she asked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Not long,” that bone-rattling, deep voice replied quietly.

She turned to rest her head on his chest to allow her to meet those golden eyes. “Did we need to do anything today? I feel like we said we did.”

He hummed again, this time in thought. “I believe . . .” his free hand moved up to cup her jaw. “It’s a free day aside from needing to get groceries.”

“And here I was hoping to just stay here all day.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest while leaning up so their lips just barely brushed. “I would support that thought, but I’ll give it four minutes before you get hungry.”

Just for that, she defiantly licked his lips, giggling at the slightly disgusted scowl that pulled them down afterwards. Moments later, as an apology, she kissed him sweetly. Of course, that was a slippery slope that led to her being pinned beneath him, hands either clawing at his back or tumbled in his hair.

Eventually, they successfully made it to the town; of course, that was after they’d washed away the evidence of their morning activities. He’d donned his usual plunging tunic, pants, and star-studded cloak while she dressed in the garb of a Moonshadow elf: leggings, boots, and a tank top with her hair braided to be out of her face. She’d worn their style of clothing or a long time since she found it to be the most practical style available among the elves. Besides, everyone in town knew she was human; there was no use hiding it even if there were still some people--mostly the Skywing family--that detested her.

It was overall a peaceful journey with only minor staring. They’d quickly gotten the supplies they needed for the week. Shopkeepers had a tendency to want the pair of them out as fast as possible, what with Y/N’s species and Aaravos’s reputation, but that was fine with them. Neither was fond of chatting with strangers, anyway.

“One last stop,” Y/N breathed. She would be happy to get back to their peaceful house.

Aaravos hummed, as he had a habit of doing. “We just have to pick up that book I ordered.”

“What was it about again?”

“It is an update on the warfront. We may be neutral, but you know how I like to stay updated.”

“Well I suppose we can’t be completely submerged in our little fairytale here. Never been one for doing nothing anyway.”

“Good, because we seem to have guests. Those two ahead, they have a glamor spell on them. That necklace is a moon illusionist’s doing.”

“Been a while since we’ve had a good fight,” she muttered, free hand tightening around a dagger at her waist.

“Now, now, dearest, all in good time,” he chided. “We should at least see what they want first.”

Despite his words, Y/N felt him release the hand he’d been holding. It was a move she was long familiar with; if a fight came forth, he’d need both hands for his magic. “Because that went so well lst time,” she muttered.

The shit-eating smirk on his face was enough to make her roll her eyes. “At least let us lead them out of town. We don’t need to go out of our way to further anger the Skywing.”

“Fair enough.”

“Two of them are circling around in front of us. Third’s still behind,” Y/N reported a few minutes later once they’d reached what was considered the outskirts of town. She’d kissed him on the cheek a few moments prior in order to disguise the process of her looking around.

“Observant as ever, dearest.”

“Okay, now really doesn’t feel like the right time to be flirting,” she snarked back, elbowing him in the side.

“Here we go,” he muttered, changing the tone of the conversation the instant two people--stalkers, her mind provided--blocked their path. “Can we help you?”

“You sure this is the right guy?” one of the stalkers asked, obviously the skittish one of the bunch.

His ‘Moonshadow’ companion scoffed. “Do you see another elf with a human girlfriend?”

“Well . . . no, but--”

“Exactly, this has to be the guy.”

“We are right here,” Y/N sighed. Clearly whoever these guys were, they weren’t professionals. That stung her pride a bit. If this group knew enough about them that one of their members was this skittish, it could be assumed that they knew enough to be more wary of this particular pair. It was a mix of insulting and disappointing, really.

“Right. We were sent by . . .”

And that day deviated wildly from their nice, lazy plans from there. Needless to say, they ended up working for the humans. After the yaers she’d spent ignoring the glares from the elves of their little town, the glares from her former brothers-in-arms did nothing to rattle her, and of course Aaravos was as unshakable as ever. Whispers followed her wherever she went. People called her traitor or worse whenever Aaravos wasn’t around (they weren’t brave enough to do it while he was present) simply because she loved an elf. Of course, she herself thought that their relationship was better suited to be an example that their species could get along and even thrive.

While that relationship flourished as it always had (they’d been together for quite some time, after all), everything else went to shit around them. Because of Aaravos, the humans held their own in the war until the Xadians were willing to come up with an armistice. True to the elven belief that humans were corrupt, they were all too willing to forfeit Aaravos despite all he’d done for them. One of the stipulations for the armistice was that Aaravos would be handed over for the Xadians to punish how they saw fit. Another was that Y/N would never be allowed back in Xadia.

The humans naturally agreed to both clauses.

On their last night together, Aaravos told her of the curse he’d put on his name wherever it appeared in text. Anyone specifically looking for him in human lands would find the pages blackened and unreadable. If they were just reading a random tome in which he appeared, the book would be unaffected--a handy little trick that would help keep from suspicion from arising. It was his way of giving her a fresh start, he explained; no one would be able to connect him with her after enough time had passed.

Provided she wasn’t killed, Y/N would live long enough for the humans to forget. When they initially got together, Aaravos gave her his heart--a crystal he’d used to focus his power when he was young--set into a small silver ring on her finger. To the surprise of them both, she’d stopped aging. It’d seemed like the ring kept her aging to match his in order for them to remain together without the grief that came with loving someone that lived a much shorter life.

As she stood there contemplating things in the present, she thought, That is the only time I’ve ever even heard of such a spell. The odds . . .

She’d tried to find out what the dragon king had done with her lover ever since the day she’d been vanished, but word had never reached the human kingdoms. They seemed to want to forget about the archmage that essentially won their existence for them. Then again, who wouldn’t want to forget that you just offered a virtual hero up like a lamb for slaughter?

Years passed.

Then decades passed.

Eventually, everyone except Katolis’s high council forgot she ever existed.

Then even they forgot.

Just for something to do, she’d eventually rejoined the Crownguard. Surprisingly, she made friends with the children of the king’s advisor. They were good kids, if a little dense at times. Soren was her favorite, naturally; they worked together almost every day, after all. Claudia was a bit too much like her father sometimes for Y/N to be completely comfortable with her, but she tried to be a good influence for the child. Both of the children viewed her as an aunt, and she prided herself in her ability to temper the destructive habits Viren tried to teach them.

Otherwise, her existence largely went unnoticed.

Until she saw those books in the library.

#aaravos x reader #aaravos imagine #dragon prince imagine #reader insert #the dragon prince imagine

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dsc4 · 5 years

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#🤟#to you the immortal #to your eternity #fumetsu no anata e #i just [cradles chapter 103 and 106 close to my chest and softly cries]#if the author is not a COWARD fushi could have romantic love w kahak bc they already have familial love w gugu n march n platonic w tonari

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theshatteredrose · 5 years

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Flower of Life (Chapter 10) - Octopath Traveller Fanfiction

AN: Three more chapters after this one~ And Happy New Year everyone~

Warning: Alfyn cuts himself in this chapter in a desperate attempt to find the cure. It’s a small scene, the cut not a form of cutting, and there is lead up to it, so you can skip it if you need to or simply want to.

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFNet

Chapter 10:

It was well after midnight as Cyrus made his way out of his room at the quaint little inn they were staying in for the night, and into the common area where the fire was burning brightly within the heath. There he found a man hunched over the table, his arms folded atop of it and his chin resting upon his forearms. And before him was an open book. But the pages appeared to be empty.

“Alfyn,” Cyrus called out in both greeting and to alert the other of his presence. “What are you still doing up? It's late.”

Alfyn lifted his chin from his arms and sent him a smile in return. “And yet you're awake as well.”

Cyrus stood by the table and rested his hand upon it. “I heard muttering.”

“Eh?” Alfyn murmured before his smile turn apologetic, his gaze sheepish. “Shucks, was I that loud? Sorry about that Professor.”

With the fireplace the only source of light in the room, Cyrus spent a moment to study Alfyn carefully. And couldn’t help but note that he appeared, rather felt, a tad frustrated about something. “You haven't answered my question. Is something the matter?”

For a fraction of a moment, Alfyn looked surprised. But he soon turned sheepish again as he leaned back in his chair and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. Something that he did when he was unsure and slightly anxious.

“Eh, well, not really,” Alfyn replied. “It's just that salve I made today.”

Cyrus tilted his head to the side in question. “The one you created to help ease the suffering of those young lads that fell into that thorn bush?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you pondering about, Alfyn?” Cyrus asked, truly curious. “That worked amazingly well. And you crafted it so quickly.”

Alfyn wrinkled his nose in mild annoyance. “That's just it Professor. I made it so quickly and wanted to help those kids so badly that I forgot to take notes!”

The admission caught Cyrus by surprise, but he felt genuine amusement soon after. And before he could stop himself, he laughed lightly.

Alfyn’s wrinkled nose creased further and a pout actually appeared on his lips. “Hey now, don't go laughing at me. I'm trying to wreck this brain of mine for that recipe.”

“Do pardon me, my friend,” Cyrus managed to utter around a chuckle. He soon cleared his throat though and sent Alfyn a pacifying smile. “I wasn't laughing at you. I am somewhat amused, though. You acted on impulse to create a tonic for those boys?”

Alfyn nodded his head. “Right.”

“Then don't trouble yourself with writing it down,” Cyrus said as he reached out toward the book Alfyn was staring at and closed it. “Should you need to create another tonic, I have faith that you'll make it as quickly as this one.”

“Well, I guess that's true,” Alfyn murmured as he scratched at the back of his neck again. “I just wanted to figure out how I did it, I suppose.”

Cyrus couldn’t help but tutt him lightly. “Alfyn, you don't have to figure out how you did it, for you've always been doing it.”

Alfyn looked down at the closed book before he chuckled. “Guess a man can't argue with that,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Thanks Professor.”

“Anytime, my friend.”

The scent of musty air and smoke prompted Cyrus to open his eyes. His surroundings were unfamiliar. The light was dark, dim. Large pillars of ice surrounded him. The tallest ice pillar in the centre of a ruined room held...a person?

Ah, yes. He remembered now. He...managed to win that battle. The battle on the battlefield, that was. In the battle of wits and belief...Beatrice would not be swayed to even listen, let alone take his words into consideration.

She had threatened to go after Therion. Cyrus couldn’t allow that.

Cyrus closed his eyes to gather his thoughts before he opened them again. He must have passed out directly after the final blow. And he had...a dream?

No, a memory. How odd. But they do say that one's life would pass before one's very eyes when they were near death. So, that meant…

It took more effort than it should be possible, but Cyrus managed to lift a single hand and he stared down at it. It had specks of white and grey. The infection, or whatever it was, was spreading. Did that really mean he…?

No, surely not. It was just...a near death experience. Nothing more.

He just needed to wait. For a little while longer. Therion was stubborn and determined. Very protective of Alfyn. If anyone was to find him and bring him to safety, it was him. He was an interesting lad.

Ah, and that Alfyn was an interesting man, too. Cyrus had much left to learn from him.

Alfyn had always been a bit of an enigma. Helping people without thinking too much about it. Acting on impulse and good faith.

There was one think that Beatrice was right about. And it was that Alfyn would find a cure for whatever virus or poison Beatrice and her husband had unleashed.

So, Alfyn was sure to return to them with the antidote. Cyrus had faith in him. So, he would wait.

… … … … …

As Olberic brought his sword down in one fluid movement, he felt a pained tightness in his back. Right between the shoulder blades. But he ignored it. Ignored the way he twitched from the tightness of his muscles, and ignored the discomfort of it all. He was used to it, after all. He could handle such inconveniences.

After all, he wasn’t the only one who sustained injuries that day. Cyrus had his share. Olberic failed to protect him like he should have.

Training was adequate punishment for failure.

“And just what you think you're doing, Olberic?”

The somewhat disappointed chiding from their band’s apothecary caught Olberic by surprise. He lowered his sword and turned around in the direction Alfyn’s voice originated from. He was inwardly surprised that Alfyn managed to sneak up on him. He was more surprised to find him frowning at him.

His expression was somewhat familiar to him, though. It was...the frowning disapproval of a healer. He had received his fair share during his time.

“Hm? Oh, I'm merely doing a spot of training,” Olberic answered.

“Training, huh?” Alfyn repeated as he crossly folded his arms across his chest. “After I told ya to rest your back for a while?”

“Ahhh, yes. Well, old habits die hard, as they say,” Olberic said dismissively as he turned his attention back to his training. “Old knights like me...fighting and training is what we do best, yes? Don't you concern yourself over me, Alfyn.”

From behind him, he heard Alfyn utter a sigh. And he believed that the apothecary was about to leave him to tend to his training. The sound of footsteps followed, but they were...drawing closer to him. Stopping just behind him.

“...Olberic?”

“Hm?”

“I'm not concerned about your yesterday. I'm not concerned about where you have come from or where it is that we are going. I'm concerned about now. About today.” A hand was gently placed in the middle of his back, exactly where he had experienced the most discomfort. “Olberic, letting yourself rest and be still is what you need right now. More than you know.”

“Is that so?” was all that Olberic could muster.

“In fear of sounding cheesy,” Alfyn continued, undaunted. “Life is your body; it is a manifestation of you. So you need to take better care of it.”

...The lad always had an interesting way with words.

“No more training for now,” Alfyn urged. No, pleaded. “Put your sword away.”

Olberic knew when he was beaten. So he sheathed his sword. “Ahh, I do suppose it's pointless to argue with an apothecary.”

Alfyn smile brightly, though the relief was evident in his gaze. “Pointless in arguing with ol’ Alfyn, too.”

Olberic released a low “Yes,” he said before he turned to give Alfyn a grateful nod. “Thank you, my friend.”

And Alfyn the same he did with every expression of gratitude. “Don't mention it. Just doing my job.”

A sense of urgency prompted Olberic to open his eyes slowly. Tressa knelt before him, murmuring something to him with tears in her eyes. H’annit knelt beside him, worry evident in her eyes also.

A memory, it seemed. Rest and be still. Hah. He supposed if he had done just that, the poison or whatever it was that was limiting his movements, would not have spread so quickly. Still, it could not have been helped. Sitting idle had no place in these circumstances.

The monsters of bones had been dealt with. Tressa and H’annit were safe, and seeming unaffected by the same illness that was preventing movement from him. Cyrus and Therion were sure to be suffering the same. But...they would find Alfyn.

And Alfyn would cure all of this.

So it was time for him to be still.

“Hold on, Olberic,” Tressa pleaded with him, her voice soft with emotion. “Therion will find Alfyn. He’ll fix all of this. J-just hold on, ok?”

Hah, a stutter. How unusual from Tressa. She must be very concerned for him. He wished he didn’t have to worry the young girl like that.

But...he would wait. Tressa was right. Alfyn was surely to fix all of this. Find a cure. Bring an end to this madness.

… … … … …

Alfyn slammed his hands onto the workbench and leaned over it to rest against it heavily. “Damn it all, what am I missing?!”

One ingredient. He just needed one more ingredient to change the structure of the serum. But what ingredient would work?

A stack of paper fell from the table, causing Alfyn to utter a sigh of frustration. He turned to look simply out of habit. But paused when he saw something he hadn’t noticed before.

A book?

He picked it up to examine it. It was similar in appearance to the books and tomes that Cyrus read. There was nothing written on the cover. The leather felt old, yet flawless. There was also a lock on the side, keeping the pages together.

However, that lock had been forcibly removed.

Wait, was this book the tome that Henry mentioned? The one that his daughter was obsessed over? Or was it his workbook, the one he had been working out of?

He noticed a small slip of paper between the pages. A bookmark. So he carefully, and cautiously, opened the book to that page. It was a reference page. About the Aeracura Blossom. Notes, statistics. Even a sketch of the plant.

A sketch that looked exactly like the flower he found in that Chamber of Healing.

Under the sketch of the flower was a small paragraph.

Only once. Only when hope is gone. Only when determination meets sacrifice. Only the blood of the chosen.

...What did any of that mean?

Alfyn’s gaze unwittingly drifted down to his arm. He found himself staring at it for some reason. But as he did so, he noticed something glinting from the corner of his eye. A piece of steel. No, a knife. Likely the one Henry had threatened him with.

Could...his blood be the true ingredient after all? Why?

...No, it didn’t matter why. Just as it was the ingredient needed. The only one he hadn’t tried. Henry was crazy, no doubt about that. But he knew what he was doing.

And he would do whatever it took to cure Therion and everyone of that stupid serum.

Placing the open book onto the workbench he reached down and picked up the discarded knife. He held it in his right hand and looked at his left arm. The thought of using a knife against himself was unsettling and he wasn't entirely sure where to cut. But...he needed to try.

He pressed the blade against his inner arm and grimaced as he dragged the knife across the skin. It stung, but it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He didn’t cut very deep, just enough to draw blood.

As soon as blood began to bead from the wound, Alfyn dropped the knife and picked up a glass bottle to gather the blood in. When he thought he’d have enough to work with, he placed the glass bottle back upon the table and tied his wound in a hasty bandage.

Ok, now what?

Wait, what did that book say? Only the blood of the chosen? Did he have to mix his blood with an ingredient from the Flower of Life. Or…?

The only thing left to try was to...inject some of his blood into the Flower of Life. He didn’t have any other option right now. He had to try. Time for true caution and experimentation was limited.

Therion...Cyrus and Olberic…

Alfyn grabbed a syringe and used it to gather a portion of his blood. He then headed over to the Flower of Life. With a silent prayer on his lips, he slid the needle within the plant and poured his blood into it.

His heart leapt into his throat when the flower unexpectedly began to wither away. However, as the petals wrinkle and fell away, the small white anthers remained, the filaments holding them high and firmly. Even as the rest of the flower began to brown and wither.

Moving quickly, Alfyn snatched a pair of tweezers from the table and plucked the six anthers and placed them into a glass jar. As soon as he plucked the last anther, the flower suddenly furled into itself and just...withered into a dry husk.

That...he hadn’t expected anything like that.

And he didn’t really have time to dwell on it. He needed to get straight back to work.

Heading straight back to the work table, Alfyn chose one of the white anthers and carefully took a small piece of it. He then added it into solution he made. As soon as the anther touched the liquid, it turned it into a bright purple. An almost luminous purple.

This was it...it was now or never.

Alfyn dropped to sit haphazardly on the floor and he scooped Therion unmoving body into his lap. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders to sit him upright and leaned him against his chest. Carefully, he placed the small glass bottle that contained the antidote to his Therion’s lips and poured in small amounts at a time.

Soon, the bottle’s contents were gone. Now, he had to wait.

Alfyn hadn't realised he had been holding his breath until he exhaled loudly with relief. The fever was starting to subside. The grey rash to Therion's skin was also fading. His breathing, his pulse...they were returning to normal.

He couldn't help himself; he hugged Therion tightly.

Thank the gods. He was going to be ok.

But the others?

Right. He didn't have time to celebrate or feel relief. He needed to check on the others. Especially Cyrus and Olberic. They had to be infected too.

Alfyn carefully let go of Therion and rested him against the wall. Though unconscious, Therion thankfully remained upright. He simply slumped against the wall, his head forward, his chin against his chest.

Taking to his feet, Alfyn turned back to the work table to gather the ingredients for the antidote. He quickly whisked up a large batch of the medicine and placed the finish product into his bag. He took a moment to ensure that it was safe and secure before he slung it over his head and laid the strap across his chest.

He paused when he caught sight of the book once more. Without a second thought, he snatched it up and dropped it into his bag also.

He then crouched down by Therion's side once more. And though it was difficult, he managed to manoeuvre Therion onto his back so that he could carry him out of this forsaken place.

“Hold on guys,” Alfyn murmured. “I’m coming.”

#octopath traveler #fanfiction #alfyn #therion #olberic #cyrus #Flower of Life

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heartslogos · 3 years

Text

the declassified texts of the inquisition's elite [187]

(563): how soon in a friendship can you start calling them a motherfucker

“I take it that they’re getting along,” Josephine says.

“What makes you say that?” Leliana asks, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

“The expression on your face that says you’re not surprised by these turn of events but you also wish that it came out differently. Don’t forget, I’ve also worked with you for a long time. I can read you to an extent, when you let me,” Josephine smiles. “Sera and Daylen?"

Leliana sighs before confirming, “Sera and Daylen. In theory I knew they could get along. And that they probably would. They’re both abrasive enough that anything the other says will roll off and generate more back talk. They’re surprisingly similar for two people who, on paper, appear to come from opposite sides.”

“Sera happens to get along with several people who, on paper, would appear to be entirely contrary to her beliefs and general personal tastes,” Josephine points out. “She’s much more diplomatic than we give her credit for sometimes. It’s because she’s young, I suspect. And she’s very good at playing up her image when it suits her. Unfortunately it usually suits her to get out of work assignments. She could be an excellent asset for me and my people.”

“Lucky for all of us, she’d much rather work intelligence and weapons testing,” Leliana smiles. “I’d hate to lose such a fantastic chemist. Her reports are incredible -- or so I’m told. I must admit to being rather weak on the jargon of the field.”

“You? Admit to a weakness?” Josephine’s eyes sparkle with mirth, “Goodness. Who are you and where’s the real Leliana?”

Leliana resists the urge to roll her eyes. And then gives in because it’s Josie.

“Even I can’t be an expert in every field, isn’t that the point of gathering several other people who are under you?” Leliana replies. “I’m told delegation of tasks is key to leadership”

“So you listen to what you’re told now, do you?” Josephine shakes her head. “Never mind. Cullen is late. It’s unlike him. Do you think something happened?”

“We’d have heard about it by now if it was something serious,” Leliana says. “He could be waylaid. Now there’s a man who needs to learn how to delegate to his subordinates.”

Josephine shoots Leliana a fond but exasperated look. “He delegates better than you most of the time. He just has hard time saying no to small tasks.”

“So aren’t I better at it then? I’m very good at getting the small tasks pushed onto other people with much more time on their hands than I do.” Most people have more time on their hands than Leliana. She’d consider taking time off but everyone she’d want to spend time off with is here and Leliana might break into hives at the thought of passing over so many of her active projects to someone else to handle.

“It’s because they’re small tasks that he has such a hard time saying no,” Josephine mourns. “The next thing anyone knows he’s got an entire list of little things he agreed to do and they’re no longer so little. And you know Cullen, at that point he’d just square his jaw and dig into it rather than admit he should probably pass it onto someone else.”

“Too much responsibility.” Come a touch too late, but Leliana isn’t going to say that part out loud. She and Cullen have had their disagreements. And there are several things that neither of them will talk about. It’s for the best, really. And Leliana does have to concede that the man’s made progress in the past. He’s suffered for it, too. Or maybe because he’s suffered he’s made the progress he has.

is it cruel to think that the worst years of Cullen’s life were the shake he needed to see clearly?

Probably. But cruel is far from the worst thing Leliana has ever been called.

“Maybe he’s busy fetching a kite out of a tree,” Leliana muses, “Or doing a quick self defense demonstration for some of our newer recruits.”

Leliana pauses and then beams at Josephine. “Do you think Cassandra’s finally gotten him to join her book club?”

“It’s not Cassandra’s book club. Cassandra’s just the most…eager recruiter for the book club. Besides, you act like you aren’t in it also.”

“I never go to the meetings,” Leliana points out. “I’m surprised you haven’t joined.”

“Cassandra knows that there’s no amount of delegation I could do that would free me enough time to be able to read a book and then do any meaningful discussion about it,” Josephine says wryly. “Maybe if the rest of you would tone it down I wouldn’t have so many…pitfalls to navigate around or build bridges over and I could then join you all for book club.”

Leliana holds her hands up. “Am I being scolded right now?”

“Chided,” Josephine says after a moment, “Not scolded. Maybe being gently nudged towards something?”

“But not subtly.”

“Leliana, at this point I don’t think me subtly asking any of you to behave in public is going to get me anywhere that isn’t another emergency press conference.” Josephine shakes her head. “Honestly. It’s like our public relations seminars go flying right over your heads. I’ve seen all of you perform the most impressive feats of ingenuity. I’ve watched you all navigate some of the most tense, hostile, and perilous situations with finesse. And yet I’ve yet to get one of you to properly succeed in getting through a press conference or interview on your own. Even if I scripted it.”

Leliana watches Josephine press her thumb to her forehead.

“Somehow it goes even worse if I do get it scripted for you. I don’t know how that happens.”

“Don’t quit on us, Josie. You're literally the only one who could handle the job.”

“Sometimes I imagine what my life would be like if I didn't answer your phone call.”

“Terribly boring, I'm sure.”

“Leliana, I don’t think I’ve ever felt boredom in my life before. I wouldn’t recognize boredom if it came up to me right now and smacked me across the face.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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webcricket · 7 years

Text

Recipe for Disaster

Characters: Crazy!CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 1261

A/N: Season 7 Crazy!Castiel adorably spoils dinner. Please accept this attempt at humor as a gesture of solidarity.

The lid on the boiling pot of water clattered noisily against the roiling pressure of steam rising past the rim. The delicious scents of citrus and rosemary wafted from the warmth of the oven, drifting out into the rest of the cabin and overpowering the smell of fresh paint used to mark the walls with various demonic and angelic warding symbols.

You busied yourself setting the rustic table with actual matching dishes and utensils for once instead of the haphazard grab-whatever-is-in-the-drawer-and-convenient-to-shovel-food-into-your-mouth model of food ingestion the boys were accustomed to practicing. You hopefully set out wine glasses, not actually expecting either brother to touch them, but willing to be surprised by the possibility. Arranging the spray of wildflowers Castiel popped off to gather a few moments ago in some faraway verdant meadow after you wished aloud for a spot of bright color to dress the otherwise drab table, you glanced up and smiled at the angel squatting in front of the oven and squinting intently through the tiny window on the front. He’d been through so much recently – death, resurrection, amnesia, and taking on Sam’s burden of torture courtesy of Lucifer – it was no wonder to you that his wits buckled under the pressure. He was still Cas though – adorable and sweet, but with a handful of interesting new hobbies, a curious obsession with insects, and an annoying aversion to conflict making him utterly useless to the Winchesters. The red Kiss the Cook apron donned over his white scrubs and trench coat had been his idea, and you took chaste advantage of the offer several times while instructing him in the preparation of dinner.

Sam and Dean blustered through the cabin door, slamming it shut, frame shaking as they entered.

Cas rose and frowned at the ruckus.

Sam inhaled deeply, eyes closing in sensory ecstasy as he breathed in the warm smell of the roasting chicken. Exhaling, he hummed approval, “Something smells amazing!”

Dean bounded across the cabin in three strides, slipped past Cas, and plucked the cover off the boiling pot to examine the contents much to the angel’s dismay. The elder Winchester snickered at the red apron, spinning and holding the lid above his head as Cas tried repeatedly to grab it. He flashed you a playful grin when you turned to witness the chaos, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

“Spatchcock chicken,” you answered, unamused, rolling your eyes at his antics.

“Say what now?” Dean asked, brow furrowed askance. He relinquished the lid.

“Spatchcock chicken,” Cas repeated, nodding politely in thanks as he accepted the cover and returned it to the pot.

“Yeesh, that sounds painful,” Sam winced and tensed his shoulders.

“I think a wendigo tried to do that to me once,” Dean snatched a raw green bean from the counter, bit it in half, grimaced, and chucked the offending vegetable across the cabin to hit his brother in the chest.

Sam wagged his chin in condemnation of the act.

You put your hands on your hips, inquiring disbelievingly, “A wendigo tried to butterfly, lay you flat, and roast you in an oven?”

“Whatever, Julia Childs,” Dean snorted, redirecting his attention to retrieving a cold beer from the fridge.

Sam stepped nearer, chuckling to himself as he pointed at the angel, “Guess that makes Cas Jacques Pepin, huh?”

Dean cracked the top off the hissing beer. Cas fretted over the boiling pot with a slotted spoon. Both of them turned in unison to ask, “Who?”

Sam raised an eyebrow as if he could not fathom their complete lack of knowledge on the matter, “Her cooking partner-nevermind.” His gaze moved expectantly to you for backup.

“How do you even know who that is, Sam?” you pondered. “I didn’t know you had any culinary interests.”

“He’s into just about anything that involves a lot of sweat,” Dean pointed the bottle of beer in his direction for emphasis before drinking a swig.

Sam shrugged and pressed his lips thin, “PBS. Babysitter to lonely children across the states stuck in motels with no cable whose father and brother left them behind to go on a hunting trip.”

Dean sheepishly shrank from his brother’s accusatory glare and struck Cas lightly on the arm with the back of his hand to redirect attention, “You learning anything useful Cas?”

“Yes, cooking is exceptionally violent,” the angel answered, bending to slide the roasting pan, bare-handed, from the oven. He inclined his countenance at the beautifully browned bird, “This chicken was beheaded, exsanguinated, plucked, brined, flayed, and trussed before being placed into a blazing inferno to burn it for good measure to an internal temperature of...of…”

You approached from behind, a gentle hand touching his shoulder, offering Cas the meat thermometer, “170 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“170?” he asked in confirmation.

You bobbed your head.

“You mean the wooden holster for knives on the counter didn’t tip you off?” Dean smirked.

“It’s called a knife block,” Sam pointed out.

Dean scowled, “I don’t care what you want to call it Rachael Ray, it’s a holster.”

Ignoring the brothers’ bickering, Cas wandered down his own meandering trail of thought, “I understand why some humans choose not to participate in the consumption of meat.”

“Sammy,” Dean coughed into his sleeve.

Sam glowered, “Dean, you’ve seen me eat meat.”

“Yeah, maybe under duress, like, when they’re out of that green junk you always order,” Dean retorted.

“It’s called salad,” Sam scoffed.

Reaching around the blockade of men now occupying the small workspace in front of the stove to turn off the oven, you chided Dean, “Did you just refer to salad as junk food?”

Cas continued to muse, blue gaze glossed philosophically, blissfully uninterrupted by what was going on around him, “The same viciousness applies to the entire food chain really.” He picked up a forsaken green bean from the cutting board, twisting it glumly between his fingertips, “These green beans, for example; the promise of perpetuation of life for the plant contained within these pods were crudely severed by someone’s unsympathetic bare hands. The recipe called for them to be brutally blanched in a pot of boiling water until fork tender, robbing them of their enormous potential for propagation. And what’s worse, now they will be slathered in butter which, contrary to antiquated belief, is not at all an appropriate treatment for burns. It’s really a wonder humanity has survived this long with such a propensity toward violence in every aspect of their existence.”

“Yeah,” Sam met your eyes and parodied the angel’s seriousness, “hunger can drive people to do some pretty horrible things.” He nodded in a mockery of despair at his brother, “Dean in particular. You wouldn’t believe how many pies I’ve seen him carve to pieces.”

Cas visibly trembled.

You bit your lower lip endeavoring not to burst into laughter.

Dean tried and failed to look repentant.

Sam went on, expounding the gruesome details, “This one time he disemboweled an entire strawberry rhubarb single-handedly…”

The angel’s square jaw dropped in horror.

Sam feigned a sniffle at the memory, “…with a spork…in front of a group of school kids. And the stupid grin on his face afterward…I’m sure they still have nightmares.”

Cas carefully considered Sam’s tale, his blue eyes glinting meditatively as he spoke, “I have noticed Dean does seem to relish tormenting those things and people he professes to love most. I had never considered hunger to be a motivating factor.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” you grinned.

Dean curled his lip, shooting the chicken a suspicious glare, “Uh, anyone else think we should just order pizza?”

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel fluff #castiel humor #castiel x y/n #spn humor #spn fluff #castielxreader #castielxyou #cas x reader #cas x you #castiel imagine #castiel drabble #spn x reader #supernatural x reader #crazy!castiel #crazy!castiel x reader #castiel reader insert #cricket writes cas

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lunaraen · 6 years

Text

The Admin(s)

Fred is of the belief that everyone, everything, has a place in the world.

Not that he thinks he's one to say where that is for anyone, even himself, but he's rather pleased with where he is right now, his blanket draped around his shoulders as he stays hunched over his book, enjoying the crackles and pops coming from the fire as he rests his elbow on the top of the bookshelf beside his bed, curled into the corner created by it and his own mattress as well as he can.

It's not even really his book; as a nice change of pace, it's Xara's, and recently written too.

She doesn't write as often as Fred or even Romeo, but there's something charmingly succinct to her style that Fred finds to be an enjoyable change from his own, and her own insights are always a pleasure to go over again. It's only the fiftieth time, he thinks, that he's read this one, and there are still some word choices that manage to both surprise and delight him.

It's undeniably pleasant, to read something he doesn't have memorized, and he really ought to return the favor by writing something new himself.

(Xara complains he's still too poetic for her tastes, if not as bad or dramatic with it as Romeo, and she's allowed to have her tastes and preferences, but it's only fair he provides more variety, supposing she ever grows bored with her axes and wants another way to pass the time.

Unlikely, but he certainly can't expect her to get invested if the available supply is too limited.)

There's something inherently wonderful, to just being together like this. To existing in harmony, warm in their little cottage while the rest of the world does as it pleases and freezes.

Not to say they're anything special, simply for existing peacefully; over time, they've discovered the many ways the other creatures keep themselves warm and protected during the icy times, but there's something undeniably just as cozy about thinking of their home as a protected den or burrow.

And finding out that they all could indeed survive well enough on their own in the cold was, and remains, a relief because it means Romeo stopped trying to drag the whole of the forest and the fields into their cottage every time it gets chilly.

Fred is dragged out of a particularly interesting memory, where Romeo had managed to fit several herds of animals into their cottage (in addition to at least one rather needy but friendly wolf pack), as well as dragged out of his book, by a sharp huff from Xara. They may be good at blocking each other out, a necessary skill at times when they'd rather be wrapped up in their own things, and while he's sure she and Romeo have been having some kind of conversation, the sharp sound lets him know that, whether he likes it or not, he's going to become involved in said conversation.

"Fred, could you please find Romeo something to do besides bother me?"

Fred lifts his book again, voice at the perfect mix of monotone and chiding that he knows will be enough to get Romeo's attention.

"Romeo, leave Xara alone."

Fred has to bite his tongue as Romeo replicates Xara's huff, barely stopping his grin in time.

"Me? I'm not the one who started throwing weapons."

Throwing weapons is unlikely, given that Fred's sure he wasn't tuning them out that badly, but Xara does have some newly crafted and gifted axes that he can easily see her swinging at Romeo for pushing her too far.

It's a good sign she enjoys them, but he'd rather they not kill each other.

The blood's a rather large pain to clean up, and the aching that comes with respawning will surely lead to more bickering and complaining they really don't need.

Fred sighs as he lets the hand holding the book relax, said book tilting back in the process as he gives the two of them a look that, while flat, doesn't quite manage to hide the warmth in his voice or the small smile that wins the uphill internal fight and joins it.

"Xara, don't try to use your axes on Romeo."

"Hah!" Fred doesn't have to look to know Romeo's wearing a self-satisfied grin that will likewise drive Xara up the wall. Perhaps literally. "See?"

"Don't act so smug; you started it."

Fred chuckles as he sets the book down, turning down the option of blocking them out again just in case it really does turn into a case of not so accidental axe-throwing.

He really does love them, he loves them more than words can ever fully express, but they really are quite the pair.

It's tempting to stay curled up, but he stretches, letting the blanket fall back into a lump on the bed as he bends his arms over his head. He hesitates, for a moment, before passing Romeo and Xara, glancing out the frosty window before opening the door and stepping outside.

The two of them pause, the bickering lulling as soon as he opens the door, but they seem assured he'll be fine on his own and that he won't go too far, judging by the almost seamless return to the argument before he even shuts the door behind him.

Snow covers everything, to the point where, beyond sheer memory, the only way he knows where the iced over river winds is by the slightest dips in the thick white blanket. Their cabin may be the only thing not painted white, the rest of their home perfectly matching the still bare bark of the few birch trees scattered about the field, the darker oak trees looking nearly white themselves from the ice creeping up the trunks.

At this point, with no visible creatures roaming through the thick snow and the wind as still as can be, it's truly only the trees that are keeping the outside world from seemingly like an infinite crystallized sea of white, the sky itself filled with fluffy light clouds blocking out very little sunlight, no birds standing out amongst the much higher but equally crisp and blinding coat of winter.

Maybe one day they'll travel past the rolling hills and lush plains, interrupted only by their winding river, but he doesn't have much of a desire to leave when it looks so perfect right now, in this moment, in this place and time where they need and want for nothing.

Fred blinks as something slowly lands on his nose and, looking up, he notices that one of them, if not all of them, must be slowing things down again.

That makes it a rather long, but still rather perfect, moment, he supposes.

It's started to snow, but the large, fluffy flakes barely move through the air as they gradually descend.

Ah, well, who can blame them? It's easy, to want to drag these moments out, and given that it's something they can do, why shouldn't they?

It's a good day.

"Fred!" He grimaces, body stiffening as Romeo and Xara both shout for him. He gives it about a fifty-fifty chance they haven't seriously injured each other yet.

The sigh he gives shifts quickly into a tired chuckle as he turns back towards the cabin, opening the door with a soft click as he turns the knob.

They're going to be the death of him.

#My Stuff #fanfiction #storymodechristmas #mcsm #minecraft story mode

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damianjharol · 6 years

Text

Excerpts: Wedding

Damian: Days had gone by like hours, it seemed like. Winter Veil arrived without even a whimper, and it would take looking at a calendar the other denizens of the Vindicaar had put up to even realize that it was coming. For the most part, he did little things to bring the holiday to them, creating home made decorations in the little spare time they were given as they did their duty. On Winter Veil Day itself, however, Damian arranged for their duty schedules to give them the day off, which was a feat in itself. When she woke in the morning, however, there would be a large box waiting for her. Damian would be nowhere to be found, but a hand written note on the box would read:

Gaia,

I hope it fits. I did what I could to get your measurements.

Meet me in the Grand Hall.

Love,

When she opened the box, she would find a dress....a gown really, but cut modestly. The dress itself was a red color, almost a pressed maroon, made of silk and fur...much like a Christmas dress. When she wore it, it would fit her, despite her now slightly visible baby bump. Inside the box were matching shoes and under garments to complete the outfit.

Gaia: With the changes to her body, she had found herself still robust and quite able to move. Her hand inevitably coursed over her form as she became acquainted to the shape of her belly. Despite the sleep in her eyes, she didn't miss the splendor of Damian's big heart. Reaching for the written note, she perused the message before gingerly drawing the gift towards herself. When she opened it, she couldn't help but smile slightly. She took a moment to go to the bathroom and freshen up before pulling out the dress and covering her figure. It felt cozy and comfortable. The fur making her think of his curse briefly. She brushed her cheek against the fabric before putting the box aside and making her way to the Grand Hall.

Damian: Once she reached the Great Hall, she would find it prepared for a formal gathering. People that they had worked with over the course of the last few months stood at attention, while at the upper dais stood a familiar looking Pandaren woman, a red drake resting on her shoulders as she smiled at Gaia. Next to her, waiting for her to arrive, stood Damian, dressed in a tuxedo, well cut for his lithe form. He smiled at her as she stepped into the Great Hall, a somewhat sly smile on his lips as he studied her a moment. He lifted his hand and held it out to her, as the others in the hall stood as one. It seemed they all been waiting for her.

Gaia: The huntress paused in the Grand Hall doorway when she noticed the others down below. While she was typically prepared for anything, this was one of the moments that she found herself pausing. Her ears had turned red as the dress she had on as she soon came to realize what was about to take place. How did one exactly find the momentum to move when a wedding-esque ceremony appeared before them? She pursed her lips, fighting the smile and embarrassment in one go. How dare he, she mentally chided. Trying to find the resolve to prepare for this type of battle rather than the one she had grown accustomed to while pregnant. Slowly, she made her approach to the ramp, all the while staring at him upon her descent. Songla was spotted shortly after this, as she stepped towards Damian. Her face read all sorts of emotions and explicatives. But it was clear she was happy. Damn him.

Damian: He held out his hand to her as she stepped down the aisle and gently took her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. Zachromu, she would see, would be sitting on his shoulder, looking extra shiny for the occasion. He studied her features, knowing that he had caught her by surprise and wisely hiding the fact that he was enjoying it. He held her hand as he turned towards Songla, who held her hands in front of her. She smiled slightly before looking at both of them. "All of us, from every walk of life, are full of light....and with this light come life, and love. For some, that light is not as bright as we would like....until we find the people we were meant to find. Once together, that light....that love....becomes stronger. We are gathered here to unite these two in love, so that they may continue to light each other's path through this life together." She paused. "Damian Jharol and Gaia Heartstrike come from two very different peoples. In fact, they come from very different idealogies. That did not stop them from finding each other. This did not stop them from finding common cause....and in the end, it did not stop them from finding love." Damian smiled slightly at Gaia as Songla said this, his eyes flickering with mischief.Songla placed her hand on their entwined hands. "Here, in this moment, two hearts will beat as one." She released their hands and produced a red ribbon from the folds of her robe. "This ribbon represents the bond between you two." She tied it around their hands. "Through life's hardships, this ribbon will never break...never bend....as your love shall." She smiled. "Do you two have any words for each other before we proceed?" Damian smiled. "I...had a little more time to prepare for this." He held his breath a moment then let it out, before he started to speak. "Gaia, when we met, I was a very lost individual. I didn't know what direction I was going...I didn't know why I was still going...and then, we met. We became friends. And then I fell in love. I didn't think I ever could again, but I did...and then I found out that you reciprocated those feelings...and then I knew that you were the reason for me to keep going." "I love you. With every fiber of my being. You complete me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to explore the world with you. I want to have a family with you. I want you, if you'll have me." He paused again. "A year ago, to the day, I asked you to marry me. I think it only right that on the same day, we are joined as husband and wife. I love you, Gaia Heartstrike, and I will until the day I pass into the Light."Songla paused long enough to make sure Damian was finished, before she raised her eyebrows as she looked to Gaia.

Gaia: Gaia accepted his hand, though he would feel her fierce squeeze from sudden apprehension and subtle scolding. Glancing at Zachromu, she found herself eyeing him shrewdly as well. Almost as if she knew the whelp was also guilty given his ominscient way of seeing through the timelines. However, despite this, she glanced towards Songla as she spoke. Internally, she steered herself for the procession of the ceremony, letting the sincerity of Songla's words rejuvenate her courage and stand beside Damian. The rushed palpitations of heart banged profusely against her chest as she closed her eyes and let the truth wash over her mind. Throughout their stay on Argus, it was the first time in a long while that she felt they were together. Undisturbed from the chaos of the universe and could be able to flourish in their feelings for one another. Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and watched as the ribbon began to thread around their hands. When it was tight, her fingers instinctively curled along his hand - seeking to maintain that closeness they often shared in intimate moments. Hearing his voice break those thoughts, she could remember the first time she saw him. The distrust that marred his expression in Ashran. And she mirrored that same weight and dislike. Even so, that animosity didn't last. Their time together only drew the pair closer rather than farther away. So hearing his feelings and thoughts, it brought great ease to her heart. But before she knew it, the moment for her to share her heart and mind became apparent.

"I also, had little time to prepare for this - thanks to a certain someone." She gave a moment to let laughter erupt around them, before continuing. "But to think back to the way my life was - I didn't know there was room for love or growth. I had always believed that I was destined to live a life that was predetermined by those around me. To simply act when told, and to survive as I was able. But when I met you, I at first didn't notice the needs I had. The reliance of another and the desire to trust. I am certain that if I hadn't met you, those very instincts and beliefs would rule me to this day. And perhaps I would have only done more harm than good. Yet..." She paused, letting her mind take a moment to register everything. "You saw the light in me. The love I could share, the care I could grow to offer, and the loyalty to you. That is something I don't want to lose. Damian you have given me more meaning in this lifetime than that of a Bronze Dragon." She eyed Zachromu for emphasis before continuing."But alas I am here, standing beside you as I intended to the end. Seeking that love you freely give me and passing it onto those that might join our family." Her hand ghosted over her stomach before she chuckled softly. "And I think you are right to make this day one we are joined as husband and wife. I love you, Damian Jharol. And I will always love you beyond that of the sands of eternity." As if for emphasis, she turns her hand to expose her ring for him to see.

Damian: He smiled as she showed the ring, and he winked at her as Songla looked between the two. "Love is eternal," she began. "It is infinite. It shows itself in actions, and in words. Here, we see it, and hear it from the two gathered here." She raised her voice to the crowd. "If anyone believes that these two should not be united, speak now or forever hold your words." She waited, and heard nothing. Slowly, the whelp on her shoulder nuzzled her cheek before it dropped two rings into her hand. "These rings are symbols of unity. While simple, they show that your love is unbreakable. As long as you wear them, blessed will you be." She gave one to Damian and one to her. She turned to Damian. "Repeat after me. I, Damian Jharol, take Gaia Heartstrike to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part." Damian smiled. "I, Damian Jharol, do take Gaia Heartstrike to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part." Songla looked to Gaia. "Your answer, my dear?"

Gaia: Gaia found herself touched and partially unnerved by the word choice by Songla. But she remained ecstatic for the continuation of the ceremony, letting her hand squeeze his again as she spoke to the congregation. When it did come to accepting their wedding bands, she did so earnestly. Waiting for the moment to speak her part and slide the ring on his finger. "And I, Gaia Heartstrike, do take Damian Jharol to be my lawfully wedded husband. to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do us part." She smiled warmly, holding the band in her free hand while the other remained clasped with his.

Damian: Songla smiled. "With your permission, I ask that this congregation bless this union. Damian and Gaia are now wedded, bound together in the Light and in love. May their love for each other light their path. You may now kiss your bride." Damian smiled and slipped his hands around her waist before he pulled her close and leaned down to kiss her. The congregation cheered and clapped as they kissed. He broke the kiss a moment later, his hand moving up to brush her cheek lovingly. "Happy Winter Veil, my love," he said softly.

Gaia: She felt her hand reflexively shift with his as they took in holy exchange. Leaning forward she grasped his lips with hers and pressed firmly in that place for a good while before he broke away. She looked at the ring and snuck to place it on his finger before chuckling softly. Her cheek brushing into his hand as he held her. "Happy Winter Veil to you too, husband." She winked and moved closer to whisper to him. "You're lucky I left my bow in the room. I have half the mind to get you back for this."

@gaia-heartstrike @kelzthalassunwhisper

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lizziebearfanfiction-blog · 7 years

Text

The World Through Her Eyes

Author: Lizziebearfanfiction (me) Rating: PG Genre: Romance Pairing: Zelda x Link Words: 3610

Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of Zelda or any other intellectual property borrowed from Nintendo in this fanfiction. It is written purely for entertainment purposes.

Description:

Fluff - Romance - Pre-Calamity

Link faces the resentment of the Princess he is sworn to protect. When he can’t take it any longer, he confronts her, but her response isn’t what he had expected.

The World Through Her Eyes

“I simply don’t understand what possessed you,” Revali said, “I mean, honestly – who just jumps onto the back of a Lynel?”

Link grimaced. Now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, the pain had begun to radiate from his, well, everywhere. Even though it had been set and bound, his wrist throbbed, and he was fairly certain he had sprained at least fifteen muscles, some of which he hadn’t known existed before this. One simple mistake, and he had caught the broadside of the aforementioned Lynel’s greatsword, been sent hurdling off the side of a cliff, and bounced his way down over three-hundred feet of rock. His armor was badly dented in several places and would require a skilled blacksmith to repair, and his shield had, whilst preventing him from severing his spine, been completely reduced to scrap metal by the unforgiving mountain. As if to add insult to injury, it had been only due to Revali’s intervention that he hadn’t smashed face-first into the ground on the last drop. He did suspect that the intervention could have come well before then, but saying so would just encourage the Rito’s criticism.

“This is the best I can do for now,” Zelda said curtly. She eyed him, lips set in a thin line, eyebrows drawn together, and arms crossed. “You’re lucky that Revali caught you, you know. What on earth were you thinking?”

His thinking had been quite clear and tactical, despite the belief of his companions. Attacking the Lynel before it inevitably caught sight of the nearby Princess, who was completely absorbed by her study of a rare, local herb, had seemed the best option at the time, and remained so. If it had spotted her, there would hardly have been time for her to escape, as the only way back to the path was past the Lynel, and Revali would have likely been too far above to hear their calls until it was too late. By striking first, it gave the Princess ample time to run past the commotion, and even if she’d been unable to make it all the way back down the mountain by the time either Link or the Lynel had been dispatched, the roaring and flashes of flame would have drawn the Rito champion to the scene.

Rather than explain all of this to his disdainful ward and snide peer, he simply shrugged. The motion caused him to wince. It really wasn’t entirely his fault; he had been so focused on buying Princess Zelda enough time to get past them, he underestimated the distance between himself and the cliff he had been tossed from. It was the Princess’s yell for Revali that had distracted him.

Zelda paced back and forth by the campfire. “I can’t believe this. You could have been killed, and then where would we be? Without a champion to wield the Master Sword, that’s where! And what if Ganon appeared, hmm? Without someone to defend the castle, he could just stroll on in!” She whirled to face the exhausted man and threw her arms up, and in a mocking voice, said, “’Oh, hello everyone, I’m the incarnation of destruction. I see you don’t have anyone here to take up sacred arms against me, so I’m just going to wreak havoc and devastate all of Hyrule while you scramble for the Divine Beasts! Hope nobody minds!’” With another groan, she resumed pacing. Revali took a seat across from Link and chuckled at the scolding being dealt.

He lowered his head, refusing to become angry or defend himself. “My apologies, Princess,” he said quietly. His voice, so rarely used, was hoarse. Despite all attempts to conceal it, he could hear it crack faintly with the pain of his injuries.

She faltered mid-step. “What? What did you just say?”

“I said, I’m sorry,” he repeated, a little bit louder. The action caused him to cough, hard. When he could get himself back under control, he lifted his head up to look into the Princess’s eyes. As usual, she was glaring, but he was surprised to see a tinge of pink in her cheeks. Concern overrode his weakness, and he began to stand. “You’re flushed. You should sit.”

“I should sit?!” She yelled. The pinkness on her face began to darken and spread. “You should sit!”

“But – “

“I said, sit!”

He dropped back down onto the ground, bewildered. Again, the movement caused him to wince.

“Princess,” Revali said smoothly, “You oughtn’t feel guilty. He chose to fight, rather than call to me.”

She looked between them. Link began to get the sense that she was putting together his reasoning for doing what he did, and, as the understanding began to dawn visibly on her face, so also did her irritation. Link shrunk further down. What had he done now?

“You’re an idiot,” Revali told him bluntly. “Are you going to tell us what you were thinking, or are you going to sit there and act like you’ve done nothing wrong? Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if you really did think that. You have no concept of responsibility…”

A burning sensation in his chest caused him to hold his breath. There were few things in life that could upset him, but Revali seemed to be able to sense exactly what would push him over the edge. Not this time. He let out the air slowly and began to count to himself.

“You endangered yourself, and thus, the Princess and, of course, the fate of the Kingdom you swore to protect. I wonder, Link, do you have even half a brain in that pretty head of yours?” Revali goaded.

Without answering, Link began making his way back onto his feet.

“What are you doing?” Zelda asked sharply.

“Taking a walk,” he said.

“You can’t take a walk! You’re injured, and I’ve only been able to strap everything into place! Until Mipha can meet us, you need to hold still!”

“Walking is less painful than listening to him talk,” he retorted. The Princess’s eyes widened in surprise. A very unladylike snort of amusement escaped, and she covered her face with her hand.

“I… I see.” She cleared her throat. “Revali, would you mind flying up to see if you can spot Mipha? I sent word quite early this morning. She should be near enough to see soon.”

Revali’s eyes narrowed, but then he spread his wings and bowed deeply. “Of course, Your Highness.” He leaped into the air, a burst of wind accompanying him. They watched as he soared upward, his dark feathers quickly blending and then disappearing into the night sky.

“So, what were you thinking?” Zelda asked after a long silence.

Link took his time getting settled back down, this time opting to move a few feet from where he had originally been in order to lean back against a tree. When he was comfortable, he met her gaze again. In slow, halting words, he explained. With every passing moment, he saw what was undoubtedly guilt appear more and more on her face.

“Well, I… It appears that I’ve been scolding you for nothing.” She was proud, but not too proud to admit that she had wronged him. Anyone else would have gotten a huff and the cold shoulder, but the realization that he had, yet again, thrown himself between herself and potential death softened her reaction. “I… Apologize.”

He nodded. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Revali swooped back down and landed gracefully. Not so gracefully was the descent of the woman he had on his back. Mipha slid and stumbled a few steps before she was able to recover, but even before she was fully balanced, her eyes were trained on the injured Knight.

“Link! For Hylia’s sake,” she worried, rushing over and kneeling down beside him. Link immediately relaxed in her presence, and took the ensuing scolding with ease. She didn’t belittle his decision, but merely chided him for lacking caution in executing it. The entire time she was speaking, a golden light swept across his skin. There were a few, brief moments of discomfort as bones snapped back into place, but they were immediately replaced with a warmth and pleasant tingling sensation. Her fingers danced across his body skillfully. He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, feeling the tension melt from his body.

When she had finished, Mipha drew back and smiled at him. He sensed her gaze and opened one eye. “You’re done,” she informed him. He returned her smile.

“Thank you, Mipha,” he said.

“I promised to heal you everytime,” she answered. Her expression was soft.

“So, he’s ready to move, then?” Princess Zelda’s voice was louder than expected, and both he and the Zora jumped. The heiress appeared almost angry. Mipha frowned.

“No, I expect he’ll need the night to rest, as do we all. It was a long way from Castle Town for me, and you’ve been traveling even longer,” she said.

Zelda’s frown deepened. “Fine,” she said, and stormed over to her tent.

When she and Revali had both taken their leave, Link glanced toward Mipha. “She was angry before, and then she apologized, and now she’s angry again,” he grumbled, and then went on to explain everything that had occurred that day.

Mipha giggled softly. “You’re so oblivious.”

“What?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s jealous. I don’t know why, but I could tell as soon as I started healing you that she was getting upset.”

“Why would she be jealous of me?” He asked, completely confused. Mipha stared at him, then burst into more laughter.

“You? I was talking about me!” She clutched her sides and doubled over, her mirth uncontainable. Link stared blankly.

“Jealous of… You?” He echoed. “She hates me.”

It took her several more minutes to answer him, but when she did, she did so while wiping tears from her eyes. Her sharp teeth were still bared in a grin. “No, she doesn’t. In fact, judging by what you just told me, she likes you quite a bit.”

Link considered this for all of ten seconds, then shot her a sideways glower. “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”

“No!” She shook her head. “Link, honestly… You know what? Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“What, and get punched? No, thank you.”

“Fine, suit yourself,” Mipha sighed, “but you’ll regret it, someday.”

Link didn’t think so, but he didn’t bother continuing the conversation. Instead, he spent the next couple of hours listening to the stories Mipha told of her travels, and sharing some of his own. By the time dawn broke, they hadn’t been asleep very long.

The Princess seemed in a worse mood than the night before – possibly the worst mood he’d ever seen her in, and he’d witnessed the wrath she had brought down upon the last servant who’d lost her notebook. She’d petrified the poor boy so terribly that he fainted, and never managed to make eye contact with her again. Link shuddered at the memory and glanced over at Mipha, who was riding alongside him on a horse she’d borrowed from a stable on their way past. She caught his eye and looked at him curiously, but before he could explain, the Princess reigned in her horse. Neither champion reacted quickly enough to move around her, and so found themselves on either side of her.

“Mipha.” Princess Zelda said, “Please go brief Revali on the plans he missed at breakfast.”

Mipha shot Link a look that screamed ‘I told you so’ and kicked her horse up into a trot to catch up with the low-flying Revali.

Maybe Mipha hadn’t been totally wrong, Link thought. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, but he could sense the Princess’s presence directly next to him. She said nothing, however, and he wasn’t one to start conversation, so they rode in silence.

It wasn’t until they stopped for the evening that his curiosity had become unbearable. Mipha’s words had been nagging at the back of his mind all day, thwarting every attempt he made to distract himself. The Princess was arranging their rooms, and Revali and Mipha had decided to go browse the local shops, so he stuck near his royal charge while she spoke to the innkeep and a few other people. He didn’t bother paying attention to her conversations; everyone she was speaking to were well-known to him. He had spent a great deal of time in Hateno, as he had a house there, and often retreated to it when Zelda was occupied for long stretches of time with politics at the castle.

“Link,” Zelda snapped suddenly. He jerked to attention, earning an eyeroll. “Come on.”

“We could have stayed at my house,” he told her for the third time that day. “You could have taken the bed. There’s plenty of room on the floor downsta-“

“I wanted to stay at the inn, so we’re going to stay at the inn!”

He simply nodded in response and trailed her up the stairs, carefully averting his eyes as he walked behind her. The inn was clean and homey, if a bit small, and he watched some of the stress on the Princess’s face relax as she entered the room they would be sharing. There were two beds, delightfully made up in floral sheets, and a separate bathroom.

“I’ll take the one on the right,” she said. He nodded again and set his bag down on the leftmost bed. He would have insisted that she take the one furthest from the door, anyhow. This way, he didn’t have to argue with her.

Now that they were alone, the conversation he’d had with Mipha the night before wriggling its way back to the front of his mind. He felt as though he were going to burst if he didn’t ask her, but he bit his tongue. Why say anything and make her uncomfortable? She already seemed to be upset enough by his mere presence.

“What?” The question startled him after such a long period of silence. “You look like you want to say something,” she said. “Say it.”

“It’s nothing,” he answered, but the hesitation was evident in his voice.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. You don’t talk very often, but when you do finally decide that there’s something that you want to say, you’re incapable of hiding it, so, say it.”

Was he really that easy to read? Link continued to unpack his bag, but as he did, he searched for the proper words to use.

“Mipha said something last night, and I was wondering if I could ask you about it,” he said.

Princess Zelda sat down on the edge of her bed, facing him. “Yes?”

“I don’t know whether or not it’s true,” he said. “You were in a bad mood, obviously, but she suggested that she worsened it with her arrival, not because you dislike her, but because you, well… Like me more than you let on.” His voice broke, but it wasn’t due to disuse as it usually was, although is throat singed from the effort of speaking as much as he’d been doing lately.

The Princess’s face turned a brilliant shade of red, and Link braced himself to receive some kind of projectile. “She said that, did she?”

“Don’t be angry with her,” he intervened quickly. “Princess, I know that you aren’t happy with my appointment as your personal guard, and –“

“Zelda.”

The interjection took him by surprise. “What?”

“My name is Zelda. You don’t have to call me Princess.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to do with that information, so he unpacked more rapidly than before. Despite silence being their usual dynamic, it felt more awkward than usual this time. He couldn’t unpack fast enough to ward off the growing discomfort.

“She’s right.” Zelda said suddenly.

He froze, a pair of socks in one hand, and a brush in the other. “I… I’m sorry?”

“I said, she’s right.” Zelda slumped down, putting her face in her hands. “I’ve been quite rotten to you, and I know it, and you… You’ve never been anything but kind to me. You put your life on the line for me every other day, and I repay you by yelling and scolding and going out of my way to make your job harder by sneaking off.”

“Prin- I mean, Zelda,” Link started to say, but she lifted a hand to cut him off.

“No, it’s true,” she said grimly. “I assumed the worst of you before, but you threw yourself head on at that Lynel so that I could get to safety, and I never even thanked you. You could have died during that fall. Truth be told, I… I’ve never been so afraid in my life. When you didn’t immediately wake up, I blamed myself. I should have remembered Sidon’s warning about the Lynel, but I didn’t, and I put us both in terrible danger.”

She lifted her head, and he saw tears in her cerulean eyes. “I’ve been an absolute monster to you, haven’t I?”

He crossed the room in three long strides and stood before her. She put her fingers back over her face. Link acted without thinking and caught her wrists, drawing her hands away from her face.

“Don’t cry,” he croaked.

“Why don’t you ever speak?” She asked suddenly, almost angrily. The question took him off-guard. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“Is it because you don’t want to talk to me?”

“No.”

“Then why?!” Her shoulders began to shake with sobs she refused to let out.

“The reason I don’t speak isn’t because I don’t want to talk to you,” he told her softly. His head was spinning. There was so much he wanted to say, truth be told, but he couldn’t. “I do. There are so many things I want to say to you, Princess.” He shook his head at her quiet sound of protest. “You see the world in such a fascinating way. I have so many questions about the things you study and the things you’re writing. There are times that I want to tell you that I searched all night for the earring you lost, and finally found it, but instead, I left it on your bedside table. I want to tell you that I saw the lizard you wrote about in your notes, or that I collected some more of the mushrooms you like to fry with dinner. There are so many things I want to tell you, Your Highness, but the truth is… I don’t speak because you don’t want to listen.”

The moment following his words felt like an eternity. He searched her face, trying to find some hint of what she was feeling. She was simply staring at him. Had he been too blunt? Would she tell him to leave? A strand of her beautiful golden hair fell across her face, and he brushed it back behind her ear.

It was as if that alone was all she could take, and the Princess broke down completely into body-wracking, shuddering, whole-body sobs, and in that moment, he had never felt more sorry for the girl in front of him. With a jolt, he realized that she was just that: a girl. She acted years older, but in reality, she was almost a full year younger than he was, and yet, she had the fate of an entire kingdom on her shoulders, and it wasn’t simply the potential of having to save that kingdom, like it was for him and the other champions; it was her day-to-day life. She wasn’t just a princess. She took on the role of ruler, diplomat, tactician, and role-model every day, and she was only sixteen.

“I’m s-so sorry,” she choked out. “Can you ever f-forgive me?”

“Of course.” He no longer felt any hesitation as he pulled her toward him by the wrist he still grasped. She collapsed into his chest. Her fingers clutched at his tunic as though she were clinging to him for dear life. He felt her tears against his skin, and they tore him apart like no monster or blade ever could. He wrapped his arms around her and kneeled, slowly, to the floor, drawing her down with him and onto his lap, where he cradled her tightly to his chest. One hand rose to her soft hair, and stroked it. “It’s alright. I forgive you. Shhh, shhh…”

A half-hour had passed before she could speak again.

“Before, you said that you looked through my notes,” she murmured. “Why?”

“Like I said, I was curious about what you discovered.” He continued to rock her back and forth.

“All this time, I was calling you an idiot, but you were just as interested in what I was doing as I was.” She sounded defeated.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “No, not so much interested in the science as I was about you. I wanted to see the world through your eyes.”

“And did you?”

Link looked down at the beautiful, delicate creature he held. What was it like, being surrounded by a world she wasn’t allowed to explore? How difficult would it be to be trapped behind castle walls, told day after day that you were falling short of everything you were destined to be? Would he have been angry, too? Would he have resented his fate and the soldier who was a constant reminder of the freedom he would never have?

“Yes,” he said quietly. “More clearly than I ever have before.”

#the legend of zelda #zelda #link #breath of the wild #botw #zelink #zelda x link #link x zelda #zeldaxlink #linkxzelda #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #cute

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations Lana you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Walburga Black!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

I can’t even begin to list a favorite part of this beautiful application since there were countless ones, but I think that what truly impressed me was how much empathy and love you gave a character who is so complex and terrible in her beliefs and made me truly appreciate her for how many intriguing dimensions she has! Your para sample made me feel for her and the loss she still is trying to suppress at losing members of her family, and I’m so excited to see how you make her fit into the rp and the characters and plots already going on! She’ll add a truly interesting perspective and I’m looking forward to seeing her on the dash!

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello, I’m Lana, twenty-three, EST. I prefer she/her pronouns.

ACTIVITY

Other than full-time work, I am free most of the time. I imagine that I’ll be active almost every day and the times I’m not I’ll have a queue to keep up on replies, etc.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I originally found this group through the tags but I’ve been lurking for a while. It was hard to wait but I’m glad I did because now I have a lot of time to dedicate to this.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Remus Lupin. I’m not a hundred percent sure why I identify with him but I do. He has always been my favorite character in the books and being around a lot of roleplays has just given me a deeper love for him and the multiple characterizations I’ve seen. He is such a quiet, low-key person with this hidden strength and intelligence that I feel he barely trusts. Then there’s the werewolf piece of his identity that he tries to hide and overcome - I just adore him. That’s not much about me so I’m sorry, but I do identify most with Remus!

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Walburga Black

FACE CLAIM

Charlize Theron

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I could speak a thousand words about Walburga Black and it still would not be enough. The entirety of the Black family, in my opinion, are highly underrated (I could write a novel just on why they deserve more attention for the sake of background on their children). So let me talk about mother ice queen for a moment and hope that my wording conveys just how much I love this horrifying character without making anyone reading this believe that I myself am also an extremist with terrible beliefs.

Walburga Black is a character with very little redeeming quality, I will start off by admitting that. Her ideals closely resemble those of a true psychopath yet she does a better job of keeping them hidden than her younger brother, Cygnus. In fact, she believes that her caution is to be admired and chides her husband often and extensively for his lack of it. It is no secret that the Black family name is spoken as an insult and the knowledge crawls under her skin and leeches at her blood. For decades her family had been noble and pure, but the sight of it now draws her to her wits end. It is her largest desire to rid of the rumors of incest and insanity that have filtered through the country, making her a laughing stock.

She despises the men of her family who have loomed above her to pluck the crown from her golden hair. It has been a relentless fight to gain power and composure against her brothers, but she believes she is the strongest of them all. Intelligence that knows no bounds, beauty above all, and a cold facade that could have grown men slinking away - those are the traits of an heir and a queen. But instead of holding a bounty of wealth and inheriting her family home, she was married off to complete her only goal as a woman, child birth. It was against everything she believed, but she did her duty while whispering in the ears of the pureblooded men and women who would listen. Fear her, love her, hate her, it never mattered to Walburga.

There is still humanity underneath the perfectly crafted creature she has spun to walk the Earth, and she showed it only when her first born son abandoned them. She had always known he would leave so that came as no surprise, but the ache in her heart did. There was a hole ripped out of soft flesh that never seemed to heal, no matter how many years had passed. It had taken days of screaming agony and threatening curses before Walburga had allowed herself to put her mask on again. The memory felt weak, like cowardice. She never wanted to feel like a woman or a mother because that wasn’t how you gained respect in a world of sexism.

I could go on for days about her past and what led her to the moments that created such a silently heartbroken creature. It’s mostly speculation on my end but I love to talk about it and I hope I get the chance to portray her for the first time!

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Walburga identifies as female with she/her pronouns.

Orion/Walburga.

I don’t want to write much on my opinion of their relationship because I know that there is an active Orion player in this group, but I have a lot of feelings on the matter. In a weird way I do ship them because I feel that their marriage has gone beyond duty and has touched on something close to love, or solace and comfort, whichever is the easiest for them to admit. I believe that Walburga would do anything to protect her husband and expects the same from him. There’s much more I’d love to explore, too!

Her sexuality is closest to straight, I suppose, yet I do feel that she would fall into bed with many after a particularly gruesome fight (Chemistry/Walburga). She loves the adrenaline and the fear, it makes her feel alive when she has been surrounded by dull affairs and parties while acting as a socialite. Still, she would never label herself as anything but straight and would keep her sexual intentions behind closed doors for fear that it would make her family name any less noble.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Here is the mock blog. xxxxx

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“And why would I waste my time on tinkering with ingredients or waving my wand uselessly when I could press a galleon into the hand of a poorer man to do it for me?” Walburga remains still as ice save for the twitch of her index finger against the silk of her dress. “Still, the question isn’t utterly foolish.” She weighs the answer and the consequences before deciding that this conversation will lead to little other than conversation. Boring, really. “They could make me the true heir of father’s inheritance, or they could kill the men who doubt me. The women, too. I can’t decide. Perhaps I’d do both.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“The Forbidden Forest is filled to the brim with filth, I’ve found. It should be burned to the ground along with the creatures inside. Alas, if I must go, I would bring my dear husband. He can get eaten while I walk away unharmed.” The thought seems to amuse her but the words are false and she lets the corners of her lips fall in an instant. “An object other than my wand? I suppose the necklace mother left me before she died. It has always brought me strength.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

Walburga laughs and the sound is almost as cruel as the coldness in her eyes. “I have no difficulty making decisions. Everything comes easily to me. How could it not? I’m a Black by blood and by birth. The women are queens and the men are pretenders, so we of the ‘gentler sex’ are left to make the real decisions. I whisper in my husbands ear just as I did father’s, and I’ll continue until I have what I want. Does it sound like I’m having difficulty?” But even though her words ring true, she cannot help but think that her weakness is hard to overcome.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“People speak of me every day and their words are envious. I don’t care to listen to what those peasants choose to utter nor would I do a thing to stop them. I care only for my family name and what they choose to say of me is nothing in comparison to the filthy way they speak of my brother.” She shudders at the thought of him. “I am a queen and I deserve just what respect my father had. The thing I would not stand for is those filthy demons calling me weak. I could kill them in an instant yet they think we, as the noble house of Black, are jokes. Every day I will prove that that is not true.”

WRITING SAMPLE

It felt like ice slithering up her larynx with the threat of suffocation. Pale and gaunt she stood and stared at the emerald green tapestry that hung across the walls of a room she had not thought to enter in some time. They sat like ghosts stitched in time, woven in silk, and colored with fading dye. But she held their fate in the palm of her hand with the magic that stretched and flexed between the core of her wand. It had become a simple pleasure to view those faces and read the cursive letters she had memorized as just a little girl. There was Pollux Black, her father, and Irma Crabbe, her mother. They sat under the elder Cygnus II with an air of nobility, and further below were Alphard, Cygnus, and herself.

Her fingers were light as they traced the tiny lines of her own face and read the words that followed. Walburga Black. The name meant little beside the brothers who held their fortune and inheritance close to their chests. As a woman she would never be allowed the luxury of claiming her proper title, nor would she be absolved of her duty to a husband who often cast a shadow, but this day was a step forward. After years of waiting for her brothers to fall from high grace, she had finally gotten her wish. And how joyous the occasion was.

Alphard Black would be removed.

The image of his face stitched into a tapestry so regal had her stomach boiling with internal rage yet her composure remained frozen in disinterest. A long, curved nail came up to tear at the thin fabric with intentionally slow movements. Soon half of his white, left cheek was swallowed up into a mess of string and material. Still, it did little to quell the disgust. She took a step away and pointed her wand though the spell didn’t form immediately. How could he have done that to them when he knew how much Sirius had hurt her?

The parchment conjured in her memory and she sucked a breath inward. Her eldest brother had left his entire fortune to a traitor despite her clear warnings. Sirius was to be left in the dark with the scum he called friends, yet Alphard had not heeded her threats. As she hadn’t expected him to. While it came as a relief to find her smarter brother fail so quickly, it also hurt. She had cared deeply for him whereas her younger brother she had come close to despising.

Finally the flames came, flickering and alive as they ate away at the lasting image of his face. Two times in the past few months that she had come to view the tapestry and remove another traitor and both had hurt just as much. A dull ache began in her chest and pounded upwards until there was a lump in her throat too big to swallow. She wouldn’t let the sob rise, however, no matter how much it tried. “Not this time.” She whispered, and her eyes moved to stare at the black hole that had once been her son. “I’ll never let you filthy traitors make me show weakness again.“

#accepted app

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poetryandpoetics1230-blog · 5 years

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Historical Context:

While studying at Columbia, Merton lived on the edge of the Harlem neighborhood and was heavily involved with his neighbors. Much of Merton’s writing as a monk focused on issues of social justice, race, and poverty. His activism was inspired by Catholic social teaching, and while he seldom left the Abbey of Gesethmani, he sent out a multitude of letters -- some quite radical for his time. In addition to his clerical background, the writings of prominent civil rights leaders were integral in educating Merton’s beliefs. Ideas espoused by Martin Luther King Jr. and Harlem native James Baldwin drew Merton to the cause of racial justice. He was especially critical of white Northern liberals and the hypocrisy and indifference they showed towards the actual societal issues faced by African-Americans. When housing activists in the North began demanding reform in real-estate practices, Merton chided white liberals for their unwillingness to support these reforms due to a loss of property values. In his eyes, these lukewarm liberals were only supporters of the cause of social justice as long as any reforms steered-clear of affecting their own lifestyles.

Within the middle section “Aubade-Harlem” is Merton’s poetic critique of these moderate white liberals:

But in the cells of whiter buildings, Where the glass dawn is brighter than the knives of surgeons, Paler than alcohol or ether, shinier than money, The white men’s wives, like Pilate’s, Cry in the peril of their frozen dreams: “Daylight has driven iron spikes, Into the flesh of Jesus’ hands and feet: Four flowers of blood have nailed Him to the walls of Harlem.

Pilate Washes His Hands by James Tissot

Here he remarks that “in the cells of white buildings” there is an agitation for social justice, as “the white men’s wives, like Pilate’s / Cry”. These women are disturbed that the “daylight has driven iron spikes, / into the flesh of Jesus’ hands and feet”. As established earlier in the “Poem Analysis”, “daylight” is meant to represent the crucifying poverty and oppression faced by the urban poor and this metaphor is further highlighted here. But the allusion to Pilate and his wife is what is more important to the historical context of this poem. In the Gospel, Pilate is known for his condemnation of Jesus. Though he does not believe Christ to be guilty, he sentences him nonetheless, believing himself compelled by the mob. Afterwards he literally washes his hands of all responsibility. Because of these actions, Pilate can be seen as a symbol for anyone who fails to act while holding the privilege to prevent the suffering of others.

The Dream of Pilate's Wife (ca. 1879) by Alphonse Françoise

Pilate’s wife also plays a role in the story of the crucifixion. According to Matthew 27:19, she speaks to Pilate and tells him not to prosecute Jesus because a dream told her they will suffer if he does so. Instead of helping Jesus however, Pilate just lets the crowd decide and keeps any blood from staining his own hands. Eastern Christian traditions see her in a positive light and canonized her as St. Procula, but Western Christians see her dream as the Devil’s way of thwarting the salvation. Additionally, Procula’s warning that they will suffer because of Jesus’ condemnation signal motivations of selfishness, not genuine compassion.

The Message of Pilate's Wife (1886–94) by James Tissot

Using the allusion of Pontius Pilate and his wife, Merton builds an clever critique of the indifferent and cowardly activism of white liberals. The “white men’s wives” may cry out and publicly claim their solidarity with civil rights movements, but their cries fall short of any real change or action. And like Pilate, their white husbands will do nothing to actually institute change and help the poor. They will instead be content to wash their hands of any personal responsibility for oppression, since they are not actively persecuting anyone or publicly supporting segregation.

Before Merton wrote this poem, Martin Luther King Jr. wrote out his thoughts on white moderates in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail”. In this letter he responded to white clergy members who criticized his use of direct-action tactics and recommended he focus on negotiation. King stated that he was focused on negotiation, but in order for this negotiation to even occur, he had to force the issue through public displays of non-violent protest. Inspired by King’s response, Merton actually wrote his own “Letters to a White Liberal” where he faulted whites for patronizing and only engaging in abstract and non-radical change. These thoughts are easily seen in “Aubade-Harlem”, as Merton first reflects on the crushing poverty of urban life for the oppressed and then moves on to a critique of Northern white liberals. Using Pilate and his wife as examples of those slow to action, Merton subtly expresses his beliefs that radical action to help the oppressed is just and good.

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khalix-hyetology · 7 years

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Life in Temple Gate

A Post with me trying to chart daily life in Temple Gate. Life in Temple Gate didn’t necessarily start in Temple Gate. We know from canon information online that Knoth started his gospels and that he had followers and they lived in Lydia Deagan’s ranch until they were chased off by authorities. The reason stated, as Outlast wiki documents, that dead bodies started showing up. As I mentioned in an earlier post, infanticide and death were mentioned since the first gospel of Knoth so there is no wonder that killings of people not following beliefs can happen.

However, Temple Gate was founded in 1975. Outlast wiki stated that Knoth and his followers came to the place in 1971. Took around five years to build the whole town.

As you know there is an inscription on the town plague: “It felt inevitable, like a dream or memory. Not mine.” The “not mine” part is not read out by Blake and is pretty effaced and one must carefully see it. Basically, this is already explained in the gospels of Knoth of all the visions he had of numerous entities that personally sounded eerily similar to Walriders.

Well, moving on, we know that Knoth in his journey to Havasupai took different sorts of people and rejected no criminals neither. In the gospels Knoth is encouraged to breed by the voices until a “nation” could be established thus allowing the antichrist to emerge,

This could mean that the killing of the children is a recent phenomenon. It may have been happening for like a year or so now; when the cult’s population starting to rise. This is probably Murkoff being very twisted and perverse and going to the “basics.” Experiments cannot be done without a suitable sample size. By encouraging incest and inbreeding they could get their sample size. But they needed to control it and also the radio emissions pretty much had a feedback loop which would make people hypersexual and homicidal. That is exactly what Murkoff wanted or just went with. Evidence of this is that there is a good number of people within Temple Gate.

Though, initially Knoth seemed to have many female followers. It later ebbed possibly because many of them became Scalled. You will see more females or recognize more females in Scalled population. Seeing that syphilis is spread by Knoth the chance of many females being affected is not unlikely.

Going back to life in Temple Gate, they seemed to live a “normal” enough life until recently. People seemed okay tending farm and crops. There was also a school for children though the books seem old and limited. The education level is not so good amongst many people. Some like Ruth can write eloquently. Others, like John and even Marcus, Simeon’s friend and Judith’s husband, write less so but seem to write more colloquially. Ethan also keeps a colloquial sense of tone in his letter but doesn’t have spelling mistakes.

When the troubles start Blake comes along. The first letter is from Tom to Ellie: basically a suicide note which is also eerily close to home for Blake concerning Jessica. The second letter is the one that Lisa writes; Lisa pretty much reiterates her Faith in The Testament of New Ezekiel. As I have explored in an earlier posts on belief systems, Lisa excitedly talks about having visions:

“I saw a creature like the burning sun but with inward rings of teeth upon teeth and dangling beneath limbs that I took to be arms but were cocks that rose in chiding purpose and as this monstrous sun descended, it fucked the earth and birthed some great and slouching horror from the fire. I was filled with the same fear, so great that I could not breathe nor move...when I woke I found myself wet with lusting...I would take greater comfort in your manhood inside me and a firm prayer that the antichrist be strangled in my womb. The most faithful of your flock in holy longing, Lisa.” (highlights my own)

As we know from Knoth’s gospels, sexual imagery, feeling aroused and all of that is a part of the experience of being blinded by the light or exposed to radio signals. Also, seeing these ghastly, supernatural type creatures that are possibly Walrider like references.

I do believe the Heretics, the murders and all of these things are actually recent happenings. The Gospels of Knoth prove that and many of the letters seem recent. The gospels are fashioned with a scientific experiment in mind, with a device partly planned to go about it that way. Obviously, there were unplanned things like the feedback loop was more a theory than a perceived reality which augmented the experiences of the people making them do separate things like New Gospels and make motifs such as the “Scalled Christ” and all of that. Similarly, Val’s communication with the voice inside The Towers is pretty much like some sensual dialogue of “understanding” or “inheritance” which I believe Murkoff didn’t essentially plan such as Billy’s lateral ascension and laughing at REM sleep.

Not everyone is keen on the visions. Not everyone was happy with the infanticide. Not everyone faced “ecstatic rage” in the line of “proximity to death.” Judith becomes emotionally and sexually withdrawn from her husband Marcus when they killed their child Sarai. Marcus wants to still have sex and all but Judith has become angry and sad. Though Marcus threatens her with violence because he believed that both of them were doing their religious duty. There is another husband, I believe, Phillip, who talks nicely and respectfully to his wife telling her to hold on and that the visions mean they have come close to the end and after this pain there will joy in paradise.

From Val’s own accounts I recognised a lack of intimacy and community within Temple Gate. Even in the school lesson plan, which may be recent, there is an activity on finding out the enemy. This makes bullying and harassment inevitable among later generations. Where the odd child would be questioned and be ostracised; later on they may even be ostracised from their parents believing they have delivered a form of antichrist. Thinking that anyone could be the spider-eyed Lamb or the lesser whores or the devil’s whore also breeds unfaithfulness to one’s spouse because they may always be suspecting their husband or wife is relational to the antichrist.

The letter titled “Val’s secret” is interesting as Val shows sexual attraction to a woman named Ruth:

“The chief among his deacons, Val, came to me before sunrise this morning with an offer that was not fully described. Val acted like somebody offering something secret and sexual in nature. But my knowledge of Val and his character, it frightened me terribly and I would not accept any such invitation. Val would not further explain, and told me that “there are places in our hearts Papa Knoth cannot reach” though truth be told Val seemed more interested in other areas of my body. I suspect [this] is blasphemy and betrayal and cut it off before any harm is done. I hope Papa can help, as I am dreadful scared.

Ruth.” (highlights my own)

Whenever, I read Val’s journals or read letters pertaining to them, I always feel this lack of intimacy. This gulf of understanding amongst the people in The Testament of New Ezekiel. Everyone is out to report and criminalise everyone: in many ways this is the way I think Ngugi wa Thiang’o talked about this in relationship to Colonialism. Though, colonisation is not necessarily happening here, the way Thiang’o talked about English schools not allowing children to talk in their native languages but always in English and how children were forced to report people who spoke in their native tongue. There would be punishment for the child to indoctrinate them in the English language and to feel they have done something wrong speaking in their own. Similarly, David Wyndham’s The Chrysalids show that mutant humans living amongst religious zealots was always in fear for their lives because punishment was either death or something terrible, if discovered. We can say cults colonise the mind in behaving in certain ways that are not reasonable or even “good” but they make believe their rights and wrongs are perfectly alright. Actual tyranny is born from this.

There are two people mentioned in letters that we don’t necessarily see: Paul and Simeon. They are both important people who Blake does not meet or we don’t meet thus we are not sure what their fates are. Paul can be considered to a form of leader, a council elect, a person who helps keep justice in check. Simeon is their provisions’ manager it seems. When a man named John questions about Knoth’s syphilis it is to Simeon who seems higher in rank than him though they both go beyond Temple Gate to get their provisions such as gas and penicillin for Knoth. John may have later been punished: there is a note talking about offending Knoth and feeling horrible about this. I may think this was John.

There is also a suicide note: we know it is a woman who was lusted after by a person named Judah (you do see a woman’s body in a chasm with bodies dropped; some youtubers, perhaps Timm3D, show that the well from which the tongue pull’s Blake is actually this chasm. Which had Heretics also piled saying “Whores to Satan”). They are pregnant and it hurts; the baby hurts and they can’t see Judah drowning over and over again. Stating they didn’t know Judah couldn’t swim. They think that the antichrist is also in their womb and do mention the baby is Knoth’s. A youtube commenter talked how syphilis can be transmitted to mother to child. Yes, that’s true. Wikipedia also states Cuba is the first country to have stopped this transmission. So, Knoth’s syphilis makes birth difficult and possibly even fatal. Knoth originally mentioned there were more females in his followers to Temple Gate than men but, aside developer issues, you will notice the female population in Temple Gate has gone heavily down when Blake visits it. Female mortality rates may be higher and many now may actually be amongst the Scalled. And we know of the man in the Scalled who hanged himself pretty much just saying he was borrowing the rope and that he will be done with it soon (this was very painful and sad).

There is also preparations for the mass suicide casually mentioned as “Garden Note.” I actually had to read it again to know it was preparations for the mass suicide. A man named Macon tells Christine, who is probably his wife, that not to be angry with him for taking the Grape Aid (Koolaid anyone?) for he has taken in for Papa Knoth for a “celebration” (we all know how that turned out). Macon also states:

“I know we ain’t got a thing better to cover the taste in the water, but folks will just have to put up with it, I expect. Don’t give them none of the Sacrement as its needful for service. I guess we can do without our Grape Aid until there’s another run.

Macon.”

The fact is probably not all of them knew about the death. Knoth may have separately planned it for The Towers’ influence as the gospels lacked those details. It just mentioned if you don’t kill the antichrist, she will kill the world and people who like suffering will drop down to it and drag the righteous along with them.

I do believe initially there was some peace in Temple Gate. Seeing that Marta and Val probably grew up there and Val may have been born there shows that much. However, seeing that there were always tensions and also their idyllic pastoral lives were punctuated. heavily, by the forthcoming doom and “cannibalistic” genocide/infanticide, I believe there were always suspicions and even ostracisms carried out.

A mass ostracism is carried out already by the Scalled. The Scalled are out Heretics and are a sub group of The Testament of New Ezekiel. However, there are people over there that actually do realise they are suffering from syphilis and gonorrhea. The first mention of this is from Laird, who has Nick write his letter, talking about how the Scalled are complaining they are not getting the provisions owed them and though Laird and Nick can give them a beatdown they prefer the “gentle path.” We know that Knoth said that he should be harsher with the Scalled. There was a post here on tumblr by someone distinguishing Father Martin Archibald and Reverend Sullivan Knoth. I agree the former seems to “Protestant” the other “Catholic” but they both criticise self-pity so in that they have one similarity. Only, Martin calls Miles his Job and wants him to suffer and believes the crucifixion will help him reach resurrection thus suffering for that resurrection. Knoth believes self-pity is a “womanly sin” and that it also needs to be outed to, I guess, remain pure.

Going back to the syphilis, Athalia, Simeon’s cousin, possibly also lover or friend, states to give her penicillin as she needs to immunise herself before sores stop coming on and she is showing her sickness. She also questions how Knoth keeps well but she needs proper medicine. We see in her tone many of the Scalled are angry with Knoth. They know he is lying and they are angry to be living in such squalor and filth for faults not of their own. We know Laird was mean to the Scalled and was also telling them, when Blake is escaping, that all of them are worthless and does not deserve good health. So, when he is pushed off that house, I think that was inevitable.In the end, the game does not necessarily point out if anyone from the Scalled or the Heretics or Temple Gate really survived. It would be interesting if they have.

There are people who talk about the Lake being evil. That is where in the distance Blake sees The Towers on the left side, the mines on the right. We can only think that Murkoff had started building alongside Temple Gate and the mines are also evidence of this. When being chased by Val in the mines Blake comments on where this place is getting this amount of power. It surprises him because the mines are supposed to be dilapidated and abandoned but they are still surging enough power as if they are still functional. It wouldn’t be a surprise that until recently people were maintaining the mines. That The Towers were also being maintained. The Old Traveler may either have succumbed to the signals or even have been saved by going to The Towers and getting refuge.

The only three people I saw different in the game in Temple Gate was Ethan who proclaimed he was “Unborn”, possibly even slight excommunicated, and the man who is chased down in the lake and the “atheist: . Who had a fire light and may have spelled Help with stone. Both people show that some people may, by luck chance or something, escape indoctrination heavily by the signals if not completely. But Murkoff may know they need to be killed as they don’t necessarily need controls for the experiment in Temple Gate. They need Subjects and Projectors so those people would defeat the purpose of the experiment. Outliers may have always been there and may have been killed within Temple Gate. The last person, document titled “The Atheist” shows how a man is apologising to their wife. They became a Heretic but even that didn’t stop the visions. Unlike Val who accepted that “god” was not god but something else this man may have realised there is something pretty nefarious about Temple Gate. No amount of merry making or fucking around could get them happy. This is someone who is completely devastated. And it is painful to read that.

When I think about Temple Gate it sometimes brings a sadness in me. When you think about that people wanted probably some peace and instead gogt violence and bloodshed. At the same time, Murkoff has been planning these experiments. Which are pretty much dehumanising and barbaric that instilled in the The Testament of New Ezekiel and Heretics that they must kill and thrive in violence. The only neutral party are the Scalled. The Scalled, unlike the Variants, seemed somewhat awakened by their sickness. Unlike Variants who seem either warped in their own worlds, calling Walrider a god or just screaming — some question the science and mention Billy talking about things hidden or waiting for them in the mountain. I talked this once to someone else and though there is obviously science involved here I do believe the “gateway” generates some things which is not traditionally science if not supernatural.

The Walrider is considered a god by Martin. To me it looked more like a ghoul or a phantom. The strange, morphing lifeform is also called God by Knoth though I wonder if it was a Walrider like entity. Val obviously recognises it as something having some concrete trajectory. The fact Val wants to consummate their feelings with this creature just shows Val’s desperate need for empathy and intimacy which were denied to them so much. Marta, herself, is denied understanding. She cries when she kills someone but Knoth tells her conscience is just a worrisome worm and that her faith is imperfect. When I think about Marta I also imagine currents of loneliness and a pinnacle of isolation which Murkoff made Temple Gate to be.

#Outlast #Outlast 2 #Marta #Val #Knoth #The Testament of New Ezekial #Walrider #Temple Gate #The Towers #Laird #Scalled #Heretics #meta #long post

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lessonsinkindness-blog · 7 years

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the guru complex

“I've seen them kneel with baited breath for the ritual I've watched this experience raise them to pseudo higher levels I've watched them leave their families in pursuit of your nirvana I've seen them coming to line up from Switzerland and America

How long will this take Baba? How long have we been sleeping? Do you see me hanging on to every word you say? How soon will I be Holy? How much will this cost Guru? How much longer 'til you completely absolve me?

I've seen them give their drugs up in place of makeshift altars I've heard them chanting Kali Kali frantically I've heard them rotely repeating your teaching with elitism I've seen them boasting robes and foreign sandalwood beads I've seen them overlooking God in their own essence I've seen their upward glances in hopes of instant salvation I've seen their righteousness mixed without loving compassion I've watched you smile as the students bow to kiss your feet

~ Baba, Alanis Morissette

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I'm a great believer in "what goes around comes around". I don't believe this because of any mystic belief in a form of spiritual karma, or indeed in an omniscient, omnipotent God. I believe that on a quite practical level, people who treat others unjustly, through their own obliviousness, and the aversion they create in others, left long enough, will eventually entrap themselves in a web of their own making. It makes sense that the more of a negative impact you make on others' lives, the less likely it will be once people start talking with each other, and the truth of shared experience is exposed, that people will afford unkind people the consideration that same person has been unwilling to bestow on them. I believe structures like power dynamics, status, and social conformity can mean this process takes a long time (sometimes years) to reach fruition, but leave it long enough, and that person will have grown enough rope to hang themselves.

Unlike the movies, this moment tends to be somewhat more of a subtle shift, than a blinding light of realisation. And I think I received my moment of vindication the other day.

For the past few weeks, I have been the outlet of blame for someone else's insecurities. What started as a suspicion that this person was perhaps just being a little unintentionally insensitive, gradually slid across the spectrum to a hunch that there was a little more intent than I had previously ascribed, but that this was momentary, and regretted later. It took a while for me to realise the ball of anxiety that I'd been carrying in my stomach, and the lump in my throat that threatened to spill at any second, were the result of active malice, manipulation, and yes, a deliberate attempt to make my life unpleasant for a while. In short, someone didn't like me.

I realise this next sentence is going to sound egotistical, but here, I'll say it: I'm not someone people dislike. I recognise that I am someone people may not immediately "click" with or "get". I may also be someone who others find irritating. But I have never been actively disliked (at least not to my knowledge).

Why do I think this is? Well, I think there's a few reasons. Again, I reiterate my natural personality may not be everybody's cup of tea, but because I am generally consistent with the principles of at the very least being polite, considerate, and at a basic level, decent - even to people I don't particularly like - it's quite hard for anyone to have enough ammunition to genuinely believe I am a bad person.

Now, don't get me wrong. I've dealt with A LOT (and I mean a lot!) of difficult people in my life so far. I've struggled in situations where people appear to have been threatened by me (usually in a work context because I am conscientious, they are not, and it shows them up - to out it bluntly). I've had probably a handful of people feel slighted by me when I have cut them out of my life (with good reason, that perhaps they are not ready to see). I've had to bite my lip more than a few times around people with huge egos who have probably found my lack of fawning around them a frustration.

But never this.

My moment of clarity came a few days ago, when 2 acquaintances confirmed that their experience of this person had been almost identical. The same manipulative chiding disguised as "constructive feedback". The same emotional coldness and public humiliation. The same hostility when challenged on their unacceptable behaviour. And there it was: the "click".

I call the moment when you get this corroboration of the version of events you've been convincing yourself is a manifestation of your own "sensitivity" - the "click". It's when you realise that the sinister feeling you get around that person is not a figment of your imagination, or the mark of an overemotional soul taking everything to heart. The absolute wave of silence that quiets your chattering mind and offers you an avalanche of clarity. I'm not going mad. It wasn't me. They really are a shitty person.

I struggled with knowing how to feel - is it a relief that I'm not alone after all? Or is it more sad that there was another victim here that was also going home at night wondering what the hell they had done to bring this on themselves?

And guess what? The perpetrator here was one of life's "nice guys". Reasonably likeable. Articulate, sociable, amenable. Framed as an expert of their field. Someone who writes about their heightened knowledge of emotional intelligence. Someone who claims to be a leader in helping people to coach the best out of others. Someone who holds themselves up as a beacon of transparency and a role model of lived values.

Except for one thing.

Enter stage left: the guru complex.

I've met a few people in life who are very good at believing their own hype. They have a moderate measure of success at a certain point in their life or careers, and for then on out, they'll feast on those scraps for decades. Gone is the need to self-reflect. No longer a compulsion for accountability or self-awareness. They start to act in a way that is at best, insensitive, and at worst, morally bankrupt. Except for now, they have been elevated into a social position that affords them the luxury of power. And power and humility aren't the best of friends.

It's in the detail. The first time someone casts their eyes away at a moment of public belittlement. The time nothing happens to that complaint. The behaviour that remains unchallenged day on day, week on week...year on year. And before long, you're left with a narcissist who puts themselves at the centre of their world, and placed on a high enough pedestal to castigate others for the very attributes that are so severely lacking in themselves.

My point is this. You can talk about emotional intelligence, inspiring leadership, challenging prejudice, equal rights, a classless society all you like. You can write about checking your privilege, accepting difference, showing respect til the cows come home. You can sit and theorise on the art of human kindness and its many manifestations and urge others to advocate for suffering minorities, and pat yourself on the head for your liberal, progressive values.

But if you don't walk the talk?

It's all bullshit.

#emotionalintelligence kindness blog gurucomplex #narcissism #ego

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