#Valiant Heart: And The Impossible World

[valiantheartofficial]

I've never done this kind of thing before, so I'll just get to the point. I'm in the middle of writing a full book with the intent of having it published. My problem? I'm having doubts about my ability. So I came up with an idea to use social media as a way for others to see my work and offer some input! But since "Facebook" is a toxic wasteland of self indulgent haters, and "Twitter" (I will never call it by that other insipid name) is an empty shell of it's former nest. I've decided on one of the last few bastions of creativity left on the internet. Fine ol' Tumblr! Slander and puns aside, if you all could be so kind as to help me with a book I'm writing? I would like feedback from a test audience and let me know what you think of my story's first couple of chapters? I would be deeply appreciative of a little of your time and constructive criticism.

sincerely (and hopefully): A future New York Times, Best Seller. . . Maybe.

#Story #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #steampunk #trauma #writing #writers and poets #writeblr #help #constructive criticism #constructivefeedback #monster #magic #scifi #sci fi and fantasy #fantasy #original work #original writing #books #Valiant Heart #Valiant Heart: And The Impossible World

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Not Like You - Lando Norris

<word count - 1603>

You had just come downstairs from your final virtual meeting of the day to find Lando on the couch. All you could see of him was his head poking out of the top of the mountain of pillows and blankets he was buried under. 

"I am finally done for the day," you announced, sitting beside him and letting yourself relax for the first time today. "What do you want for dinner?" you asked, your stomach gurgling at the thought of food. 

"You can have whatever, I'm not hungry," he mumbled, turning his face away from you. That was odd, you thought. Lando may have been a bit fussy when it came to what he ate, but he loved his food and he had never turned down a meal in all the time you had known him. 

"What did you have for lunch?" you asked, resting a supportive hand on his knee as he avoided looking at you. "Can't remember," he replied, and that basically meant 'I didn't have anything'. 

In his mind, Lando was willing you to go and make yourself dinner just so he could have a bit of extra time alone. He had been really stressed for the past couple of days, and he had made a valiant effort to make sure you didn't see it. 

He knew you had your own issues to deal with, and he didn't want you to worry yourself with his problems as well. "What have you been up to today?" you asked, trying to get him to look at you by training your eyes on his face.

"Nothing much, just watching some TV," he shortly answered. Normally, Lando was talkative and would be eager to hear about what you had been up to, so that was another red flag. You didn't want to push because, if he wanted to talk about it, he would have already brought it up.

It didn't stop you from worrying any less. If anything, his lack of talking made you more concerned. You sighed, knowing you just had to ask what was wrong. It was the only way you would get through to him. 

"Hey, you OK?" you asked, scooting closer to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just tired," he huffed, pulling himself into an even tighter ball.

"You sure? You just seem a bit off, that's all," you told him wrapping an arm around his shoulders and trying to pull him into your embrace. "I'm fine, just stressed," he told you, shrugging your arm away and moving towards the other end of the couch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked, your eyebrows knitted together in concern. You knew when he wanted to be left alone, and now was one of those times, but something in you wouldn't let you. 

You wanted to be able to fix all of his problems, make all of his worries go away, and make the world perfect with sunshine and rainbows for him. All of that would be impossible if he didn't let you in. 

"I'm fine," he dismissed, looking at you for a split second before turning away again. For that short moment, you saw something was unsettled in his eyes. That was the thing with Lando - there was no chance he could hide his emotions. His eyes gave himself away so easily. 

"Are you sure? You-" you started.

"I said I'm fine, Y/N," he snapped, and his side profile looked annoyed as you looked at him. Now was the time you thought it would be best to leave him alone. "OK, sorry," you quietly murmured, getting off the couch and going back upstairs. 

You would leave him to cool off for a bit, and give yourself some time to calm down. Lando had never snapped at you before, so it shocked you.  Now you were certain something was up. 

You sat on the bed and thought about what you could do. You didn't want to leave it until he came to bed, because the both of you would get in your heads over the hours and blow the situation out of proportion. 

Meanwhile, Lando felt awful. You were just trying to help, and he yelled at you and he could tell he scared you. The sound of your voice apologising for something you never needed to apologise for made his heart shatter and felt worse than he had before you had asked if he was alright. 

He wasn't feeling like himself, and that was now painfully obvious. It was as if the happy part of him had been replaced with all of the stressful things that were going on in his life right now. But, he scolded himself for taking it out on you.

You were only trying to help, and he knew that. He wanted to go and talk to you, but he couldn't trust himself to not lash out at you. He had let his emotions get the better of him, and he needed to take some time to cool down. 

After around two hours, you had finished scribing your letter to Lando. If he didn't feel like talking to you, then maybe he could read what you had to say. Padding downstairs, Lando was still sat in the exact same spot on the couch. 

You stood in front of him, then placed the folded piece of paper down on the coffee table. He watched your every move until he couldn't see you anymore as you ascended the stairs once more. 

He cursed himself for not saying anything, for not taking you into his arms and apologising for taking his frustration out on you. But, he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't snap at you again, so maybe it was for the better. 

Leaning forward, he snatched the paper off the coffee table and unfolded it. 'Hey Lando, sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to press. If you don't want to talk about it, I get it. But, if you want to, I'm here for you - no matter what. I love you, Y/N x'.

Even though it wasn't your intention, you had made him feel slightly worse about himself. You were being so nice to him and you only wanted the best for him, but he had pushed you away and rejected you. He was so unbelievably lucky to have you, and he loved you more than anything else in the world. 

His emotions had barraged him all at once, and all he could do was let the tears fall down onto his cheeks. As you walked by to get a glass of water from the kitchen, you heard his muffled sobs through the door.

Despite your promise to yourself to give him time, your heart ached for him. He didn't have to tell you what was wrong, you just wanted to be with him. You couldn't stop your legs as they carried you into the living room and around the back of the couch.

From behind, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face in his hair, but you didn't say anything. You simply stood there as he leant back into your touch. "I'm sorry," he managed to choke out. "It's OK," you whispered back, trying to supress your own tears. 

"No, it's not. I shouldn't speak to you like that, whether I'm upset or not," he said, his hands latching onto your forearms and gripping for dear life. "Lando, it's OK. You don't have to explain yourself if you don't want to," 

"C'mere," was all he said in response and you walked around the couch and sat down next to you. "I've just been really stressed lately and I've not been feeling like... me, if that makes any sense," he explained, pulling you into him.

Keeping your mouth shut, you nodded to signal for him to continue. "I've just not been happy recently, and I don't know why," he mumbled, looking down at his lap as his fingers aggressively circled your arm. "You don't need to be happy all the time, it's OK not to be," you told him as he looked at you with glassy eyes.

"But I shouldn't have snapped at you like that,"

"Lando, baby, I promise it's alright. It's alright to have feelings that aren't 100% positive all the time, and it's fine to want to be alone sometimes. I get it, it's hard to talk about how we feel, but I'm always here if you need me," you said, caressing his cheek as you spoke. 

"I know you are, I know. But I want to feel like me again," he backtracked as a few more tears fell onto his rosy cheeks. "Give it some time, and I'm always here if you want to talk about anything.  In the meantime, what do you say we order in some spring rolls?" you said, and a small smile danced on his lips. 

Even if it was only a small smile, it was still a smile nonetheless. "I like that idea," he grinned, and he already felt better for talking to you. You could put a smile on his face whenever, but now he needed it the most. 

"I love you," he said affectionately, just as you picked up the phone to dial the Chinese place. 

"I love you too," you responded, leaning into his touch as his hand snuck up the side of your shirt and mindlessly traced shaped on the skin of your waist. 

Lando may not have instantly felt on top of the world again, but he was certainly making good headway on getting there, and he could feel those small fragments of his usual, happy self, falling back into place.

A/N - This is 'Not Like Me', but the other way around. Hope you enjoyed, and if you need to talk, I'm always here <3

|masterlist|

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 imagines #formula 1 imagines #fluff #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris imagines #lando norris drabble #ln4 #lando norris fanfic #f1 imagine

[lilith-91]

Do you think that Lyanna and Rhaegar were seriously in love?

Yes. It’s literally so plain to see, you have to dig your nails deep in denial to think otherwise. You can read between the lines that GRRM wrote them as lovers.

GRRM has described himself as a romantic and ultimately R+L will be framed romantically (yes yes it has problematic implications when you think about it, but so do many other relationships that the series frames romantically, not least because these books were written with thirty-year-old sexual mores).

He dies with her name on his lips, she with his roses in her hand.

The subversion of “dragon kidnaps girl and valiant lover knight fights a war to save his beloved from her tower” when in truth the “knight” turns out to be a bit of a manwhoring douch who slept with every woman he came across, and the girl loved the dragon he slayed.

The gender subversion of the beautiful Princess with the beautiful voice and the valiant knight who stands up for the weak.

The tale of Bael the Bard, in which a Stark maid associated with winter roses disappears with a singer and comes back with their son. A male relative takes part in his killing and presents it to her as some kind of victory, but it actually breaks her heart, and she dies “by tower”.

Lyanna being heavily asscoicated to Winter Roses which were given to her by non other than Rhaegar Targaryen when he named her his Queen of Love and Beauty. Roses in general are a symbol of love while the blue rose adds a hint of mystique and in attanining the impossible.

Rhaegar, the emo Prince, who was said to have been never truly happy, named the place he stayed at with Lyanna the “Tower of Joy.”

Dany seeing a blue flower growing out of a wall of ice, which filled the air with sweetness in the HotU during the love section of her visions. It's a clear hint of Jon Snow being the love child of Rhaegar and Lyanna who will likely also be Dany’s third and final husband.

Ned confronts Robert about not truly loving Lyanna, because he only ever saw her beauty and not the Iron underneath- it’s implied that the big moment between Rhaegar and Lyanna was meeting her as a Knight who valiantly defended the honor of the weak, not some lovely little maiden spotted at a feast as she would have been to Robert.

The author refers to Rhaegar as a “love struck prince.”

And of course, we have this official new artwork by Justin Sweet, one that GRRM personaly commissioned, which frankly gives me some misguided hope that TWOW is nearly upon us. lol

I love the interplay of light and dark given what we know of these characters: Rhaegar with his sense of grief/doom is fully in the shade of the enormous heart tree while Lyanna is in the half-light half-dark, perhaps representing her own more optimistic and less convoluted worldview. She's exploring, finding balance; he's watching and seeing something he admires that somehow exists in all the twists and inescapable turns of the forest engulfing them.

The third 'person' in the art is the heart tree itself, old/wise/frowning, but also cradling both Lyanna and Rhaegar. They're both connected to it, representing in a sense that their fates are sealed and known. This is a stolen moment they're having (it's a false spring) but despite the simplicity it's still connected to the much larger world around them.

Another point I like is the lack of sigil etc. on their clothing—we know who they are but the interaction is not one of Targaryen to Stark on it's face. [there's also this other art by the same artist which parallels Lyanna and Jon's poses + Rhaegar and Jon's clothes

LAST AND MOST IMPORTANT THOUGH: the blue roses at the bottom that are firmly in the light.

Conclusion: Rhaegar and Lyanna were intended to be your classical tragic love story; think Romeo and Juliet or Tristan and Isolde and whatnot, not Rhaegar kidnapping some random girl to have a Visenya. Although Rhaegar’s desire to have a third child probably pushed him into pursuing his passion in running off with ‘his Lady Lyanna’ too use some of Ser Barristan words here.

#asoiaf #game of thrones #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #got #house targaryen #house stark #jon snow #rhaegar x lyanna

[amalythea]

「 stars 」

⤷ info: kazuha, traveler, venti x gn!reader (separate) || angst-ish || wc: 1180

⤷ warnings: mentions of death (not reader), v sad thoughts, i tried to keep traveler themselves as gn as possible too but please do tell me if i missed something, writing for traveler actually killed my braincells

⤷ extra: i used the prompt xiv. “she’s talking to angels, counting the stars.” from @thexianzhoujade 's personal memoires (of the dearly beloved) event!!

kazuha.

In the tranquil solitude of the night, beneath the vast expanse of stars, you sat on the ground, your silhouette outlined by the gentle glow of moonlight as you gazed up at the stars above. Your heart ached with the weight of loss, your thoughts consumed by memories of your one love Kazuha.

Once, he had been the light of your life, his laughter like music to your ears, his gentle touch a source of comfort in times of need. But now, he was gone, taken from you by a cruel twist of fate, leaving behind only the echo of his presence and a void that seemed impossible to fill.

Every night, you would come to this secluded spot, the one you used to visit together, where the stars seemed to shine just a little brighter. It was here that you had shared your dreams, your hopes, and your love. And it was here that you felt closest to him, as if his spirit lingered among the celestial canvas above.

With a heavy heart, you whispered Kazuha's name into the stillness of the night, your voice barely louder than a breath. "Kazuha," you murmured, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Do you see the stars, my love? Are you watching over me from beyond the veil of the heavens?"

You closed your eyes, letting the memories wash over you like a gentle tide. You remembered the way Kazuha would hold your hand as you sat together beneath the night sky, his words a soothing balm to your troubled soul. And you remembered the promise you had made, to always be together, even when the world conspired to tear you apart.

But now, that promise lay shattered, scattered by the winds of fate. Kazuha was gone, his laughter silenced, his touch but a distant memory. And yet, you could not bring yourself to believe that he was truly lost forever.

For in the depths of your grief, there was a glimmer of hope, a belief that somehow, someway, Kazuha had found peace in the afterlife. You imagined him reunited with his dear friend, the two of them laughing and reminiscing beneath the eternal light of the stars.

And so, each night, you would come to this sacred place, your heart heavy with sorrow yet warm with the belief that Kazuha was watching over you, his love a guiding beacon in the darkness. And as you gazed up at the heavens above, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that wherever Kazuha was, he was not truly gone.

For as long as the stars continued to shine, so too would the memory of your love burn bright, illuminating the darkest corners of your soul and reminding you that even in death, your bond would never be broken.

traveler.

In Teyvat, where the winds whisper secrets and the stars tell tales of heroes, there once was a traveler from a distant world. This traveler had been searching for their sibling, and in the midst of their search had found someone else they cared for: you.

Your love knew no boundaries, spanning across the nations and beyond the reach of time itself. But fate, like a capricious deity, had other plans. Your lover, in their quest to protect the fragile balance of Teyvat, met their end in a valiant battle against a formidable foe. And as their spirit ascended, leaving behind a world engulfed in sorrow, you were left to wander Teyvat alone.

Every night, as the sky painted itself with the luminescence of countless stars, you would go up to the highest peak you could find. There, beneath the blanket of twinkling lights, you would sit, your heart heavy with longing, your eyes searching the heavens for a glimpse of your lover.

"They're among them," you would whisper to the ethereal void, your voice carrying both sorrow and hope. "My love, shining bright among the stars."

In those moments, you would feel a familiar warmth wrap around you, a fleeting sensation that whispered of your lover's enduring presence. You imagined them traversing the celestial expanse, a celestial wanderer among the constellations, watching over you with tender affection.

As time unfurled its tapestry, you found solace in your nightly ritual. The stars became your confidants, the silent witnesses to your whispered prayers and tearful confessions. And though your lover's physical form had departed, their essence lingered in the gentle caress of the night breeze and the shimmering radiance of the cosmos.

And as you gazed upon the heavens each night, your faith unshaken, you found solace in the belief that your lover had returned to their celestial home among the stars, finishing their search at last.

venti.

In Mondstadt, where the winds sing their eternal melodies and the stars dance in the night sky,

Venti, the mischievous bard of Mondstadt, was known for his jovial spirit and melodious songs that enchanted the hearts of all who listened. But amidst his carefree nature, there was one whose heart he held dearer than any other – his lover, a gentle soul whose love for Venti burned like the brightest star in the night sky.

Your love was as boundless as the vast expanse of the heavens, and together, you would spend countless nights beneath the vast expanse of the sky, nestled in each other's arms as you gazed up at the twinkling stars. Venti would weave tales of ancient myths and celestial wonders, his voice carrying across the night like a gentle breeze.

But fate, like the ever-changing winds, can be unpredictable.

One fateful day, Venti's song was silenced, his laughter stilled. News of his passing spread like wildfire, leaving behind a trail of sorrow that even the wind could not carry away. Your heart shattered into a million pieces, each shard a painful reminder of the void left by your beloved bard.

In the wake of Venti's passing, you found solace in the memories you had shared under the starlit sky. You would sit by the edge of the cliff overlooking Mondstadt, watching as the stars sparkled like fragments of Venti's soul scattered across the heavens.

In the quiet solitude of those nights, you would recall his words, spoken with a whimsical smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "If ever I should depart from this world," he had said, "fear not, for I shall join the stars themselves, and from there, I shall watch over you always."

And so, as you gazed up at the luminous tapestry above, you couldn't help but smile through your tears, for you believed with all your heart that Venti was among those celestial beings, guiding you with his eternal light.

Though the ache of loss never truly faded, you found comfort in the belief that Venti's spirit lived on in the stars, a constant reminder that your love was as infinite as the universe itself. And so, you continued to watch the stars every night, knowing that somewhere up there, Venti was watching over you, his laughter echoing in the celestial chorus that danced across the night sky.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢ #「 birth of a supernova」 #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #astronetwrk #kazuha x reader #traveler x reader #aether x reader #lumine x reader #venti x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kazuha angst #traveler angst #aether angst #lumine angst #venti angst #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #kazuha x reader angst #traveler x reader angst #aether x reader angst #lumine x reader angst #venti x reader angst #genshin x reader angst #genshin impact x reader angst

[merakiui]

11:11 — sugar dew sewn anew.

yandere!rook hunt x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, violence, murder/death of reader, description of blood/injuries, rook is rather morbid and creepy in this fic note - this fic is the result of a character fic poll, in which rook was the winner.

“You wear a very forlorn face when you paint, mon cher.”

You swivel on the stool, legs unfolding at the ankles, to properly peer past the easel at the man who sits in a gold-and-white satin chair, backdropped by various animal heads. They’re mounted with such care, each one organized according to where it lies on the food chain. They almost form a pyramid when you look at them from where you’re seated. From a dusky brown house mouse to a pitch-black crow, the heads range in species and size, all arranged on a vermillion wall. 

The biggest one, sitting in the very center of the display, right above your client’s head, is a chestnut-colored buck with a pair of magnificent antlers curling from its scalp. From where Rook sits, it almost looks like those horns are sprouting from his head. Contemplating the discrepancies between man and buck, you swirl your brush through a muddy cup of water and survey the rest of the aureate placards until you reach the top.

There’s a mount lacking a head. 

It was the first thing you took notice of after stepping through the halls of this quaint cabin to reach the sitting room. Although, after spending hours enclosed in cedarwood walls, it feels more like a trophy room—a place meant to showcase the spoils of every hunt rather than welcome people with disarming decorations. 

Rook crosses one leg over the other and, resting his elbows upon his knee, steeples his hands. You peer at the antlers, noting the valiant curvature, before meeting his verdant stare. A grin slowly sprawls on his lips once he realizes you’ve caught his gaze. 

“I concentrate on my source,” you explain with a shrug, still twirling the brush through the water. “Steady focus makes a steady hand…or something along those lines.”

“And yet you never smile, even when working so diligently to bring your masterpiece to completion.”

“If I viewed it as such, then I would have reason to smile.” Your contemptuous scowl slides to the canvas, where you’ve painted two dull green eyes set into a freckle-speckled face. The beginnings of a smile trace the portrait’s plush lips, withholding secrets no one will ever know. “I’ve yet to create a masterpiece. Therefore I can’t smile.”

“Oh, you’re much too critical of your art!” Unclasping his hands, Rook places one upon his chest, as if he must calm his heart after hearing your response. “I’ve studied your work, both through a screen and in person, and as your devout follower I can wholeheartedly say it is beautiful in every way, even down to the miniscule flaws other critics often spot with sharp, perceptive eyes!”

“You speak as if I lead a cult,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m just painting the things I find interesting.”

“For a reason, I assume?”

“Usually it’s to find inspiration for what I hope will be my first masterpiece. I’d like to finally feel proud of my work.” The brush peruses the colorful selection on your palette, settling into the green you’ve mixed from yellow and blue. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I just can’t find it in me to love what I produce.”

“But you enjoy creating, yes?”

“Of course. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. Painting allows me to understand the world and its inhabitants through my own lens.” You put brush to canvas in a series of small, significant strokes. “So when I’m painting… Well, I guess I just want to try to love the things I put on my canvases, even if it’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Then I’m beyond flattered you would ever consider using me as your most beloved muse!” He tilts his head, suddenly more animated than when he first sat down to pose for you, and adds, “I love you, too. Very much, my little artiste.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll paint you handsomely?”

“Why, I would never say anything that would influence or persuade your process! Just as I love sweetly and solemnly, I also love monstrously and mercilessly. The primal facets of humankind are not exempt from my loving eyes. Even the most dirty and deceitful corners of this world—I love those just as fiercely. So should you choose to depict me as a fiend, I will adore your representation regardless of its harsh implications. After all, there’s beauty in tragedy.”

“And would that make life the greatest tragedy?” You hum as you add a sadistic glimmer to the eyes on the canvas. They pierce you with their unblinking stare, hollowing your soul until they reach unfathomable depths. “Or maybe it’s the ability to love with such a big heart?”

“Are you suggesting love is a tragedy? I suppose, in some sad sense, it is. Unrequited feelings, shattered hearts, lovers separated by way of death or divorce, and even the type of love that curdles like spoiled milk—oh, the misfortune! Each is a tragic tale spun from a mixture of melancholy or the intensity of hatred and all-consuming loneliness. But even so, no matter how horrendous it may seem, I hold each in my heart. They’re beautiful because they have the unique ability to shape a person into someone new—for better or for worse.” 

You lower your arm, hesitating while the excuses rise to the surface, before turning to look at him. “I’ve never known real love, Mr. Hunt, which is why I’m trying to capture it while I paint. I suspect I’ll be able to smile at my work because it will be something I’ve fallen in love with. Only then can I consider it a true masterpiece.”

“Your way of thinking is simply très bien!” He drums his fingers along his knee, humming his contemplation. “I’d love to unscrew your skull and poke through your brain. I wonder what memories have shriveled your ability to love…”

“It’s not that it’s shriveled. It’s just…” You shrug, losing your previous statement. “The words ‘I love you’ are just that—words. I have no use for meaningless sentiments. If I force myself to love, it feels wrong. I can like people and things, but loving them is too much. I can’t cross that line. If I did, I’d be a liar.” 

“Ah, so it’s like that…” Rook chuckles, but none of what you said was remotely humorous. His voice lowers to a whisper, ghostly and haunting, as if wrapping around your head and settling into the very folds of your brain. “I find it charming that you’re unable to love and I love too much. We possess many differences, and yet at the very center of it all we’re merely human beings composed of flesh and blood. It’s a beauty more stunning than the most radiant sunset!”

You pretend to have not heard him, resigning yourself to your work as you spend an absurd amount of time trying to illustrate the peculiar glaze in his eyes. They’re always so bright, but here you’ve painted them as soulless, viridescent sockets—a dark, dense forest having lost its vivid greenery with winter’s frost. But then there is not an ounce of ice within Rook’s eyes. They are always smoldering with many things: enthusiasm, intellect, new opinions just waiting to be shared regardless of whether or not you wish to hear them. It’s a genuine warmth, but something feels strange. Out of place. Much like the headless mount poised right above Rook to form the tip of the pyramid. 

Why is that mount lacking a head?

Without realizing it, you’ve abandoned your task with fixing his eyes to start on the antlers poking from a head of canary-hued hair. 

“You live up to your surname, sir.”

“Please, you’re much too formal with your fan. You need only call me Rook, should it suit your fancy.” He giggles when you pin him with a dubious glare. “Is it so wrong to label myself as such? I go to great lengths out of admiration and support of your work. Wouldn’t that, by definition, make me your fan?”

“I’m not very famous.”

“In my eyes, you are the famed sun and I am merely the moon who hopelessly pursues.” 

“Really? Well, I wasn’t aware I had an eloquent hunter for a fan.”

“Do you find my hobby eccentric?”

“No. It’s normal to enjoy all sorts of pastimes. Hunting is as much of a hobby as it is a sustainable sport. In older times, most people would hunt for the sake of survival.”

Rook nods, his gaze flicking towards the heads on the wall. You dip your brush in brown paint to add more color to the antlers. “It takes immaculate patience to be a hunter. Most hunts are not always successful.”

“Is there a reason you hunt?”

“It’s in a human’s nature to obtain the unobtainable, and I seek beauty in its most visceral forms.”

“I see…”

“Do you?” Rook crosses his legs again, but this time his posture is stiffly statuesque. “Is obsession not the most flattering form of dedication?”

“It’s not exactly how I’d go about defining dedication… But then I suppose everyone has their reasons.” You steal a peek at the headless mount. “Do these heads mean anything to you?”

“Why, of course! They are the beautiful animals I have pierced with my arrow, whether or not I intended to. Often, when you trek through the territory of beasts, you might need to release a mortally wounded animal from its suffering.”

“So a mercy kill.” Your eyes return to the painting, where you set to work adding tiny blossoms along the curved antlers. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

“So goes the cycle of life, I’m afraid. I would be a daring fool to interfere with the balance of the world.”

“Have you ever lost any of your hunts?”

Rook hums, tapping out a rhythm against the top of his hand. The pads of his fingers fall in rapid succession: tick, tick, tick, tick. “As a matter of fact, I have! Just last week, after your departure, I lost the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for years now.”

“Years? Shouldn’t you give up?”

“Not until I feel that mouse’s heart beat within my enclosed fist.” He smiles wide, flashing flawless rows of pearly whites. Under the dim lighting, they appear sharp and predatory. “I suspect I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“How can you be sure? Mice are difficult to catch with bare hands. You’ll need a trap.”

“Mon cher, you wound me! I would never make such an amateur error.” He chuckles to himself, relishing in the cruelty of a joke that doesn’t quite land. “When I set my sights on something, it’s a guarantee I will catch it, even if I must play a dreadful waiting game.”

“My apologies. I was only passing on a helpful tip.”

You pull away from the canvas to inspect the strands of white dahlias curled around the man’s antlers. Frowning, you raise your arm, intending to slash through the portrait with a streak of black paint, when it occurs to you that you need only add red. 

But before carmine, you return to nature reflected in wide greens.

“Has my dear artiste ever hunted before?”

“No, not really. I seek inspiration all the time, but I wouldn’t call that a hunt.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“There are stakes in a hunt. Life and death. Danger. A battle of wits between predator and prey. Looking for inspiration is just a matter of searching and exploring. It might lead some down scary paths, but for me it’s a matter of reading more books or taking a stroll through the town. I don’t like dangerous things, so I tend to avoid them.”

“It pays to be cautious, no?”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be the same, Rook? As a hunter, don’t you worry about what might happen if you aren’t careful?”

“Of course there are worries! That comes with every profession and hobby.” He gestures to the plastic tarps plastered to the floor and walls. “You worried you’d sully my floors, and to ease such a fear I put these protective plastics up. My worries for hunting may be different, but they are worries all the same.”

“I guess that’s true… Well, what do you worry about?”

“Whether I’ll be fast enough to catch my prey when they’re unarmed and unaware.”

“O-Oh… That’s a little…”

Rook laughs a guttural laugh—a sound that comes right from the depths of his chest. “Imagine something you’ve always wanted. Picture it slipping through your fingers, just out of your reach, and now you’ve lost the chance to seize it. Is that not worth a worry or two?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never tried to chase after things I knew I wouldn’t be able to have.”

“Mon cher, you must learn to take risks. How else will you live?”

“I live perfectly fine without the need to step out of my comfort zone.”

Rook hums. “I think you’d change your tune if you found yourself in a risky situation.”

“Define risky.”

“Life and death.”

You pause, your brush poised at the pupil in his eye. “Everyone wants to survive. It’s in our nature as animals. A very basic instinct.” 

“And despite our most dedicated efforts to stall the inevitable, death catches us all—some sooner than most.”

“This is getting kinda…morbid.” 

“Haven’t you wondered,” he asks, and you don’t hear the wood creak under approaching feet, “what someone might do if they found your corpse?” 

He’s behind you. Five steps away in this cubic space. The man with antlers has crawled out of the canvas that once confined him, and he’s behind you. 

The mount on the wall lacks a head. 

The man in the chair lacks antlers. 

The creature in the portrait lacks humanity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a voice recorder tucked away beneath the chair. 

You swallow thickly, your heart in your throat. “I… I’m not sure. I’d hope they’d give me a proper, respectful burial if I died of natural causes.” 

And if it wasn’t natural causes? 

You don’t hear him verbalize the question, but somehow you catch it amidst the smothering silence.

“If it wasn’t natural causes…” You force a laugh, but it’s flat and misplaced just like the headless mount. “That would be murder, right?”

His shadow looms behind you, cast ominously dark over the earthly colored canvas. Slowly, so slowly, your free hand lowers to the pocket in your artist’s apron, where a dozen palette knives rest. Trembling fingers peruse the selection, locating the one with the sharpest point, and it’s the heaviest burden you’ve ever secured in your fist. You remain sitting horribly still on the stool, listening only to the frantic, slick sound of blood rushing in your ears. 

Steeling your frayed nerves, you whirl just as he descends. 

There’s a pause, a stumbled heartbeat, and then raw fear coagulates into confusion when you find him sitting primly in his chair, his verdant stare striking through you as if it’s an arrow he’s just loosed. It hits its mark, for it leaves you pinned in perplexity. 

He was behind me.

“And… And what about you?” you ask, your tongue heavy and thick in your mouth. “If someone… If I found your corpse, what would you want me to do with it?”

He was behind me. I’m sure of it.

“That wouldn’t happen.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile, and he angles his head curiously. “Normally it’s the other way around.”

You see it, then. The silver glint of a sharpened meat cleaver. It lies in his lap, where his fingers curl around the wooden handle, and all while holding eye contact he continues to smile. His teeth are refined cutlery in the light: artfully honed, yet not quite serrated, they’re tough enough to bite and tear and chew. Like a deer trapped in the hauntingly hypnotic glow of oncoming headlights, you don’t dare move. Perspiration wets your brow, slides down your back between your shoulder blades. You lick your lips. Anticipation claws through your intestines, nestling in the very pit of your stomach. Bile creeps its way up your throat like acidic fingers.

What’s happening?

“Come now, ma souris, don’t give me such a sullen face! I’ve shown you my hand. Isn’t that a miracle more beautiful than life itself?”

Your hold on the little palette knife tightens. “One person’s going to leave this room,” you say, your eyes sliding to the recording device, “and it’s not going to be me. Isn’t that right, Rook?”

“I can’t possibly say,” he affirms, dulcet and smooth like rivers of blood running ruby-red from a broken nose. His finger drums a rhythm against the flat side of the cleaver. “But I can certainly guess.”

Carefully, you rise from the stool. His eyes track you, so full of the vitality of the color green. More than that, they’re bright with bloodlust and you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of his cutting gaze. He peers at your unfinished painting and chuckles.

“Even your interpretation of me is beautiful! It’s an honor to be your fan, ma souris. Truly, I’m quite happy.”

You brandish the palette knife as if that will do anything to protect you from him. He stands from his seat, a monster adorned in gloomy garb. Like a stain against the red wall of heads, he no longer fits into the picture you once thought he did. Rather, he is blight in human form, a sinister omen housed within a skeleton encased in friendly skin. 

And he’s walking right towards you, putting one foot in front of the other, in no hurry to rush. The cleaver taps against his hip as he approaches, each bump mirroring every one of your heartbeats with startling accuracy. 

“Are… Are you unhappy with my portrayal?” you ask, not particularly interested in his reply, but desperate to keep him talking at arm’s length. 

For every step he takes, you take two backwards. 

“Not at all! In fact, I’m flattered.” Rook narrows his eyes at you, sickly entertained. “You’ve made prey out of a predator. Not many are capable of such a generous feat.” 

Your back connects with the door. Swallowing thickly, you search for the door knob. “Do you really see yourself as one? You don’t have to be one. Y-You can be neither. You’re only human.”

“Ah, but humans are the worst kind of predator.”

“What makes you say that?” Your fingers wrap around the metal door knob.

“Humans are afforded choices. We think through decisions. We make merry with our enemies and then hurt them after they’ve properly settled. We are complex in a way that differs from other animals. Predators are bound by survival, always trapped in high-stakes life or death, unable to truly make a decision that ventures beyond whether they wish to live another day or become sustenance for those who sit a rung above on the food chain. You see, we are not simple predators.” He raises the cleaver and points it at you. “As for humans, we can decide if we want to feel something when we hurt and kill. We can communicate in languages simple predators can’t use. Oh, the beauty of words!” He chuckles, elated. “To pluck a phrase from my vast lexicon: I’m going to take your life for myself, ma souris. Stow it within the depths of my very soul so that I may be the only one to treasure your rarity.”

The confession guts you quicker than his knife ever could. 

Wrenching the door open, you turn on your heel and step through, ready to break into a sprint, when heavy footfalls make their way towards you from behind. He covers the meager distance in seconds, wrapping a muscled arm around your torso and yanking you back into the room. You scream, words and sounds mixing into something incoherent, and elbow him in the ribs with as much force as you can muster. He releases you and you, fueled with panic and adrenaline, drop to your knees just as he swings, your hand closing around the palette knife you had previously lost. 

Somehow you manage to get back on your feet when he descends again, this time intentionally missing your shoulder when he brings the cleaver down. It cuts through the sliver of space between empty air and your own body, narrowly missing you by a hair. You throw yourself against the wall, entangled in a plastic tarp that comes loose from its hooks. They fall around you in noisy pitter-patters, something akin to metallic rainfall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thump.

And all the while, the mounts continue to peer at you with glass eyes.

“There’s no need to fall over yourself in a frantic haste. You’ll waste all of your energy, and even then adrenaline won’t be enough to fuel you. I’ll catch you if you aren’t careful…” He smiles at you from where he stands, green eyes cold with calculation. “Let’s take a moment to chat, shall we? I’d like to regale you with the five stages of the delightful thing known as prey drive. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“No, of course not,” you spit, vitriol lacing every syllable. Your pupils flit about the room, tracing the cleaver in his hand and then flickering towards the chair. The recording device sits in shadow, just within your reach. If you can stand up, take two steps forward, and drop down when he moves to intercept, you might be able to retrieve it. “Enlighten me since you seem so eager to run your mouth.”

Rook chuckles and enunciates his every step with a whistle. He reaches the chair in three steps and kicks the recording device out from under it. You watch it skid across the floor towards you, settling mere inches from your feet. You glance at it; it’s still recording, seconds stapled into it with every tick of your heart.

“A dog searches.” His back is turned to you, and he gazes at the mounts on the wall. You lower just enough to swipe the device from the ground. It’s not heavy in your palm; rather, it’s palm-sized and it slips into your pocket like a silent knife through butter. “And when it finds, it stalks. Have you caught the pattern yet?”

His neck is right there. All you need to do is rush up to him, grab him from behind, and drive the palette knife so far into the side of his neck that it’ll surely cause some sort of distress. Or you could turn and run. You have evidence. You have his address. You have your car. You can escape. You can drive far away from this horrifying cabin in the woods and never return. You can live. 

You can run.

“And from there…” 

So you do.

He whirls just as you dart through the door, over the threshold into the hall, and you miss the crazed twinkle reflected in wild, untamed green eyes. Rook’s laughter follows you, airy and light like a comforting breeze. He’s alive with murderous delight, and you’re nearly dead with fright. 

“Ensues the chase!” he calls out, so close in the cramped confines of the hall that his voice nearly grazes you. 

You swallow your sobs, pressing onwards with hardened resolve, and follow the length of the hall until it spits you out into another room. It’s undeniably a kitchen, what with the refrigerator and microwave pushed into a corner, but it’s furnished more like a lab. Nearly every appliance is metallic and the floors are tiled, constructed with surfaces that are perfect for washing away pesky fluids. A drain is built into the very center of the floor, sticking out like the nastiest bruise. You spy meat hooks hanging in place of where spatulas and whisks ought to be—both of which are innocent culinary tools meant to assist in food preparation rather than something killer. 

Spinning on your feet, you locate the door opposite of where you stand in the small kitchen-lab and take a momentous step towards it, hoping it leads you closer to an exit and further from your hunter, when a cold hand seizes your wrist, spidery digits curling into your skin. A shrill scream rips from the depths of your throat, surely shredding your vocal chords into bloody ribbons. You struggle, yanking your arm in vain, for his hold is impossibly strong. He tugs you towards him, his feet moving in time with the shuffling of yours. It’s a stiff stalemate of a waltz. You pull away and he pursues, his hand creeping up your arm in an attempt to pin it to the nearest surface. With another helpless shriek, you tear yourself free, staggering backwards against the metal table, which rolls further away on well-oiled wheels. Your horrified reflection blinks back at you in the shine, and with a sunken heart you realize it’s a dissection table. 

“Mon cher, I must say, you wear disarray so naturally. It’s far too forbidden for my simple eyes to behold.” 

“Why… Why are you doing this?” Your voice is thick with terror, sore from screaming, and you wipe furiously at your glossy eyes. “Please stop… You’ve had your fun. Now… Now let me go. I… I promise I won’t come back here again. Y-You can keep all of the supplies and the canvas. Just let me go…”

A secretive smile stretches slowly across his lips. “Oh, how Fortuna graces me with the benevolent opportunity to admire these special sides of yours. To be able to witness the rawness of pure horror after cornering the most dangerous animal of all…” He pricks his finger on the tip of the blade and adds in a breathy whisper, “Beauté.”

A disgusted shiver claws its way up your spine. You glare at him. “So it’s the thrill you enjoy, yeah? It doesn’t faze you that you’re going to kill an innocent person?!” 

He tilts his head. “Rather than snuffing your light, I intend to give new life to your excellence. In many ways, aren’t I also an artist?” 

“Like hell! You’re crazy!” You take a step back when he advances, moving towards you like a graceful panther stalking its prey. Your grip on the palette knife tightens. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?” 

“Nothing, mon amour.”

“N-Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing!” he reaffirms, rather conversationally, and the frustration-riddled tension in your body deflates all at once. 

“But… But I thought—” You shake your head, hopelessly searching for a means of convincing him otherwise in his pursuit, and say, “I thought you… You said you loved me! Can you really hurt someone you love?”

Rook hesitates, his feet shuffling to a halt, and he peers blankly at you, all emotions veiled in a stoic mask. “While it’s true that I will always cherish you in life, I must also come to love you in death. If I’m unable to accept even the rotting and decaying sides of everlasting love that most shy away from, then I’m simply undeserving of my title as a hunter. If I seek the wonders of life, it’s only fair I seek the wonders of death all the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No! In what world would I ever understand that logic?!” You point the palette knife at him. “You don’t have to kill me. You really don’t have to…”

“I suppose, if I’m to apologize for anything, I should ask that you forgive my greedy behavior. I’m hopelessly infatuated with your work, so allow me to thank you for all that you have shown me tonight. I promise to repay your tenderness tenfold.”

He smiles, stepping aside to allow you passage through the door, and foolishly you take the bait. It’s a run through tar—something you’d only ever experience in a dream, in which outrunning a villain is an impossible task. You make it through the door and out into the hall, and from there your only goal is to mindlessly flee towards safety. Tears obscure your vision, clinging to your lashes like fragile sugar dew. 

You think you see the outline of a faraway door, but perhaps it’s just the illusion brought on by mournful tears. 

You think you’ll make it to freedom, but perhaps it’s just the animalistic desire to survive that ignites your nerves. 

You think you can escape the horrors of encroaching affection, but it slips into your hand, tight and reassuring. 

Tugged into the kitchen-lab, your back collides with Rook’s chest. His grip is bone-crushing, and you don’t hear anything he’s saying—is he humming or waxing poetry?—but you feel the warmth of spreading blood as it soaks through your shirt and stains your artist’s apron. The palette knife slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. You peer down at your abdomen, where the cleaver is snugly nestled in your stomach. 

The cleaver. 

It’s in your stomach. 

He’s stabbed you. 

The cleaver. 

It’s in your stomach. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not at first. The shock snuffs the agony. He twists it gingerly, once or twice, before he yanks it out. Sticky strings of torn flesh and blood cling to the blade, connecting it to the injury he’s inflicted. Then you feel the rush of torturous, agonizing pain, and it stings more than anything you've ever experienced before. Red-hot, thick trails of blood trickle through your fingers when you shakily place your hand upon the wound, hoping to stop the flow. Rook clicks his tongue and guides you towards the dissection table, your feet dragging bonelessly upon the floor as you’re led along. You try to fight him, but everything’s so painful, and so all you can manage is a slight shake of the shoulders. Your world spins, and your mind reels as it struggles to process the dangerous gash. 

“After the chase,” he says, lowering you onto the table despite your blubbery protests, “the dog grabs its prey in a sharp-toothed bite and then it kills.” 

“S-Stop… You…” Your fingers curl into shredded skin, and you press down with as much strength as your shuddering body can muster. Blood continues to seep through the cracks between your fingers. “You… You’ll kill me…”

“Well, that’s the point, no?” Rook pets your cheek, fondness glittering in his green eyes. 

You peer up at him through bleary eyes, reaching for his face with a trembling hand. “Please… I’m begging you… It h-hurts… Please…” A helpless sob wracks through your frail form. “Please, Rook…”

For a while—whether an eternity or merely a few seconds, it’s hard to discern—he watches you fade in and out of consciousness, your groans a haunting melody in the discomforting quiet. Eventually, his hand finds yours on the table, limp and twitching, and envelops it in a firm hold.

Blissfully ignorant to your wheezing gasps, he begins to murmur: “‘Out—out are the lights—out all. And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, ‘Man.’” He looms over you like a ghastly shadow, lips arranged in a gleeful grin. “‘And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.’”

The time is 11:11 at night when you finally fall into Death’s frigid embrace, never to wake again. 

11:11 - the mystical time at which the universe tugs celestial cotton from its ears and listens to wishes and woes alike. it is not a promise that all wishes will be granted and all woes will be soothed at this hour.

The time is 11:11 in the morning, and sweet, twittering birdsong flutters into the trophy room through a window left ajar. 

The sun has long since risen, casting radiant beams through the thinning slices between the trees. Rook Hunt hums as he works, deft fingers perusing various cosmetics arranged on a metal tray. Eyeshadow is applied to delicate, paper-thin eyelids, each one pinned open in the permanence of preservation. Glass marbles are set into hollow sockets, colored in memory of the eyes that were once attached to a brain via optic nerves. He matches foundation to the skin tone, which works well to hide meticulous stitching and mottled flesh. He’s humming in tune with the birds, the nearby rushing stream, and the swaying foliage caught up in a wind gust, relishing in nature’s symphony. 

“You claimed you’d finally smile after you’ve learned to love,” Rook observes, petting the top of the head, feeling human hair beneath his rough, calloused palm. “And now you beam brighter than the sun outside! Perhaps it’s because of me? You’ve always been so honest with your heart. It’s a facet I most adore.”

His gaze slides towards the unfinished painting propped against the wall, where an antlered man smiles at his viewer, his green eyes filled with a mysterious forest. 

“Have you always thought me to be prey?” Rook pauses, awaiting an answer, and snatches a lipstick from the selection. “Or maybe this is an artist’s ideal vision… Perhaps it’s a fantasy you’ve wished to see or a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Escapism is most magnificent when it’s comforting.” He opens the lipstick and surveys the color with his observant greens. He inhales deeply and catches notes of the cedarwood cabin walls and the floral perfume he spritzed on his dear artiste. “Though it may not be your masterpiece, it’s one that will forever fascinate.”

Red blooms on dry lips that can no longer scream or protest. He cups a cheek stuffed with the finest wood wool, palming an area that was once bruised and broken. The grisly mark has been painted over, and now it is out of sight and, as far as the hunter is concerned, out of mind. As the saying goes, before one can broach beauty, one must suffer some degree of destruction. 

Rook steps down from the ladder and sets the tray of cosmetics on the gold-and-white satin chair. He lifts his hands, fingers forming the borders of a rectangle to frame you in his own portrait. At long last, the headless mount has its head and the pyramid of trophies is complete. There’s a crooked smile sewn into features expertly stitched to finalize beguiling taxidermy. 

With a covert grin, Rook peers through his fingers at your head situated at the very tip of a tragic triangle.

“After all, prey are the prettiest when they’re dyed scarlet.”

#if i said jade's version of this concept was far more lighthearted would anyone believe me? #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook x reader #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: violence

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Then They All Fell To Their Knees As He Raised His Fist Before He Spoke Chapter 1

Summary: Elrond decides fuck it and joins the fellowship of the ring. Sauron should be getting very worried right about now. Title from Hells Comin’ With Me because that’s kind of the vibe here.

He appraised those before him, many valiant warriors certainly, some with enough good in their hearts to perhaps fight the corruption. Maybe they would stand a chance, just maybe, of overcoming this darkness. They would have to he supposed, after all the age of the elves was coming to an end, his kind were dwindling after so many ages of loss, few remained on these shores and fewer still of the famed heroes renowned in song.

Even they were chiefly renowned in songs recounting their heroic deaths, their last stands, their attempt to fight against total despair just that, attempts; brave ones of course but…. The Elven heroes of song almost always failed, with particular emphasis on those coming from the house all three of his fathers belonged to who in their case were quite literally doomed, ‘to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well,’ summed it up quite succinctly he thought.

Now, Earendil had circumvented that Doom for himself but only by forsaking all else, an untold sacrifice of all he held dear and through incredibly fortunate timing that was unlikely to be replicated and they certainly couldn’t wait for. If there was hope to be found was it really to be found in those great heroes? Perhaps their time had truly passed, now their only role was to provide shelter and counsel to those who needed it and protect their own until the time came to sail.

Had they not already given enough to this Middle Earth? Now they were truly spent and the other kindred must finally learn to do this completely for themselves, they’d needed him less and less as the years wore on regardless, fewer travellers coming through as his house’s existence was occasionally forgotten to mortal memory . In a few more millennia it would be as if they’d never been there.

He was willing to see it done, the Fellowship of the Ring with the hobbit as Ring Bearer, least likely of all the kindred to be corrupted if Bilbo Baggins was any example to go by. He was willing to see it done until the youngest hobbit appeared from where he’d been observing proceedings and demanded to be included in the quest. Elrond knew he would not be able to turn him away, just as he and Elros could not have been made back down from bearing arms at what must be a comparable age.

How many times must this happen? How many would have to sacrifice their innocence for their safety, make such impossible decisions for those they loved? Could he truly let this continue, let more people continue to suffer as he and his brother did in a world torn apart by war? He could not in good conscience stop Pippin from fighting to save Middle Earth from subjugation or refuse him his loyalty to his friend but perhaps he could protect him as he hadn’t been protected.

If Earendil had broken the Doom through sacrifice Elrond would do it through sheer righteous fury. One thing the Noldor could not be criticised for was their lack of will to keep trying when all the odds and common sense were stacked against them. Besides, Luthien and Beren had won against Morgoth. Perhaps he could take some of those ‘whatever the opposite of cursed is’ genetics and combine it with the stubbornness and fury to end this once and for all.

He was definitely not doing the ‘and my weapon’ bit though. This was a time sensitive matter and it would take many more years than they had for him to list all the items he had on his person that would be considered weapons in his hands.

*****

They waited for Elrond to finalise it, surely he must say something, after all this was his council so it only followed that he would announce its end. He simply furrowed his brow, Frodo wondered if perhaps he had decided they may not have hope after all; if Elrond believed it was futile he wasn’t sure what they would do next. There was nowhere else to go, no one more likely to have all the answers.

After a tense moment’s pause Elrond rose to his feet, all eyes in the room waiting for him to voice his approval of the quest. He announced with suitable solemnity ‘You will be the Fellowship of the Ring.’

Gandalf nodded to Elrond in a private moment of conference, accepting the path that had been chosen. Then, for the first time in Frodo’s memory, Gandalf seemed genuinely taken aback when his old friend continued to speak, eyes widening in complete shock.

Elrond smiled at Frodo, with just as much kindness as he had before but an edge of something, of light and passion glinting in his silver eyes that Frodo hadn’t seen anywhere before. ‘I will accompany you on this quest also and give what assistance you may require to see it to its end.’

This was met with a moment of confused silence, no one quite knowing if they had understood correctly; it was one thing for a reckless young archer prince from Mirkwood to volunteer his services but elven lords- elven lords known for their scholarly and healing prowess at that- did not go on quests. They simply didn’t, they hadn’t for more generations than hobbits as a species had existed for, they hadn’t since the One Ring was new to the world.

Glorfindel was the first to recover his voice, ‘My- my lord are you certain?’

The advisor at his side, Erestor if Frodo remembered correctly, looked at him incredulously, distracted from the look of pure exhaustion he was sending towards Elrond, ‘Of course he’s certain. We hoped this day would never come but just look at him, he’s gone full Finwean. There is no way you’ll be able to get him to back down now.’

The look of pure terror that took hold of Glorfindel at these words, when he had shown not a trace of concern at those black riders, was staggering to behold as he swung around in his chair and stared at Elrond in horror, ‘Elrond- I beg you to think rationally. Please don’t do this.’

Elrond spoke gently, ‘Glorfindel, you needn’t worry, I can manage-’

Glorfindel exclaimed in despair ‘I’m not worried about you! You don’t understand, your family will kill me if you pull a Fingolfin. We’ve gotten so far, you can’t do this to me now.’

‘Glorfindel no one is going to hold you responsible. I’m several millennia old, they know I make my own decisions-’

‘Do you think that will be enough to hold off the Lady Idril if I tell her her only grandchild rode off to face Sauron the year he was meant to sail! That’s not even to start on if the Feanorians in Aman have recognised your adoption as making you a genuine heir to their house, they’ll tear people limb from limb! Starting with me!’

Erestor seemed much more calm about the whole thing, inquiring in a voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘Will you require a large hound of some kind? Since we seem to be resorting to plan L of our Last Alliance contingencies?’

Elrond did not pay him much heed and began to move on to other matters, ‘Arwen will take care of Rivendell, she’s more than capable.’ Here Gandalf shot Elrond a questioning look and Elrond nodded in response which seemed to both satisfy and surprise him going from a brief rise of the eyebrows.

‘And I have full faith my captain and counsellors will assist her should she need it. My sons will muster the Dunedain, they are not as many as they once were but I’m sure Aragorn can attest they may be of no small importance in the fight to come.’

‘Is there anything else?’

*******

By the end of the week Elrond had set as much in order as he could, organising a few packs, mostly comprised of whatever healing herbs he may struggle to forage for and anything he thought his companions likely to neglect, he had enough faith to know Aragorn would pack well but it was best to be cautious for the rest of them.

The hobbits were not used to such journeys and while they could be relied on to think of things that would be nowhere on anyone else’s list of priorities such as, from what some of his rather mystified kitchen staff had informed him, pots and pans, they may pass over more urgent matters such as tertiary blades in case they lost their first two. They would have packed at least two wouldn’t they? He’d heard the Shire was a peaceful place but surely not so peaceful they wouldn’t carry little knives in their boots just in case? Maybe it would be best he pack them five each as a precaution.

The old motions brought more memories back than he usually cared to respond to all at once, Maedhros drilling into him what he would need to have on him at all times, yes even while still in Amon Ereb you never knew when orcs could attack, grabbing the essentials from a camp that needed to be abandoned without a trace faster than anticipated.

He knew he was putting this off, it was a greater struggle than he should like to admit to relinquish the power Tyelpe’s last creation gave him; despite never seeking it out, to feel it leaving him, especially on the brink something that would require any reserves of strength he could call on, was no small thing.

The longer he left it the higher the likelihood he would manage to convince himself it was unnecessary when he knew how disastrous the consequences would be if one of the three left Rivendell, where it was safe from Sauron’s designs and protected this place that was so dear to him and would not survive without it.

He found Arwen by the shores of the Bruinen, the spray dancing about her hands as if it had already recognised her as its current mistress; perhaps it had. There was a melancholy air about her, an apprehensiveness; the fate of this quest certainly held more at stake for her than many others as now it would include both her love and her father in the balance.

He carefully slipped Vilya from his finger and gazed upon it for one last time, cradling in his palm the flawless work of one of the greatest smiths who had ever lived, his beloved, far too trusting, cousin, betrayed for his good nature by one he had let into his halls.

This was for him, for his Tyelpe and for his king who had pressed the ring into his hand, entrusting it to his keeping, in the bright dawn of the day he had ridden off never to return, a parting gift to the person he had loved most in the world, given with a chaste kiss to his hands.

This was for Celebrian, his wife who had endured horrific torment and suffering at their hands, who had been forced to leave by the vindictiveness of all that Sauron had created. This was for all of them, what they had begun must finally be called to completion, they must finally be able to see that it had not been for nothing, he would not sail and join those he loved until they could rest in the knowledge that Middle Earth was safe, that their tormentors were gone.

He could not hope to succeed if he allowed his desire for the power he could call on from this ring if situations left his control to cloud his judgement of what would truly be best for their goal. He must be able to trust that he was strong enough himself, if he was going to need to fall back on external power to save them once things got challenging there was no point in this entire endeavour.

So he smothered any lingering hesitancy and sat by his daughter’s side, holding the ring out before her. ‘I think it is time you take this, my daughter. It will give you the power to shelter this valley from those who would do it harm in my absence.’

She met his eyes and took it, watching for any hint of reluctance to relinquish it, cautious as he had taught her of the snare objects such as this held on those who possessed or coveted them. He watched her place it into her finger with a combination of many emotions but mostly an overwhelming sense of pride.

She closed her eyes and he could feel her mind pushing out cautiously around her, prodding her and there and embedding herself into the valley’s fabric, the force of the river setting in her consciousness with the throb of her heart, the earth beneath her bursting into bloom quite suddenly with the excess of power flowing through her veins and spilling out in the form of a few new rose bushes on the river bank.

The valley may have been reluctant to accept another guardian after so long, even one who was in many ways familiar to it, so to intertwine with it fully Arwen only needed a little push. Elrond’s heart was somewhat lighter after discovering that the process did not push him out of alignment but only have her settle in beside him, even without Vilya he could feel the hum of the valley around him as he had before.

He was also much relieved that he hadn’t been relying on the ring as much as he’d feared, hadn’t become complacent enough to forget years of training and he felt his- well Galadriel didn’t like to call her own abilities magic but he was less certain about that matter in his case, as, he believed, was she though she hid it well- was as honed as ever, restless and waiting for a chance to be set free on it’s unfortunate enemy.

When Arwen opened her eyes at last her eyes were wide and shining, reeling from what she felt coursing through her, suddenly having things that she had only glimpsed in her father’s eyes her entire life at her fingertips in a single moment. She had most likely never looked more like Luthien Tinuviel, the certain sense of the otherworldly enhanced to a degree rarely seen in those with as slight Maia heritage as her.

‘Ada, I,’ she blinked rapidly trying to carry a train of thought through when bombarded by that of so many in the valley’s at once than she was used to, finally setting for a disbelieving, ‘Is this how you feel all the time?’

Elrond chuckled, ‘You get used to it my dear.’

‘Really?’

‘Just give it a few thousand years.’ The glare she gave him was met with perhaps less cowering and a good deal more chuckling than she would have liked.

#silmarillion #tolkien #elrond peredhel #lotr #arwen undomiel #gandalf #frodo baggins #celebrimbor #gil galad

[secondjulia]

Dessert

Oh my god... it that 1.2 seconds of Ferdie getting felt up in Silo that can fuel an entire Dreamling fic?! It is? It is!

Rated: M for pretty clear implications Warnings: None Ao3 link

Dream gave a tiny, unimpressed sigh, his eyes flicking imperiously down toward the square of chocolate cake. 

Hob had spent centuries pining after that lordly, impossible-to-please face. And despite his efforts to drag his dignity and self respect into the twenty first century, there was still a small part of his heart (and certainly other places) that leapt to attention at the sight of Dream’s distain. 

Still, it seemed a bit harsh for a simple piece of chocolate cake.

“That was not the dessert to which I was referring, Hob,” Dream said, sounding as disappointed as he had when Hob shared the news of his knighthood.

“Well, the cookies are gone,” Hob said defensively, pushing the plate into Dream’s hand. “And this isn’t half bad. ’Bout as good as you can expect from a work party—“

Hob stopped abruptly as Dream’s free hand brushed his arse. 

Dream’s other hand set the offending cake aside where it might as well have disappeared into the void at the end of the universe. “I wished for… a different sort of sweetness.”

Hob swallowed hard as Dream’s long fingers more firmly explored the juncture at the top of Hob’s left thigh. Dream’s other hand moved to his right side. Hob glanced around at his coworkers milling around the History Department’s atrium in stupid holiday sweaters and availing themselves of the free food and wine. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off his horny boyfriend for long. 

“Dream.” Hob leaned in close and kept his voice down. “Did you learn how to use innuendo?”

Dream scoffed in the lowest, most dignified way a person could possibly scoff. “I am Prince of Stories, Hob. I know how to employ metaphor.”

“Yeah, but you don’t. Not here. Not like that.”

Dream shifted in his seat and pouted. “People’s wishes are… clearer in the Dreaming.” He looked up at Hob in that way he always did when struggling to explain exactly why the little absurdities of the waking world were so absurd. “I may craft stories, but even those things that pass the Gates of Ivory have a clear purpose. The waking world has more rules about what is said and what is not.”

“And you’ve decided to learn the ropes,” said Hob. “Brilliant!”

Dream’s left hand crept around Hob’s backside in what Hob could only assume was retribution for his snark and for underestimating the Prince of Stories. Hob’s breath caught as Dream’s long fingers pressed almost into the crack of his arse. He glanced around again at the lackluster party. It was not nearly crowded or exciting enough for an extended grope by the dessert table to go unnoticed. The front of Hob’s jeans was starting to feel uncomfortably tight. And the smirk that had replaced the imperious expression on Dream’s face said that he’d noticed.

“Perhaps,” said Dream, “with your… instruction… I might learn a great many things about the interactions of waking men.” He gazed up at Hob with a smoldering look which would have been abundantly clear even without the glaringly obvious words and absolutely lascivious tone.

“Yeah,” Hob breathed. “I could teach you a thing or—“

“Robbie! Robbie’s boyfriend!” An exuberant mass of dark hair appeared beside them. A bit of wine sloshed out of a plastic cup and onto Hob’s shoe. “Hello!”

“Hi, Jess,” Hob managed, making a valiant effort to smile in the natural and totally not-intensely-aroused manner appropriate for a work function. He wriggled slightly out of Dream’s grasp. He didn’t know if he should be grateful for the sheer quantities of alcohol academics could put away when they finally got a fucking second to relax. Or if he should be afraid of the tongues that might wag being loosened by it. “This is Morpheus. Morpheus, Jess.”

“Indeed. I hope you are enjoying the festivities,” Dream said, standing. “We are just taking our leave. Ho—Robbie was about to show me to his office. It seems he has left some of his… duties… as an instructor undone.”

“Of course! Holidays are the worst!” Jess rolled her eyes. “Can’t we ever get a break?”

“Never,” Hob said, taking Dream’s hand in a punishing grip, which his lover returned in full. “At least enjoy the food!”

And then he practically marched Dream out of the History building atrium and away from the prying eyes of his colleagues.

“You know I don’t have my own office,” Hob said as they wound through the deserted halls. “Seven other people have the key.”

“Hmm.” Dream looked thoughtful as Hob led him to his office anyway because what else was he going to do with a boyfriend who’d suddenly decided to use his indomitable power of words for such purpose?

When Hob opened his — thankfully empty — shared office, Dream paused in the doorway. Then in a swirl of sand, Dream was suddenly holding a shiny black mechanism.

“What is that?” Hob asked.

“A lock fashioned from the dreams of a master locksmith. No one in waking existence has the key.”

Hob’s breath caught as, in another swirl of sand, a part of the door dissolved into dreamstuff and Dream set the new lock in place and — more sand — reconstructed the barrier. The bolt slid shut with a hard, heavy sound.

And then Hob was being backed into the edge of his desk and there was no mistaking the meaning behind Dream’s questing hands nor the nature of the desert Hob would be serving his love tonight.

#dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #dreamling #tom sturridge #tom tuesday #ferdinand kingsley #silo apple tv #fanfic #nsft #does nsft mean not safe for tumblr? #is this not safe for tumblr? #Help I don't know the rules.... #How much reference to sexytimes is nsft? I ask because a couple other people added the tag to my last fic... #my fanfic

[definesanity]

Short Battle, Long Debate.

Taglist: @thewindstale, @chocoenvy.

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

Daylight was a rarity in Snezhnaya. Some say that, when it does appear, it is a blessing from Their One True Leader. Others, an extension of The Tsaritsa's will.

Today was neither of those days, Arlecchino thought, observing the battle between Their Grace and Columbina. While Columbina was, of course, incredibly powerful, Their Grace appeared to be able to hold their own; a result of training, The Knave believed.

Now, Arlecchino wasn't against long matches, but normally, whenever she got the slightest scratch, The Damselette would make a fuss over it. Of course, it's usually one-way. Arlecchino has confidence in The Third's ability, and yet, watching the battle, even as Columbina used her Electro to zap around and manipulate gravity to her whim, The Creator held their own.

So, Col did the obvious thing: play dirty. It wasn't a common occurrence, despite what many a Fatuus say, but she does do it once in every eleven missions. And, given how she spends most of them calmly watching the world burn (or, in her words, 'watching the world change. Rapidly'), it was still a once in a blue moon event.

And yet, perhaps that was for the best: Columbina's ability to control gravity has been with her ever since her recruitment, even before Arlecchino's time. Add to her proficiency with a dagger and her Electro Vision and mostly unused Cryo Delusion and, lo and behold, you have a little shit of a Fatui Harbinger. One that was under Arlecchino's gaze at all times.

Oh, their relationship is a curious one alright. But, that's a story for later.

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

For you, dust suddenly blew around you, knocking you back. When the dust cleared, you saw Columbina's dagger striking against Arlecchino's rapier.

"Whatever happened to fairness, Col?" asked The Knave as The Damselette jumped back.

"Heh. Rather ironic, coming from you, Arle."

She launched again, striking, with Arlecchino blocking, then jumping behind her, with Arlecchino blocking that while not even turning around, before sliding under and trying to swipe, only to dodge as fire erupted from The Knave's blade.

"...I see how it is. Very well, then." Columbina gave a smile filled with malice. "Fight for me, little dove."

And fight they did; both were agile, both were capable... in the end, it ended only because you called it off. Girlbosses fighting is cool and all, but death isn't something you'd like to dish out.

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

"See, Their Grace only called it off because I was winning," Columbina stated. "You gave a valiant effort, but given the gap in our strength..."

"In strength, perhaps, yes, you'd be impossible to beat." Arlecchino replied, walking next to her as you all walked the halls of the Palace. "But in tricks? Beyond your little gravity trick, all you have is speed."

"Oh? But Arle, you'd win anyhow; I'd be far to distracted by your beautiful appearance to even use my tricks..."

"You say it as I use it to my advantage. I recall, however, that you tend to use your appearance to your own advantage."

"Hm? How so?"

"Fontaine. Need I say more?"

"Hm~m... perhaps you do?"

The white-haired woman gave a sigh. "Someone, after seeing you flaunt yourself 'out of boredom', attempted to buy you over with a night of passion. You replied by fluttering your eyes, smiling, stabbing them in their heart and replying that, quote, 'My heart belongs only to my dove'."

"Hmm... ah, yes, now I remember. Though, there is one small inaccuracy in that; I said 'my Arle', not 'my dove', though I admit to that also sounding like something I'd say."

"...Col."

"I know, I know... I should've burnt the body."

"Col."

"How was I to know they'd find a Fatui Insignia next to the body? I'd say someone was out to frame us."

"Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down? And, no, I was referring to why you stabbed them instead of ignoring them."

"Well, you didn't hear what they said."

"Forgive my intrusion, but was it, 'What are you gonna do? Stab me'?" you asked, with Columbina nodding, her eyes closed once more.

"Well, 'going to' instead of 'gonna', but yes. I believe that was a fair trade?"

"No. And besides, what did they do beyond trying to buy you over?"

"We~ll, when I mentioned my pure, maiden heart belonged to a handsome dove, they decided to start insult you. I simply could not let them get away with that."

"And the reports of them missing numerous bones and organs?"

Columbina shrugged, a smug smile on her face. "What? I was hungry."

"Archons above..." Arlecchino sighed. Turning to you, she gave a nod. "Thank you for helping us stretch our legs, Your Grace. We'll be on our way now."

You smiled. "My pleasure. And, word of advice; try and keep her under control? I like my organs."

"So do I. And, what do you think I've been trying to do these past few years?"

"But Arle...!"

"'But' nothing, Col."

#ryuusei's works #genshin impact #genshin cult au #sagau #arlecchino #columbina

[scottxlogan]

5 Sentence Drabbles

20. Cookies (Bucky/Tony)

76. Broken Pieces (Emma/Steve)

Okay so I cheated a little bit in these as I think they might've hit the 6 sentence marks lol, but still....here you are. (Under the cut)

20. Cookies (Bucky/Tony) Thick clouds of darkened smoke poured out into the hallway accompanied by the piercing sounds of the smoke detector as Bucky rushed into the kitchen area fully prepared to find a war taking place. Instead, Bucky discovered Tony hunched over the now open oven with a red and white checkered hand towel in front of the cloud of smoke, waving it in a desperate attempt to pave the way towards leaning forward and salvaging the charred remains of what he’d been working on within the industrial sized oven. “What’s going on in here?” Bucky was almost afraid to ask as a visibly flustered Tony worked to extract what was left of the blackened, round rocks of death he’d been baking before his lover’s arrival.

“You talked about loving chocolate chip cookies, and I wanted to surprise you by giving them a go for your special day…so happy birthday baby,” Tony beamed with the same sideways, triumphant smirk he’d carried with him in his every attempt at problem solving as in this baking disaster Tony was still bubbling with the same enthusiasm Bucky had grown so very fond of.

Bucky took it all in with a smile, soaking up the smoke and the sight of the cookie batter over Tony’s Kiss the Chef apron with the way Tony’s eyes lit up at the sight of Bucky while Tony proudly held his charred death rocks on the cookie tray, so hopeful in his approach as Bucky bridged the distance pulling Tony into a deep, appreciative kiss knowing that in that moment he’d never loved Tony Stark more.

76. Broken Pieces (Emma/Steve) A diamond is never supposed to shatter, but for Emma Frost she’d spent a lifetime hoping to pick up the fractured pieces knowing that the dream of the knight in shining armor was nothing more than a fable told to placate young girls into believing in true love, yet she knew better than to believe. Scott Summers had proven that even the good guys were capable of far more pain than love was worth, so after that Emma had closed herself entirely until that fateful Hellfire Gala when Steve Rogers came searching around working to find his way into her world. Steve had been relentless and determined, hoping to prove that not all nice guys could prove to be thoughtless and horrible and soon Emma began to feel her diamond-hard skin repair itself and heal finding hope for the first time in a long time that perhaps the white knight was more than a myth.

“Give me a chance to prove you wrong,” Steve had once suggested as he laid his claim to winning over Emma’s jade heart and soon much to her surprise and delight, Steve proved to her in his valiant efforts that romance was still possible for a broken girl with a cold heart who’d been lost from the world for so very long.

Now as Emma found herself staring into the impossible blue eyes before her of a man determined to prove her worth, Emma found herself coming around to believing that perhaps true love was still a possibility in her life after all.

Thanks for these. They were fun!

Five Sentence Drabble Prompts

#winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #iron man #winter soldier #emma frost #steve rogers #captain america #white queen #five sentence drabble prompts #writing

[flower-assato]

[Sound Horizon] ⭐ Pico Magic - The Lineage of the Thunder God

Pico Magic Masterpost ✧||✧ Albums ✧||✧ Website

⬅️ prev  ✧  next ➡️

Lyrics

★ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⟡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ★

Following the death of the one-armed hero Who saved the world, A city was built on the very same land Where he sealed the evil god. Acting as a barrier to uphold the seal, It served as the cornerstone of a long-lasting peace.

Those with the Proof (Crest) of Thunder Branded into their proud right arms Were known as the Clan of the Thunder God. The secret of the clan, a mystery told as legend; The chronicles of a boy, Tracing the lineage of the Thunder God.

The weaker they are, the more they band together In search of a scapegoat. The days of his youth spent without knowing love Wrought pain of a searing stone.

Keeping his lips sealed shut, He held onto his knees and braced himself. If he took shelter from the rain, it would eventually pass. And a storm is no different.

Does an emblem (crest) that lost its shine Hold any real power? The small, outstretched hand of the girl Looked so big to him…

Within the palms of history, what remains untold Is the story of how the boy and girl met. Like a flash of lightning, Ten years pass by in a single moment. And now… The black history is set in motion once again…

Gazing up at the faraway sky With an aching in my chest… All I can see in the distance is her lovely smile, While knowing in my heart these impossible feelings Will never be returned…

Why must you, my beauty, be the daughter of our leader? You are betrothed to the strongest in the clan, As commanded by the immutable law of our people.

Ah… am I unable to protect you, With this arm devoid of power (thunder)? None can match the power of my feelings for you— No matter how hard I shout, My words only vanish into the wind…

The end of an age. A suitor for the eldest daughter Was to be determined on her 16th birthday. As her birthday approached, the fiercest warriors of the clan came forward to vie for her hand.

The end of an age. A sinister aura enveloped the entire city. Dark clouds brewing in the sky Ushered in "The Third Storm"…

"Oh no… how can this be? I can see the shadows of people clad in black robes… We mustn't let disciples of the chronicle Breach the innermost barrier. They are trying to break the seal on the evil god! The blood of the Thunder God has been so diluted, We can barely harness the smallest thunderbolts. Ahh… how frightening! The almighty power that will shake heaven and earth… It's coming, ahh, it's coming…!"

A howl that tears the earth asunder, Claws that rip through the heavens; A pair of six wings that ignite an inferno. Bewitched by eyes that held insurmountable darkness, Brave warriors fell one by one…

Ah… is man so powerless in the face of god? The moment before all Were to be consumed by deep despair, A peculiar blinding light Struck the powerless (thunderless) young man's body…

"Awaken… O valiant youth who inherits my right arm— Hear ye, heir to the power (thunder) of my lineage… In a bygone era, my right arm was lost whilst Charging a spear of thunder to seal The Evil One (god). If the power (thunder) within thee unleashes now, Thine arm along with thy body shall be blown apart… Art thou prepared to give thy life? …Then awaken now, O 『Right Arm of the Thunder God』!"

"Power (Thunder) is too much For one person to bear alone, But together we can do it, I believe in us!"

On that day, lightning pierced through the dark clouds Upon the reunion of the boy and girl. And now… two emblems intertwined To weave a brighter age (future)…

"…ma… hey, grandma… grand-ma!" "Why'd you stop? What happens next in the story?" "Oh… right, sorry." "So then, the Thunder God defeated the evil god, right? Didn't he?" "Well… I wonder about that… It's a story from so long ago that I've forgotten…" "What…! That's not fair…" "The truth is… the power of the Thunder God Didn't really matter in the end… Because that girl loved the boy Ever since they first met…"

…my Grandma said, eyes shining with tenderness As she smiled softly. …It left a deep impression on me. …Something tells me The lineage of the Thunder God isn't over…

★ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⟡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ★

T/N

[coming soon]

🎵 Support Sound Horizon on the official YouTube channel & Spotify! 🎵

#Pico Magic #Sound Horizon #Flower Assato

[valiantheartofficial]

Valiant Heart: And The Impossible World

“Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.”

- The Great Dictator 1940

Valiant Heart & The Impossible World

Chapter one: A New Beginning

Beep, Beep, Beep.

Merely opening one eye was an arduous task. Her eyelid felt heavy, and her vision was blurry.

Her eyes were normally a brown comparable to the bark of an oak tree on a warm summer's day, with a small ring of yellow around her pupil reminiscent of golden sap. Yet now if gazed upon it would be the myriad of reds and purples of violent bruising that one would notice first, as one eye could barely open and the other was too swollen to comply with such a simple command.

She opted to move her head and was immediately rewarded by a sharp pain in her neck. She tried to move her one ‘good’ eye and found she couldn’t focus on any one object in her barely functional line of sight, other than the glowing of lights above. Abandoning her mostly useless eye, she instead tried to focus on other sensations instead.

The dulled clatter of tools in trays. The squeak of wheels on the floor far away from her. Hushed chatter she couldn’t make sense of. Her entire head throbbed with pain. It took all of her concentration to put what limited intelligence she collected to form a guess.

“I’m in a room.”

She thought to herself. On a bed in a room to be precise.

“Nice work, Sherlock.”

She chided herself. Even trying to quip was a strain. Maybe she could sit up? She made to move her arm and found it held firmly in place, and another twinge of pain for her effort. The attempt to move her other arm bore similar results, nor would her legs yield to her will. Her body was sluggish and limp, though not of her own volition or tiredness. Rather by some contraption weighing on her; Some harness that held her securely down and in a perfectly fixed position. Both arms and legs aimed straight down. A metal casket or helmet of some kind kept her head snug and facing forward.

She could hear small clinks and ticks around and on her. The sound of small sputters of steam from a radiator perhaps? She breathed in deep and could feel the metal casing over her mouth, feeding her cold, sterile air. The dull drum of pumps nearby? She had been laying next to some kind of respirator.

“I’m in a hospital, I think. But why?”

She tried to think back to the previous night, but everything was foggy. She woke up, didn’t eat breakfast, ignored her dying plant in the windowsill, didn’t take out the trash, went to work, had another uninspired day at the office, walked to her car-

Her train of thought was interrupted by a muffled ‘clank’ sound. The bed began to shift. Something had changed. The small clinks and sputters of hissing air around her grew more frequent. Her heart rate began to speed up. This was no hospital she was used to. All she could do was watch as a plate of metal slowly raised itself up from the top of her head and descended down over her face. Even with her dulled senses she felt the shift in her limb restraints as well. Little pricks and pokes on her bruised body as her ‘bed’ whirred to life. This machine had begun to dig into her flesh.

Being consumed by darkness, coupled with the feeling of being sliced open after being fully restrained was enough to finally break the dam of composure she had been holding onto. She began to struggle, the pain running throughout her body doing little to abate the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins in this acute moment of panic. While trying to thrash in her metal sarcophagus as best she could, the beeps that had awoken her grew louder and more frequent.

Beep Beep BeepBeep Beep

Even in her desperation and near feral state of fear, she could hear a multitude of frantic footsteps sprinting towards her. In but seconds she was surrounded by muffled panicked voices. Fingers prodding her mechanical tormentor and carts of tools being wheeled across the room to her side. This only exacerbated the situation in her mind. She tried to scream for them to let her go; At least she was certain that’s what she screamed. Even her own words sounded slurred and faint, overshadowed by a harsh and growing ring in her ears. She tried in futility to wiggle the mask off of her face. One voice silenced the others as it commanded them to hold her steady.

Her fight intensified, but against so many in her battered state she fared little chance of success. Her own unintelligible shouting and screams dissolved into unanswered pleas for help. She heard among the sounds of her bed’s motor and creaking pistons, a distinct “click” and all at once, her arm became numb, warm, and completely unresponsive. The creeping feeling of warmth spread to her legs shortly after, then her chest, and neck. Before she could croak out another feeble plea of mercy, the darkness claimed her.

~~~

The sound of tearing metal, cracking thunder, and the sudden force of the collision was enough to wake her. She opened her eyes right as her car went through the retaining fence. Everything around her slowed to a crawl. Even the feeling of her falling into the ocean seemed to play in slow motion before her. The rain falling looked so clear. She could see the surface of the water shatter like glass as the front of her car met head on with it. She could count entire seconds while the hard jerking motion forward sent her face into the steering wheel.

Then it all went dark again. What should have been the sharp pain of glass shards biting into her skin felt numb and easily ignored. The sounds of car tires screeching to a halt on the road far above her. Voices of people screaming and calling for help sounded so very distant and so much like a choir to the rhythmic drum of rain on her car. Frigid water was pouring into the cab from all sides, and yet all she felt was a warm and gentle caress on her skin. Like slipping under the covers after another long and thankless day at work. The sea under a stormy sky looked more akin to that of unforgiving tar then life giving water. As the windows creaked and cracked under the strain of the pressure. She drifted off to sleep for the last time.

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep.

~~~

A grogginess entered her consciousness, and she noticed the heaviness of her limbs. Turning her head to the right revealed a spacious room with wood plank flooring. dark green painted walls with gold filigree designs, and white trim floor moldings. A three foot rectangle brown sheet covered some kind of machine next to her bed; Small beeps and clicks emanated from underneath, with a set of rubber covered wires leading out from the base of the sheet, snaking their way up under the bed covers. The corner of her room had a lovely wooden round table and two chairs, and large potted plant sat by a large bay style window. Tilting her head up she saw a wooden fan gently spinning from the ceiling above the foot of her bed. The bed she laid in looked nothing like the one from her nightmare with it's wooden posts and frame, and a mattress with a heavy brown comforter and linen sheets of a soft grassy green hue.

Groaning with effort, she slowly lifted herself to a sitting position and rolled down the blankets. In doing so she noticed her body wrapped in bandages head to toe. Her skin seemed to slightly tickle as well. Like a small current off electricity was running through her. Looking to her chest, an exposed bit of skin was noticeable where a sticky pad of some kind was applied. It was square with rounded edges, the top of which had two affixed metal bits where the rubber tubes were connected.

She fiddled with the square for a moment before peeling it off, leaving a slightly discolored mark on her dark skin. As soon as the pad was removed, the beeps under the sheet covered machine fell silent but the clicks and whirring continued. A small light caught her attention above an ornate wooden door as its’ dark glass bulb flicked to bright red. That couldn’t be a good sign. Immediately she swung her legs over the side of the bed and made to stand. She felt a rumble in the ground that vibrated her legs. There was also an odd current in the air that tingled her skin.

What is that feeling?

She put those thoughts aside as she walked from the bed. There was a stiffness and soreness in her joints made every movement an uphill climb. Her body felt heavy and sluggish, and every step from the bed was exponentially more difficult than the last. By the time she reached the door her body felt ready to collapse under it's own weight. She slowly reached up for the door handle and tried to pull it down.

Her efforts were rewarded with a soft 'click' to tell her it was locked. She pulled down with as much strength as she had to the same result. Her frustration with the door was short lived as a sound filled her ears. The sound of rolling wheels and the clacking of heels on the floor from outside. Someone was coming and she was trapped. The adrenaline began to pump as she left the door and began looking around the room for another way out. She looked out of the window to see some sort of garden with trees and shrubs.

That'll do

She spotted a plant in a clay pot next to her bed and an idea for escape formed in her mind. Even with the pain shooting through her body, she felt a little less stiff with every step towards the bed. Just a bit lighter with every inch. Her adrenaline must have been working overtime to propel her towards salvation. She reached the plant and grasped the sides of the pot. She gave a great heave, and plant responded by barely raising a few inches off of the ground as a jolt of pain shot up Amelia's back and arms.

It's just a plant, why can't I-

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of jingling keys. She wouldn't reach the window in her condition let alone be able to escape through it in time. She needed a plan B and now. She mustered as much strength as she had left and slowly but surely the plant came off of the floor. The tumblers in the lock clicked. Sweat rolled down her back as the plant was raised higher and higher. The door handle jiggled and moved. It was now or never.

The door slowly opened and revealed a woman wearing a white coat that draped down to her heals. About six feet tall with a brass name tag on her chest and a red cross with a number 1 on a patch on her right shoulder. A starched Flossie upon her head to keep her blonde hair in a bun firmly secured, her coat sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and a pair of black leather gloves over her hands. Her coat lapels were connected by a large silver chain, and a small pair of round rim glasses sat out in front of her eyes. She pushed a large wooden cart with brass décor covered in a large white sheet out in front of her.

The bandaged woman reacted quickly enough with the pot at chest level now. She brought it down hard enough onto the ground to shatter it on the floor. The blonde haired woman jumped with a shock when the injured woman grabbed a piece of broken pottery in her hand like a makeshift blade to protect herself.

“Don’t. . . take. . another step!” she hissed with ragged breaths while gripping her jagged pottery. The blonde woman’s features dissolved from shock to concern as she watched the injured woman fight just to keep herself upright.

“Goodness gracious, Miss! Stop! You’ll hurt yourself!” she pointed and yelled. She made to move forward but stopped under the concern of being stabbed.

“Better. . . than being hurt by. . . whatever you have under. . . there.” the injured woman seethed and pointed with her weapon to clarify. The coated lady looked at her, almost like she was waiting for her to make her move before cracking a small smile. “What’s so funny!?” The bandaged woman barked.

“Pfft. . . My apologies, love. I just never thought of trying to attack someone with. . . breakfast.”

Lifting the tapered cloth revealed trays of food. Eggs, both scrambled and sunny side up. A few slices of golden brown toast beside still sizzling bacon and small sausages on a hot plate. Sliced apples next to a large stack of fluffy pancakes, and seared fish fillet. A glass pitcher of water next to a visible breath of steam emanating from the spout of a copper pot. No doubt coffee bubbled within. A tall glass of lemonade with ice and a set of small, neatly folded cloths atop a collection fine china plates and bowls.

The static in the air died nearly all at once as a wave of newly released aromas assailed her nose. Her adrenaline began to fail her as the hunger took hold, and her grip on the shard failed as well. Her shaking hand lost its strength and the piece of sharpened clay fell to rest on the now un-potted plant. A noticeable groan from her stomach broke the stalemate of following silence. She looked to the woman and then down to the food on the cart, then back to the eyes of the woman, still stifling a small laugh.

~~~

“So, what is this feisty young ladies’ name?”The blonde woman asked as she served more pancakes to the starving woman. The dark skinned girl shoveled the last piece of its predecessor into her mouth, eyes never leaving her host while she ate. She grabbed the glass of lemonade and chugged it fast enough to nearly incite choking on it. She stabbed the new stack with her fork and popped a chunk in her mouth to chase the sweetened fruit juice. With her spare hand she plucked a piece of apple and threw into her maw with the piece of fluffy brown morsel to be chewed together. The blonde woman sat politely and waited for her answer. The bandaged woman slowed her chewing long enough to squint suspiciously at the newcomer. A few more chews and all food in her mouth slid toward her belly.

“This is a hospital right? Shouldn’t you have my medical record?” she retorted dryly before taking a large gulp of water. The woman laughed again.

“That would be quite a challenge! The medical report says you were found floating in the sea with only some tattered slops to your name.”

The brown woman quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Clothes, love.”

She thought for a moment, and then kicked herself mentally. A memory of throwing her wallet into the seat next to her before starting her drive home yesterday entered her mind.

“Amelia. My name is Amelia Carver.” She said quietly, her eyes still fixed on the other woman. Her gaze only broke away to look down to see her remove one glove and outstretch her open hand. Her hand was fair skinned and delicate looking with red nail polish and a band on her ring finger.

“Selena. Selena Loch. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear.”

Amelia made no move to reciprocate her gesture, and simply prodded a piece of apple with her fork and shoved it into her mouth.

Selena’s smile shrank some at this, and pulled her hand back before putting her glove back on. “Not the trusting type, are you?”

Amelia looked into her emerald green eyes. She read Selena’s face carefully before answering. “Give me a reason to trust you.” she asked stoically.

Selena’s face lit up again. “Alright, love. A little tit-for-tat, eh? You ask me a question. I’ll give my best answer. Then I ask you one, fair?” she asked, watching as Amelia slowly nodded.

Alright, Wait for her to prod me about home and family. She probably wants to know if I have immediate family who would look for me if I went missing, or-

“You like the food?” Amelia looked puzzled at the question. That was her first question?

Probably asking small stuff to butter me up first.

“It tastes fine.” Amelia answered dismissively. Her vision now locked on her plate. Some seconds passed, and Selena was still quiet. Amelia looked up to see her sitting back straight with one leg crossed over the other. Her hands folded and patiently waiting for Amelia’s question.

Start with something small, but personal.

“How long have you worked here?”

Let’s see how long it-

“It’ll be 16 years in two months.” Selena replied immediately. Amelia sat back at her answer. It was far faster than she had expected. “Alright Ms. Amelia, my question. How old are you?”

She can’t possibly be serious.

“I’m 27.” Amelia scoffed.

“A fine, young woman in her prime. You struck me as such!” Selena laughed.

If she wants to waste her questions, fine by me. I need to learn whatever I can about this place anyway.

“Alright, my question now. What happened to my clothes?” Amelia lifted her arms up to display her starched hospital gown for emphasis.

What excuse do you have for getting rid of my stuff?

“Right here, love!” The doctor replied merrily as she opened a swinging side door on the cart. She reached inside and pulled out a leather satchel. She handed it over to Amelia who immediately began to fight to undo the belts of the flap. It felt heavy and unyielding in her hands and took nearly 10 seconds to get it open.

Sweater, shredded. Tee, shredded. Jeans, shredded. Shoes, surprisingly in one piece.

“I'm sorry dear. There wasn't much of your clothes left to mend. I had to fight the other staff doctors just to get them back. Hopefully getting what’s left of them will ease some of your troubled mind.” Selena forced a broader smile. Perhaps trying to extend an olive branch. Although judging by Amelia's scowl, that was clearly going to be an uphill battle.

Does this chick really think I'm going to be so easily played?

“Did you sleep well?” Selena asked, her words practically dripping with concern. Amelia’s face twisted at the audacity of her question.

“No.” she practically spit before dropping the satchel down next to her chair before slipping her shoes on. Selena’s smile faltered again. Amelia officially had enough of the games.

I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S MOCKING ME!

“That machine I was strapped into last night. What was it doing to me?” Amelia’s eyes narrowed.

“Machine? We had you on an examination desk.” Selena answered.

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I know that thing wasn’t an examination table.” Amelia’s voice started to raise.

“What did it look like?” Selena asked, reclaiming her cheerful manner.

“What?”

“You said you knew it wasn't an examination table. What did it look like? That’s my question.” Amelia leaned back threw her fork down with a “clink!” A look of dissatisfaction and annoyance on her face. She looked side to side. Selena sat quietly, waiting for her answer. Seconds passed, but they felt like minutes. Every so often Amelia would lock eyes with Selena. Seeing her still sitting all prim and proper like a statue, with that same stupid smile, still waiting for an answer. Amelia slumped down a little in her chair.

“I don’t know. . .” she conceded under her breath.

“I’m sorry, love. I couldn’t make that out-”

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?!” Amelia finally screamed. “I COULDN’T SEE ANYTHING! MY SIGHT WAS BLURRY! BUT I COULD FEEL THAT THING DIGGING INTO MY SKIN, CUTTING ME OPEN LIKE SOME KIND OF NASTY FROG IN A SCHOOL LAB!” Amelia waved her bandaged arms in front of Selena to accentuate her argument. Selena finally changed her expression. Her face shifted to one of curiosity and concern. She reached over to the cart next to them and pulled out a clipboard with paper on it. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket and with a ‘click’ she began writing something.

“I was hoping to save this for later, but you said your vision was blurry? Your hearing was muffled as well, correct?” Amelia shifted in her seat.

“Well yes, but-”

“And your speech was slurred and incomprehensible to even you?”

“Yeah but-”

“And you said you could feel painful sensations running throughout your body, correct?”

“Don't change the-” Amelia was cut off when Selena handed her some large negatives and paperwork.

“Near as we could tell. You suffered a TBI. A Traumatic Brain Injury. The swelling in your eyes and face in general were caused by a sudden and very forceful impact to the face. A miracle your nose wasn’t shattered by the blow.” Amelia remembered the drop into the water. The steering wheel.

“But-”

“What kind of accident were you in?” Selena asked. Her pen at the ready.

“I’m not crazy.” Amelia growled. Her voiced coated in venom.

“I didn’t say that.” Selena winced at her words.

“But you’re insinuating it.”

“I am not.”

“You’re trying to lead me and make he doubt what I saw.”

Now Selena cocked her eyebrow at Amelia’s bold statement. “What you saw?”

Amelia had finally had enough. She staggered to her quaking feet, and even managing to knock the heavy chair over backwards with a hefty shove. Selena leaned back and looked to reach for something in her coat. The now frantic Amelia clawed at the bandages and ripped them off of her left arm. The tattered gauze fell to the floor in strips revealing nothing more than small light colored lines on her skin. Barely scratches by any real standards. No wounds, no stitches. Only scratches, old scars on her arms, and sore muscles.

“But. . . But the machine. . .” Her words were cracking now. She ran her fingers over her arms to find something, anything to prove she wasn't crazy. “I'm. . . I know I'm not.” She slowly drew her fingers over her forearms. She looked back at Selena, with misty eyes. Selena leaned in and put her paperwork down. She took off her glasses and laid them on top of her pile.

“You. Are. Not. Crazy. But you were hurt. The dulled senses and machine you claimed that was attacking you was your mind trying to make sense of your accident. You were in a panicked state. You couldn’t get suitable information from your eyes or ears and you were hallucinating your situation. Numerous blood vessels in your eyes had ruptured. Your eardrums were blown out.”

She looked Amelia in the eyes. Her own green orbs were unflinching, caring, and honest. Amelia felt a lump in her throat now, and tried to think of what happened the night before. Sensations and pain were all that came to mind. She was screaming at a doctor with no evidence to her claims and even threatened her life when they met. She felt her face flush with shame and just looked down. Her legs were wobbling, barely keeping her up any longer. Her knees buckled. There was a clattering of dishes and a scraping of wood.

Amelia looked over to Selena supporting her. Her left arm was draped over Selena’s shoulder to keep her standing. After some fidgeting and a few tears, Amelia was sitting in a wheelchair. A decorated wood and brass frame with large rubber wheels. The cushion under her butt and behind her back felt like a cloud on her sore body. The cloth covered machine she woke up to had been mounted to the back and Selena was pushing her down a long hallway. Stark white with other similar ornate doors. Amelia was looking at some paperwork in her lap. Although, ‘paperwork' may not have been apt. More akin to that of a coloring book sitting atop her patient files and photos.

“So what is this for?” Amelia asked as she flipped through the pages.

“We need to assess whether or not all of your cognitive faculties are still present. Memories, motor skills, and basic knowledge can be damaged, warped, or be lost entirely. Please, it may seem silly, but do take it as seriously as any test.”

“Fine.” Amelia flipped back to the first page of the bound packet of paper. “Question 1. What is your favorite color? Orange.” She scribbled it in.

“Is your penmanship suffering at all?” Selena asked as she walked her around a corner.

“No.”

“Very good then.” Selena replied jovially.

“Hey, doctor.”

“Yes, love?”

“When do I get to be released?”

“Two weeks.”

“Do I have to spend all of it being wheeled around like an old lady?”

“Oh course not!” Selena laughed. “By our results, you should be able to walk freely by as early as tomorrow. Just so long as you don't cause trouble for the other patients.”

“Fair enough. Question 2. Which of these animal groups are extinct?” She scanned the paper over carefully. There were pictures of fish, mammals, birds, insects, dinosaurs? Weird cloud things? And something that resembled a cross between a robot and a jellyfish? Among other things that just looked fake. She rolled her eyes.

What kind of stupid question is this?

She quickly circled all the numbers of things that were clearly extinct and pure absurdity. She flipped the page. “What animal did humans evolve from? That isn't exactly proven yet.”

“Prevailing theories are acceptable answers.” Amelia shrugged, and wrote primates.

“Is the world round or flat? Oh come on!”

“I know some questions are ludicrous, but please don't scoff.” Selena hummed as she parked the wheelchair to open some large double doors. Amelia quickened her pace to finish this insulting test. Basic math, recite the alphabet. Draw this animal from memory. How many chromosomes do you have? Fill in the blank. Historical figures. Geography. Music. Vehicles. Chemistry. Oxygen concentration in the air? Name as many revolutions as you can? She moved through page after page and filled in whatever she could. She closed the thick binder as Selena parked the wheelchair in what seemed to be the opening of a large garden.

“Done.” Amelia stated as she passed the test over her shoulder to Selena. When she looked up however she was met with glare of golden light spilling through a large dome of glass up above, and the garden before her. It was the same garden she saw through the window and for the first time in a long while, she genuinely smiled.

She took the initiative and began wheeling herself out to the small stone path to see everything she could. Amelia couldn't explain it, but now she felt lighter. Whereas she struggled to lift a plant a quarter of her size. Now in the chair, she felt almost normal barring the pulses of soreness. Selena smiled at her childlike wonder before flipping through the pages. Carefully going over each answer and making a note next to some. Selena flipped back to the front page and made one more note in bold letters-

Level 8 Mental Hazard: Extreme care required.

Selena opened up a vertical sliding hatch in the wall next to the doorway and placed the test inside of a metal box inside. She closed the lid of the box, slid the door down and began to move a series of inconspicuous dials before pressing the center dial in with a 'click'. A small rumble moved throughout the wall and for a few seconds before returning to silence.

~~~

Amelia had to admit that the sun felt nice on her skin and eyes. She even took a moment to breathe in the sweet aroma of the flowers around her. The roses and sunflowers. Some she couldn't readily identify by the brown spiral shaped petals, or a pink one that looked just like a bird. She simply couldn’t take her eyes off one in particular. A flower that looked close to a lily is shape, however it bore a vibrant mixture of purples, reds, and blues with little spots of white on it’s petals. It looked almost like space. Amelia could have sworn it was just a trick, but the galactic design almost looked like it was moving.

Never seen one like you before.

Amelia smiled wider as she leaned in to touch a the enrapturing plant. With the disadvantage of being confined to a chair, the desirable flora was just out of reach. She tossed a cautious glance over her shoulder to see the good doctor was out of sight. This was her chance. She locked the wood and brass chair with a small lever. Planting both of her feet on the wooden slats they rested on, she slowly pushed herself up with one hand while reaching for the flower with her other.

“Oh shoot.” she whispered as her files and photos slipped off of her lap and onto the cobblestone path. She gave a heavy sigh. “Hey doc!” she called out. Silence was her only reply among the foliage. She sighed again. “The hard way then.” She slowly lowered herself off of the chair and onto her knees. She snagged the loose papers, photos, and x-ray negatives. Pulling them into a neat pile, but stopping on one in particular. A picture of her face.

“Girl, you’ve certainly seen better days.” she mused while looking over the picture. The image showed numerous bandages all over her head. The red spots on the gauze over her ears, her nose crooked, her eyes swollen shut. She could hardly believe that was her yesterday. It seemed impossible.

“A miracle your nose wasn’t shattered.”

“Numerous blood vessels in your eyes ruptured. Your eardrums were blown out.”

Amelia looked over the photo again. Yeah, she looked practically dead just the day before. Yet here she was, awake and talking. It seemed impossible for that to be her in the photograph. Her smile shrank, and an all too familiar anger began to swell in her chest. Her breathing quickened. She began going through the rest of the medical examinations. Every page seemed to contradict her state.

“Broken bones and numerous lacerations.” She looked at her arms and legs, just thin discolored lines.

Then why the bandages?

Pulling herself back into the chair, she grabbed the satchel off the back and opened it. She examined her shirt closely and saw that it was ripped up all throughout. Hundreds of little holes and tears at the torso. Her sleeves, ribbons. Her sweater and denim jeans were just as bad. Her clothes were completely destroyed and smelled of ammonia.

And yet.

Amelia clenched her hand into a shaking fist and crumpled what was left of her shirt in the process.

~~~

“Amelia!” Selena called out as she walked down the cobblestone path. The heels of her boots making and audible 'clack!' with each step. There were plenty of branching paths Amelia could have taken. Twisting around many large plots of soil, filled with exotic flowers, shrubs, and trees. “Where has that silly girl wheeled off to? Ms. Carver!” she called again.

“Over here.” Selena tuned left and followed the voice down a curved path to her left. She rounded what looked similar to a palm tree and saw Amelia sitting in her chair, next to a bench. The yellow rays of the early sun drenched her clearly with no trees in the way. Selena stopped just short and stood under the shade of a nearby tree.

“Ah, Amelia! I was just about to start worrying. You’re surprisingly fast for someone in your condition.” She laughed.

“Yeah, I imagine you’d want to keep an eye on me at all times.” Her tone sounded drastically different. She no longer carried a sense of careful optimism. Her voice had a distinct contrast to the warming sun. It was cold and calculated. Selena made to walk towards her patient.

“Hey doc, can we play that game again?” Selena stopped stopped walking just short of the shade she was standing in, and gave a small head tilt in concern.

“Something wrong, love?”

“That’s what I want to find out.” Selena felt the bite in those words. This felt vastly different from last time.

“Okay then.” Selena stated with some renewed confidence. “Should I-”

“I’ll go first. Where are we?”

“Well, your in-”

“Hold on now, I’m not asking some broad question, like what building are we in? Or what garden? I’m asking you where exactly is the location of this hospital on the map? I felt it from the moment I stood up, and I thought it was just my legs. But I still feel it, even sitting down in this chair.” Selena’s eyes widened slightly. “The floor, it’s all got this slight rumble in it, like it’s moving. You’ve been here what was it again? 16 years. I’m not surprised you don’t notice it anymore.”

“We’re. . . Over the sea right now.” Amelia cocked an eyebrow.

“You expect me to believe we’re on a boat.”

“A ship of sorts. . . I mean, you were found in the water.” She tried to laugh, but there was nervousness mixed into it. Amelia’s eyes narrowed.

“Alright, lets say I believe that. Lets say I believe this MASSIVE building can somehow stay afloat in the water. Strange that I would never hear or see anything in the news about this building sized ‘boat’ hospital, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, our facility is relatively new-”

“16 years isn’t relatively new.”

“AND we value our privacy on these matters.”

I’ve caught you slipping. Now just add pressure.

“Now I believe I can ask a question? Are you enjoying the garden?”

She’s trying to control the conversation again. Not this time.

“Yeah, yeah. These flowers are lovely.” Amelia half-heatedly answered.

“That’s wonderful to hear, love.”

“Yeah. Ya know, I’ve never seen flowers like this one. Where are these from?” Amelia Pointed to the ones that looked like a yellow bird.

“They’re from Asia.” Selena replied instantly.

“Where in Asia?”

“East Asia.”

She’s being vague. I need specific questions.

“So. . . Has your breakfast settled? OOOO maybe you and I could go sneak some deserts eh?”

“Sure, you have ice cream?”

“Oh my favorite! We have sooooo many flavors! What kind would you like? Chocolate? Vanilla?”

“Ya got cookies and cream?” There was a slight pause in Selena’s face at the name and Amelia’s eye twitched in agitation.

“I’m sure we have something that’ll suit your specific tastes, love!” Selena lowered her hands as she saw Amelia’s embittered expression.

“Why do I have these bandages on me if I don’t need them?”

“They’re sanitized and insulated to ensure you don’t catch anything and help you warm up from the water.” Selena’s answer was more robotic and stilted this time. Almost an automatic response.

“So let me get this straight. You wrapped me in sanitized bandages that also somehow keep me warm when I have no injuries?” Amelia opened up the satchel and pulled out her clothes. “How is it that I don’t have a single cut on my legs, arms, or body, but these were completely trashed?” Amelia lifted her shirt and jeans, letting them unfurl in front of Selena. The tears were significant. Her jeans looked closer to a long pleated skirt. Her sweater sleeves were hanging by threads. She let them drop to the ground.

“We’re as perplexed as you are. . . It must have been by some miracle-”

“Like the same kind of miracle that my nose wasn’t shattered by the blow? But it was broken. Lots of my bones were, And my eardrums were blown out, and my eyes had practically burst. It’s right here in the medical report.” Selena looked down to file in her lap and her smile wavered slightly.

“We reduced the swelling and a good night’s rest can-”

“Broken bones don’t heal in a night. Neither do eardrums, or soft tissue damage to eyes. It takes months. Sometimes years. It takes surgery, not sleep. You don’t need a degree to figure that out.” Selena bit her lip.

Did you really think I’m that stupid? I need to keep pressing her.

“Are you enjoying the sun?” She asked in a strained voice now.

“Yes. Now where am I?”

“You're out at sea.”

“What sea are we in?”

“That’s two questions.” Selena responded. Her smile cracking.

“You haven’t really answered any of my questions.” Amelia shot back.

“The Atlantic.”

“I crashed on the west coast. We should be in the pacific ocean.”

“You put-”

“I lied. Who are you?” Amelia’s voice was raising now as she crossed her hands in her lap.

“My name is Selena Loch. . . Head. . . Head doctor of this facility.” she was sweating now.

“What’s this facility’s name?”

“It’s name is Britannia Oceanic General.”

“As in England the country that’s part of Britain? Or United Britain, the landmass?”

“I’m. . .I’m not-?” Selena’s words were starting to crack.

“You’re not familiar with England? One of the most well known countries of the world. Even children know where England is and you somehow don’t?” Amelia let out a long sigh. “What is the United States of America?”

“Where. . . You live.” Amelia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright. Now that I know you’ve been lying about everything. Do you want to tell me anything that’s actually true?” Amelia emphasized her point by throwing her file at Selena. It didn’t even make it half way before falling apart. Selena didn’t flinch at her aggression, she simply looked down and stepped forward. She knelt down and started picking up the file’s contents. Amelia sat still, watching and staring daggers.

“I don’t know why I thought I could do the Ethic department’s job.” Selena chuckled. “I’m a doctor, not a briefing officer.” She shook a little dirt off of the manila file cover before feeding everything back inside. She walked in front of Amelia and held the file out to her. Amelia just stared back. She looked tired and understandably angry. Selena frowned. “That’s fair.” She whispered.

They were both quiet for a minute or two before Selena finally broke the air of silence. “You never let me ask my question.” As she sat down on the bench next to Amelia.

“Do I actually have a choice?” Amelia asked quietly.

“You always have a choice.” Selena whispered.

“I don’t believe you.” She whispered back. Her whole body was shaking. Selena leaned forward. Her perfect posture had dissolved as she looked down and folded her hands. She closed her eyes in thought for a moment before opening them again. “Whatever. Just ask.”

“Do you think I’m trying to hurt you?” Amelia leaned back and gently punched the arm of her chair. She huffed and scowled while Selena waited for an answer.

“No. Somehow I don’t think you’re trying to hurt me. . . Even though you hurt me.” Amelia felt a tightness in her chest. Selena felt heat in her cheeks.

“Do you know why I lied to you?” Selena still didn’t look up.

“That’s two questions.” Amelia countered.

“You asked me two questions in a row.”

“You asked me like 10 earlier.” They both fell silent again. Selena with shame and Amelia with anger and sadness.

“I’m sorry for trying to deceive you. It was wrong.” A single tear escaped Amelia’s eye. This time Selena offered her a soft cloth from her coat pocket. Her eyes still showed the same genuine care as before despite the serious look. Amelia slowly reached up and took it from her.

“So, my question.” Selena’s eyes seemed to have a fire igniting in them.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Very, yes.”

“Fine.”

“You asked me for a reason to be trusted, right?” Amelia stopped wiping her eye and gave her a cautious glance. “Can I still earn that trust?”

“What are you going to do?” Amelia said with a distant disinterest.

“Something. . .Adventurous!” Selena offered with a bright, toothy smile. “Now, please watch your feet.” Amelia looked down and saw a round metallic disc in the center of the walkway. Brass colored and about two feet in diameter, the center had segmented lines and small gaps. Selena knelt down next to it and grabbed the center segment and pulled. A brass colored bar slipped up from the ground with her hand. She twisted the vertical bar horizontally with a series of 'clicks' like the tumbler of a lock and then pushed it down.

A great hiss of steam erupted from around the disk as the plate split in half. The ground under their feet shook and rumbled as each half of the plate then slid in opposite directions under the walkway with the sound of heavy gears spinning underneath. Amelia slowly wheeled herself over to Selena’s side, eyes wide with bewilderment and curiosity. A tall brass cylinder rose from the floor. Small pistons, gears, and shifting panels placed in particular segments on it’s surface moved in unison to raise it up from the ground.

It stopped raising just at Selena’s waistline with one last hiss of steam. Selena looked over to Amelia with one more smile before she stepped forward. A flat, rectangular piece of brass on top of the cylinder seemed to pop up slightly on two small metal arms. Gears at the joint of the arms began to to spin quickly as the plate flipped over, revealing a decorative wood and brass adorned keyboard. It lowered itself back into place with a ‘click’ before the keys lit up. A green light erupted from the top of the cylinder and words seemed to write themselves inside its luminescence.

Please Insert Password.

Amelia sat as far back in her chair as she could. Her eyes wide with confusion. Selena began deftly typing on the keyboard while Amelia’s eyes darted back and forth, starting at the doctor and then to the machine, trying her best to fathom what was unfolding before her as the doctor hit the enter key. There was a small pause before the a new prompt appeared in the light.

Password accepted. Please state name, rank and your channel of communication.

Selena grabbed a small device from next to the keyboard and pulled up a small circular thick disk like plate attached to a spiraling rubber cord that connected back to the base of the console. The top of the plate unfolded in her palm revealing a small grid-like mesh of metal. She pressed a button on the side and cleared her throat. “My name is Selena Loch. Commander of squad 1 of the 336th battalion Venerate class carrier

VALIANT HEART

I am sending a direct message to every ship channel. Both private, and open.” The column of brass hummed in response.

VOICE RECOGNITION AUTHORIZED. OPENING ALL VISUAL AND VOCAL CHANNELS, COMMANDER LOCH.

Amelia slowly turned from the console to Selena who was removing her Flossie and tucking it into her pocket. She reached up and pulled two small pins from the tight hair bun that was hidden under her hat. In but a second, her long wavy blonde hair flowed down over one of her eyes, past her shoulders and down to her hips. She undid the buttons on her lab coat and pulled it open.

Underneath her coat she wore a brown corset with small belts and zippers that hugged her body. Underneath was a sleeveless military frock. Her striped leggings had numerous belts of their own around her thighs attached to her larger waist belt. Her black, button up boots reached up to her knees. Selena pulled a new hat from inside her coat. An officers cap that she brushed off and firmly secured to her head. Her doctor’s coat was now draped around her shoulders and secured only by the chain on her lapels. She straightened her stance and spread her feet to be affixed at shoulder width. Her left arm tucked behind her back and her right hand laid gently over her heart.

ALL CHANNELS CONNECTED, COMMANDER.

A small panel above the keyboard flipped open. Inside a long cylinder of brass extended. The base of the bar had an orb of some kind attached. Small spinning gears and minute pistons spouted steam as it began to vibrate. The whole of it’s body was no longer than Amelia’s forearm. The bar split open into thirds and opened up. Each third of the bar pieces tilted slightly, bearing resemblance to a propeller. A small hum and they began to spin. The device ascended from it’s dock and floated towards Selena. Surprisingly quiet for it’s parts, the only sound it made was the clicking of small gears, and sputters of occasional steam from it’s vents.

The front of the orb split open, revealing a dark green lens. The orb hummed for a second and then a small green beam of light jettisoned from the lens at Selena’s boots. The beam worked it’s way up her legs, torso and finally her head. Her entire body was shrouded in a bright green light that lingered on her a second or two before receding into the orb’s eye. Another hum and a perfect model of Selena appeared in the light of the main console’s beam.

“Attention all crew mates. I Commander Selena Loch, am now posting a priority alpha message to you. I am canceling phase one of the ‘MERMAID PROTOCOL’. You have exactly two hours to assemble on the main deck in front of conference room 1 to meet our new guest. End of transmission.” With her message delivered, the floating orb’s hatch closed around it’s eye. It turned from her and hovered back to the console where it docked, and receded. The beam dissipated with a ‘bwip’ sound. The floor rumbled again, and with another cranking of gears and hisses of steam the metallic column slowly sank back into the ground.

“So, Ms. Carver. How was that?” Selena asked rather stoically as she turned to the chair-bound woman. Amelia sat quietly. Her hands shaking, and small beads of sweat rolling down her brow. “Ms. Carver?” Her words were lost on her patient. Her breaths were sharp and fast. Selena prepared herself for the worst.

“THAT WAS AMAZING!-” Amelia squealed. Her eyes were wide and pupils dilated. Selena shifted slightly. Her worry turned to confusion. “THE MACHINE! WITH THE LASER! AND THE FLYING EYE THING!

“Amelia, breathe.”

“THEN THE GROUND SHOOK. THAT HOLOGRAM, AND ROBOT COMPUTER GUY! AND YOU’RE A COMMANDER! AND THAT FIRE OUTFIT!” The sound of her frantic heartbeat filled her ears.

“Amelia, focus.” She couldn’t. It felt as though the entire room had begun to spin. She truly had no idea what was happening anymore. Her trembling hands began clutching at her chest. Her nails digging into the fabric and even skin. She hunched over in her chair. She teetered on falling off altogether.

CHEST. . . CHEST HURTS-

Just as her vision began to go dark again Amelia felt something warm break through the fog of her panic. Something was holding her up. She could feel another heartbeat close to her. Another person breathing in her ear. Slow and rhythmic. Some kind of anchor to hold onto. Amelia focused on it. Clinging to those feelings. The garden started coming back into focus. Her own heartbeat slowed to match the pace of her savior. The skipping in her mind eased. Her gaze slowly brought Selena’s shoulder into focus. Selena had pulled her into a hug.

“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you. Just take your time, and come back to us.” Amelia’s breathing steadied, and slowed. She slowly brought her hands up and reciprocated Selena’s affection with a hug of her own. Selena held on to Amelia for a minute or two more before letting her go.

“What. . . what was all that?” Selena’s smile softened as she rested her hand on Amelia’s.

“That. . . Was the truth. And I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from you, especially based on your test. Most people tend to have whats called a 'negative experience'.” she emphasized her point with air quotes.

“Well we do have holograms, just not as cool as that!”

“Well, if you liked something small like this. You’re going to absolutely adore what comes next. But! Only if you relax. Can you do that?” Amelia gave a small nod. There was excitement in her eyes.

“Yes! Yes I can do that!”

“Good. Luckily for you, we have two hours to get you up to speed. . . You know, so you don’t have a heart-attack.”

“So. . .What do we do next?”

“Next? We take a little walk.”

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #original story #steampunk #writing draft #constructive criticism #creative writing #sci fi and fantasy #scifi #fantasy #magic #help #trauma #writers and poets #constructivefeedback #monster #books #Valiant Heart #Valiant Heart: And The Impossible World #original writing #original work

[andreasphilippineslitblog]

Ten Interesting Filipino Novels

1. In the country by Mia Alvar

In The Country is a stunning, lyrical work of fiction presented in the form of nine short stories. In 2016, Mia Alvar put contemporary Filipina authors on the map with her first published piece, giving voice to Filipino men and women in the diaspora. Her short stories about emigrants, wanderers, exiles, and expats across the globe expertly distinguishes the Philippine experience for each protagonist, while upholding the universal likeness of all Filipinos around the world and “in the country.” The tales of a migrant worker in Saudi Arabia, the sighting of a “White Lady,” and a New York pharmacist smuggling drugs to his sickly father in Manila will illicit nostalgia for many Filipinos looking for glimpses of home. (thenextsomewhere.com)

2. Dauntless by Elisa A. Bonnin

Seri’s world is defined by very clear rules: The beasts prowl the forest paths and hunt the People. The valiant explore the unknown world, kill the beasts, and gain strength from the armor they make from them. As an assistant to Eshai Unbroken, a young valor commander with a near-mythical reputation, Seri has seen first-hand the struggle to keep the beasts at bay and ensure the safety of the spreading trees where the People make their homes. That was how it always had been, and how it always would be. Until the day Seri encounters Tsana. Tsana is, impossibly, a stranger from the unknown world who can communicate with the beasts – a fact that makes Seri begin to doubt everything she’s ever been taught. As Seri and Tsana grow closer, their worlds begin to collide, with deadly consequences. Somehow, with the world on the brink of war, Seri will have to find a way to make peace. (yourtitakate.com) 3. America Is Not the Heart by Elaine Castillo

How many lives can one person lead in a single lifetime? When Hero de Vera arrives in America, disowned by her parents in the Philippines, she's already on her third. Her uncle, Pol, who has offered her a fresh start and a place to stay in the Bay Area, knows not to ask about her past. And his younger wife, Paz, has learned enough about the might and secrecy of the De Vera family to keep her head down. Only their daughter, Roni, asks Hero why her hands seem to constantly ache.

Illuminating the violent political history of the Philippines in the 1980s and 1990s and the insular immigrant communities that spring up in the suburban United States with an uncanny ear for the unspoken intimacies and pain that get buried by the duties of everyday life and family ritual, Castillo delivers a powerful, increasingly relevant novel about the promise of the American dream and the unshakable power of the past. In a voice as immediate and startling as those of Junot Díaz and NoViolet Bulawayo, America Is Not the Heart is a sprawling, soulful telenovela of a debut novel. With exuberance, muscularity, and tenderness, here is a family saga; an origin story; a romance; a narrative of two nations and the people who leave home to grasp at another, sometimes turning back. (goodreads.com)

4. When The Elephants Dance by Tess Uriza Holthe

In the waning days of World War II, as the Japanese and U.S. forces battle to possess the Philippine Islands, the Karangalan family hides with their neighbors in a cramped cellar, where they glean hope from the family stories and folktales they tell each other. These stories of love, survival, and family blend the supernatural with the rich, little known history of the Philippines, the centuries of Spanish colonization, the power of the Catholic church, and the colorful worlds of the Spanish, Mestizo, and Filipino cultures.

As the villagers tell their stories in the darkened cellar below, Holthe masterfully weaves in the stories of three brave Filipinos--a teenage brother and sister and a guerilla fighter--as they become caught in the battle against the vicious Japanese forces above ground.

Inspired by her father's firsthand accounts of this period, Tess Uriza Holthe brings to magical and terrifying life a story of the hope and courage needed to survive in wartime. (goodreads.com)

5. Noli Me Tángere (Touch Me Not) by José Rizal

In more than a century since its appearance, José Rizal's Noli Me Tangere has become widely known as the great novel of the Philippines. A passionate love story set against the ugly political backdrop of repression, torture, and murder, "The Noli," as it is called in the Philippines, was the first major artistic manifestation of Asian resistance to European colonialism, and Rizal became a guiding conscience—and martyr—for the revolution that would subsequently rise up in the Spanish province. (goodreads.com)

6. Gun Dealer's Daughter by Gina Apostol

At university in Manila, young, bookish Soledad Soliman falls in with radical friends, defying her wealthy parents and their society crowd. Drawn in by two romantic young rebels, Sol initiates a conspiracy that quickly spirals out of control. Years later, far from her homeland, Sol reconstructs her fractured memories, writing a confession she hopes will be her salvation. Illuminating the dramatic history of the Marcos-era Philippines, this story of youthful passion is a tour de force. (ginaapostol.com)

7. Sophie Go's Lonely Hearts Club by Roselle Lim

A new heartfelt novel about the power of loneliness and the strength of love that overcomes it by critically acclaimed author Roselle Lim.

Newly minted professional matchmaker Sophie Go has returned to Toronto, her hometown, after spending three years in Shanghai. Her job is made quite difficult, however, when she is revealed as a fraud—she never actually graduated from matchmaking school. In a competitive market like Toronto, no one wants to take a chance on an inexperienced and unaccredited matchmaker, and soon Sophie becomes an outcast.

In dire search of clients, Sophie stumbles upon a secret club within her condo complex: the Old Ducks, seven septuagenarian Chinese bachelors who never found love. Somehow, she convinces them to hire her, but her matchmaking skills are put to the test as she learns the depths of loneliness, heartbreak, and love by attempting to make the hardest matches of her life. (goodreads.com)

8. Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay

Jay Reguero plans to spend the last semester of his senior year playing video games before heading to the University of Michigan in the fall. But when he discovers that his Filipino cousin Jun was murdered as part of President Duterte's war on drugs, and no one in the family wants to talk about what happened, Jay travels to the Philippines to find out the real story.

Hoping to uncover more about Jun and the events that led to his death, Jay is forced to reckon with the many sides of his cousin before he can face the whole horrible truth -- and the part he played in it. (amazon.com)

9. Wicked As You Wish by Rin Chupeco

When a hidden prince, a girl with secrets, a ragtag group of unlikely heroes, and a legendary firebird come together…something wicked is going down. Many years ago, the magical Kingdom of Avalon was left encased in ice when the Snow Queen waged war. Its former citizens are now refugees in a world mostly devoid of magic. Which is why the crown prince and his protectors are stuck in…Arizona. Prince Alexei, the sole survivor of the Avalon royal family, is hiding in a town so boring, magic doesn’t even work there. Few know his secret identity, but his friend Tala is one of them. A new hope for their abandoned homeland reignites when a famous creature of legend, the Firebird, appears for the first time in decades. Alex and Tala must unite with a ragtag group of new friends to journey back to Avalon for a showdown that will change the world as they know it. (yourtitakate.com)

10. The Woman Who Had Two Navels and Tales of the Tropical Gothic by Nick Joaquin

Nick Joaquin is widely considered one of the greatest Filipino writers, but he has remained little-known outside his home country despite writing in English. Set amid the ruins of Manila devastated by World War II, his stories are steeped in the post-colonial anguish and hopes of his era and resonate with the ironic perspectives on colonial history of Gabriel García Márquez and Mario Vargas Llosa. His work meditates on the questions and challenges of the Filipino individual’s new freedom after a long history of colonialism, exploring folklore, centuries-old Catholic rites, the Spanish colonial past, magical realism, and baroque splendor and excess. This collection features his best-known story, “The Woman Who Had Two Navels,” centered on Philippine emigrants living in Hong Kong and later expanded into a novel, the much-anthologized stories “May Day Eve” and “The Summer Solstice” and a canonic play, A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino. As Penguin Classics previously launched his countryman Jose Rizal to a wide audience, now Joaquin will find new readers with the first American collection of his work. (amazon.com)

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 1) Chapter Four

Chapter Four: ESP Infecting

            Captain’s Log: The impossible has happened. From directly ahead, we’re picking up a recorded distress signal—the call letters of a vessel which has been missing for over two centuries. Did another Earth ship once probe out of the galaxy, as we intend to do? What happened to it out there? Is this some warning they’ve left behind?

            (Y/N) stood on the bridge as the alarm rang behind them. The ship had just beamed aboard a transmitter from the abandoned ship, and now they were on alert. After all, if someone had happened to the other ship, it could occur to the Enterprise as well.

            “Screen on,” said Kirk.

            “Screen on, sir,” repeated Mitchell, a navigator.

            “Scanners aren’t picking up anything yet, Captain,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) grimaced as the edge of the galaxy loomed in front of them. Their heart was gripped with curiosity and a bit of fear, but their desire to see what lay beyond the world they knew was greater.

            “Approaching galaxy’s edge, Captain,” said Mitchell.

            “Neutralize warp, Mr. Mitchell,” said Kirk. “Hold this position.”

            “Neutralize warp, sir,” said Mitchell.

            “Address intercraft.”

            “Intercraft open.”

            “This is the Captain speaking,” said Kirk. “The object we encountered is a ship’s disaster recorder, apparently ejected from the S. S. Valiant almost two-hundred years ago.”

            “The tapes are burned out,” announced Spock. “Trying memory banks.”

            “We hope to learn from the recorder what the Valiant was doing here and what destroyed the vessel. We’ll move out as soon as we have those answers. All decks stand by.” Kirk turned off the audio before standing and looking at the department heads.

            “You wanted everyone on the bridge before we left the galaxy,” said Mitchell.

            “Astroscience is standing by, Captain,” said Sulu.

            “Engineering division ready as always, sir,” said Scotty, nodding.

            “Life Sciences ready, Jim,” said Bones. He nodded to the woman standing next to him. “This is Dr. Dehner, who joined the ship at the Aldebaran colony.”

            “Psychiatry, Captain.” Dr. Dehner smiled coolly. “My assignment is to study crew reaction to in emergency conditions.”

            “Seems rather like Lieutenant (L/N)’s job,” teased Kirk.

            “Psychiatry goes above just emotions, sir,” said Dehner curtly.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I trained in a bit of psychology, but I’m a…talker at heart. Psychiatrists don’t get to talk as much,” they joked. “Communication and negotiations fit me perfectly.”

            “And yet you would have had such an advantage as a Celian,” observed Dehner, looking them up and down.

            “Maybe, but I’m satisfied with my job,” said (Y/N), smiling politely. They were glad Dehner was a regular human and her emotions were a mere twinge in (Y/N)’s mind, otherwise the disdain Dehner had for (Y/N) not using their abilities “appropriately” would be annoying.

            “Getting something on the recorder now,” said Spock.

            “If there was an emergency, I’d be interested in how that crew reacted, too,” said Dehner.

            “Before they died?” (Y/N) raised an eyebrow.

            “Improving the breed, Doctor?” quipped Mitchell. “Is that your line?”

            “I heard that’s more your specialty, Commander. ‘Line’ included,” responded Dehner. She turned and walked away without another word.

            “Walking freezer unit,” muttered Mitchell, grinning in a friendly manner at (Y/N).

            They smiled back and shrugged. “She’s a psychiatrist,” joked (Y/N). “Mind games are her thing.”

            “Decoding memory banks,” interrupted Spock, speaking strongly out amongst the conversations on deck. “I’ll try to interpolate.” Kirk walked over to him. “The Valiant encountered a magnetic space storm and was being swept in this direction.”

            “The old impulse engines weren’t strong enough,” said Kirk, frowning.

            “Swept past this point about a half lightyear out of the galaxy,” reported Spock. “They were thrown clear, turned, and headed back into the galaxy here. I’m not getting it all. The tapes are badly burnt. Sounds like the ship had encountered some unknown force—” High-pitched tones rang through static in steady pulses. “Now…orders, counter-orders, repeated urgent requests for information from the ship’s computer records for anything concerning ESP in humanoid species.”

            “Extrasensory perception?” said Kirk curiously. Spock nodded. “Dr. Dehner, how are you on ESP?”

            “In tests I’ve taken, my ESP rated rather high. Not as strong as Lieutenant (L/N)’s,” conceded Dehner, “But stronger than most humans.”

            “I’m asking what you know about ESP,” corrected Kirk.

            “It is the fact that some people can sense future happenings, read the backs of playing cards, sense emotions, and so on,” said Dehner. “But esper capacity is always limited.”

            “Severe damage,” reported Spock. “Seven crewmen dead. No, make that six. One crewman seemed to have recovered. That’s when they became interested in extrasensory perception.” His eyebrows quirked inwards in a tiny frown. “More than ‘interested.’ Almost frantic about it.” Static “fizzed” (for that was the only right word) from the speakers. “No…This must be garbled. I get something about ‘destruct.’ I must’ve read it wrong. It sounded like the captain giving an order to destroy his own ship.” The recording finished as everything remained quiet in alarm.

            “Comments?” said Kirk.

            “The only fact that we have for sure is that the S.S. Valiant was destroyed,” said Bones.

            “Which is probably the best argument to continue the probe,” said Kirk. He returned to his chair. “Other vessels will be heading out here someday. They’ll have to know what they’ll be facing. We’re leaving the galaxy, Mr. Mitchell.”

            Everyone sat up straight as the Enterprise flew beyond the galaxy. A blue-purple field of light stretched out in front of them. All eyes swiveled to Spock as he read the sensor readout.

            “Forcefield of some kind,” he warned.

            “We’re coming up on it fast,” said Mitchell.

            “Sensor beam on,” said Spock. “Deflectors, full intensity.” The officers on the bridge obeyed his orders. “Deflectors say there’s something there, sensors say there isn’t. Density: negative, radiation: negative, energy: negative.”

          �� “Whatever it is, contact in twelve seconds,” reported Alden, the second navigator.

            Everyone was solemnly silent as they sailed into the forcefield. Lights flickered as it hit the Enterprise, and electricity crackled around them. A pressure began in (Y/N)’s mind, and they pressed their fingers to their temples in an attempt to stop the incoming headache.

            “Gravitation on automatic,” ordered Kirk.

            Outside, multicolored lights flashed as pure electricity buzzed through the strange forcefield. Several Enterprise control panels overloaded and burst from the pressure of the power flowing through them. (Y/N) winced as their headache grew.

            “Emergency stations,” commanded Kirk. “All decks on fire alert.” More panels exploded. “Neutralize stations. Put it on manual!” He looked at Spock as officers tried to fan smoke away. “Any radiation? Anything?!”

            “Negative!” replied Spock over the din.

            “Helmsman, take us out of here!” commanded Kirk, unwilling to risk his crew any longer.

            A final burst of power shook the starship, and (Y/N) clutched their head as their headache strengthened. Nearby, Dr. Dehner fainted, and Mitchell fell to the floor. (Y/N) fought against their body as the pain worsened, but their legs gave out, and they collapsed. Bones and Scotty support Dehner while an officer grabbed Mitchell. Spock caught (Y/N) before their head hit the ground. Kirk leapt to the navigator’s station to regain control of the ship. Before any further damage could be inflicted, they managed to smooth the flight.

            “What happened?” asked Kirk, looking at his three fallen officers.

            “Something…hit me.” Dehner frowned and touched her head lightly. “Like an electrical charge.”

            “I felt it, too,” said (Y/N), trying to stand.

            “Are you alright, Lieutenant?” asked Spock.

            “Yes, just a bit woozy. It’ll pass,” said (Y/N).

Spock held their arms to support them, a quick frown flitting over his face. “I suggest you report to Sickbay for an examination, Lieutenant (L/N).”

            “I feel alright. I probably just need to sit down,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            Spock shook his head. “It would be unwise after we passed through an unknown force. We are not sure what side effects it had on you after your adverse reaction.”

            (Y/N) sighed as she managed to right herself. “If you insist.”

            “It is simply the logical course of action,” said Spock.

            “He’s right,” said Kirk, looking at them in concern. “You and Mitchell should both report to Sickbay.”

            “Yes, sir,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Yes, Captain,” said Mitchell faintly, opening his eyes to reveal icy, glowing irises.

l

            Spock and Kirk went through records while officers began to repair the bridge so they could navigate away from this strange new land. Something strange was going on, and between Dehner, (Y/N), and Mitchell’s reactions and Mitchell’s eyes, it was probably bad. They needed to know if it was linked to the Valiant’s destruction. So far, only was variable connected the three: ESP. (Y/N) obviously had a high rating since they were an empath, but Dehner and Mitchell also had unusually good scores. And after seeing the Valiant had dug into ESP, it was a logical conclusion that its fate and high ESP users were linked. Now only one question remained.

            What to do with them?

l

            “Well, nothing seems off,” said Bones as (Y/N) sat up from the examination bed. “In fact, your readings are damn near perfect. Just like Mitchell’s. Only strange thing is his eyes.”

            (Y/N) nodded in understanding. The nearly glowing blue of Mitchell’s eyes was quite inhuman and strange. What was more…They glanced over. He’s really going through those databases quickly. They watched him flick through pages. And his emotions…they’re so much stronger than before.

            “You should really try it,” said Mitchell, looking over at them and smiling strangely. “I can process so much at once. I’m sure you could.”

            “I’m fine,” said (Y/N), smiling nervously.

            “But it makes you feel…invincible,” he said. “It shows you the hint of what you could do.” He laughed. “I feel better than I ever have. Don’t you?”

            “I feel the same as I always have.” (Y/N) was being honest; she didn’t feel a difference in herself. At least, not yet. Secretly, they were hoping whatever was happening to Mitchell occurred in humans, then they would be safe.

            “You probably don’t need to be different,” said Mitchell ruefully before smirking. “You always were talented with your abilities. And now you don’t have to be the only one.”

            Getting extremely uncomfortable with both his attitude and the strange anger-desire mix in his emotions, (Y/N) got up. “I have to return to the bridge.”

            “Why?” Mitchell sat up and tilted his head, his blank eyes looking almost into their soul. “You waste your abilities there.”

            (Y/N) scowled. “I don’t waste anything when I’m doing my job. And I’m not just an empath. I’m a person.” They turned and went to leave when a wave of anger washed over them, making them pause. Determinedly, they straightened, swallowed any hints of nausea, and went to the door.

            It opened to reveal Captain Kirk. “Ah, Lieutenant. Are you alright?”

            “Just fine, Captain. I’m heading to the bridge to assist with repairs. Make myself useful,” said (Y/N), putting on a smile. They were serious when they said they weren’t just their abilities. True, negotiation skills weren’t usually helpful in the middle of space with no new people, but they were still an officer. And (Y/N) had some training in engineering. They could help fix the ship so they could leave all this behind them. But they had a bad feeling their troubles had just begun.

#logos and pathos #star trek fic #star trek fanfiction #star trek the original series #star trek tos #star trek #tos spock #ambassador spock #mister spock #spock x reader #the original series #nb reader #gn reader

[ankhlesbian]

femslash february - chloe/merrin

Game: Fire Emblem: Engage

Pairing: Chloe/Merrin

Rating/Length: G, ~1k words

AO3 Link: here

While wandering Elyos after the war, Merrin and Chloé come across a legendary creature. Legendarily rare and endangered from Merrin's naturalist point of view. Legendarily delicious from Chloé's hungry-ist point of view.

“Is that what I think it is!?!” Merrin practically squealed, her usual cool composure gone in an instant. Chloé blinked, intrigued. As far as she knew, this was just another one of Firene’s picturesque flower fields. The flowers were in full bloom, which was nothing unusual.

“Look!” Merrin’s voice came out hushed. She planted one hand on Chloé’s shoulder and tugged her closer, using the other to point at a spot a ways up the hill.

Nestled in the grass, munching on the petals of a purple flower, was a rabbit. With fluffy, brown fur and long, drooping ears… and from its forehead, there sprung the sparkling spiral of a unicorn horn, framed by a downright majestic set of antlers.

“A jackalope!” They exclaimed in unison, forgetting to be quiet. The creature’s ears twitched, but it continued to chew, thankfully unperturbed. 

“I never thought I’d see one up here! Their range is usually further south, and they’re much rarer above ground at this time of year since it’s tunneling season!” Merrin’s tail thumped against Chloé’s leg as it wagged.

Chloé nodded along. “I didn’t realize they were actually real. I’ve heard plenty of fairy tales mention them. Like the little sibling of unicorns…” She trailed off, images of hopping jackalopes cleverly evading those trying to prove its existence filling her head.

Merrin’s face became serious. “As a unique creature blessed with life by the Divine Dragon, it’s my duty as a knight to protect it. I shall watch over it until it leaves this place. I couldn’t live with myself if an ill fate were to befall it while I’m here.” A determined glitter appeared in her eyes, the sapphire blue orbs glinting with a sharp coolness only achievable by knights of legend. 

It was impossible to not admire the resolve in her words, the way the breeze blew back short strands of her hair, dancing in the sun like threads of gold. Her shoulders were set strong and straight, ready to hold up against the weight of the world. She truly was a knight who was the epitome of cool. There was, however, one problem with her words.

Chloé’s stomach growled.

“Ah, the sentiment is sweet, Merrin. But actually, around here, I’ve heard that jackalope is a local delicacy that they use in their folk food. The meat can be pickled and used in stews, and the horn and antler can make a delicate savory, nutty crumble that goes well on anything. They also say a drink made from jackalope milk is indescribable in taste. More sour than goat milk, and even thicker than seal milk.” Chloé’s mouth was watering just thinking about it. “If we catch it and bring it to a local villager, imagine what they could make!”

Merrin’s face was now tragic, mournful. Her perfect brow downturned with a classical sadness, sorrow deep in her blue eyes. “Chloé. I cannot allow that. If you insist on that course of action, I will have to stop you.”

Chloé’s heart ached. To have to turn against such a valiant knight surely made her some sort of villainess in this tale. And yet, her stomach also ached, eager to digest new delicacies. Well, what kind of fairy tale would have no obstacle or villain to stand in the valiant knight’s way?

“Then just try to stop me.” They had both left their weapons with their mounts, so she would have to make do. She shifted her weight, ready to spring forward and sprint past Merrin before the other woman could react.

Merrin reacted faster, launching herself at Chloé before she had the chance to run.

They thumped into the grass, Chloé’s head knocking against the dirt with a thud. Chloé planted her elbows and rocked forward, aiming to catch Merrin before she could regain her balance lost in the fall. They tumbled sideways, tearing up flowers and soil alike as they went. Merrin’s elbows and knees were sharp, sharper than Chloé’s, but the two of them both had good reflexes and strong legs from riding pegasi and wolves respectively. It was an even match.

After a tense struggle, Merrin came out on top, literally. She had pinned Chloé’s legs with her hips, Chloé’s arms trapped at her sides. Merrin’s face was inches above Chloé’s, elbows framing her blue locks. They were both breathing a little too heavily.

Merrin’s face was glistening with sweat and she was smirking victoriously, devastatingly attractive despite the circumstance. She opened her mouth to say something, but Merrin’s head instead jerked to attention, her eyes pulled away from Chloé’s.

And then that smirk broke. Merrin wailed, eyes closing in frustration. Chloé blinked. Suddenly, Merrin was no longer the smirking and suave victor. Instead, Chloé took in Merrin’s messy hair, tangled and full of dirt. A lone piece of grass poked up at an odd angle on top of her head. Her face was streaked brown with soil, and an ugly bruise was forming on one cheek where Chloé had elbowed her a little too hard. Merrin sniffed, the corners of her eyes filling with tears.

“The jackalope,” she explained, heartbroken. “It’s gone. We must’ve scared it off!” She ran a hand through her hair, only succeeding in tugging out the strands caught in her claws. The now loose strands floated to the ground.

She looked downright pathetic. Chloé couldn’t help but be charmed. She had to hold back a giggle. This… is this what they call gap moe?

Chloé leaned up from where she was still pinned and kissed Merrin on the nose.

“Ah, it’s probably for the best. If it ran away that means it has good survival instincts, right?”

Merrin perked up, just a little. “You’re right! If it ran from us, it’d surely run from any hunters. And since I can’t see it at all, or any tracks, it must be just as fast and stealthy as the books say!”

Chloé patted her on the cheek. “Of course! If it was any less foxy than it is in the stories, it wouldn’t be such a rare menu item.”

Merrin nodded. Then she fully parsed the sentence. She turned to look at Chloé, brow wrinkled just a tad. 

“Chloé… you wouldn’t actually have caught and killed it if it were still here, would you? I mean, buying the food if you saw it at a stall is one thing, but…”

Chloé just giggled.

#fire emblem engage #fe17 #chloe fire emblem #merrin fire emblem #chloé fire emblem #it writes #chloe/merrin #chloé/merrin

[afraidofchange]

Rama was so inspired by heroes in her youth that she set out to become first a soldier and then a paladin later. It was all she wanted to do, and all she ever had plans to do.

Being so young and arguably innocent, raised by her mother within the confines of a tavern outside of a big city meant she met all kinds of people, but never really saw the outside world for what it was - filled with people, good, bad, and in between - and that her expectations to change the world were set so high, even well into her mid 20s.

But as the years progressed, and she hit the road as a fully-fledged paladin to justice and law, found that no matter how many crimes she stopped and people she helped, that evil forces always found a way. But despite that, being together with her (ex) wife, she still felt like nothing could stop them.

Meredith's betrayal sent her worldview tumbling into the depths of depression. How could someone as valiant and set out to do good fall for corruption so easily? How could someone betray the one they devoted themselves to in ceremony?

Beyond the physical injury - which required a long recovery time, and from which Rama still suffers aches, pains, and muscle deficits - Rama's view of the world shifted. No longer did she think it possible for the good to outdo the evil, but rather that it was an impossible, uphill battle. But, being a paladin was all she ever knew, and despite being so, so jaded about her life trajectory, she continued out of necessity.

Otherwise, she would've rotted away in that bed for good.

Over the years, the pain of the betrayal has become easier. She has not encountered Meredith the Oathbreaker in over a decade, only hearing of the damage she's left in her wake. For a while, it was her only mission to hunt her down and put an end to the misery, be it through persuasion or, ultimately, through death.

In the meantime, nothing truly grabs Rama's attention nor devotion to a cause anymore. Only through defeating the evil that broke her heart, will she find meaning and purpose again.

#RAMA WOLFBLUFF: HEADCANON #[ so basically her personal quest is that you have to fight her evil ex wife so she can be at peace ]

[even-if-in-another-time]

Wax Wings

sophie & biana are packing up biana’s room together, but come across aer old journal. commence pining lesbian poetry. (do me a favor and ignore the fact that this is probably impossible in the elven world, okay? why do they not just get a conjurer to move their shit for them? nobody knows. it took enough self restraint to use proper capitalization, alright, give me this.)

written for day two of @sophianaweek2022: sun & moon. :)

Biana was absolutely addicted to the sound of Sophie’s laugh. That much hadn’t changed, since ae had heard it for the first time, something like five years ago. Ae remembers it more vividly than anything else from that time - it was the first time Sophie had come over to Everglen, and the two of them had been sitting in aer room, an awkward silence filling the atmosphere. Sophie made a comment on aer house, and then Biana had made some stupid witty remark, and Sophie had laughed in surprise. The sound had filled aer bedroom, and ae succinctly thought, “this is bright enough to burn me.”

And now, here ae was, listening to it echo around the same room that had always felt empty without the familiar warmth of it. Sophie turned her head to look at Biana, lacing their fingers together, grinning.

“So.”

Biana smiled back at her in turn. “So.” Ae flopped back on the bed, studying the canopy for a minute, trying to find some feeling of nostalgia for the room that ae had grown up in. Ae quickly gave up, letting out a breath. “God, I can’t believe I’m finally leaving this hellhole.”

Sophie laughed again, bright and warm. “I take it that means you’re ready to start packing?” Biana groaned and pulled Sophie back onto aer bed, burying aer face in her shoulder. “Nope,” ae mumbled. Ae could feel Sophie’s smile as she pressed a kiss to aer hair. “You know that the sooner we finish packing, the sooner we get to move in together, right?” Biana pulled back to glare at her without much heat behind it. “Unfair. Playing dirty,” ae said, even as aer heart seemed to be making a valiant attempt to beat its way out of aer chest at the reminder. Sophie just smirked. “Up, Bee.” Ae relented and let aerself be pulled off the bed by aer girlfriend. It wasn’t exactly a hardship, as long as aer fingers were tangled with Sophie’s.

~

Biana glared at the top shelf of aer closet as ae stood on aer tiptoes, trying to reach it. Stupid tall shelves, designed for stupid tall elves. Ae was average height, okay, and it should not be this difficult to reach things. The world was an unfair place.

Ae heard a snort from behind aer. Sophie watched aer, arms crossed, an expression of amusement on her face.

“Need some help there, love?”

“Fuck you, Foster.” Biana hated the smile tugging at aer lips.

Aer girlfriend wordlessly crossed the room from where she had been helping to pack Biana’s clothing into boxes and patted aer head. “It’s okay, I get it, you only love me for my height,” she teased. “I’m sure being a short gay is difficult. Couldn’t be me,” she said, effortlessly pulling a box off the shelf. She didn’t even have to go up on her tiptoes. Biana absolutely despised all six feet and two fucking inches of her.

“I am average height!”

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that. We both know you’re rounding up.” She paused to lean down and kiss aer nose, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh.

“You’re a terrible person and a menace to society.”

“Yeah, about two thirds of the entire elven population agrees with you on that one.” Biana broke aer glare to let out a startled laugh.

Sophie pulled the last of the four boxes off the shelf, setting it next to the others on Biana’s floor. She sat down next to them, and ae did the same, crossing aer legs over hers. Ae pulled one of the unlabeled boxes towards them and opened it. It was mostly old Foxfire things - graded papers, awards of achievement that Alden had convinced aer ae didn’t deserve, essays on history that ae had poured aer heart and soul into making accurate as possible instead of the bullshit that the nobility taught. Aer fingers brushed something smooth and leathery near the bottom, and ae pulled it out.

“Oh,” ae breathed. The small, thick notebook was achingly familiar, well-worn with aer miscellaneous doodles of mushrooms and flowers on the cover. Ae flipped open the cover, seeing aer name printed in neat cursive on the inside, with “Vacker” crossed out in a different pen than it had originally been written in. Ae flipped open to a random page, a wave of nostalgia hitting aer at the scent of the pages and aer old handwriting.

Sophie read the date. “This would have been from… our fifth year, right?” She asked quietly, seemingly not wanting to break the atmosphere of the moment.

“Yeah. About a year before we started dating, huh? When…”

“When we were both in love with each other, and I was a fucking idiot and didn’t realize,” Sophie finished for aer sheepishly.

Biana looked at her and smiled slightly. “Yeah.” Ae continued skimming the page, and groaned. “Oh my god, no, not my shitty lesbian pining poetry-“ ae said, just as Sophie shrieked in delight, saying, “you wrote poetry about me?” It quickly devolved into the two of them scrambling to battle for the journal. “Don’t you dare, Foster-” Biana was stronger than Sophie, but she managed to hold the journal above her head. Ae despised her with all of the rage in aer average height, raging lesbian body.

“I only knew the dark, before I met you,” Sophie read quietly. The words quickly dissipated the playful heat of the moment, and she brought the notebook back down to their legs.

“I don’t think I knew who I was,

Before you.

Would I have lived my life like that,

Being what the world wanted from me?

Would I have convinced myself I was happy?”

Biana remembers writing that entry, curled up under aer covers past midnight with a bottle of moonlight and a pen and too many emotions for the night to hold.

“But then you stumbled into my life,

Something bright and new and so so alive

And you made me realize

That I had never really been living,

The entire time.

You stumbled into my life,

And you brought all of your warmth and your brightness with you

And god,

You were more than the sun.”

Sophie’s voice sounded choked up, a bit. It wrapped around the syllables in a way that made the words seem like more than they were. She gave them meaning, somehow, impossibly.

“I guess that makes me the moon.

I’m a reflection of your light,

Of your blazing existence

The proof of just how far your sunlight reaches

The life that wasn’t there until yours was.”

Biana wondered how absurd it would be to show this moment to the girl that had written this. Sitting here, listening to someone else read the words that ae had sworn never to let anybody see.

“I’ll only ever get a part of you,

I remind myself over and over again.

It will never be enough,

But that’s alright.

(It has to be.)

You can’t look the sun dead in the eyes without burning yourself,

Can you?

Icarus fell for a reason.

The golden wings on the family crest

That I used to wear so proudly on my chest

Are made of wax.”

The rest is written in the journal in messier handwriting, as if it had been written in the dark, an afterthought.

“I’m not supposed to love you,

Am I?

I’m not supposed to be like this.

But really,

In the end

Can even a planet keep the moon

From orbiting the sun?”

The two of them sat there, staring at the pages in silence for a moment, each of them with their own thoughts running through their heads. Finally, Sophie wordlessly turned to Biana, wiping a tear from aer cheek. Huh. Ae hadn’t realized ae had been crying.

Sophie wrapped her arms around aer, pulling aer impossibly closer. The two of them breathed in sync for a moment.

“You can have me,” Sophie whispered into Biana’s ear. “All of me.” And just like that, something inside Biana melted.

Ae pulled back just enough to pull Sophie into a kiss. The two of them fell into it easily, Sophie’s lips feeling like laughter and sunlight and an unspoken promise. The moon and the sun, Biana thought nonsensically. Home.

“I love you,” Sophie said into aer lips, because that’s just something they could have now. Something they could be.

“I love you,” Biana said back fiercely, because somehow, the words were more important than anything else.

~

super out-of-date taglist (let me know if there’s anything i can fix/ add or remove!): @a-harmless-poison @an-ungraceful-swan @when-wax-wings-melt

#sophiana week 2022 #tw cursing #i WILL be pushing my short!biana/tall!sophie agenda THANK you #also looking back on this i gave sophie my personality but biana my writing style #but. anyways #sophiana #sophie foster #biana vacker #(“vacker“) #kotlc #kotlc fic #saph attempts words #gonna be my new writing tag from now on :] #anyways! hope you enjoy!