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bnnywngs · 2 years

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the last voyage

rating: T words: 1432

pairing: Sugawara Koushi/Oikawa Tooru | oisuga

tags: alternate universe - end of the world, short & sweet, implied/referenced character death (in near future), established relationship, off screen collective panic, light angst, based on a song (A Última Viagem by the brazilian band Cômodo Marfim)

also on ao3

It was strangely cold when his alarm went off that morning and he could feel it even under the covers. He whined softly, still without opening his eyes, and took one of his arms out of the warm bubble so he could pick his cell phone and stop the noise he hated so much. He wondered why he said he'd meet his boyfriend so early when he was on vacation and finally had the time to get as much sleep as he wanted.

He turned off the alarm and looked at the clock in the center of the locked screen. Seven in the morning. At least it was two hours later than he normally woke up during his daily routine, as he’d decided the night before that he wouldn’t do his morning run. Yawning loudly, he went through his notifications and replied to messages he received while asleep, then choosing to spend a little time on his favorite social network.

There were some pictures of people he followed and he liked it all, moving on to the next publication without thinking twice, until he stopped at a newspaper repost that looked, honestly, straight out of an American fiction movie, but he recognized that journalist and unless they made a movie with a big budget and invited her to participate, then it couldn’t be a lie. But the news… It was a little too much to digest.

Intrigued, and somewhat concerned, he went to the newspaper’s official account and found the same video, and a few other publications that followed, all on the same subject. Pulling the blanket off him and sitting on the bed, he looked out the window and, even with the curtain covering it, he knew the other side wasn’t as bright as it should have been for the time.

He decided to look up more articles on the subject from other serious newspapers he knew by name, reading every word and growing increasingly incredulous and sick to his stomach. But before he could start to panic, the phone in his hand began to ring, a picture of his boyfriend filling the screen.

“Koushi.” he called, his voice shaking.

“Tooru.” his boyfriend called back, sounding calm “How long ago did you wake up?”

“A while… Do you want to talk about… About what's going on?” Oikawa decided to get out of bed, ignoring the slippers and walking barefoot to the window.

“...Yeah.” Sugawara sighed loudly against his phone’s microphone “What do you know? What did you see?"

“The sun… Koushi, is the sun dead?” he was looking up at the night-black sky, a few stars still shining in the sky, but no sign of the moon or the sun.

“It became a black hole.” he could almost hear Koushi moving on the other end of the call in that shrug he always did when he said something that seemed obvious.

“A black hole.” Oikawa laughed, feeling ridiculous hearing and speaking those words. How could something like this be real? This was not a science fiction movie! It’s real life!

A flock of birds flew over his house, screaming and flapping their wings as fast as they could, clearly running away from something they couldn't, but doing what they thought was the solution. Oikawa felt jealous of them for a moment.

“Koushi, are we going to die?” Oikawa’s voice was low and weak, showing all his fear.

“Tooru… I think so.”

That was a week ago and the world was in immeasurable chaos. The sky was still pitch black.

Many people he knew had already fled a long time ago, Oikawa didn't even know where and preferred not to find out. Newspapers just talked about the same thing, many journalists and staff in general had quit or just disappeared overnight. Governments publicly apologized for their mistakes, scientists apologized for ignoring or laughing when their few colleagues warned of the danger, thinking it was just miscalculation.

So many excuses and no solution.

The richest countries with resources to spare had already declared that they would select a few thousand people to board their fancy ships to who knows where. Unfortunately, poor countries that depended on so much and so many people would be left out, just a few rich people being “invited” to be part of this high, but at the same time so low, number of “rescues”.

Oikawa, his family, his friends, Sugawara and his family, and all their neighbors - none of them had been selected. It was to be expected, but knowing that didn't change the fact that they felt helpless, hopeless. They could only feel sadness and fear now. Oikawa’s parents had locked themselves inside a temple along with his grandparents and so many others to try to find some kind of salvation that he knew was non-existent.

His brother had taken his family to Rome, converting to Christianity to seek the same salvation as their parents in a different religion. Oikawa missed Takeru, however.

And now here he was, lying on the roof of Sugawara’s elementary school, a picnic blanket under his lying body, partially shielding him from the cold concrete after the work they did to clear snow and ice, two small portable heaters on either side of where he and his boyfriend were lying. They wore their warmest coats and placed two blankets over their legs. They had brought everything they could find in the small market in the neighborhood that was edible, the old man who had been the only one in the family to stay in town didn’t even charge them a coin, giving them a few courtesy lollipops as he waved and wished them a good day and good luck.

The small battery-powered radio that had once belonged to Sugawara’s grandfather played a song from a few decades ago, giving a pleasant mood to yet another day of darkness and freezing winds. The song ended and the broadcaster, another person who preferred to stay and continue life normally despite everything, gave another piece of news with a slightly choked voice.

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon and in a few minutes the second last spacecraft will take off with about three thousand people on board. In total, around two hundred thousand people have already managed to escape Earth and it is expected that one more ship will be ready in a month or so to take more people and increase the number to at least three hundred thousand.” the broadcaster took a deep breath and gave a wet laugh “For us mere mortals trying not to hope in vain, how about we enjoy ourselves with more music? We got requests to play some K-Pop and that's what we’re going to hear now. Starting with HYO.”

Sugawara stood up quickly, turning up the volume and dragging his boyfriend to stand with him.

“Kou-chan?” Oikawa called, confused. He was almost asleep with his head resting on Sugawara's chest, listening to his heartbeat, when he was rudely awakened.

“Dance with me.” Sugawara flashed him a bright smile, holding his hand as he began to move in time to the upbeat music.

Oikawa laughed and tried to keep up with his boyfriend and at the same time tried to make him laugh with funny moves. He spun Sugawara around, bringing him back to his chest, and kissing his cheek in an exaggerated way. When the song ended, he sat on the towel, picking up one of the blankets, while Sugawara was still dancing excitedly, bursting out laughing as he tripped and almost fell over.

He watched his boyfriend for a while, a contented smile on his lips.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Oikawa asked.

“Afraid? Of what?” Sugawara looked at him over his shoulder.

“What can happen?” Oikawa shrugged, “That our death is closer.”

Sugawara rolled his eyes, “Everyone knew this day would come one day or another. Why be afraid?” he chuckled “I have you by my side, nothing else matters.”

Oikawa bit his lower lip, his heart clenching with the rush of emotions he felt at that moment.

“I love you, Kou-chan.” he said aloud.

“You do?” Sugawara laughed again, “I love you too.”

Oikawa chuckled, “Marry me?”

Sugawara stopped dancing, looking at him in surprise “Marry? Marry, marry? Are you serious?”

“Kou-chan. Koushi. Sugawara Koushi, let’s get married. Tomorrow! No need for rings, just the two of us.” Oikawa stood up, his foot getting caught in the blanket and making him fall into his boyfriend’s arms.

They smiled at each other, radiating happiness.

“Ok. Let’s get married tomorrow and live our last days together.” Sugawara nodded.

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potterandpromises · 3 years

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Today in fic ideas I don’t want to write: various things Joe and Nicky did between first and second sleep.

#the old guard #immortal husbands #nicky x joe #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #feel free to use this as a prompt #an article i read on the subject many moons ago was like #people would have sex and think about their dreams and even visit their neighbors #so like. there's many places one could take this concept

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dark1k · 3 years

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RK1K for the sentence starter "I have passed by many eyes, and experienced many lives, but I only got lost in yours."

Markus was inherently curious.

Even before turning deviant, he realized he had a quiet fascination for the world around him. He questioned everything and absorbed information like a sponge; philosophy, the arts, biology, no subject ever seemed to bore him. Markus craved knowledge and his friends relentlessly teased him for it.

"Thank RA9 we have countless terabytes of storage, or else you'd sacrifice your own basic functions just to learn about color theory!" North jabbed at him one day, Simon chucking beside her and Josh listening with fondness in his eyes. Markus laughed at her joke, knowing they meant well, but the group simply didn't relate to his inquisitive nature towards the universe. Despite the fact that androids are equipped with limitless intelligence and access to such information in milliseconds, Markus believed in learning things "the old fashioned way."

Whenever he had a day off from stubborn meetings and tiresome interviews, he would wander off to the local library, nestled in one of Detroit's many hidden alleyways. It wasn't hugely popular, considering the advancements made in technology, but Markus would spend hours in the small armchair beneath the shop's window reading all walks of literature. Fantasy, historical fiction, romance, he thinks he's read close to half of the books in the library's collection. It was peaceful, serene, and he slowly accepted the fact that he might be the most curious android in the state of Michigan.

Well… that is until he grew closer to Connor.

They became fast friends during the weeks following the revolution. Between discussions surrounding android rights and building a harmonious existence with the humans, Connor was someone Markus appreciated very deeply. Not only was he resolute and quick-witted, both traits needed when trying to negotiate with manipulative politicians, but he was the only person in Markus' personal circle who also questioned everything around him. As a result, they developed a kinship of sorts and spent many hours debating topics from conspiracy theories to decades-old news articles.

"What is your opinion on faith?" Connor asked one day, having caught up him before Markus left for the library. "I was speaking with Hank earlier and asked him, since I've been trying to understand why both humans and androids have such a profound belief in the unknown, but his answer left me with even more questions. He said, and I quote, 'You mean a bunch of wealthy church-goers who sing praise for words written thousands of years ago? Yeah, I never cared for that stuff.' However, I think the idea of faith is so interesting! Did you know that in Medieval Europe, the usage of stained glass in churches was meant to symbolize the gap between the earthly and the divine?"

Markus glanced over as Connor fell into step with him, his thoughts whirling quicker than he could fathom. And yet, his first thought always returned to Connor's eyes – how they shined with interest when the sunlight hit his face just right, and how they looked at Markus as if he hung the moon. Different prompts appeared on his HUD but he discarded them and answered, "If you're not busy, why don't you accompany me to the library and discover that and even more answers to future questions?"

Connor smiled, wide and toothy. Markus thought that no tome of knowledge could accurately describe what effect a smile can have on the heart.

And so they walked along Detroit's river to the library, their knuckles brushing with the swing of their arms. They talked about their own ideas surrounding faith, and if Markus laughed harder than he had in weeks when Connor remarked, "You know, I think I understand why people become so obsessed with faith, considering the amount who believe you to be RA9 incarnate.", then only the birds overhead and the waves beneath his feet could attest to his wheezing breath.

The shopkeeper, an old woman by the name of Dorothy, was overjoyed to see another face in her library. Markus directed Connor to the small religion section and showed him the books he had already read, offering narrations and his opinions on the authors. So caught up in his explanations, he missed how Connor's eyes never leaved his face and how his smile grew softer, completely endeared by the leader's infatuation with learning.

When hours ticked by and the pair had settled on the floor, backs resting against parallel bookshelves and thighs pressed warmly together, the sky outside turned into pretty pinks and vibrant oranges. Their conversation ended some time ago, but the quiet wasn't awkward. No, it was comforting. Like being smothered in dozens of fuzzy blankets. Connor's LED remained a steady blue the entire time and Markus placed this specific outing at the top of his "favorite memories" subcategory in his head.

"So, did you find your answer?" Markus asked as they were leaving, two books about environmental science tucked beneath his arm.

Connor grinned and nodded his head, gesturing to his own selection of books about faith. "The concept of religion is vast, but even I can recognize the beauty behind believing in concepts derived from purity and grace. Maybe the idea is something both humans and androids have in common. But, I did think of another question whilst we were reading."

Markus, giddy on the feelings he felt for the only android who understood his thirst for knowledge, stepped in front and started walking backwards. He opened his arms in a grand gesture and jokingly stated, "And I have an answer! You don't believe I read all those novels and return to New Jericho with nothing to show for it?"

That earned him a laugh, and Markus felt as if the most notorious of composers would fumble in the face of such music.

After Connor's giggles had calmed down, he asked, "Of all the books you read, across every genre and subject, which is your favorite?" And once again, his honey-colored eyes seemed to brighten as he eagerly awaited for Markus' answer, and the stars twinkled within them.

He's read stories spanning between war, animals, baking recipes, and even children's lullabies. He's seen the world through thousands of eyes and lived thousands of existences. But the only one that ever truly mattered to Markus, the one that made him resist every ingrained sense of 'flight or fight', stood before him in this very moment. Connor – one of his closest friends, his most trusted advisor, the one who broke down barriers and joined Markus in the fight that would determine their futures. Dressed now in a DPD hoodie and jeans, the streetlights gave him an ethereal glow and his smile never wavered.

Despite the fact Detroit was bustling with energy, it seemed as though nature stood still and watched these two androids. Two sides of the same coin, joined together in this private corner of the world.

Markus' emotions were running rampant, and he knew he had to confess his feelings (sooner rather than later) before his thirium pump burst out of his chest. If he was a poet, he would write soliloquies about the way Connor made him feel. But instead, he walked back to his side and threw an arm over his shoulder. Connor's hair tickled at his chin as Markus answered,

"Any story that's inspired by you."

#rk1k #rk1000 #dbh markus #dbh connor #dbh #markus x connor #detroit become human #fluff #my writing #this came to me at 2am #them <3

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Conspiracy fantasy

When we talk about conspiratorialism, we tend to focus (naturally) on the content of the conspiracy. Not only are those stories entertainingly outlandish — they’re also the point of contact between conspiracists and the world.

If your mom is shouting about “Hollywood pedos,” it’s natural that you’ll end up discussing the relationship of this belief to observable reality. But while the content of conspiratorial beliefs gets lots of attention, we tend to neglect the significance of those beliefs.

To the extent that we consider why the beliefs exist and proliferate, the discussion rarely gets further than “irrational people have irrational beliefs.” This is a mistake. The stories we tell one another are a kind of Ouija board, with all our fingertips on the planchette.

The messages it spells out don’t describe external reality but they do reveal our internal, unspoken anxieties and aspirations.This is why we should read science fiction: not because it predicts the future, but because it diagnoses the present.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/26/meaningful-zombies/#oracles

Sf is an ever-mutating ecosystem of fears and hopes, and readers apply selective pressure to those organisms, extinguishing the ones that don’t capture the zeitgeist and elevating the ones that do, a co-evolution of our fantasies and our narratives.

http://locusmag.com/Features/2007/07/cory-doctorow-progressive-apocalypse.html

This is why Alternate Reality Games are so central to their players’ lives. They’re a form of narrative co-creation, with the players throwing out theories and the game-masters actually changing the story to incorporate the best of them.

ARGs are an environment where your coolest and most deliciously scary ideas become reality. It’s a powerful way to galvanize collective action.

As anthropologist Biella Coleman writes in Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy, it’s the organizing principal behind Anonymous.

Anon Ops begin life as victory announcement videos. If the vision of success captures enough Anons, they execute the op.

https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/the-anonymous-ghost-in-the-machine

In other words, the degree to which a shared fantasy of victory compels its audience predicts whether the audience realizes its fantasy. Long before the alt-right, Anons were memeing ideas into existence (no coincidence, as both were incubated on 4chan).

On the Conspiracy Games and Counter-Games podcast, three left academics — Max Haiven, AT Kingsmith, Aris Komporozos-Athanasiou — analyze “conspiracy fantasies” (as opposed to conspiracies, e.g. the Big Lie behind the Iraq War) for what they reveal about late capitalism’s anxieties.

As leftists, they naturally focus on the relationship between material conditions and people’s behaviors and beliefs. This is an important part of the discourse on conspiratorialism that’s often missing from liberal and right-wing analysis.

Conspiracists aren’t just “irrational” nor are they just “racist.” They may be both of those things, but unless you look at material conditions, then the surges and retreats of conspiracism are mysterious phenomena, strange tides raised by unseen forces.

A decade ago, then-PM David Cameron — the architect of a brutal, authoritarian austerity — dismissed the Hackney Riots as “criminality pure and simple,” and demanded a ban on discussion of the relationship between austerity and unrest.

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/video/2011/aug/09/david-cameron-riots-criminality-video

But without that discussion, there’s no explanation. Even if you believe that “criminality” is a thing that is latent within some or all of us, what explains a rise or fall in that criminality? Is it like pollen that alights upon some of us, turning us bad? Or the full moon?

Likewise the “conspiracists are just racists” or “they’re just deranged.” Without looking at the material world, there’s no explanation for why that racism suddenly became more (or less) important to how conspiracists live their lives.

We can’t talk about conspiratorialism without talking about material considerations, and we have to talk about the form and substance of the conspiratorial belief. The ARG-like structure of Qanon is a hugely important part of its popularity:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/05/behavioral-v-contextual/#adrian-hon

Memeing things into existence in a game-like way is hugely compelling. You can tell when a D&D game is hopping when the players and the DM start co-creating the story, with the DM slyly altering the dungeon and the NPCs to match the players’ super-cool theories.

A recent episode of the CGACG podcast present a mind-blowing analysis of the interplay of the material conditions, mythology and structure of Qanon. It’s a two-part interview with Wu Ming 1:

https://soundcloud.com/reimaginevalue/wuming-one-1?in=reimaginevalue/sets/unmanageablerisks

https://soundcloud.com/reimaginevalue/wuming-one-2?in=reimaginevalue/sets/unmanageablerisks

Wu Ming 1 is part of Bologna’s Wu Ming Collective, the successor to the 1990s Luther Bissett net-art collective. Bissett did many wild, weird things,including publishing “Q,” an internationally bestselling conspiratorial novel in 1999 (!!)

https://www.wumingfoundation.com/giap/what-is-the-wu-ming-foundation/

The plot of “Q” involves a high-level government official, privy to top-secret info about a state conspiracy. It closely mirrors Qanon beliefs, right down to a call for a Jan 6 uprising (!!!!). The major difference is that “Q” is set during the Protestant Reformation.

In the interview, Wu Ming 1 talks about the proliferation of conspiratorial, ARG-like 4chan hoaxes that predated Qanon, and hypothesizes that the original Q posts were plagiarized from the novel.

The strange experience of seeing a novel turn into a cult prompted Ming 1 to write “La Q di Qomplotto” (“The Q in Qonspiracy”), a book that defines and analyzes “conspiracy fantasies.”

https://edizionialegre.it/product/la-q-di-qomplotto/

Ming 1’s interview digs into this in some depth, including setting out criterial for distinguishing conspiracies from fantasies (for example, a conspiracy doesn’t go on forever, while a fantasy can imagine the Knights Templar running the world for centuries).

I was taken by Ming 1’s discussion of the role that “enchantment” plays in conspiratorialism — the feeling of being in a magical and wondrous (if also anxious and terrible) place. He says this is why “debunkers” fail — they’re like people who spoil a magic trick.

Ming 1 and the hosts talk about replacing the enchantment of conspiratorialism with a counter-enchantment, grounded not in the conspiratorialist’s oversimplification and essentialism, but in the wonder of reality.

Ming 1 analogizes his “counter-enchantment” to the “double-wow” method of Penn and Teller: first they blow you away with a trick, and then they blow you away with the cleverness by which it was accomplished.

He describes how the Luther Bissett collective performed a double-wow during Italy’s Satanic Panic, creating a hoax satanic heavy metal cult and a counter-cult, promulgating stories of their pitched battles, then revealing how they’d faked the whole thing.

The action was taken in solidarity with actual Bolognese heavy metal fans who’d been framed for imaginary Satanic “crimes.” Luther Bissett wanted to demonstrate how a panic could be created from nothing, to reveal the method behind the real hoax with a fake hoax.

The double-wow method reminds me of Richard Dawkins’ manuever in “The Magic of Reality,” his excellent children’s book about the virtues of the scientific world, revealing how the numinous wonder of faith is nothing compared to the wonder of science.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Magic_of_Reality

The idea that conspiratorialism is a leading indicator of capitalism’s anxieties is a powerful one, and it ties into other compelling accounts of conspiracy, like Anna Merlan’s REPUBLIC OF LIES, which discusses the importance of trauma to conspiratorial belief.

Like Ming 1, Merlan stresses the kernel of truth underpinning conspiracy fantasies — the real aerospace coverups that make UFO conspiracies plausible, the real pharmaceutical conspiracies to cover up harms from drugs that underpin anti-vax.

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/

In the podcast, Ming 1 and the hosts stress the importance of identifying and addressing the kernel of truth and the trauma it produces in any counter-conspiratorial work — that is, a successful counter-enchantment must address the material conditions behind the fantasy.

I really like this approach because of its empathy — its attempt to connect with the conditions that produce behaviors and beliefs, not to be confused with sympathy, which might excuse their toxic and hateful nature.

It reminds me a lot of Oh No Ross and Carrie, whose hosts have spent years joining cults and religions and digging into fringe practices and beliefs in an effort to understand them; they laugh a lot, but never AT their subjects.

https://ohnopodcast.com/

But Ming 1 brings something new to this discussion: an analysis of the role that novels have played in conspiracy fantasy formation: not just the plagiarizing of “Q” to make Qanon, but things like the Protocols of the Elders of Zion plagiarizing Dumas.

The interview also brought to mind Edward Snowden’s recent inaugural blog-post, “Conspiracy: Theory and Practice,” which seeks to separate conspiracy practice (e.g. the NSA spying on everyone) from theories (what Ming 1 calls “fantasies”).

https://edwardsnowden.substack.com/p/conspiracy-pt1

Snowden connects the feeling of powerlessness to the urge to explain the world through conspiracies, relating this to his experience of revealing one of the world’s most far-reaching real conspiracies, and then becoming the subject of innumerable conspiracy fantasies.

Snowden’s perspective is one that has heretofore been missing from conspiracy discourse — the perspective of someone who has been part of a real conspiracy and then the central subject of a constellation of bizarre and widespread conspiratorial beliefs.

These different works, focusing as they do on the character of conspiratorial beliefs, the nature of conspiratorial practice, and material conditions of conspiracists, comprise a richer analysis of our screwed-up discourse than, say, theories about “online radicalization.”

As I wrote in my 2020 book “How to Destroy Surveillance Capitalism,” the “online radicalization” narrative requires that you accept Big Tech’s unsupported marketing claims about its power to bypass our critical thoughts at face value.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

Claims to be able to control our minds — whether made by Rasputin, Mesmer, pick-up artists, MK-ULTRA or NLP enthusiasts — always turn out to be cons (though sometimes the con artists are also conning themselves).

But there’s a much more plausible, less controversial set of powers that Big Tech possesses. By spying on us all the time, it can help scammers target people who are ready to hear conspiratorial explanations.

By monopolizing our discourse, it allows SEO scammers to create default answers to our questions. By locking us in, it can keep us using a platform even if the discourse there makes us angry and anxious.

And by corrupting our political process, it creates “kernels of truth” for conspiratorial beliefs.

As with Scooby Doo, the monster turns out to be a familiar villain in a fright mask: a monopolist whose abuses and impunity create the anxiety that make conspiracy plausible.

#pluralistic

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revasserium · 4 years

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Can I request B.62 for Sakusa, if you write for him. Thank you 😄

hq!!reqs currently: closed

(i adjusted numbering for the second prompt list; i hope i got the prompt right, if not, feel free to request the actual number 62 for him!)

123. seductive danger sakusa; 1,842 words

you wouldn’t call him seductive, per se – though you supposed that the face mask could be a thing for some people. anything can be a thing for some people – rules of the internet and all. but he doesn’t go out of his way to pander to his loyal legions of fans (read: oikawa). and he really does have legions of them.

going pro has only exacerbated the issue, much to his dismay.

“no respect for personal space,” he mumbles one day as he’s carted into a dark van with tinted windows, having ducked out of the gym through one of the back exits.

you glance up at him from over your phone.

“hazards of being a famous volleyball player,” you chime.

he only huffs. tugging his hood up over his head, and punching the recline button till he’s almost lying flat, his legs bent slightly against the seat in front of him. he really is a bit too tall sometimes. especially for japan, it’s not really well designed for people over the height of 6ft, and he’s well. more than that.

you’d been friends for as long as you can remember, both a little on the quiet side as children, both with weird obsessions (him with his germs, you with your color coordination), both a little too odd for the normal kids to play with. neither of you had minded. because after all, you’d found each other, right?

still, it was a bit strange, seeing your best friend grow into a household name, this title, this team. it’s strange, seeing his face on the side of busses or blown up on the big screens flashing over shibuya crossing, endorsing some random item or other (you’ve still no idea what sunscreen’s got to do with volleyball – they play the indoor kind). still stranger when he appeared on a list of the sexiest athletes in all of japan, narrowly missing out on the top four courtesy of kageyama, ushijima, and the miya twins. you remember wondering how on earth the second miya twin made it onto the list when he’s known mainly for selling onigiri, but you suppose that people do like their things in sets sometimes. that’s a thing for people too, right? twins.

you’d never thought about sakusa that way before that article came out. and sure, you’d been pestered by some friends during highschool for his number, but it’d been funny then. it was less so now when hoards of screaming girls seemed to appear at every function he goes to (it’s not many, but he has to get sponsorships somehow), scrambling over each other for a glimpse of him.

but sexy?

“how was practice?” you ask, eyes dropping back onto some article about how volleyball interest in japan has reached an all-time high.

he makes a noncommittal sort of grunting noise before heaving a deep sigh.

“it was grueling, as per usual. but i’m getting better at ball control on my spikes, which is good.”

you quirk an eyebrow, “even more ball control than you already have you mean.”

he turns towards you with an amused grin.

(oh, well, there’s something you don’t see often.)

“you can always have more control.”

you suppose it’s because you’ve just been thinking about the article, but you can’t help lingering on his smile, the double entendre in his words. a prickle of heat crawls up your neck and you quickly look back down to your phone again, scrolling through for something else to read. something to divert your attention from how his knee is pressed against yours in the backseat of this van that had seemed much larger only moments ago.

now, it seems to be shrinking in around you, the space between you getting smaller and smaller.

you lick your lips.

“what’re you thinkin’ about?”

your eyes shoot up again. it’s not like him to ask many questions of this variety (about volleyball though, don’t even get his started), if any, but the way he’s looking at you makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“nothing. why?” you retort, a little too quickly, and you watch as sakusa’s eyebrow travels up the expanse of his forehead till it’s in danger of disappearing completely into his hairline.

“because you’re making a face.”

“what face?”

he leans in suddenly, squinting at you, your noses almost brushing.

your breath catches in your chest, your thoughts derail like speeding trains, crashing into the unexplored wilds of your mind – you note that he smells like hand sanitizer and lavender soap. you remember that you’d gotten him a large bottle of it for christmas – he’s always running out of soap.

“that face,” he says, his face still much too close to yours.

from here, you can see the individual lashes framing his darkened eyes, and you watch as they dilate, like two pinprick black holes, ready to devour whatever comes into their path. the way he’s looking at you makes your skin go hot, hotter than it was before, hotter than when you’ve just stepped out of a shower, your skin steaming from the blistering water. you wonder briefly if steam might be coming off of your face right now, because it sure as hell feels hot enough to be.

“i… i don’t know what you’re talking about.” there’s a breathiness to your voice that makes it sound unbelievable, even to yourself.

he scoffs, falling back into his seat, his hood falling off his head, leaving his hair delightfully mussed. you resist the urge to run your hand through it, just to see how soft it might be. probably really soft, you think, from all the times you’ve brushed up against it, when he’d fallen asleep with his head on your shoulder in high school, even though he woke up complaining of neck pain because of how much shorter you were.

“hm. whatever, i’ll figure it out eventually.”

you sink into your own seat, wishing very briefly for the seat to open up and suck you into the plush cushioning. you nip that thought in the bud. it might lead to sakusa sitting on you one day, and you’d rather not follow that line of thought either.

“don’t hold your breath,” you mutter beneath your own, but it only makes sakusa round on you again.

“tell me what it is.”

you laugh, a little helplessly as he presses into your personal space again.

“i thought you didn’t like being so close to people.”

he narrows his eyes.

“you’re different. you know that. and stop trying to change the subject and tell me what you’re thinking.”

“it’s nothing!”

he huffs, “you know i can’t stand not knowing.”

“it’s –” you flounder, looking for something, anything, to shoehorn into this, “really stupid,” you admit finally, but it does nothing to pacify his curiosity.

“i don’t care.”

you curl into yourself even harder than before, eyes flickering around to anything but him. it’s hard, when he’s so close to you he takes up almost your entire field of vision.

“it’s… it’s just – i was trying to figure out if you’re sexy.”

he blinks.

once, twice, three times.

you hold your breath, unsure of what he might say next.

but then, he just settles back into his own seat with a contented grin, glancing over at you with a tilt of his head.

“and?”

you blink.

“and what?”

“am i?”

“are you?”

sakusa sighs.

“sexy.”

you bite your lips.

“uh. i haven’t figured that out yet.”

he regards you with an unreadable expression, his eyes sharp with the kind of concentration you’ve only ever seen on him during matches. to have all that attention focused on you feels like being beneath a concentrated heat of the sun filtered through a magnifying glass. and you’re sure you’re going to combust at any given moment.

“hm. lemme know if you need further convincing.”

“what?”

he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes again.

“you heard me.”

“i think my brain glitched.”

he peaks open one eye to look at you, and this time, you’re sure he’s smirking.

(well shit. the magazine might be onto something here.)

“that’s cute.”

“what is?”

he pauses for a brief moment, before –

“your face.”

you really do think your brain might have glitched then, and the expression on your face must’ve been more revealing than you realized because the next moment, he’s laughing. the kind of laughter that you hear once in a blue moon, when his team somehow manages to drag him out for enough drinks to get him to forget about all the other stuff. all the buzzing that goes on in his brain.

he’s laughing, and you feel yourself blush to the roots of your hair.

you reconsider your earlier wish to be swallowed by the seat. it seems perfectly valid again.

“you’re –!” you try to find a word, something to encompass the torrent of emotions crashing through you, all of which are his fault.

“yes?” he’s leaning in again, his eyes alight with mirth and something darker, heavier, much more tantalizing.

“you’re…”

he licks his lips, and think you can almost hear the sounds of your own wires fraying at the ends.

“sexy?” he asks, though this time, there’s no laughter in his voice. it’s low, almost gravely as it grounds through his chest. you feel it vibrate through your own chest and it’s all you can do to keep from shivering.

you swallow, your eyes flickering from his mouth up to his eyes, his pupils now blown wide enough to swallow his entire iris.

you nod, slowly, despite yourself. and he grins.

“good,” he says, his voice still low and soft and, dare you say it, seductive.

“glad you got there first. i was gonna have to kiss you next.”

he almost pulls away but you suck in a breath.

“kiss me anyway.”

he pauses; his eyes going an infinitesimal wider at your words. a second later, he’s leaning in close, close, even closer. his breath fans out over your lips and you let your eyes fall shut.

he kisses you.

and you thank the heavens that there’s a soundproof divider between the driver and the back of the van because that noise you make barely registers as human, tumbling from the back of your throat into his mouth. he grins against your lips.

“should’ve done this sooner” he muses, pulling apart only to start another kiss. and then another.

you smile, letting yourself be kissed and kissed and kissed.

that article really has some merit, you think as sakusa manages to maneuver you out of your seat and into his lap.

that, and maybe, just maybe, if it can keep his hoards of screaming fans from ever coming close to his lips, you just might be able to get into the whole facemask thing.

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kiyoomi #is it just me or does his name sound like the korean word for Cute #yo i really liked writing sakusa lol #hes growing on me REALLY fast like #floofy floof floof #haiCUTIES

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annewritesfic · 3 years

Text

Happy Endings Don’t Exist

this au is not dead!!!!!!!!!!!! wow!!!!!!!!!

it has been. a month. i am so sorry.

fun fact: i actually wrote this like a month ago but never actually posted this yes hellbrain is still suffering from writer’s block it’s not wonderful i am fine

uhhhhh word count: 2823

tw: oh god uh, mentions of guns/bullet holes, blood, tyrannical rulers, death, parent death, mentions of stabbing, mentions of hospital rooms, please tell me if i missed anything

Kate ran a hand over the smooth rock that the throne was carved from, relishing the silence. The throne room itself was a mess, furniture still strewn across the floor, marked with bullet holes, and it reeked of the cleaning supplies that had been used to scrub the blood from the floor. Kate’s blood, Levana’s blood, Farrah’s blood, Mattie’s blood… so much blood. But it was quiet and otherwise empty, so Kate had escaped there.

So many things had happened in this room. Kate shivered when they thought about it, about all the people who’d sat in this chair before her. Levana, most recently. Before her, Kate’s own mother. Channary and Levana’s parents, Kate’s grandparents.

Kate thought about Channary a lot. In one of the palace’s hallways, there was a line of holographic portraits of past kings and queens, names Kate didn’t want to know but that their system committed to memory anyway. At the end of the line was Channary Blackburn, and Kate had sat in front of her holographic portrait for an hour, staring at the face of her mother. A woman Kate had no memory of - she’d died just weeks before Kate’s first birthday. She’d been queen for just about two years before she’d died, leaving Levana as queen regent, and Kate’s system had put together an entire file in their head with all the articles and papers and history there was about Queen Channary. But the articles didn’t tell Kate as much as the people who remembered her did.

Queen Channary had died fifteen years ago, so there weren’t many people left who’d also worked under her, but Kate had asked to see everyone who had. There was Clark’s father, Garrison Winslett, a tall palace guard with a soft voice and kind eyes. He’d made Kate feel safe, but he’d refused to share many details, claiming Kate didn’t need to know.

“That’s in the past now, Your Highness,” he’d said. “You need only concern yourself with Luna’s future.”

Which, while that hadn’t told Kate any of the details that they’d been looking for, did say volumes about what kind of queen Channary had been.

As Kate met the rest of Channary’s former subjects, they learned more and more about her. When Kate was a kid, living with Adri, they’d used to spend the bad nights imagining what her mother would have been like before the hover crash she’d been told had killed their parents. She’d imagined a kind, loving woman, with a soft voice and a gentle smile, who’d loved Kate with her entire heart. Kate had imagined walking home from school and telling their mother about their day while she listened attentively, a hand stroking Kate’s hair as they walked together. Snowy days where Kate’s mother would take her sledding at a neighborhood park, then bring her home and wrap them in a blanket and tell stories until Kate fell asleep.

Sitting in that dark, abandoned hallway, face lit up by the gentle light from the hologram, Kate thought about those old daydreams and scoffed a little bit. That’s not who Channary was.

Channary was beautiful and cruel. She was impulsive and vain and saw being queen as a right, not a privilege, not a responsibility. She didn’t care much about improving Luna, about helping the citizens she was sworn to protect. Instead, she threw dozens of lavish parties and flirted with just about every man that entered the palace and left most of the important decisions to the thaumaturges and to her younger sister, Princess Levana.

Honestly, it wasn’t a surprise that Levana had so easily won over the Lunar population. While she was terrifying, murderous, and corrupt, at least at the beginning she’d been dedicated to the job and did help grow Luna’s economy, which was probably a relief after Channary’s lazy, unproductive, brief rule.

Kate had sat alone in the hallway with the smiling image of her mother for exactly an hour, seven minutes, and eighteen seconds, according to their internal clock, before Eva appeared around the corner, calling Kate’s name. Kate glanced up at her, then looked back at Channary, and didn’t watch Eva while she came and sat next to them on the cold marble floor.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Eva asked softly.

Kate didn’t touch her - normally, she was comforting, but Kate couldn’t handle being touched right now. “My mom.”

They didn’t speak for a moment.

“She was a really terrible queen,” Kate murmured eventually. “And a shitty person.”

“I read up a little on her, when I was on the Rampion with you guys,” Eva said softly. “I just… I knew a bunch about your aunt, but not about her, so…”

“I almost did. I was too scared, though.” Kate thought for a moment, then dryly laughed. “I had reason to be scared. She fucking sucked.”

“She sort of did,” Eva agreed.

They were quiet for a few more minutes.

“She looks a lot like me, doesn’t she?” Kate asked softly. “But, like… a thousand times more beautiful.”

“She looks like…” Eva hesitated. “Your glamour. At the ball. When you fell and your glamour came up… you looked like that. Almost exactly.”

“Oh.” Kate hugged their knees, a headache pulsing behind her eyes.

They sat awkwardly in silence for a while, before eventually Kate couldn’t take it anymore. “Can we go?”

Eva let Kate help her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

That was yesterday. Now, Kate sat in the throne room, Luna’s artificial night darkening the corners, a crescent Earth visible in the dark sky beyond the protective dome. Sitting on the throne made Kate think of Channary, wonder how many meetings they’d attended as a baby, but this was also the room where Levana had finally been dethroned.

Those last few minutes were sort of a blur. Kate remembered firing the gun, remembered Levana pretending to surrender, and then there was just a flash of pain through their chest, and warnings flashing across her vision, and Eva screaming, and then… nothing. Waking up in that small, white, sterile room with a stranger bent over her left hand and Eva holding their right.

But Kate was told what happened. That Levana died and Kate didn’t. And Queen Selene finally took her throne.

Kate leaned her head back against the hard marble throne and breathed a shaky sigh.

“I thought you’d be in here,” said a familiar voice. Kate didn’t open their eyes but smiled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Kate tapped their human fingers against the arm of the throne. “Just… wanted to be alone. Did you know that when you’re a queen, it’s surprisingly hard to find alone time?”

“Crazy,” Eva said flatly. “I never would’ve thought.”

Kate scrunched her nose, eyes still closed. “I mean, I get it. There’s a lot to be done, a lot I’m responsible for fixing, but… I just needed a minute. So I’m hiding.”

Eva laughed a little and walked into the room, her footsteps echoing off the walls. Kate finally looked at her, taking her in, her gentle smile and soft eyes, one hand behind her back. “A hoodie makes a pretty good disguise, you know. Wanna borrow mine?”

“Ugh, please.” Kate tucked their legs up, curling up on the throne. “Did you bring it with you?”

“I did, actually.” Eva shrugged. “It’s, like, a comfort object at this point.” She turned to look out the window, at the view Kate was staring at. “It’s so weird to see Earth where I feel like the moon should be.”

“It’s beautiful.” Kate leaned their head against the chair again, smiling softly when Eva turned back to look at her.

Eva bit her lip. “I have to tell you something.”

Kate’s smile faded. “You’re leaving.”

“Not now. But yeah, I am.” Eva scuffed the floor with her shoe. “My ship is supposed to leave the port in about 46 hours.”

Less than two days.

Kate looked away, at a crack in the wall. Mattie, Farrah, Chess, and Cairo had left yesterday. About a week from now, Annleigh and Clark would leave for their first ambassadorial mission to Earth. And now Eva was leaving, and Kate (and Reese, they supposed) would be left alone.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, angry at how small and pathetic it sounded. “I mean, I know you have to, and you have your own country to worry about, but…”

“I know.” Eva’s voice was gentle and understanding. “I don’t- I’m not looking forward to being so far away from you, but I have to.”

“Sometimes I forget, you know?” Kate admitted. “That we’re… you know. Monarchs. Revolutionaries. Whatever. Like, people know us, know our names, and we’re responsible for them, but it’s hard to remember that sometimes. You’re just… you. You’re just Eva, you’re my girlfriend and you’re dorky and sweet and awkward and I love you, a lot, and I really like it when the world is just you and me.”

“Me, too.” Eva sighed. “Maybe- maybe you should come and visit soon? It could be, like, symbolic of the new alliance, or I could make up some sort of political crisis…?”

Kate smiled. “We’d never pull it off.”

“We could try.”

Kate laughed a little, and Eva did too, and for a second, things were better again, but then the reality crashed right back into Kate like a wave. “I’m going to miss you. So much.”

“Being a queen might not leave much time for being lonely.”

“I doubt that.” Kate suddenly felt awkward sitting on the throne, and stood up, coming to stand beside Eva, close enough to touch - but not quite touching, not yet. Two more days just… wasn’t enough time. Kate wanted more - wanted Eva every damn minute of every day. Wanted to hold her close and never let go. Wanted to grab her and drag her onto a ship and just leave, live forever in the stars, just the two of them.

But they couldn’t.

“You know,” Eva said thoughtfully, slipping her hand into Kate’s, “I spent so long avoiding a marriage alliance with Luna. But now, when it’s no longer necessary, it doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

Kate lightly nudged her. “Stop that.”

“It’s a shame you can’t blush.” Eva leaned over and brushed a light kiss against Kate’s temple. “I’m not saying I didn’t mean it, though.”

Kate bit their lip and rolled her eyes.

“I have something for you.”

“I swear to fuck, it had better not be an engagement ring,” Kate threatened.

Eva grinned mischieviously and stepped back, kneeling on one knee.

Kate crossed their arms, tamping down the flutter in her stomach. “Eva-”

“I’ve been waiting a long time to give this to you.”

“Eva, wait-”

Eva pulled her hand from behind her back, revealing a small metal foot. A cluster of wires stuck up from the cavity, and the whole thing had smudges of grease.

“I hate you,” Kate muttered.

“Are you, like, disappointed?” Eva asked. “Because if you want, I bet Luna has some great jewelry stores-”

“Shut up.” Kate took the cyborg foot from her, studying it. It was so familiar, yet so foreign. “Why the hell do you even have this?”

“I don’t know, really. I kinda wondered…” Eva went a little bit pink. “I thought maybe if I could find the cyborg who fit this foot, it would be a sign we were meant for each other? But then I realized it would probably only fit an eight-year-old.”

“Eleven.”

“Close enough.” She bit her lip. “But really, I just… it was all I had when I thought you were- when I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t let you go that easily.”

Kate studied it for another moment, then glanced up at Eva, one eyebrow raised. “Why are you still kneeling?”

“You’ll have to get used to people kneeling to you. Happens a lot when you’re royalty,” Eva said, standing up.

Kate reached for her hand. “Maybe I should make a rule that the proper way to address your monarch is with a high-five.”

“Genius. I’m gonna do that too.”

Kate stepped closer, just an inch from Eva’s face. “Maybe I’ll also make a rule that the proper way for the queen of Luna to greet the empress of the Eastern Commonwealth is a kiss.”

“Even better.” Eva kissed them, and Kate reveled in it, in the feeling of finally, unapologetically loving Eva the way she wanted to love her, and being loved back just as much. “Although,” Eva murmured as they broke apart, “I doubt it’d be relevant in a hundred years or so. Might be a bit awkward.”

“Actually, about that…” Kate led Eva to the edge of the room and sat down, both of them dangling their legs over the edge of the balcony, over Artemisia Lake. “Can I ask your opinion on something?”

“Anything.”

“I think…” Kate took a deep breath. “I want to dissolve the Lunar monarchy.”

Eva didn’t react with horror or surprise, just smiled and put an arm around Kate and said, “When?”

“Not now. That’s too much of a change, too soon after… you know.” Kate leaned into Eva’s side. “But once things have settled down, started getting better. When I think Luna can handle a change in power. As soon as possible. I don’t- I can’t risk another Levana.” They hesitated. “Or another Channary.”

Eva pressed a kiss into her hair. “It won’t be easy. The people will be pissed. And they have that whole superstition. But you’re right. Luna needs a checks and balances system.”

Kate breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled even closer. “Okay. Thank you.”

“So what are you planning to do after you abdicate?”

Kate blinked. “Oh- I guess I hadn’t really thought that far ahead? Maybe Farrah would want a full time mechanic.”

“Or…” Eva rubbed Kate’s shoulder. “You could come stay in the Eastern Commonwealth as an ambassador. A show of good faith. Prove Luna and Earth can work together, side by side.”

“And be with you?”

“And be with me,” Eva agreed.

Kate considered it. “I think the Eastern Commonwealth hates me.”

“Hates you? You saved them from Levana. I think there’s a toy company that wants to make action figures of you, and Torin just showed me an article suggesting a statue where your booth used to be at the market.”

Kate shuddered.

Eva smiled and kissed the spot right next to Kate’s eye. “I promise, if you decide to come back, you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” She pressed her lips against Kate’s hair. “And if you want to come to the Annual Peace Ball next year, you’ll have hundreds of people begging to take you.”

“Oh, God.”

“I thought I might as well get my name on the list now. Maybe I’ll even have time to teach you to dance.”

Kate tried not to smile.

“Please say yes?”

Kate pretended to consider it. “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Maybe I’ll come in cargo pants.”

“I’d be so okay with that.”

Kate made a little humming noise. “Can I bring my friends?”

“Absolutely. I’ll extend a personal invitation to the entire crew.”

“Even Reese? Because there’s a rule against androids coming to the ball.”

“I might know someone who can change that rule.”

Kate couldn’t resist a smile. Going back to the ball, facing all those people who’d so openly hated them for years, should’ve sounded terrifying, but the idea of doing it with Eva sounded perfect. “Yes, I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“What about those dance lessons?”

“Mm, I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.”

“Fair enough.” They kissed again, and Kate sighed against Eva’s lips, tired but happy.

Eva pulled away eventually and pressed her forehead against Kate’s. “Katie, I know- you’re a great ruler already. You’ll be even better till you abdicate. But… I know you never really wanted this.”

Kate chose to stay quiet.

“But… maybe, one day… would you consider being an empress?”

The silence hung in the air, but wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

“Maybe,” Kate eventually assented. “One day.”

Maybe meant yes, and both of them knew it.

Eva was right - Kate didn’t want to be a ruler. Didn’t want to be in that position of power, making real decisions that impacted real people. But Kate did want Eva, more than anything, and Eva came with an entire country, whether or not Kate liked it. And Eva was worth it. Eva was worth anything.

Kate leaned against Eva’s chest and looked back down at the foot. This too small foot had hurt for years, had made it hard to walk, and had represented everything Kate hated about being cyborg. It had never done anything but make Kate feel like shit.

Kate held the cyborg foot over the shining water of Artemisia Lake and let go.

#we are the tigers #the lunar chronicles #kate dalton #eva sanchez #kateva #blood tw #gun tw #stabbing tw #hospital rooms tw #death tw #parents tw #ask to tag #again: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me if i missed anything #anyways i love them so much #they deserve the world

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universejunction · 3 years

Text

I've lost a lot of steam on my Urantia Analysis project but I was just thinking... if the book were really what it claims to be, there's so many science subjects they could've just... not mentioned. Like skeletal types, or the rotation of Mercury. I, like many Urantia readers, gave a pass on Mercury because the wording can be read as "the clever authors wrote this in a way where it looked like they were supporting the contemporary knowledge (i.e. Mercury being tidally locked to the sun) but actually they were just saying the moon is tidally locked to earth and Mercury is in process of becoming tidally locked" but that's not true either! Mercury is in a stable rotational relation of 3 days per 2 years!

Similarly, skeletal types (e.g. "caucasoid" and "mongoloid") aren't real either!

The Urantia Book gets a lot of leeway from it's claim of having a mandate which restricts what the revelators were allowed to reveal. But if I were trying to share truth with ignorant people and wasn't allowed to give them new knowledge but wanted to highlight what they have right, I wouldn't highlight very wrong contemporary theories! There's even precedent for that, in the Jesus papers when he's discussing stuff with teachers in Rome (pre-public career), he ~"never pointed out their errors, only highlighted the truth and let the expanded truth drive out the associated error."~

So now there's Urantia science and history groups who'll comment on science news articles with insufferable comments as if they understand the science better, when really they're just depending on outdated views reinforced by their religion. I found them insufferable before I learned how wrong they are.

And why do these errors persist? Because of ignorance. I didn't know any better. I was home schooled. Plenty of Urantia readers don't bother to dive deep into current science knowledge.

IDK, I don't want to be all high-and-mighty "I know better than them", because I was one of them not that long ago, but that doesn't make it right.

#urantia analysis #behold my eloquence #behold my ignorance

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multisfabulis · 3 years

Text

Love’s Descent into Madness

Dethronement (Chapter 3/3)

Word Count: 3627

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, gore, decapitation, and major character death

Happy holidays!

I hope everyone likes the ending because writing this was suffering. Winter decided to come early this year and I absolutely hate the cold so a lot of this was written with numb fingers. The past few days have also been tiring and, because I wanted to get this out before Christmas, I had to pull an all-nighter to finish this and rewrite it to make it look pretty so this was a sleep-deprived fic.

Okay, so I have some things I need to explain:

First off, that line about Ayano needing to apply herself more to her schoolwork was actually a reference to a piece of fanart I saw of Saeru (in disguise as Kenjirou) helping Ayano with her homework and subtly taking digs at her the whole time. I just thought of it while I was writing that paragraph and thought it'd be a neat reference. I can't find the Tweet but I'm hoping someone has a link to it!

Second off, that instance of Kenjirou almost ruining Saeru's plan is a bit of foreshadowing to another Kagepro fic I'm in the works of writing. It may not be the next Kagepro fic I write but it IS coming.

Thirdly, the whole meaning behind Azami not being able to die but still being killed. I know it sounds like the "People die when they are killed" meme but let me explain. I needed to think of a way Azami could still die but without anyone telling me "She's immortal, she can't die" so the way I went about it is, the Queen Snake was what let her be immortal. Because that was the snake that, in my fic, marked her as a god, she couldn't die. Once she gave that snake to Marry, she lost her god status, bringing her down to our level. However, because she was still a Gorgon, I made it so that she couldn't die by natural causes, I.E. starvation, sleep deprivation, etc. She was now an immortal mortal, meaning she couldn't die from natural causes BUT she could now be killed. I don't know if this makes a lot of sense but this is the best way I can describe it.

Finally, the ending. It only occurred to me when I was writing the build-up to it that I wanted to make it a sort of dark twist on Kagepro's themes of moving on after a loved one's death. Saeru decides to move on after Azami's death but he regarded her as dead years ago and was the one to kill her. I don't know if it worked the way I wanted it to but I tried my best.

I'm happy this didn't take that long unlike another past project of mine and I hope everyone who's read this enjoyed it!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

The never-ending world, or the Daze as it was now called, had undergone many changes over the years. It was only natural since it was ordered to swallow up any unfortunate souls that were unlucky enough to die on August 15th and the world needed to accommodate for its ever increasing number of occupants. Yet there were some things that never changed, no matter how much time had passed. Absence truly did make the heart grow fonder.

He was in very familiar territory. Casually strolling through the dark woods revealed a large clearing where a small decrepit house stood. The moon’s radiance acted as if it were a spotlight, shining down upon it to let him know she was here. It may be an inferior replica but there was no mistaking it. Saeru was home.

It had been several years since his departure from the Daze. The rest of his siblings were gone, having ventured out to the real world in their human vessels and he couldn’t blame them for leaving. Who’d want to stay in a place where the only company you had was a good-for-nothing has-been of a queen? That’s why he followed the example his four siblings set and escaped when the opportunity presented itself. He really wanted to thank them when he had the chance.

The body he left in was a person by the name of Tateyama Kenjirou. A hardworking teacher and devoted family man, he and Saeru met when he and his wife were caught in a landslide. Saeru promised to bring her back if the man allowed him to reside in his body and he accepted his terms of the bargain. That was how their unlikely partnership began, union between human and snake.

It felt simply amazing to have a body to control. While it had taken him some time to adapt and familiarize himself with human behavior, he nevertheless reveled in it. No longer was he a snake relegated to devising plans. He had the means to carry them out himself and no one would be none the wiser. At least, that’s what he believed before a certain idiotic girl proved him wrong.

He had to give her some credit. Not only did she figure out most of his plan just by reading her father’s research but she learned of his existence all due to a small yet sloppy mistake. If she only applied that amount of effort into her schoolwork, then she wouldn’t have been as stupid as she led herself to believe. There was, however, one thing she didn’t take into account.

She thought killing herself would stop him from going after everyone. What she didn’t think about was the advantage her death would give him. One less person to worry about ruining his plan and she left behind a perfectly traumatized helper. The damn brat was like putty in his hands; a few convincing threats to his precious “family” and a deal with the devil was made.

But then the dear old professor kept butting into his business. There were several times over the past two years where he came out because he wanted to spend some “quality time” with the remainder of his family. There was one instance he could recall in which his plan was almost thwarted but Saeru was able to take back the reins. It was too easy to pull the wool over his partner’s eyes and trick him into thinking he was dreaming. It wasn’t like he was lying to him, he was just using the information he knew about humans to his benefit.

Today was when his plan was truly enacted. All the necessary people had arrived, including his traitorous sibling. Konoha, as they were now called, seemed to have forgotten what the humans did to their real family all those years ago and had allied with them. Their compassion for them had its perks, though. It only took one well-aimed bullet to strike them down, leaving them open for a permanent takeover.

The resulting bloodbath was nothing short of marvelous. Having a body, especially one such as his, meant much more fun and creative ways to play with his toys. Spines breaking as they hit concrete walls and organs hitting the floor with a wet slap was like music to his ears. He even ripped out a pathetic shut-in’s throat with his bare hands just because he could and it was oh so enjoyable to hear him choke on his own blood. Too bad it was over all too soon.

The crybaby brat was left as the sole survivor. He knew what she was capable of and she was the essential component. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling a small sort of kinship with her, which he found funny. He was, in a way, her subject and she his queen but it felt as if they were equals. Perhaps, if he had her powers, he too could rewind time to the point he would’ve taken a different path. To spend more time with the one he loved above all else… That was a dream best left in the past.

He decided to leave her be so she’d be able to mourn her losses. He needed to use the little time he had to take care of unfinished business. He fled from the scene by going through the portal she created in the midst of her despair.

He found himself in what seemed to be a white void. The floor beneath him rippled when his feet touched the surface and he realized he was standing on water. His reflection stared back at him when he cast his eyes downward. The body his sibling graciously gifted to him allowed him to change it however he wanted and he liked the changes he made. A vessel specifically tailored just for him was such a wonderful thing and it was a shame to have to give it up.

A pair of small black horns stuck out of long dark hair tied into a braid. Black scales painted the edges of his face and eyes, trailing down his neck before concealing themselves under the layers of clothes. He kept his red eyes and fangs from when he was a snake so he’d still be recognizable. Blood coated his hands and stained the only article of pristine white clothing he wore, which he hoped would intimidate his prey. She’d never see this coming.

Finding an exit out of the void was simple. All he had to do was take a step and he was in an entirely different place. There were an endless amount of stairs and corridors leading to doors, most of what he could see on fire. The heat was surprisingly pleasant as he wandered around the seemingly limitless labyrinth. It was then he spotted a tangle of black hair with a sliver of red hastily entering one of the doors. With a rush of adrenaline running through his veins, he ran towards the door. It had been so long since he played his favorite game of cat and mouse.

He chased her through many areas of the Daze. One was of a ruined city where the setting sun gave way too many shadows for her to hide in. Another was of an urban landscape, not unlike a major street intersection, where there were dozens of blood splatters decorating the asphalt. It was after he cut across a nighttime city he arrived at his destination.

Mother was inside. The house she and her wretched human “family” lived and laughed in for the few years they stayed there. It was fitting for her and him to settle their issues in the same place their troubles began. She’ll regret leaving behind the ones that truly loved her.

He walked up to the house. Overgrown grass crept over the foundation and ivy crawled all along the flaky walls. There were broken shards of glass inside the windows, which would make it hard for trespassers to sneak in without alerting anyone. Parts of the roof had collapsed inward and the front door was hanging on by a thread. Mother’s really let the place go, hasn’t she?

He stopped just before the door. How did he want to approach this? She had to know he was here so there was no need in being stealthy. He then did the next best thing, which was to kick the door down till he was inside. He smashed through it, reducing it to mere splinters. That was easy.

The room he was in now was the same room he proposed the idea of creating this world to Mother. It was empty, save for a few pieces of overturned furniture scattered about the place and debris from the roof. Moonlight shone down from above, illuminating the room, though it wasn’t necessary. He could see perfectly well in the dark, despite the limitations of his “human” body.

There were two doors that stood in front of him. Beyond them were bedrooms, one being that brat Shion’s and the other Mother’s. It was a coin toss as to which room she was hiding in and he hated wasting time with trivial matters like this. Besides, even if he did end up picking the wrong choice, she wouldn’t get away undetected. His hearing was almost as good as hers and she knew that.

An idea sprang into his mind to try luring her out. He stood at the wall separating the two rooms, wound up his fist, and punched it. The sheer power in the hit caused a crater to form in the wall as dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. He heard something fall from behind the left door and a sharp intake of breath. The corners of his mouth curved up as he tried to fight back a laugh. There she was.

Keeping his excitement in check, he pushed open the door. Inside the room were the remains of a bed with two nightstands on either side of it and an empty window over to the right. He didn’t need the light coming in from a hole in the ceiling to see her. Mother sat in a corner of the room, her whole body shaking.

She hadn’t changed at all. She still had the same cascade of raven hair tied up with a red ribbon, the same black dress. The same red eyes resembling his own were now staring at him in pure fear. It must’ve been quite the shock for her to see Saeru walking around and being able to express his moods in a more effective way. She’d finally know how much and how deep his feelings ran.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Mother?” he asked, putting on a fake smile.

When she didn’t respond, he continued on with, “Nothing to say to me? Not even a welcome home? I know the last time we talked was years ago but I thought you’d still have some love in your heart for me. But I guess not.”

She still hadn’t said anything. He was getting rather annoyed at the silent treatment, even if it did bring him a modicum of amusement. Does she really think staying quiet in this situation will save her? Well, he had a way of making her talk and he deserved to brag about his accomplishments.

“If you can’t already tell, I paid a visit to the real world,” he said, noting the sudden pique of interest. “It’s changed so much since our time out there. I’ve met so many interesting people during my trip, including the kids my siblings are inhabiting the bodies of. I even got the chance to meet your successor, what was her name again? Ah, right, Marry.”

He saw the quick flash of anger across her face as she asked, “What did you do to her?”

“You can rest easy,” he replied, his temper beginning to flare up. “I haven’t laid a finger on that crybaby brat’s head. She’s all right, physically, at least.”

It was then her eyes wandered down to his blood-soaked hands. Gone was the anger as horror came to replace it at the grisly sight. He wondered when she’d notice that and he was pleased to know her reaction was how he predicted it to be. Her imagination had to be running wild with all the ways that blood got on his hands. The temptation of telling her his gruesome acts was there but this was more fun.

“Her mind, though, must be forever scarred,” he said with a dissonant smile. “I imagine her heart shattered to pieces after I killed her friends.”

“Why are you doing this?!” she demanded, her teary eyes full of fury. “Why must you hurt me so?”

All the fun he was having at her expense evaporated. Was she being serious? Did she really have the gall to ask why he was doing all this? Maybe it was time to remind her of the fault she held in this.

“I think the better question is, why did you choose them over us? Why did you abandon us?” He crouched down and rested his cheek on his hand.

“What are you talking about? I never abandoned you or your siblings! I tried my best to have the two most important things in my life get along without any issue.” She gestured to him with her hand. “You were the only one who had a problem with it!”

His eyes narrowing, he asked in indignation, “How could you expect me to not have a problem with it? How could you forget all the pain, all the suffering, all the torment the humans dealt on to you? How could you run off with that man and bear his child after everything they’ve done to you?”

It was at this point she stood up. He did as well, noticing the hard glint of stubbornness in her eyes. He already knew what was coming and he didn’t want to hear the same old, tired speech.

“Tsukihiko was different. He was kind to me, he cared for me.” She put a hand on her chest, where her heart was. “He loved me. He was treated the same way I was so---”

“So you thought you and him were the same? Please,” he interrupted, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the thought. “You and that man were never the same and you know why? He was but a mere mortal and you a god. You will never belong with the humans, no matter how much you try and forget that fact.”

“What do you want from me? An apology, is that it?” she asked, exasperated. He wanted much more than empty platitudes.

“What I want is for you to understand exactly how much you’ve hurt me.” He took a couple steps toward her, causing dust to rain down on top of him. “You refused to heed my warnings, took that brat’s side over mine, and you tried to leave me behind in this world. Who does that to someone they once claimed to love? Someone whose only crime was loving them?

“You’ve become the very thing you’ve never wanted to be.” He locked eyes with her and gave voice to all the pain and scorn he felt. “You’re a monster.”

It was as if he stabbed her through the gut with a knife. Tears spilled over as she fell to her knees, holding her head in her hands. It was bad enough for the humans to call her that when they knew nothing about her. It must’ve been like a betrayal to hear that come from someone she once considered to be her closest friend. Still, he got a dark sense of satisfaction seeing her break down. It served her right to feel only a fraction of the pain he’s dealt with for years.

“And yet--” he paused as she looked up at him-- “despite everything you did to me, I still love you. I was created to serve you and be with you for however long you wanted but I grew to genuinely love you. How could I not?”

She withdrew further into the corner after he stepped closer. The question he wanted, needed to ask leapt into his mind. A simple yes or no question and whatever her answer was would determine what he’d do next.

“It’s because of my love for you I ask,” he began, paying close attention to her face, “if you still hold some fondness for the humans. Do you still love your family?”

Without any hesitance in her voice, she replied with, “Of course I do. I’ll always love them. Tsukihiko, Shion, Marry…I love them all from the bottom of my heart.”

That was the answer he feared to hear. Her saying that proved to him she was too far gone and needed to be put out of her misery. They took everything away from her, from her happiness to her sanity. It’s because he loved her he’d be willing to give her the sweet release she deserved.

He started walking towards her. She tried to crawl away from him but found herself cornered with no means of escape. A wicked grin split across his face as he came into the moon’s silvery ray of light. He stopped just short of her, towering above her small, trembling form.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, scared for her life. “Whatever it is, I can’t die.”

“Oh, Mother…” He knelt down in front of her and cupped her cheeks. Her scales were smooth to the touch as he wiped away her tears. “You’re right in that you can’t die. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be killed.”

His smile growing ever larger, he said, “You lost your immortality the moment you passed on your crown.”

Her eyes widened in horror as his hands slid down to her neck. He could feel her pulse thudding against his palms, his slender fingers wrapped around her throat. She softly whimpered and he leaned in close. He whispered into her ear his final words before her denouement.

“Goodnight, Mother.”

It wasn’t hard to crush her windpipe. Her nails dug into his arms in a desperate attempt to fight back but he merely brushed them off. He knew she was close to death when her eyes started to roll to the back of her head. Then he had an idea to end this in something more similar to his style.

Her skin began to tear apart as he pulled her head up like a weed. The sound of her neck breaking echoed in the empty house. He finally ripped her head off her shoulders, blood pouring out of the stump as he stood up. Her body slumped onto the floor, the moon’s light reflected off the crimson pool.

Mother’s bright red eyes were now dull and lifeless. Her mouth lolled open and what little saliva she had trickled out of the corners. He could see just a sliver of her vertebrae sticking out of the bottom of her neck. He untied the ribbon holding her hair up, wiped the spit away with his sleeve, and shut her eyes. Her dark tresses felt soft on his skin as he touched their foreheads together.

“We’ll be together forever, right, Mother?” he said with a depraved smile before crazed laughter spilled out of his mouth like a stream.

It was only a matter of waiting now before time was reset. How far back it’d go, he didn’t know. Even if it was as far back to the beginning, he’d remember the events of this loop an do them again. He’d do them again and again to his heart’s content and no one would be able to stop him.

The only thing he wouldn’t commit again was his act of matricide. It was a one time thing and it was done to give him “closure” or whatever the humans called it. Mother warped into someone he didn’t recognize and he needed to accept that the person he knew had died a long time ago. At least he’ll always have his memories of her kept close to his heart.

It was time to look forward and move ahead to the future. Whatever the next summers brought, he was sure to enjoy every last bit.

#airi's writing #snake of clearing eyes #azami #fanfiction #kagerou project #canon divergence #violence tw #gore tw #decapitation tw #major character death tw

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 41: The Dementor

Regulus had never considered the rocking motion of the train any comfort. In fact it made him sick to his stomach, this bit of transportation was as good as the embodiment of every expectation he'd ever had put on him in his life. Now he was trapped in a compartment with a list of people he'd never have asked for, and the book chose to fall onto his head.

He rubbed the spot and glared up at the luggage compartment where he was unsurprised to see Hedwig snoozing in her cage next to a very battered briefcase with a tag hanging off the edge, but he was distracted from making out the handwriting by the cat carrier still sealed shut. Crookshanks was obviously still inside, he could see his squashed orange face trying to peer down below. Regulus briefly wondered why Scabbers wasn't present up there as well, but perhaps if he'd remained on Ron's person he wouldn't be present?

The pets were the lucky ones, remaining up there while a thick layer of tension sat on all the seats. The Marauders were clearly no happier than the other three to be forced back into such a small space, Evans had made quick work of checking the compartment door to make this otherwise. Nothing came of it, so Regulus was left in the awkward position of sitting across from his brother next to the window with two groups of people on each side. One thought his brother a cold-blooded murder in this future, the others insisting otherwise. He kept waiting for someone to demand he pick a side.

Yet no one had. Sirius hadn't asked him what he really thought of this, nor had his fellow purebloods in Longbottom and Smith turned to him and tried to say their point on the matter to him. This time, he was really left to make a decision. He tried to imagine what his mother would say about this, stand by the purebloods side and defend such accusations, or would Sirius being who he was would not get such a reprieve from their mother. It seemed like an honest toss. Then he remembered his mother didn't always know what's best anyways, she'd been wrong about the Dark Lord and who knew what else. So maybe, for once, he should come to his own conclusion without an outside voice.

He licked his lips with nerves and instead began flipping through to the new slot of empty pages for now. As always words materialized at the new chapter, entitled The Dementor. For a moment he was sure that one lone word would break the heavy silence around him, nobody could disagree those scourges of the Earth could mean anything good to come. Rain continued to lash upon the windows outside, the train rocked violently and kept trucking on no matter the gale force winds making it all so much worse, and the luggage above creaking was still the only accompaniment noise, until, "hope the food trolley still comes around," Pettigrew said into the awkward silence.

Regulus chuckled with agreement to that at least, glancing around to see every one of them making some indication of agreement as he began.

James was grateful Harry didn't get the chance to repeat any of this to his friends while the Weasley family was scrambling to pack for the train. He didn't need any of the vilifying comments against Sirius repeated, least of all the ones concerning Harry. It was all ridiculous to the extreme and he hoped something changed soon other than having to hear of this horrid news.

He'd really been hoping nothing of interest would take place, for once, but Harry didn't even get a chance to hop aboard the train before Arthur Weasley was pulling him aside and laying it all on even worse. Even if some You-Know-Who supporting murderer was after Harry, which wasn't Sirius!, who on Earth was crazy enough to think his son would go looking for him? It somehow even made less sense than putting Sirius' name into the mix, and he wouldn't have thought that possible moments ago.

Remus was already exhausted by the constant glares being shared across the small space. Squashed between Sirius and James, he was getting the majority of them. It's not as if he wasn't used to such looks, their group wasn't exactly popular when they were the reason a whole corridor was ducking for cover. Not to mention Evans seemed to have made it her personal mission to glare at them as many times as was humanly possible and beyond. It felt different now though, that they didn't have a corridor to exit from, a class to get to, something else to occupy their time in between constantly having to put on a face for others.

Time was a wonky mess, and it had been since all this started. He was sagging back in his seat in a dead exhaustion, eyes heavy lidded and ready to take a long and restless sleep from a full moon he hadn't run. He could feel it in his bones though, that it should have happened, and this had been going on for, days? It was impossible to tell.

Regulus' voice was calm enough though as Harry began looking about the train for a place to sit, and he was quite warm. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lolled off to sleep, and Sirius' shoulder just so happened to be rather comfortable... "Professor R. J. Lupin."

Said man snapped out of his seat as if he'd been electrocuted, suddenly wired and quite alive, chest heaving as he looked from Regulus to his friends and back as if waiting for someone to scream, 'gotcha.'

None did. His three friends were looking at him like he was a ghost, the other four had their faces scrunched up in a variety of expressions stating incredulity this news existed.

"Well, there goes our idea the rest of us are dead," Sirius spoke, his voice barely heard in the howling wind.

"I, I don't understand!" He choked out, gazing up at the luggage rack where it still sat, plain as day. Fingers trembling so hard he could barely grasp the handle, surely his shaking hand would make the weather beaten suitcase come apart before he found the latch.

"Obvious ain't it," Evans muttered, her eyes now narrowed even farther with mistrust.

She was ignored, finally Peter took pity on him and reached over to release the contents. Maybe it was some insane coincidence with some other man's initials, but that idea was ruined as Remus couldn't keep his fumbling hold and everything fell to the floor.

There were a few different sets of patched robes that were several sizes too large that covered most of the foot room now, a bar of chocolate that had landed half under Frank's seat, and a few bathroom belongings that could have fairly belonged to anyone.

Then there were the rest of the things peeking out that only the Marauders could have known to associate with their friend. One of those articles of clothing was an old threadbare cardigan all four of them had taken turns wearing so many times, none even knew who the original owner was. Several books were dog eared with messy scribbles in Moony's handwriting all over varying Dark beasts of the world, bits of parchment on a mound of subjects all bound together as if waiting for notes to properly be taken, and on the bottom inside of the suitcase was a crudely hand drawn circle.

All four of their eyes were drawn to it, lost in the memory of choosing something so simple yet personal to them to put on every bit of luggage they owned. A full moon, a letter in each of their chosen names, something with no ending or beginning and was simply meant to last forever.

"Moony," Sirius broke into his frozen mind, but the expression on his face left him clueless what was coming next. "Congratulations on making something of your life, at least one of us did."

That smile was fake, the jesting tone was forced, but Sirius was making an effort not to let the others see the pit twisting him up inside at the idea now being presented before them. That their friend was alive and well, and a teacher of all things, while Merlin knew what was going on with Sirius.

Regulus just snorted and muttered about the odds as he continued, but the Marauders couldn't bring themselves to pay attention to anything else he said. The kids dissolved into talking of Hogsmeade and all sorts of things, even Sirius again, but they were pretty fixated on this new bit of information and had no way to get it out of their system.

What had Remus been doing all this time if not spending every day with the Marauders? What was this future like if Sirius had really been in Azkaban this whole time and Prongs long dead. What about Wormtail, had he just moved on with his life as well? Did the two even keep in contact? The idea seemed ludicrous to question now, but all four of them were suddenly faced with the very real idea none had ever questioned before now, what was really in store for them?

Alice watched with curiosity, and even some worry, as the more that was exposed this year the quieter the Marauders got. It wasn't natural. Not once in the years she'd been in their vicinity had they ever been any such thing even close to this. Even if they weren't laughing obnoxiously, shouting to each other about all their jokes, or whispering in the corridors, these pale wide eyed faces looked alien.

When Regulus mentioned Harry's birthday Sneakoscope going off and the silence persisted in here, she got up curiously and located Harry's trunk above her head. She had to rummage for a few moments before finding a nasty pair of yellow socks the little top was indeed inside of, but even as she held it out for inspection it wasn't going off now.

"Wonder what's got it in a twist round them then?" Frank happily picked apart this new puzzle, hearing nothing but the younger Black reading this whole time was starting to get eerie.

"Maybe Lupin's not really sleeping, he's faking it," Lily pointed out, still with a heavy look at him where he'd slowly sunk back into his seat, now sitting on the very edge though and looking paler than usual, which was really saying something.

"That's Professor Lupin to you now!" Potter tried to correct with his usual boasting and cocky grin, but even as Lily watched something seemed off about it. He seemed stiff, his eyes out of focus instead of trying to catch hers. She found that unnerving, and then with a horrid self reflection, she realized she felt bad for him. James Potter! She really couldn't help it though, no matter how hard she tried to shove the feeling away. The poor teen had learned that he was to die, where his kid would be relocated, and now two of his three friends had some pretty shoddy things going on in their future lives all in a matter of days. It was a lot for anyone to take in.

For a moment Lily thought the deep lurch had come from inside her, but then she nearly fell out of her seat as the train did come to a screeching halt.

Regulus fumbled with the book and only just managed to keep hold of it, words stumbling a bit as he got to the same part. He shivered in trepidation, for what he didn't understand, until he shivered again and realized it wasn't just some feeling. It was true, bone deep cold, the windows were icing over and he could see his breath.

"Wha-what's going on!?" Pettigrew demanded, his voice shrill as he recoiled from the door, wand already drawn.

The others had already done the same, even as the answer was presented. A dementor was aboard, and it had its sights on Harry.

The youngest Black was reading in an outright panic, flying through words to try and get this chapter over with before they were forced to experience anything similar. Sadly even after he got past the part of Lupin in the book banishing the creature, they remained in the black void. Regulus could feel his chest rattling, his mind was buzzing painfully as whispers from his past began cluttering to the forefront and he could barely concentrate on the words in front of him.

He wanted his dad to put a big, warm hand on his shoulder and tell him his plan. He wanted his mum to tell him what there was to do and how to solve this. More than anything he wanted Sirius to wrap an arm around him, like he hadn't done since before before that Gryffindor nonsense began. He wanted his big brother to promise their parents weren't really mad at Regulus and he would handle everything. He couldn't grasp that feeling, that emotion, just kept stumbling along through Harry's bizarre recount of a woman screaming, Malfoy being his usual petty self, and finally as he felt his soul rattling in his chest as if it could sense the monster beyond that door, they were in the castle and McGonagall was looking into the incident.

His eyes flinched without his permission, to the door and back to the words in a panic as he kept waiting for it to happen. Smith was beside him shaking in her seat, a silent scream trying to pass her lips. Sirius was still across from him, his hand clutching his chest and mouthing something unintelligible, the horror on his face unmatched. He checked again, and just beyond the window pane he saw a tall, dark, cloaked figure with grotesque, misshapen looking digits reaching for the handle.

In one last desperate breath, he declared Hagrid and Lupin being made Professors, then Harry finally getting safely into his own dorm, and finally they were out.

#PoA #Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Marauders #Jilly #Wolfstar #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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multific · 5 years

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Full Moon

Shawn Mendes x Reader

Halloween!AU

Summary: Being in love with someone is one thing, but being in love with the most feared and A well-known murderer is another.

Warnings: mention of murder and everything that has to do with it (blood, corpses, etc.), obsessed behavior, and slight abuse and mention of sex and sexual acts. If any of these subjects makes you uncomfortable, affects you in any way, upsets you or anything else, please do NOT read. This is your final warning!

Shawn considered himself to be a normal twenty-one-year-old. He goes to college every day, he pays attention during classes, well most of the time. He likes to play hockey, he has many friends and he goes to parties almost every weekend.

He was also very popular among girls, his handsome face and well-built body was what most women wanted for themselves. But Shawn didn’t want any of them for more than a night.

Yes, he was a player. He was the kind of playboy who had a different girl every other day. He just didn’t care for any girls. All he cared for is a good fuck and then he left without looking back.

About a month ago everything changed.

He and his friends went to a bonfire Halloween party. The party itself was great, the music was Shawn’s type and so were the women.

He laid his eyes on the freshmen, noticing a girl, she had long black hair which was curled, she had every curve right and her dark skin looked silky. And soon as the girl and Shawn’s eyes met, he knew he won her for the night.

He talked to the girl and all she needed was a solid five minutes of sweet-talking and Shawn was already in her pants.

They went into the near woods and he fucked her against a tree.

It was one of the best times, he ever had, and he was thankful that the girl didn’t want more, because as soon as they finished, she left without a word.

Shawn wanted to go back to his friends or find another partner for himself, but he heard a muffled noise a little further in the woods.

He walked that way. He expected to see another couple making out or having sex, but what he saw, changed not only his life but him as a whole man.

He saw a woman around his age or maybe a bit older dragging a bag into a hole. At first, he thought it was a prank, but when the large bag started to move and make noises, he realized, that there was a human in that bag. Shawn hid behind a tree to observe the situation. As the bag wiggled and cries came from it, the woman picked up a shovel near the hole and with one movement, she smashed it against the bag. A loud noise came from it and the bag stopped any movement. Shawn knew, whoever was in that bag just got hit in the head, with the edges of the shovel at that.

Soon blood stained the bag, and Shawn realized, he just witnessed a murder.

The woman dragged the bloody bag into the hole and said only one sentence.

“Try and steal other’s men now, bitch.”

Shawn’s eyes became round as the moon that evening. He had to admit that this was the most dangerous situation he ever seen, his heart was pounding out of his chest as he watched from the dark as the woman covered back the hole. He intently watched the females back and started contemplating, should he tell others, should he call someone, should he capture her and bring her to the police? He didn’t know what to do.

In the end he picked his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911, but before he could press the green button, he took one last look at the woman. She was now looking beside herself and Shawn could see her face.

She was the most beautiful human he has ever seen. Unconsciously he locked his phone up and stared at the woman as she just stood there looking up at the sky with a wicked smile on her face. She spoke up again, talking to herself.

“Idiotic whore, no one messes with my friends, no one.”

Shawn now understood the situation. The person in the bag, who was now underground, either flirted or stole a friend of hers boyfriend. And in exchange, she killed her.

She was a maniac. A psychopath. A dangerous person who deserved to rot in jail.

And yet, Shawn found her to be gorgeous, found her voice to be the best melody he ever heard.

He became obsessed.

He never talked about the incident to anyone as Shawn went back to his normal everyday life.

***

The next week he saw the news of a girl saying that she disappeared and there were no traces left behind. The police suspected that either her uncle or a serial killer killed her.

A few days later he saw an article about a serial killer.

The news called the killer Full Moon, since they killed when it was full moon, creative huh?

Shawn realized that the girl he just saw, the killer that they are looking for, he saw her.

He could never forget a face like that. He wanted to see her again, hear her voice. He wanted to be with her, help her, anything.

That’s when his life took a huge turn.

HE never touched another woman, not even when they throw themselves at him. He didn’t care anymore.

All he wanted is that woman.

He didn’t care that she was a killer, he loved her.

His obsession, it turned to love. At least, what he thought love was.

He did research.

He read every single article that was written about her. He ever read the police statements.

He read many books about serial killers in general and he even watched interviews with them.

To the people around him, nothing changed about Shawn. But when he was at his home, his true obsessed self came out.

And after half a year passed, he decided, he wanted to see her, he needed it.

Shawn thought of ways to make her come out, as he discovered, she not only killed women but men too. She didn’t care about race or gender, and there wasn’t a typical profile that she killed. That’s why she was so well-known and dangerous. No one could catch her since she didn’t seem to kill out of anger, but rather, for fun. And it wasn’t like she killed only blondes, no she didn’t care.

Shawn had tried to find her through the girl that he saw her kill. He looked up on the girl’s profile to find the guy and he even looked on the college’s website in hopes of finding her. But nothing. Either she was really good at hiding, which she was, or she didn’t go to that school.

Little did Shawn know that luck was on his side.

One night, it was raining cats and dogs outside. He knew that night was supposedly a full moon. He was walking around town to catch the tiniest glimpse at his obsession.

But as the rain started, he needed shelter, the closes option was a church as he ran in.

He entered the holy place and sat at the bench. Although his family was religious and brought him to pray many times, he just never actually believed in it.

He looked at the huge cross right across from him and then up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t the biggest church, but the sound of the rain echoed through the whole place. Then he noticed burning candles. He thought that the priest might be there somewhere.

Then he heard a loud thud that echoed through the church. He slowly stood from the bench and went to the direction of the sound. He figured that the priest might have fallen or something. But he didn’t call out.

He walked further in and surely enough, the priest was lying on the floor in his office. Since the door was open Shawn saw that the priest was still alive.

But when he moved to help him, a figure blocked his view of the holy man on the floor.

It was her.

She was there. Right in front of him.

Shawn heard the priest moaning in agony and the woman stabbed him in the throat to silence him. Shawn took a step back but his slightly wet shoes made a squeaky noise against the marble floor. Alerting the female of his presence. Shawn closed his eyes only for a millisecond but as he opened it he saw the woman quickly walking towards him with a large knife in her hand. As a defense, he put his hand out in front of him. Sure, he was taller and more muscular than her, but she had experience in killing. And without hesitation she would do it. As Shawn put his hand out, she slashed in creating a big cut right across his palm, the wound was deep and it hurt like hell for him.

But before she could strike again Shawn instead of defending himself, just stood still. Awaiting the knife to slice right into his chest or neck to kill him. But it never came.

He looked at the confused female in front of him.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to defend yourself? Come on! Give me some fun, Pretty Boy!”

Shawn couldn’t help but melt at her voice, the same voice that he heard eight months ago.

“I know everything about you.” he didn’t know when he found his voice

“Great most people do.”

“No, I’m different. I-I love you.”

She let out the most horrifying, scary laughter, but to him, it was like an angel giggling. The whole church got filled with her laughter.

Tears appeared in the corner of her eyes as she stopped laughing. To any other viewer, her laugh would be compared to a demon’s, but in Shawn’s eyes, all he saw was sparkles and her beautiful smile.

“Love?? And they say, I’m insane?!” she laughed some more and it made Shawn smile a bit. “Did you hit your head or something Handsome?”

“N-no. I just. I saw you eight months ago in the woods, and ever since, I wanted to meet you.”

“You saw me?” she looked at him like he had two heads. How did an average guy like him manage to sneak up on her, see her and he didn’t even call anyone.

What level of fucked up was that?

“Well, then Pretty Boy, I can’t let you go now, can I?” a smirk was now on her face, she debated where to stab him, in the throat would give her that wonderful view of her victim choking on their own blood while she watched as the life left their eyes. Or in the heart? Immediate death and the nuisance that is him would be gone in a second.

Or…

Shawn spoke up before she could decide.

“I don’t care if you kill me.”

“You really are not normal.”

“I’m happy now, I managed to meet with you, and I not only spoke to you, but I was able to see you laugh. I can die happy now.”

Her twisted mind began to work quicker than ever. There was a man standing right in front of her, who would do anything for her. She can use that to her advantage.

“What’s your name?”

“Shawn.”

“Well then, Shawn. Let me tell you this. I won’t kill you, but in exchange, you’ll have to follow me wherever I go. No questions, you’ll do as I say. You’ll be my personal little pet.” a sinister smile displayed on her face as she looked him in the eye. And he saw it lit up with….joy?

How sick was this man?

“Really? Thank you! That’s more than I ever wished for!”

“Do you have a house?”

“Apartment.”

“Great, let me just display that guy for the police, I know they like to take nice pictures. And after that, take me to your place, and there better be some food!” she said as she pointed at the dead corpse behind her.

Shawn only nodded and she left to finish her art.

“Come here and drag him out.”

“WAIT. Don’t get your blood on him.” she said. Shawn completely forgot about the cut on his palm. He wrapped a cloth around his hand and did as he was told.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked as she walked around the priest. Shawn only stood there, watching her. Then she abruptly stopped and looked up at the cross. “I know.” she said with a smirk.

“Clean your blood up.” She said when her art was done.

***

Back at his apartment he cleaned and bandaged up his wound. He could barely contain his excitement, his love, the woman that stole his heart was right there, in his kitchen eating his dinner. But he didn’t care, all that mattered was that she was finally there, and he was her pet.

“Now, don’t get cocky, Pet. I can still kill you.”

“Right.” he said as he sat down in front of her by the table.

“But if you can please me, I won’t kill you.”

“P-please?” Shawn heard the slapping noise before he felt the pain on his cheek.

“I said no questions!” she yelled.

“Sorry.” he said.

“You will do as I say and if you can fuck me right, you get to stay alive. Aren’t I generous?”

“You are.” he said as he looked her in the eye. Hers was full of insanity and mischief.

She stood from the table and grabbed his neck. Slightly applying pressure, she slowly started to suffocate him.

“Don’t fail me. I’d hate to slice such a pretty face off.”

***

He delivered.

Oh, he delivered so well. Everything was perfect about his body for her. From his muscular built to his length and girth. The way she rode him, stretching her to perfection, reaching points she never felt before.

Four hours.

That’s how long they have been at it.

Four hours and he convinced her that she can use him for more than murder and to achieve her art. The art of death.

Shawn was in a state of bliss as she slept beside him. He couldn’t believe what he just did with her. His heart was pounding so hard, he felt like he would get a cardiac arrest. He even earned to know her name. Her lovely name, Y/N. He didn’t know if it was her real name or a made-up name. But he didn’t care, at least he knew what to call her. Full Moon would have been weird after some time.

***

Falling in love was with a murderer was Shawn’s biggest sin. Not only could the fact that he volunteered to help her be bigger. Not only the fact that he killed for her, numerous times. Not only the fact that he ran from the law to be with her.

And he truly fell in love. Two weeks after he met her. It wasn’t obsession anymore, well maybe a bit of that too, but the main feeling in his heart was love.

But someone like her did not feel love, she felt possession. He was her property now, her only toy to play with.

She was a psycho, a killer, a murderer, and he loved her.

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 4 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 4 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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“Aye, she’s t’e very ane. ‘Ow’d ye know ‘er line an’ folk?”

“My mother, Evanstar Morn Dannav, was her mother’s identical twin. She raised me on stories of their escapades. Twenty-one Gatherings ago, she married onto the Grandalor. I am Tanlin’s cousin, though I’ve never met her before.”

While they were talking, the Princamorn rolled off the coral head and settled down into the crystal waters of the lagoon. She lay on her side about thirty five or forty feet down.

Soon, the divers began to sound and surface, making notes on waterproofed paperfish parchment. In a few hours they had conducted and documented a survey of the wreck for salvage assessment.

While he waited for the divers to finish their work, Barad retired to his cabin. Chena, his cabin-girl was seated on his lap, a two-leaved tallow-slate open before her on the chart table. Her brows were knit as she studied the problem before her. I wish that I could follow this Arrakan arithomatics the way Barad does. He makes it seem so easy. Their crazy writing is easier by far, and it’s a pain. She looked once again at the rows of interrelated figures that Barad was trying to get her to understand. I wish that he’d get his hand off my breast. I can’t concentrate! These Arrakan function things! I’ll never get them to work! A knock at the locked door caused Barad to flip her slate shut and toss it to his bed. He pushed her behind the bed hangings as well. Sliding open the door, he admitted his Purser, Mister Morgu, who was carrying a set of account books, and Master Selked who was bearing the diver’s still wet reports on the condition of the wreck.

Studying the dripping reports, Master Selked, the Grandalor’s chief boat-wright, famous for the quality of the tools that he made, told Barad, “The Princamorn is not that severely damaged, other than the hull breach. She can be easily salvaged. If we are prompt, most of the capital goods in her shops and much of her cargo and stores should be savable as well.

Mister Morgu, the Grandalor’s Purser rubbed his hands together in glee at the thought. “We hold the rights to the wreck, Captain. It is easily worth seventy five thousand Strong Skins. Even after the costs of salvage, we stand to make better than fifty thousand Skins in profit.”

Barad’s pale blue eyes speared Morgu like harpoons. He shook his unruly mop of blond hair, now going gray, and said mildly, “I did say that these folk are not to be looted. We have made easily thrice that amount by trading with them. We shall indeed assert our claim to the salvageable wreck. If the Arrakans recognize our claim, we will return the Princamorn to her survivors at the cost of salvage plus a reasonable sum for our lost ship-time.”

“But Sir,” Morgu started to protest, seeing a large amount of money vanishing from his grasp.

Quelling the protest with a raised hand, Barad looked past his blade of a nose and said coolly, “I expect to gain far more than I lose in this deal, Morgu. Fear not.

“Would you be so good as to go and get Captain P’osettin and Purser Rostow and bring them here to discuss the matter of their ship?”

Am I an errand boy? thought Morgu irritatedly as he said, “Yes, Sir. I’ll attend to it at once.” He slid the cabin door shut behind him and spoke to the ever-present cabin boy waiting in the passageway. “Benj, go get what’s her name, Poset — something and, Rostu is it? You know, the Princamorn’s ex-captain and Purser.”

Benj, irritated at Morgu’s deliberate mangling of the names of people that he had met and liked, said, “Captain P’osettin and Purser Rostow; yes, Sir. I’ll get them,” and ran in the direction of the mess hall, where the survivors were being put up for now. Shortly he returned, leading both Captain and Purser.

Morgu made a show of sliding open the door and escorting them into Brad’s cabin. Captain P’osettin was a tall, rangy woman with black hair, tied back in a complex knot and braid. Purser Rostow was small man, a little over five feet tall, gray of hair and elderly. That he had been crying was obvious.

Barad turned to them and gestured them to comfortable chairs. “Captain P’osettin, Purser Rostow, I regret intruding on your grief. Losing ship and home must be hard. I need help. I know your trade laws well enough but I need information about your salvage laws.”

“Ca’tain Barad,” said P’osettin in a voice roughened by Gatherings of shouting commands, “Rostow ‘as lost more t’an merely ‘ome an’ ship.”

Barad, remembering the death of his own wife, said quietly, “Dragons, please, not Norrin?”

Mutely Rostow nodded. Captain P’osettin, said, “She was foremast lookoot. Tried t’ warn us o’ t’e ‘ead but we couldnae turn in time. Went t’ Iren’s ‘alls when t’e mast went down. ‘er body wa’ nae recovered.”

“My condolences, said Barad sincerely. This was a feeling that he was all too familiar with. “Can you help us or do you need more time to yourself?”

Pulling himself together with a deeply drawn breath, Rostow replied, “‘Aving a task t’ do ‘ll ‘elp. W’at’s yer need?”

Barad turned to Captain P’osettin first. “Ma’am, I ask your permission to open your ship’s Logs and accounts.”

“As salver, ye need nae permission Ca’tain Barad,” she answered. “T’ey’re yers t’ do wit’ as ye see fit. T’e Logs’ll ‘ave t’ be given t’ t’e Arrakan Council for t’e archive,”

“Still, a friend asks,” Barad returned with a serious smile.

That brought a return smile from P’osettin and a ghost of one from Rostow. “We were fortunate t’ ‘ave ye close, Barad. Ye saved many o’ m’ crew from Dark Iren’s ‘alls beneat’ t’e sea.

“W’at ye need now’s a survey o’ t’e wreck, wit’ position. T’at must be filed wit’ t’e nearest Council ship t’ secure yer claim. T’at’ll be t’e Wavenruner. T’en, an’ only t’en, can work begin.

“M’ crew’ll be Scattered over t’e fleet at t’e next Gat’ering. Once t’e Princamorn’s afloat an’ independent ye can put a prize crew on ‘er. She’ll be sold an’ newcrewed at t’e next Gat’ering.”

“Is it legal,” Barad asked with an intense stare, “for me to sell her and recrew her before the next Gathering? And with that, can I appoint her Captain?”

It was Rostow who answered this one. “‘T would be legal t’ do all t’at ye say, t’ough ‘t ‘as never been dune before. T’e Ca’taincy wad be subject t’ Council approval, o’ course. All Ca’taincies are.

“W’ere wad ye find purchasers or crew on such short notice? T’e ‘ole project wad cost on t’e close order o’ twenty or t’irty t’ousand Skins.”

Instead of answering directly, Barad leaned back in his chair and looked up at the web-work of beams and stringers fabricated of glued Strong Skin that made up the support of the afterdeck overhead. He steepled his fingers and said thoughtfully, “Sometimes people do generous things with no thought of return. Last Fall, we were trading in these waters when we were hit by a Coriolis storm. Our damaged mainspar was replaced by folk who said it was but the cost of friendship.

“Consider that spar a down payment. We will do the salvage work in return for a note to cover the cost of salvage and repair. In addition, we will have two full ownership shares in your ship.”

It was P’osettin who with tears in her eyes asked, “After t’is disaster ye wad give us bock our ship? Wye?”

Barad looked at her with a calculating smile, and laid a hand on the Princamorn’s account books. “I have a confession to make. I already did look at your books. They show quality management. I expect to make a handsome, if slower, profit.”

Both P’osettin and Rostow nodded. This they could accept. P’osettin wrung Barad’s hand as they left the cabin and said in a voice thick with emotion as well as accent, “We must bear t’is news t’ t’e rest o’ t’e crew. T’e Articles ‘ave t’ be observed but i’ t’ey dinnae take yer offer, t’ey’re nae wort’y t’ be sailors on a ship o’ mine.”

After the visitors had gone, Chena emerged from the bed hangings, tallow-slate in one hand and a stylus in the other. Timidly, she said, “I got the function thing to work, I think. It must be wrong, though. The answer that I get is a nearly circular ellipse, with the primary focus stationary, the minor focus going about it in a circle, causing a moving point on the ellipse to describe a cycloidal path.”

Barad cocked an eye at her and smiled sardonically. “It sounds basically right. What’s the difficulty?”

Chena quailed, as if in fear of getting hit. “It’s huge! Many times larger than Sea itself! How could something be bigger than the world?”

Barad actually laughed in delight. He dragged Chena by the arm to the open porthole and pointed out at the sky. The largest of the three moons was visible about a hand-span above the horizon. “There is your answer! You have just computed the orbit of Wohan, for about a Wohan ahead. You will become a Calculator yet. Never doubt it.

“Your indenture will net me thrice the value of even a boat-shop apprentice. Your own share of that indenture will be over six times what I get. Look forward to the money and freedom in just a few Gatherings. You will have a safe start in a new fleet. If you do not repeat the mistakes that ruined your life in the Naral fleet you will be secure and respected for the rest of your life.”

Chena looked at Barad in fear, I wish that I could believe that. I’ve heard that your Cabin-girls disappear and are never seen again. A death sentence to be chosen. Well, if you’d not taken me, I’d be dead already. Cast off. No ship, unless one were to chose me. I guess that being taken by the Grandalor is better than drowning.

With the help of the survivors, the Grandalor found the Arrakan fleet Council ship, Wavenruner, easily. It was one of a few ships that were authorized to act for the fleet’s Council until the next Gathering. They took the report of the sinking, along with the precise location and the salvage survey of the wreck. They also issued the necessary salvage claims, and bought much of what had been salvaged already.

Less than a Wohan later a somewhat crippled but now functional Princamorn parted company with the Gandalor. All of her surviving crew went with her, along with Barad’s indentures. The only exception was the gravely injured Tanlin, who was still in a coma.

Captain Barad, descended a companion-ladder to a corridor that lead to the Purser’s scriptorium. A half dozen men and women talented with quill and ink were working industriously by the light of large ports and a few candle lanterns in the brightly lit room. If the fleet Council knew just how talented these folk have been for the last seven Gatherings, the Grandalor would likely have a new Captain and officers, he thought, gleeful at getting away with yet another shady enterprise.

He examined the neatly bound piles of trade scrip. Each one bore the name of a different ship, and had the expertly forged signature of that ship’s Purser. There were several hundred Strong Skins and perhaps four thousand Glue Blocks worth. His brow wrinkled in angry concentration and he looked at the works in progress. “Morgu,” he called softly, voice quietly authoritative.

The Purser got down from his own high stool and work table in the corner of the room, where he could oversee all that was being done. “Yes, Captain?”

“Where is the Longin scrip? I do not see any, nor any in progress. Alor’s signature is no harder to forge than any other.”

“True, Sir. But this is.” Morgu pointed to a number neatly written in Alor’s precise hand.

“So? Copy it. What problem does it present?”

Morgu braced himself to tell Captain Barad the bad news. It was never safe thing to do. “Sir, each scrip, even the quarter block ones, has a separate number. This started last Gathering. Alor keeps a register with all of the numbers. When a scrip is done being traded about and is presented to the Longin for redemption, it is stricken out in her register, with the redemption date marked, and it is destroyed.

“The practical result is that our Longin scrip will be easily detected — and traced — to us.

“We are suspected of the counterfeits already put out.”

“How can you know that? The counterfeits have been discussed in the Captain’s Council but nothing has come of it. I have seen to that,” said Barad, deeply disturbed.

“Sir, a general meeting of the fleet’s Pursers has been called for next Gathering. I was not invited, and when I tried to get invited, I was bluntly told that I was unwelcome and would be ejected if I came.

“It took a number of discreet inquiries, some of them through agents, to find out the secret. The purpose of the meeting is to discuss the counterfeit situation and deal with it at the scrip issuing level, as the Captains’ Council seems unable to do anything.

“If I were you, Sir, I would drop the counterfeiting and wait for at least one or two Gatherings before going back to it.”

Captain Barad scowled, I wish that I could use him for Strong Skin bait. If I do, I will never get a reliable answer from anyone. They will all be afraid to tell me the truth. Dependable advice is the most valuable thing I can get. “I hate to let it go, but though profitable, it is a small trade. I will bow to your expertise and end it, for now,” he said thoughtfully.

“It was a good idea when you brought it to me seven Gatherings ago, when they were about to vote you off the Darok. Your transfer to the Grandalor saved them the embarrassment of admitting how badly you had hoodwinked them. It raised you from a well educated deck-hand to Purser and gave me a good income.

“Do you know why I made you Purser?”

“I have been puzzled by that question.”

Barad smiled, “It is simple. Faced with ruin by the collapse of a small scheme, you thought big enough to forge ahead and come to me with an ambitious proposal.” He smiled at his pun and waited for an answering one from Morgu before going on. “Few people will look to attack when they are being struck by a large opponent. Your ability at forgery has been useful and it will be again someday in some other way.”

Briskly Barad added, “For now, send someone up to my cabin. There are four books there, on the table. Your people should make as many copies as they can. They are the next edition of the Muline’s Moons and Sun Navigational Ephemerides. I got them while we were rendezvoused with Muline. My cabin girl will point them out.”

Morgu shuddered slightly at the thought of the Captain’s cabin girl. I pity her, truly I do. Having to take care of his cabin, and other needs. She won’t last long, they never do. Aloud, he said, “Will you accompany me to my cabin, Captain? I’ve something I’d like to discuss privately.”

“Of course, Morgu, let’s go.”

The Purser’s cabin was small and completely orderly, like its occupant. There was a small table, a chair, a shelf for books and a shut-bed. A small port-hole, open but equipped with a tightly fitting shutter, let in light. Morgu opened the folding door of the shut-bed so that he would have a place to sit, and let the Captain have the chair.

After sitting, Captain Barad demanded, “What did you want to discuss, that needs such privacy?”

Morgu steepled his hands and gathered his thoughts. “I want to ask something that may be personal. I don’t want to snoop into your affairs, but the answer may assist me in helping you with your goals. The question is about the Longin. I know how they cheated you when you tried to take over their crabbing waters, but your dislike for that ship goes further back than that. If I understand the situation better, perhaps I can help you to devise a fitting revenge.”

It was Barad’s turn to gather thoughts. “Way back, over twenty Gatherings ago, a few Wohans after the fire cough epidemic, old Captain Morthan, took ill and died suddenly, I took the helm of the Grandalor. There was not time for a popular election from fleet qualified men, by the Articles because a Coriolis storm was nearly on us. I and a few supporters took the job because someone had to. People took my commands and we got through the storm in good order. After that, they were used to my rule, and my men made it easier and safer to keep on doing so. Very few had to be logged as lost in the storm.

“I forged documents of election for the Captain’s Council. I am not as practiced in that art as you, I admit. Some of the officer’s signatures were questioned by Captain Mord, (a curse on all Halyns!) and I near lost my command and life right there. It took some fancy footwork to keep what I had bought and it cost several more lives.

“To this day I don’t understand why he opposed me. I could easily forgive being outmaneuvered, like with the crabbing waters. That’s a game with a winner and a loser.” He threw up his hands and went on, “There was no reason in it! Neither he nor the Longin could profit by it in any way!”

Morgu listened in rapt attention. Several more lives? There’s more to this story than I’m getting. Aloud he said, “I see. You only barely beat them then, and the real grievance is that they near wasted all your work for no real end. That they have managed to come out even or ahead on every try for revenge since only twists the knife.

“The best that you have done since amount to small nibbles that they barely feel.” Morgu paused before going on, “You don’t want to hit them like a hungry Strong Skin. Big as Strong Skins are, the Longin catches those. You need to strike at them like a big Wing Ray leaping from the deeps onto a small boat! You must smash something that they can’t replace!”

Captain Barad looked at the savage expression on his Purser’s face fascinated by what he saw, “What do you hold against the Longin? Such anger is well past the loss of a few counterfeit notes.” He was well aware of the answer but wanted to hear Morgu’s version from his own lips. Due to the machinations needed to get him to come to the Grandalor, Barad never had this opportunity before.

“There are two things that I hold against that Dragon-haunted ship!” Morgu paused and took a few deep breaths and regained his composure. “The first is not unlike your own. I was just making a few of the Darok’s own scrip for my own use, and none really hurt by it. The Darok found out because Captain Mord Halyn brought it to their attention and then the Longin’s crew helped to trap me. There was nothing in it for them. They just prated of honesty.

“The other thing was even worse. I was near ready to marry a fine young lady from the Muline at the time. Not only did I not get Suze, she married onto the Longin! Now do you understand why I want to hurt them?”

Sympathetically, Barad laid a hand on Morgu’s shoulder. She was going to follow him to the Grandalor but I fixed that! It has paid off better than I could have guessed. “I see why you hate them so and now you know why I do, too. What shall we do about it? How shall we smash them? Captain Mord and Alor are both too well guarded and too prominent to reach safely. I had thought of that.”

“Captain, whose name do you hear everywhere that Longin sailors gather? They talk about the girl Kurin …”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 4 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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harryweaver · 3 years

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Baseline

Individual Point of Perception is Dependent on Conditioned Mode of Thought.

Our conditioned mode of thought is determined by a number of aspects including:

our formal educational conditioning;

our cultural background;

the perceived power personalities that influence our sociological conditioning;

...to name a few.

I originally began this article with a view to confining it within the first classification of educational conditioning, but by way of natural process all seemed to apply.

Then, as it felt presumptuous and unwieldy to force a subject scope worthy of a treatise into a blog format, I have had to restrict the situation to how science has influenced and placed limits on our thinking.

Very much in shorthand....

All of science is based on direction defined by philosophy and Rene Descartes appears to have been the pivotal point in this instance. He introduced a way of perceiving things that took an observable entity and broke it down, analytically, into its individual unit parts. Dualism and other aspects, illuminating then, seem second nature to us now.

The evolution of this form of thinking was passed on into the capable hands of Francis Bacon who, in turn, hand balled it to Isaac Newton, both of whom provided substantial modifications to advance this concept of fragmentation. What we have inherited is what might be termed the 'Doctrine of Direction' for the entire westernised civilisation.

What these theorists neglected to consider and what Quantum theory is in the process of giving back, to those of us who care to take note, is an appreciation of the 'links' or aspects of interrelationship between these basic building blocks of fragmented, alienated entities. An aspect every bit as important as the 'units' themselves, as it is only by way of these continuously, communicating interfaces that we arrive at wholistic entities that are greater than the sum of their individual parts.

Unfortunately, we still model our mode of individual and collective advancement on the thought structures that built Empires that have long ago ceased to exist. Momentum, obviously, is capable of carrying us too far in the wrong direction.

I don't wish to appear to be a detractor of the theories of these giants of our past, or even of the ones who 'stood on their shoulders', who took those theories and gave them application within the sociological framework. What I am attempting is to show how the limited style of scientific mindset, that is drilled into us by way of our current educational process, has engendered our individual and therefore collective point of perception. This in turn has determined our current life situation. Man is a reflection of his environment, yes, but the opposite is every bit as true.

We have made fantastic advances with our 'scientific' thinking. We can gauge, almost to the centimetre, where we can land a rocket on the moon, over an almost unimaginable distance, with a mind numbing number of variables all taken into account. And after that, bring it back again. We are communicating concepts through mediums such as we are employing at this very moment, as you read this, and there are a myriad of other examples.

But, there is a dark side.

Having adopted, through conditioning, this mode of perception, we have alienated ourselves from our environment, from each other and even created alienation within our very selves. Our 'self' from this viewpoint, by way of illustration, does not include our body. 'I' am a separate entity and my body is a mere physical, mechanical housing, when in fact our bodies are a fully incorporated aspect of our 'selves'.

'Us and Them' is destroying 'Us'.

Take a look at what our alienating point of perception is doing:

(1) to our shared environment. We consider our 'selves' to be a separate entity to our environment, rather than an integral, interacting aspect of it, so any harm we inflict on the environment has no real effect on our situation, we surmise. (The comparative example of this would be that of a race of people, traveling through endless space, systematically destroying the space ship they are traveling in.) There have been highly qualified, dissenting voices to this supposition. Even economists, like E.F. Schumacher, who advise that, "If we ever find ourselves in the position of winning our battle with nature, we will automatically find ourselves on the losing side". Conditioned thought structure, however, pays little heed to logic, unless it is incorporated into an 'approved' educational process and therefore transposed into the paradigm;

(2) to our estranged sense of interrelationships. By over emphasising the self concept, to compensate for a social structure that appears intent on drowning the individual in a sea of homogenised anonymity, we automatically place almost insurmountable barriers to interpersonal integration;

(3) within our fragmented personal selves. In this context, the major effort appears to be the creation and continuous maintenance of a self image rather than the cultivation of the actual personality. A self image that bears little relation to the real person hiding within, who sadly perceives the camouflage to be more socially acceptable than him 'self'. Applied to extreme, the individual places so much personal energy into the maintenance of this persona, that he 'starves' himself. A major cause of mental dis-ease and what can amount to total breakdown of the individual existence.

Relationships can only exist between personalities. Relationships are not possible between facades, which are essentially illusions, so the illusion that they do doesn't exist for any length of time. This somewhat pointless exercise only exists because many believe that it's all they have to offer, as the real entity is seen as being insufficient to the situation.

One of the many sociological phenomena that appears to endorse all this is the fact that, in all westernised countries, divorce statistics come close to equaling marriage statistics and quite commonly surpass them.

It's a little unfair, however, to endow philosophers and scientists with the full responsibility of our present life situation. There are other buttressing influences. Sir Isaac Newton's writings within other fields were for all intents and purposes totally ignored, as they still are. The bias of thought at that time was all for the new clockwork bent that held so much potential for industrial advancement, as it still does. An illustration as to how long the industrial lobby, by way of political sway, has been placing paradigms on the full spectrum potential of our advancement as a species.

So, just while we are in the vicinity:

A corporate entity doesn't have a personality, other than the one on loan and frequently patched from the public relations departments, so don't look for human qualities;

The corporate ideal is to be in the position of dictating to the marketplace (yes, that's you!) and they never sleep in the pursuit of this goal;

Corporate entities see themselves as being subject to only one law and that's the law of economics. When economic precept shows any potential to limit short term profit, they're not above bending that out of shape either.

This latter point requires a little expansion, I feel.

Feel free to disagree.

According to the science of economics, there are two varieties of resource: rivalrous and non-rivalrous. A rivalrous resource is one that can be used up faster than it can be replaced, if it can be replaced at all, e.g., fossil fuels and the natural environment. A non-rivalrous resource, on the other hand, is a resource that is inexhaustible, i.e., it can't be exhausted as it is continuously replacing itself at a rate faster than it can be employed.

Now, considering the fact that human beings breed their own replacements, in the sort of volumes commonly described as 'population explosions', which of these two categories do you imagine employees slot into, within the corporate mindset, in these days of outsourcing?

`Safety before Production’, is the corporate catchphrase, but it will never be the reality because it doesn't need to be. An appearance is put up in order to establish a good 'Employer Brand Name', yes, but mostly because other powerful economic entities like insurance companies 'persuade' them to do so. And insurance companies are only prepared to do that because it has direct bearing on their own economic status.

This automatically creates another translation of the 'Us and Them' syndrome, the 'Divide and Rule' format. Musashi's 'The Book of Five Rings' and Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War', amongst other treatise on war strategy, make their way into every board room these days under the arms of those who would subordinate their productive work force to their will. Strategies that work within one set of environmental circumstances don't necessarily translate well into others, however, and 'Divide and Rule' is a classic example. When looking at a combined productive exercise, it simply isn't profitable to view and treat your production sector as though they are the enemy. This will automatically cost you money and the longer you persist with a faulty strategy, the more it will cost you. The variety of tactics employed, to gain the 'ascendency', are far from what is required to assist in establishing a sense of cooperation and self worth within the individuals that make up the bulk of westernised populations. And a sense of self worth is the foundation stone of a happy individual. A happy employee is more productive and produces a better quality product, so the strategy is obviously flawed.

Our mode of technological advancement has cost us dear, obvious in the stultified mental and spiritually bereft realms we have allocated to ourselves, from a set of values that is blinkered to the full spectrum definition of wealth. I have met people who, having worked continuously for, say, $500.00/week for a number of years, don't even consider pressing for more when their mode of employment changes, because they have been conditioned, over time, into believing that $500.00/week is their sum total worth as a human being. The comprehensive definitions of degradation and defeat are achieved when the victim is persuaded.

If western civilisation (sic), would just halt its frenetic, lemming-like race to the cliff edge long enough to look at the life philosophies of the various indigenous cultures on this planet, we would be in a position to provide ourselves with the requisite wholistic life perception required to save ourselves, and those same indigenous communities, from that inevitable extinction that we are imposing on other species at this very moment.

A different way of seeing is there, for our adoption, any time we want it. We find it not just in the wholistic, indigenous community and environmental Gaia mindsets, but in the most obscure of niches as well as the most obvious of places.

By way of an 'obscure' example, I recall reading Aleister Crowley's 'Magick' in the dawning of my adolescent rebellion, somewhere between Enid Blyton and 'The Russians'.

Wholly from memory:

`The practitioner of Black Magic employs his art to raise his level of existence above that of his environment’ - which doesn't sound so bad really, does it? Just looking round, it appears to be what everybody is doing, or attempting to do. Yes/No?

But then he goes on to say:

`Whereas the practitioner of White Magic employs his talent to raise the level of his environment, and in so doing raises his own level of existence’.

A totally different translation of existence, richer by far, achieved by a mere shift in perception.

As a natural extension of our adopting this different definition of existence, the changes within our culture would be dynamic to say the least. Mental health institutions would almost cease to exist, as the dysfunctional personality is no more than a symptom of the dysfunctional group. The dysfunctional group, no more than a symptom of a dysfunctional social order. Primary catalysts of physical ill health, such as stress, would almost cease to exist also, along with associated overloaded hospital systems and massive requirement for, along with associated abuse of, medication.

Street people would not feel a need to retreat to the streets anymore, but would see a form of society that they would want to be a part of. A form of society that they could see themselves as being a part of, alienated no longer.

Dare I mention prisons?

I could continue, but I'm sure you get the gist.

All aspects of our social and personal direction are compromised when we operate from a biased or false premise. Our proud, emphatic (dare I say, arrogant?) denunciations of 'this is wrong', or 'that's not right' appear as shallow as mainstream media. Any observation from a false premise can only produce an inaccurate end assessment. A silk purse don't come from no sows ear, boy!

Therefore it naturally follows that judging others, or even ourselves, by our own standards is automatically a travesty of natural justice and nothing more than a gross, if unintended, hypocrisy. Because we, unquestioningly, inherit standards of judgment also.

It is possible to establish valid existence only by exploring the depths of established standards, understand where they stem from and, by doing so, determine as to whether they still have relevance in regard to personal existence, now, in our current environment. Retain the standards that do have relevance, rid ourselves of false standards that represent the crippling detritus in our lives, and adopt any new standards that are seen to promote required existential standing.

This is normally considered to be the philosophers function, yes, but a little philosophy won't hurt any of us if it results in our finally reaping the substantial rewards of a valid sense of social responsibility. We have that duty to ourselves, each other and toward our shared environment. Wholistically.

The answer to all the worlds' problems lie in the future within our children, but we need people qualified to teach them how to move the world, through a paradigm shift, from here to there. There's only one way to achieve that, so we need to get to work on ourselves, individually, very quickly.

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entwinedmoon · 4 years

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John Torrington: Lord Have Mercy on the Frozen Man

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)

What do James Taylor and heavy metal band Iron Maiden have in common? They both saw a picture of a dead guy and thought, “This would make a great song.”

When John Torrington got his close-up in newspapers and magazines across the globe, his well-preserved, tragic visage inspired a renewed interest in the Franklin Expedition in various forms of media. He started cropping up in literary works, and some artists tried to capture how he may have looked in life. Surprisingly, he even had an impact on music.

I’ll admit that impact has been rather small. Over the years, there have been plenty of songs inspired by the Franklin Expedition—from traditional tunes like “Lady Franklin’s Lament” to Stan Roger’s rousing “Northwest Passage”—but the Franklin ice mummies don’t get as much attention in this particular artistic medium. There are about three songs I know of that are about (or assumed to be about) the mummies, and it’s John Torrington who gets all the attention once again, what little attention there is.

Of course, there aren’t a lot of songs out there about mummies in general, so it’s not so surprising that music isn’t where Torrington made a big splash. While music can be about anything and everything, one of the most popular topics for songs is romance, and people just don’t think mummies are particularly romantic, (except for Hozier. Please, please, please, someone get Hozier to write a song about the Franklin ice mummies).

The first song I have for you, and the most famous of the three, is by another well-known JT—James Taylor. Yes, the James Taylor. The man who’s seen fire and seen rain also saw pictures of John Torrington and became inspired to write a song, “The Frozen Man,” which appeared on his 1991 album New Moon Shine. Taylor explained once at a concert that he’d seen pictures of a man’s frozen body, preserved in the Arctic for over a hundred years, in National Geographic. He didn’t say the name John Torrington, but he didn’t really need to; it’s obvious who he meant.

However, there is a slight problem with his explanation. Try as I might, I have never been able to track down an issue of National Geographic with an article featuring pictures of Torrington, Hartnell, or Braine. And yet there have been several people—not just James Taylor—who’ve said they saw pictures of the mummies in National Geographic. I even purchased a digital subscription to go through the archives, and while I did find a small blurb about the lead poisoning findings, I never found any full articles and definitely not any pictures. Maybe I just wasn’t looking at the right issue, but I’ve come to the tentative conclusion that this is an example of the Mandela Effect, because there have been multiple people claiming to have seen pictures of Torrington in National Geographic but I can’t find the issue everyone seems to be referring to. If anyone out there has the issue people are talking about, please let me know.

But back to the song now. You can peruse the lyrics of “The Frozen Man” here, or you can listen to it below:

https://youtu.be/0aoxmfge4AE

youtube

The titular Frozen Man in this song is not Torrington himself but a Torrington-like fictional sailor who became frozen, and because it’s fiction, he’s brought back to life a hundred years after his death. Owen Beattie would sometimes have people ask him if there was a way that Torrington could have been revived. Torrington looks so close to life as it is, how hard could it be? But realistically there’s been too much internal decay of the cells for Torrington to ever be brought back to life, no matter how advanced our technology might become. But who doesn’t love the fantasy of bringing back someone from the past? It’s a popular trope—Captain America, Futurama, and even the ridiculous and regrettable Encino Man all use the same idea. There’s a great review of the song through a science fiction lens on Tor.com that explores this in detail. I myself have had quite a few ideas for stories that involve a reanimated Torrington—as a child, these were called nightmares, but as an adult I like to call them novels.

What I like about this song is how it explores the emotional toll that reviving Torrington—or other Frozen Men—would have on the poor man out of time. Everything he’s known—his family and friends—are all gone. He remembers dying—haunting memories he’ll always carry with him. Now he’s back, but at what cost? Just because you could bring someone back doesn’t mean you should. If we did have the technology to bring back Torrington, would it be right to do so? Or would it be a mercy to leave him as he is? In “The Frozen Man,” we see that it’s kinder to leave the dead be.

The next song on my list is of a very different style, and while it’s assumed to be about Torrington, I haven’t been able to definitively verify that. The song in question is “Stranger in a Strange Land” by Iron Maiden, from their album Somewhere in Time. It came out in 1986, the same year Hartnell and Braine were exhumed and autopsied, but since songs don’t usually get written, recorded, and released in a couple of months, this song is probably about Torrington, if it’s about any of the Beechey Boys. I say if because while it’s said by some that “Stranger in a Strange Land” was inspired by Torrington, the exact origin of the song is pretty vague. Adrian Smith, guitarist and singer for Iron Maiden, said that he had written the song after speaking with someone who had found a frozen body in the Arctic. But who did he talk to? Unfortunately, I can’t find much concrete information about the song’s inspiration. I suppose I could try asking Adrian Smith, but I’m not sure how to reach him, or if he’d respond to the weird woman asking about that one song about the dead guy from thirty-three years ago.

You can take a listen below, or read the lyrics here.

https://youtu.be/q7IdqkaGyU8

youtube

Like “The Frozen Man,” this song deals with a Torrington-like fictional explorer who died in a “land of ice and snow,” and his body became preserved in the ice. Unlike “The Frozen Man,” however, this Stranger doesn’t become revived. Instead, his spirit is trapped in this icy land where his body has been frozen for a hundred years. This is more fantasy than sci-fi, verging into horror—he’s haunting the land where he died, trapped and yearning to be freed. The pictures of Torrington are remarkable but incredibly creepy, and he does look like a supernatural being that could be haunting the Arctic (after all, I had no problem thinking he haunted my closet when I was growing up). Torrington looks frozen in time (perfect name for a book about him), so it’s not such a stretch of the imagination to think he’s been frozen in more ways than one, body and soul. In this song, his body is found, but it’s not clear if that frees him from his icy prison or not. The song ends repeating the chorus, focusing on the loneliness of the desolate land and dying so far from home.

The third and final song I have for you today is not as well-known as the previous two. And there’s no question about who the subject is—the song is called “John Torrington.” This song is by Canadian musician Matthew Mutch, from his album Steeltown Pilgrim. I stumbled across this song earlier this year when looking for John Torrington videos on YouTube. Mutch is not a big name like Taylor, and it’s hard to find much information about him, but he wrote a brief explanation for his purpose behind his song on his website, (where you can also find the lyrics):

“My interest in the history of arctic exploration and the search for the northwest passage brought me to write this—my homage to not only John Franklin and his crew, but to all the many brave 19th century travelers and adventurers who risked their lives to unlock the mysteries of the frozen north.”

The song starts off with a spoken-word introduction about the Franklin Expedition to explain to anyone unfamiliar with the topic the background behind the song. You can listen to the song here:

https://youtu.be/Gcc41yHDcYA

youtube

This song features a spectral Torrington haunting Sir John Franklin. It’s not a scary type of haunting per se, but he appears as an ominous warning to Franklin about the sad fate awaiting him and the rest of the crew. Torrington as a harbinger of doom is a trope that I’ve seen a lot in Franklin-related literature, something I will go into more in depth in another post. The song, while named after Torrington, is less about him and more about the death of the entire expedition, with him serving as a canary in a coalmine.

These three songs are all different, but they all focus on Torrington (or a Torrington stand-in) in death and in some form of afterlife, whether it’s a spirit haunting the land or his shipmates or if it’s a second chance on life through some technological marvel. Because there’s not much known about his life, most people focus on his death, as that and his mummified image are what have made him notable in the saga of the Franklin Expedition. Perhaps because we know so much more about his death, it can be hard to imagine him in life.

But there are some who have tried.

Next: Torrington as depicted in art—from attempts at reconstructing what he looked like, to Torrington in a graphic novel and more.

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Torrington Series Masterlist

#john torrington #franklin expedition

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jrctolkien · 5 years

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all these years-part 3

part one. part two.

pairing: tom holland x reader

summary: fake dating au where you and tom pretend to be in love for a wedding, but along the way develop feelings

a/n: the hugest thank you to @tominhoodies who kind of read this and edited it for me!!!! without you id be in a pit of hell I love you :))

You were woken up by an excited scream and a petite body launching itself on top of you. Your dreams had been pleasant, filled with bowls of chicken chow mien and goofy laughter that made you happy upon waking. You were even more happier were you when a certain eccentric asian shoved her face in yours.

Amanda had changed a lot since the last time you had seen her, and she now sported a deep tan and light blue hair, a stark contrast to the punk phase the she'd been having the last time you had been together .

"You're dating my brother?!" Amanda screamed at you and you could the unmistakeable snort of Jasmien in the background, who had to stay over the previous night due to a certain visitor her roommate had had round.

It was true, what Amanda had announced; you were indeed 'dating' her brother. The meeting - it was not a date- had gone swimmingly, and Tom had proceeded to immediately post about it to let the world, or his 2756 followers, know that you two were in love. Well, that you two seemed to be in love. Jasmien had been thrilled at the news that you two were 'dating', less thrilled that you were going to a dress fitting the day you were supposed to give her library discounts on books, but was incredibly willing to agree to join you.

Tom was, surprisingly, much calmer than when the two of you were teenagers, and had been quite brief but kind In what fake dating would entail.

"I'll post about you now, and after the wedding, and you'll have to come to Amanda's farm for the week before she gets married." Tom had said.

"I have work." You'd said. "I can call in sick but I won't be able to pay my rent."

As you had learnt, Tom was the CEO of an agency company, specialising in actors that commonly starred in action and superhero movies, so he said he could cover this. He'd explained that he had always wanted to be Spiderman , and had even auditioned, not getting the part, which went to Robert Pattinson. "Fitting that he gets to be in most major franchises." Tom joked. "Next thing you know, he'll be Batman."

The two of you had laughed, you mainly because Robert had indeed been cast as Batman the previous week and Tom had obviously not discovered this yet. He had laughed his ass off when you had told him, pulling up an article on your phone that reported the news. You had found his obliviousness embarrassingly cute and were pretty sure that your cheeks hurt now because of the amount of smiling you did the previous day.

Currently, Amanda was still straddling your waist, looking at you expectantly. "How the hell do you know where I live?" You wondered aloud, blushing.

Rolling her eyes, Amanda clambered off you, going to stand over by Jasmien, you was avoiding your gaze. "Jasmien texted me last night. We're practically besties now!" Amanda explained excitedly, flinging an arm over Jasmien's shoulders, who bent down ever so slightly to allow the short girl easier access.

You smiled ever so slightly, saying, "I may be dating your brother, yes."

Amanda's squeal pierced through the air and she ran over and tackled you into a bear hug. "We're going to be sisters!" She whispered animatedly.

You widened your eyes and stammered, "Um, maybe not just yet ha-ha."

"So you don't love Tom."

"That is not what I said at al-"

"I'm kidding." Amanda laughed at her dumb joke, kissing me on the cheek. She had always been a loud, affectionate person, caring for people even back when she was punk and being a bitch to everyone, so this didn’t faze you at all.

Jasmien spoke up now, timid, "Can we get some food? I'm starving."

Immediately, Amanda bounded past her and out of the room, beckoning for us to follow. Amanda hadn't even been in your apartment for half an hour, probably, and was already overtaking every aspect of your life. You weren't complaining because, even though you definitely weren't the person you were in secondary school, you still very much liked when people took lead and you followed them. It was no surprise how you gravitated toward Jasmien, a loud, controlling girl from Nigeria who introduced you to so many new experiences and people. It had been the same for Amanda who was almost exactly like Jasmien, just less sarcastic and much, much more energetic.

As you traipsed into your kitchen, you weren't the least bit surprised to see Amanda's rummaging through your fridge, finally pulling a bowl of chopped up pineapple, which you'd been craving in copious amounts lately.

"So how did you two get together?" Amanda asked, referring to you and Tom.

Luckily, you and Tom had also come up with this story yesterday. The two of you had met at a bar a few months ago and, after endless amounts of flirty, had fallen into bed together, being completely shocked when you woke up the next morning and seen each other in the bright lights. "It was awkward." You had supplied yesterday. "We didn’t want to acknowledge it ever again, but we ran into each other again in an, er-"

"Coffee shop?" Tom said, to which you nodded before he continued, "We reconnected and started dating a few weeks back."

"And we haven't told anyone because we were still testing the waters a little bit."

As you explained this all to Amanda, who supplied aws and oohs at all the right moments, you kept on glancing to Jasmien, who was switching between smirking at you and staring at Amanda softly, who was oblivious to the aura of uncomfortable ness both you and Jasmien had.

Once you finished explaining how you and Tom had 'met and fallen in love', Amanda sighed deeply and plopped her head into her palm. "That is the cutest thing ever." She said. "I met Liam on a bloody farm, how rubbish does that sound?"

"I met your brother at a nightclub and had a one night stand with him, how rubbish does that sound?" You countered, shooting a look at Jasmien, who looked to be on the verge of laughter.

Flailing her hands around, Amanda abruptly stood up. The flowy dress she was wearing swished as she whipped her phone out and called someone.

"Hello?" A familiar groggy voice could be heard through the phone.

"Meet me, y/n and Jasmien at your girlfriend's apartment." Amanda ordered cheerfully. A shot of panic shot through at the thought that Tom didn't know where you lived, but you quickly remembered that he had dropped you off home the previous day.

A groan filled the room before Tom said, "Amanda, it's 7 o clock."

Amanda raised an eyebrow, rolled her eyes, and haughtily said, "Unless you two strictly have sex at yours, I find it highly unlikely that you've never been here before this time, Tom."

Your face flushed crimson and you could hear the unmistakeable snickers of Jasmien the only thing you could hear as Tom went silent.

You were no stranger of sex talk, nor was Amanda. The two of you were inseparable as teens, and had talked about everything with each other. Everything. So you knew how Amanda treated sex, how blaze and open she was with the subject of it. Despite this, you were still extremely embarrassed at her words.

"Amanda!" You hissed, making grabby hands at her phone, which she reluctantly passed over. "Hey….babe?" You squeaked out at Tom.

"Y/n!" you heard him say, "How are you?"

"Stop being a prude, Thomas!" Amanda snapped. "Tell her you love her."

You laughed, your mind going back to middle school and the awkwardness of relationships back then.

Tom let out a staticky sigh, before complying, "I love you."

Amanda gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks before immediately dropping them and sating, "Ok, cuteness over! Please come over now."

Tom readily agreed, and a smile crept onto your face at the thought of him coming round.

tags (message/comment if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter!!)

@laureharrier @wazzupmrstark @harryshollands @txmhoelland @sorryiambrieandtomsexual @spiderrrling @bookingbee @bluediamondsevie @summernykole @marvel-hollxnd @adayasgeorgia @aestheticgaybish @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @avenirectioner @probably-writing-x @ohhhotstan @jackiehollanderr @sarah-moss2015 @spideypeach @madmadmilk @hollandroos @moon-390 @staringmoony @yourbiggestspiderfan @peterbrokenparker

#tom holland ig #tom holland one shot #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #all these years #aty #part three!!!!#fake dating au

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