#and i assumed it was like a surplus they had of books that had already been released but nah i got a book thats coming out in september!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

esamastation · 3 years

Text

Xerxes au snippet

The first official political overture the small desert nation of Xerxes makes towards Amestris in over fifty years is a year after the end of the Ishvalan Civil War. Though it is expected to concern the war, and the border between Amestris and Xerxes, or perhaps even Amestrian use of Alchemy in the war, is has nothing to do with the bloody conflict, or it's relation to Xerxes' famously pacifistic view on alchemy.

It is a simple, polite appeal to the Amestrian Government – an invitation for an Amestrian automail mechanic to join the Xerxesian court.

"Bit odd," Havoc mutters, after a copy of the letter has gone around the office a few times. "What do they need an automail mechanic for – isn't Xerxesian medical alchemy, like… world famous?"

"For given the value of fame, yes," Roy agrees, fingers crossed together and a thoughtful look on his face. "They say early Amestrian alchemists learned from Xerxesians. We still use a lot of their symbols in our alchemy – but if Xerxesian alchemists are world famous about anything these days, it's their reticence. No outsider has seen much about the way they go about things these days, if they even practice alchemy anymore."

Of course there are rumours, there are always rumours, and there's history – the great and wealthy kingdom of Xerxes, alchemically on top of the world and widely known for their wisdom and knowledge and the miracles they achieved… who reached too far, tried to achieve the power of gods, and got struck down by said gods for it. How accurate that is, no one knows, but it's known that some disaster hundreds of years ago devastated the kingdom, killed most of its people, and it never fully recovered. Now it's people can only barely scrape by, living in huts and caves and underground, and they don't treat with outsiders much beyond the absolutely necessary.

Beyond trade routes established to get Amestrian goods through Xerxes to Xing, there's never been much interest for Xerxes, except maybe for it's grand history and it's many ruins. It doesn't help that Xerxes, as far as anyone knows, has never really reached outside, keeping to its isolationist values – and since it has little to offer to other nations… no one reached back, either. As far as anyone knows, Xerxes hasn't advanced at all scientifically or technologically in the last hundred years.

Which makes the fact that they want specifically an automail mechanic, an craftsman of one of Amestris' most advanced technology, rather interesting, doesn't it?

"I hear they took a lot of Ishvalan refugees during the war," Fuery says – he's the one holding the letter, reading it through.

Roy hums grimly. There's that, though took in might be stretching it a bit. Xerxes didn't do much to protect its borders – there was no need, with a desert all around their kingdom. So, when Ishvalan refugees sought to escape the conflict and set out to the desert, there was nothing but the terrain itself to stop them. Who knows how many Ishvalans made it through the desert, on foot and probably hurt…

"Why'd they send this to our office?" Breda asks, casting a look at Roy.

"They sent it to Grumman who sent it to us," Roy sighs and leans back in his chair. "The Lieutenant General wants us to find a suitable mechanic and then escort them – along with the Fürher's greetings – to Xerxes. The mission isn't exactly time sensitive, but since we're in the East…"

There's probably many reasons it was thrown their way, really. Way to keep those uppity brats from East busy, easily justified with them being closest to the matter at hand. It also wasn't exactly vital as diplomatic missions go – but it was still a diplomatic mission to a foreign nation, which means that Roy would want to handle it himself instead of leaving it to any of his subordinates. Especially since it's to Xerxes – what Alchemist wouldn't give an arm and a leg for a glimpse at how Xerxesian alchemy is these days? So, it was expected that he'd go himself. Which would get him out of people's way for a while, and maybe open up a slot for someone else to be promoted to his place, depending how long it would take.

How annoying. Grumman can be one clever son of a bitch when he wants to be.

"Right," Roy says while his team exchanges looks. "I want a list of all automail mechanics of East on my desk by the end of the day – if you can figure out their feelings about Ishval and if they have any history with the Ishvalan Civil War, that'd be a plus. Get to work."

"Sir!" his team answers, and immediately get to it, Fuery and Fallman both heading out to probably check records, while Havoc fishes out a phone book and Breda gets the phone. Beside Roy, Hawkeye gives him a look.

"Should I start preparing for travel?" she asks mildly.

"If you please," Roy says, turning to his paperwork. "We'll take Breda with us."

"Understood."

Over the course of next two days, they list and investigate various automail shops in the east, Roy privately wincing at how many there are, and how many of them are less than a decade old. The Ishvalan Civil War had been a boon to the business, and a lot of mechanics from the south moved in to take advantage of the situation. Lots of new up and coming mechanics, cutting their teeth in on a lot of freshly traumatised soldiers.

It left a lot of them… unsuitable for a mission likely to involve Ishvalan refugees.

"Known for his Anti-Ishvalan sentiments," Breda says, crossing out another potential automail shop. "This one has a No Refugees sign on his shop front, which probably means the same thing. This one has a pretty high record of automail rejection syndrome. This one has had two patients die on the operation table…"

Roy rubs a hand over his forehead, already imagining having to reach for the Southern District to find someone sensible in Rush Valley, when Breda offers him a potential. "Rockbell Automail, in business for decades before the Ishvalan Conflict even began."

"Rockbell," Roy says, lifting his head. "Any relation to the two late Doctors Rockbell?"

"Yep. Son and daughter in law of Doctor Pinako Rockbell, the head mechanic of the shop," Breda says and lays the file on his desk. "Their daughter is currently an apprentice mechanic in the shop, too."

Roy grimaces at that, but accepts the file, leafing quickly through it. Old, well established shop, known for their skill and efficiency, with very high praise from a lot of former customers and no known record of either deaths on operation table, auto mail rejections, or any anti-Ishvalan sentiments. There is a slight issue of the head mechanic being an old woman and the only other mechanic being a young girl, but…

It's promising.

"Phone," Roy says, and Hawkeye quickly lifts it on his desk, turning it toward him so that he can dial easily.

"Rockbell Automail, Pinako Rockbell speaking," a woman's voice answers the phone promptly, her tone brisk.

"Doctor Rockbell, my name is Roy Mustang, I'm a Lieutenant Colonel from the East Area Headquarters – may I have a moment of your time?"

"Certainly," Doctor Rockbell answers, no noticeable change in her tone. "What can do for you, Lieutenant Colonel? Aside from automail, presumably."

"I am currently looking for a skilled automail mechanic to take part in a diplomatic mission, likely to involve Ishvalan refugees," Roy says. "Your shop came up as highly recommended."

"Hrm. What kind of diplomatic mission? Don't the military have their own automail mechanics?"

"There are some, but none in the Eastern Headquarters," Roy admits – probably because the East has such surplus of civilian mechanics these days. "And I'll be frank, the likely length of this mission makes it difficult to use any of our military mechanics. The mission is to Xerxes, and will likely take weeks, if not months."

"… Xerxes?" now the old woman's voice changes, growing a little incredulous.

"Yes, the Xerxes Royal Family sent the Amestrian government an appeal for a skilled automail mechanic to join their court, and I was tasked with the mission of finding one," Roy explains and leans back, turning to look out of the window while he talks. "You would be well compensated for your trouble, however long it would last."

"Is this… a permanent position? In Xerxes?" Still incredulous.

"We don't know as of yet, the treaties are yet to be drawn. You would naturally be part of the negotiations and your wishes and needs would be taken into account," Roy assures her. "I understand this is a bit much so suddenly, and I will hold it in no way against you if you refuse outright – though I am hoping that if that is the case, then perhaps you, as a well established mechanic, might be able to point me in the way of more suitable candidates…"

Honestly, with a shop as old and as well established as hers, Roy doubts very much she would take him up on the mission – she probably has a whole lot of regular clients and steady stream of income, and no need to move. But, it never hurts to ask.

The phone line is quiet for a moment as the old mechanic thinks. "I need to talk with my apprentice for a moment, can I call you back in, say, two hours?"

"Certainly," Roy agrees, and gives her his office number. "We'll be looking forward to your call."

"Right – one more thing. You said it's likely to involve Ishvalan refugees," Doctor Rockbell says. "How'd you mean?"

"We don't know for sure, the appeal didn't explain the need for a mechanic. But during the Ishvalan Civil War, many Ishvalan refugees fled to Xerxes. So we thought it safe to assume the two are connected."

"Ah," the mechanic says knowingly. "And they put a State Alchemist in charge of finding a solution."

Roy swallows. Ah. She knows about him. It's not entirely surprising, but… "They did indeed," is all he says. There's no real explanation he can give, no excuse. It is what it is."

"Hm," Doctor Rockbell answers, noncommittal. "I will call back in two hours."

And she does, accepting the mission with two conditions. The military would help her pack up her entire shop and all the materials and tools would be transported with them – which was understandable, even if it tripled the estimated convoy size. The other condition was that she was taking her eleven year old apprentice with her. Both conditions Roy readily agreed to, tasking Havoc and Fallman with her packing while the rest of the team arranged the convoy.

"Guess we're going to Xerxes then. We're going to need a lot of camels," Breda muses.

"Yes," Roy agrees and sighs. It would be a hard journey and probably a hard mission, and likely one for very little gain in the end. Still. Xerxes. His alchemy master would've killed for the opportunity. Might as well take full advantage of it, and learn whatever he can, even if it's only from broken murals on ancient ruins.

Hmm... not sure I’m getting Mustang’s voice right.

Edit: Also tumblr eats italics for breakfast apparently.

#fanfiction #fma #fullmetal alchemist #au #roy mustang #pinako rockbell #etc

194 notes · View notes

duskcowboy · 2 years

Text

A personal acotar rant…

Something I’ve seen recently on this app is people pushing the notion that Elriels are constantly “overreaching” and “overanalyzing”. That we pick out random excerpts and words, colors, or motifs that are not meant to mean anything more than what they are in order to fit the “elriel narrative”.

And by doing so, we apparently are showing we are threatened, that we’re scrambling to come up with theories and connect dots that aren’t there because we know our ship has “sunk”.

That the other ships don’t have to do so because they sufficiently rest their case on the arguments they’ve already put forth and are confident enough with that.

Now, I just want to get something off my chest in regards to these types of comments I’ve come across. And honestly it has nothing to do with the ships themselves, but this attitude that people believe they’re so much more knowledgeable, so much more educated than others.

First, I will never understand the arrogant attitude some people possess to be condescending in situations like this. You’re telling me you’re shaming people for enjoying a piece of literature? That it is somehow now cringey and overambitious to analyze text, even (granted) if it is to an exhausting degree?

I feel like some people lose sight of the fact that a majority of readers are everyday people with various backgrounds and educations. I’m not reading this series and indulging in theories to be graded by a literature professor. It’s. For. Fun.

I’m almost 100% positive that anyone who puts out a theory or highlights a pattern they observed in the texts fully assumes the notion that they may be wrong about their interpretations—that there may be nothing to what they’re picking up on. But that’s the whole point! Most literature teachers/professors encourage these actions. They want you to dig deep and try to find meaning somewhere even if there’s no way to know for sure that you’re right.

Yes, overanalyzing can lead you down a rabbit hole, but, so what? If you enjoy taking the time and effort to do so, by all means, go for it!

Even if you do a shabby job with using literary terms correctly or being able to fully explain your observation, I’m POSITIVE that authors would be glad that you even invested the time and effort into their books.

If anyone saw those posts demeaning those who put out in-depth theories or textual analysis (again, yes, even to an exhaustive point), I hope you’re not discouraged. Doing all of that is part of what makes being in a book fandom fun. How many GoT theories didn’t come true?? Too many to count. But those who put out theories that were wrong were not discredited. If anything, many people often get disappointed when popular theories don’t come to fruition, with many people complaining to authors for not going that route.

And secondly, as for the surplus of theories and patterns that continue to be posted by elriels, I believe it’s because we have the material to work with. We’ve had 4 books of build-up—of interactions, of character development, of behavioral patterns, of possible foreshadowing—to work with; hence, more theories and text to connect the dots.

And even if every single theory or possibility is wrong, we’re showing creativity and thoughtfulness in what we’re creating. Oftentimes these ideas and thoughts, when in the right creative hands, leads to fanfics that could propel aspiring authors in their career. We’ve undoubtedly seen that happen before.

In other words, carry on and ignore those that make an effort to put you down. Enjoy what you enjoy and have fun with your ships and theories!

#long rant #elriel #pro elriel #acotar theories #acotar thoughts #swifties know what I’m talking about #it’s fun to try and come up with complex elaborative theories just for the heck of it!#the TCU (Taylor Swift Cinematic Universe) is a prime example 😂#fans know that it’s kinda silly to be so invested in coming up with these theories but the whole point is that people enjoy it #let people enjoy things #anti el*cien #anti gw*nriel

75 notes · View notes

lin-nin · 3 years

Text

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 5

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer: Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

-- Chapter 5: Confrontation < | Previous Chapter Technoblade Focal Point The two of them had sat in the library for a while after that, talking about only a few topics in between long spaces of silence. Techno had used that time to observe the princess. He noted the way her hair fell, the nervous shifting of her weight in the chair. She even would chew her lip in thought. Whatever she was thinking about was horribly hard to discern, though it was easy enough to see she was worried. Not that she could be entirely blamed.

She had looked worried and stressed this entire time. From the moment he had walked into the throne room and made eye contact with her. She was intimidated. He imagined he wasn't exactly the norm to what she often saw here. Her kingdom was known for its softness. Its inclination to avoid conflict. It was a point of confusion for why he was being made to marry her. His father had said that there were powerful allies in peace just as there often was in war. It was true, yet it was boring, in a way.

He was pulled from his reverie as she stood, glancing to the window. "It's nearing dinner time," A wistful sigh escaped her after the statement, "Do you want to take your books up to your room first? You didn't touch them, I assume you'd want to read them eventually." She had turned back towards him, gesturing to the few books he had picked out. That was his initial plan, in truth. Yet she was sitting there with that worried look on her face. It would have seemed wrong to not at least speak to her.

Slowly, Techno rose to his feet as well, pausing to get his books. "Yeah, I'll bring them back come morning." He turned, waiting for her as she came to his side. Once she had, he started walking, occasionally glancing at her from his peripheral.

"Great! I mean, ah, obviously you can keep them longer if needed. I don't expect you to read them all tonight." She stammered over her words again, looking away. Techno laughed quietly in response. Seemed like the brief comfort didn't last. It was definitely amusing to watch, though. She had a habit of stumbling over her words.

"Depends how well I'm able to sleep. Either way I won't hold onto them for long." Reassuring her seemed to ease her some, her shoulders relaxing. She was certainly a character. She simply walked with him then, staring ahead of them. She stood and waited outside his room, letting him take the few moments he needed to set the books down. He set them down atop the trunk sitting at the foot of his bed, pausing for a few seconds. Hopefully their parents had worked out their problems. He warned his father long ahead of time that this arrangement wouldn’t be received well.

His fingers brushed the book and he sighed, head shaking. If they hadn’t, he just wouldn’t deal with it. It wasn’t worth it. He had little to gain from this. He had his doubts the marriage would be jeopardized under any circumstance. There would be too much worry about upsetting his kingdom. They also had the food that was desperately needed here. Even if they were unsettled about his presence as opposed to Wilbur’s, they would deal with it.

He blew out a small puff of air, leaving the room once more. He glanced at the princess again, and she offered up a smile. Did she know of the unrest among her parents? Perhaps she did, but she didn’t show it. That, or she didn’t know enough to give her reason to be afraid of him. Ignorance of some form, then. That or a good actress, but she didn’t exactly give off that vibe.

“You’ll have to forgive our dinner. As you know we’ve been rather tight of food lately. Of course, you’re helping with that and it means… a lot. To both me and my citizens, I imagine.” Moments like this, it shone that she was a princess raised with diplomacy and respect. When she had to be this way, she would be. Even though she seemed to be so bumbling and awkward outside of diplomacy.

“It was in our best interest. We aren’t exactly hurting for food ourselves,” He explained. They had quite a surplus, in truth. Their lands had been generous for a few years. It made sense to give extra to a neighboring kingdom. It wouldn’t do if someone took advantage of their weakened state for an invasion.

“All the same, you have our eternal thanks.” She smiled softly, wandering along towards the dining hall with him. The silence wasn’t entirely awkward like the past ones. This one was a touch more comfortable, even as they walked into the dining hall, which was filled with soft chatter. Almost immediately, he felt a gaze on him. His head turned, seeking out the holder.

At the same time he spotted the blonde-headed man, the girl beside him bounded forward with a shout of, “Dream!” She settled into the spot beside him, having left Techno as if he wasn’t there in the first place. Dream, as she had called him, offered her a smile. His green eye never left him, though. It bore into him almost resentfully. In a way, it was unnerving. In the same way it was familiar in a way he couldn’t name. His other eye was hidden beneath an eyepatch of gold fabric, the gold filigree lace covering some of the scar that tried to peak out from the bottom.

Other than that he was almost plain. His clothes were dark green and simple, fairly understated for someone sitting beside a princess. Techno pursed his lips, but moved into the seat across from his fiancee. She seemed fairly content with the set up, though the other did not.

“Right! Dream, this is Prince Technoblade. Techno, this is Dream. My best friend,” She introduced with a grin, reaching for a cup nearby to sip from. The two looked at each other for a long moment. Waiting for the other to say something first.

“Your reputation precedes you, Technoblade.” Dream spoke in a calculated tone, causing Techno to narrow his eyes. The princess nudged him, shooting him a look. Like she could tell he was not happy.

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. Everyone seems surprised by my arrival,” He mused. Prodding, almost. He could already tell Dream did not like him. He didn’t even care that much.

“We weren’t expecting you. I trust you’ll take care of her all the same.” An embarrassed expression crossed the princess’s face, nose scrunching a little. Like she looked dissatisfied with the implication she needed taking care of.

“I think I’m capable of taking care of her. I don’t let harm befall my family,” He fired back. A smug smirk curled his lips as Dream huffed. The girl across from him looked to the side with her own little huff, though they seemed to mean different things.

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“You can’t even hold a sword.” Dream was quick to retort, causing an almost frustrated pout to cover her face.

“I can very well teach her, even if she doesn’t know. It’s good knowledge to have, regardless of status and who she’s with.” The look Dream sent Techno at this was dirty, clearly unhappy with the words. The princess, however, looked a little more interested. A light sparkled in her eyes, and Techno had a feeling she just hadn’t been allowed to learn. As expected from a soft kingdom like this.

Dinner proceeded a little more calmly, with the princess and Dream firing back and forth to each other multiple times. Techno only chimed in when he saw fit, otherwise resigning himself to his meal. As the meal closed, both he and Dream stood. He leveled Dream with a stare, resisting the urge to grab onto one of his swords.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” He finally broke the silence. Mainly just to irritate the man, and see the look on his face. She, however, smiled up at Techno, and gently patted Dream’s arm. This barely seemed to placate him as he huffed, turning to leave the dining hall.

“Thank you, Techno,” She hummed, waiting for him near the door. He nodded, walking with her outside of the hall. Habitually he put a hand on the pommel of one of his swords, well aware of the dangers that came with it being night. She led him towards the other side of the castle, seeming rather content with the silence for a few moments.

“Did you mean it?” She finally asked, looking up at him. He turned his head just slightly, looking at her curiously.

“Mean what?”

“That you’d teach me to hold a sword. Or fight with it,” She explained quietly, looking away. Like she was unsure about the whole idea.

“I’m willing to teach you to fight with something. It doesn’t make sense for you to not be able to defend yourself should you need to.” They rounded a corner, and she seemed extremely content with the answer.

“My parents wouldn’t teach me, and neither would Dream.” She hardly seemed happy at that, but the contentment she expressed at being able to learn at some point was rather nice. An eager student was a good one, truthfully.

“We’ll have to figure out what will fit you best when we get to my kingdom. Maybe after the wedding.” He tried to ignore how awkward it felt to say that, and she seemed equally flustered. She hesitated outside her door, as if contemplating if there were anything else she needed to say.

“That sounds good to me. Thank you, Techno. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” She smiled up at him, and he nodded. Once she was safe inside her room, he turned to head towards his room. Silence fell around him, beyond the soft tapping of his boots. That, and a second, quieter pair trailing him. He wasn’t an idiot.

“You can quit trailing me and just talk to me,” He finally called out after a few seconds. He came to a stop in the hall, turning towards the sound. He didn’t technically need to look, either. He knew who it was. Dream slipped from the shadows, eye narrowed at him suspiciously. He eyes the hand Techno was resting on his pommel, almost warily. Like he would draw it at any second. Not that he planned to, unless provoked into doing such.

“Why get engaged to her?” He said bitterly, causing Techno to quirk his lips. Was that jealousy? Of course, he should have seen that coming. How cliche.

“What’s it matter to you? You clearly weren’t going to do it.” It was a cruel taunt, but deserved in a way. He wasn’t fond of Dream already, and he wasn’t sure if it was the possessiveness he expressed over his now fiancee.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Dream practically bristled defensively. He looked ready to attack, and in truth it was amusing.

“I have no reason to answer. Besides, you won’t even teach her to defend herself. You want her dependent on you, don’t you?” His head tilted, a grin on his face. It was too easy to read him from an outside view.

“No. She’s just clumsy. If you so much as hurt her, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Kill me. Good luck. I told you I wouldn’t harm her and I have no intention to. She is my fiancee, not yours, Dream. Let me worry about her.” He spun on his heel, the movement almost militaristic. He didn’t care to listen to Dream’s possessive and jealous ramblings. Whatever chances he had had at one point, he had very clearly lost somewhere before Techno came along. Next Chapter | >

#dream #dreamwastaken #dream team #dream smp #dream x reader #technoblade #technoblade x reader #kingdom au #reader insert #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois family #t&t

307 notes · View notes

iamdeku · 3 years

Text

Friday (I’m In Love): Oikawa x Reader

You don’t know Oikawa Tooru. You don’t want to know Oikawa Tooru. But when fate and circumstance bring you two together, you’re forced to confront, over a series of Fridays, your worst fear. You might have been wrong. Also, you might be in love.

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: Some brief bullying from a girl I accidentally named Annoying. Pining.

Oikawa Tooru was one of the most obnoxious guys you had ever met. He thought he was the coolest guy in school, and he was not at all shy about sharing that opinion. He never stopped talking about himself in that high-pitched, whiny voice of his. You hated him.

So why you had agreed to tutor him was beyond you.

You supposed it paid well enough, but you were dreading your first session. You had prepared yourself to bite your tongue until it bled through his mansplaining. You were probably going to want to die by the end of the experience, but at least you would have some extra cash for the holidays.

Your boots kicked through the drifts of snow, pure as a coal miner after a long day doing overtime. The cold ice crunched under your weight, and you pulled your coat closer, wishing you had a scarf to help provide protection against the biting wind from the cold flushed skin on your face. Your headphones offered some protection to your ears at least, blasting your favorite song in an effort to raise your spirits.

The warm rush of the library’s heating system slammed into you in a wall of heat as you searched for the annoying setter. It took you longer than you thought to find him, expecting the loud man you knew and instead finding someone significantly more studious. He was hunched over one of the library tables, gray cardigan wrapped around his body, glasses perched on his nose.

You hoisted your satchel more firmly up your shoulder, bracing yourself for whatever weird thing was about to happen. Was he trying to look like he knew what he was talking about? Did he want to show off? You really weren’t sure.

You were hesitant to venture forward, but you did anyway, taking a seat next to him. Oikawa immediately looked up, blinking at you a couple of times before giving one of his usual smiles.

“Oh good, you’re here! As much as I’m great at everything, I have to admit that this has been giving me a little bit of trouble. I was so happy to hear you could help me. Iwa-chan won’t anymore, that traitor.”

You couldn’t blame Iwaizume for getting frustrated with Oikawa’s behavior, even if he had chosen to befriend the disaster sitting casually in front of you. You pulled out your books, writing utensils and laptop. You were a self-professed nerd, so you had brought a surplus of pens, highlighters, and other instruments to the table. You had a reputation to keep up after all.

“Well, I guess we should get to work. What part of this are you having trouble understanding?” You asked, pulling open your textbook.

Oikawa explained his troubles to you, and you were surprised to find how intelligent he was. Everything he found difficult to understand was...well, understandable. You could see why he would struggle in those areas, and for some of them you had struggled as well, despite this being your favorite subject.

Even more surprising, you found out he could be a good listener when he wanted to be. It was alarming, actually, how attentively he could listen. Damn it, he took notes on the things you said, writing down the important parts of your explanations.

As you started to pack up, you saw sparks of the Oikawa you knew.

“Thanks for that, cutie. You’re pretty smart, you know? Of course, you’re smart enough to already know that. Besides, I wouldn’t have asked you to tutor me if you weren’t the best.” He winked. “See you next Friday.”

He didn’t even ask if you wanted to meet him next week. Gosh, he was the worst.

Even with Oikawa “I’m the Worst” Tooru dragging you down, you were still resolved to keep showing up to these tutoring sessions. They weren’t half as bad as you thought they would be, and you hadn’t stopped needing the money. You could have gotten a better gig, but frankly this was a pretty easy job, easier than you thought it would be. It was, loathe though you were to say it, the best option.

Besides, you were the kind of person who kept their promises, though you weren’t sure you could say the same of Oikawa.

He was late. He was a whole 3 minutes late and you were only on your second session. If he kept up this kind of behavior you were going to have to have a serious discussion with him about timeliness. Your time was valuable, and none of this had anything at all to do with you needing something to justify your dislike of him.

You were halfway through writing your future lecture on timeliness when Oikawa arrived, slightly breathless and windswept, cheeks pink from the cold. Despite looking as though he had run all the way here, he had the nerve to still look all handsome and charismatic. It irritated you.

“Sorry about being late. The guys and I were practicing volleyball and we totally lost track of time.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, recognizing his mistake, and something in the general area of your chest did a little flip. It was probably a rib rotating in disgust.

“It’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Oikawa gave you his signature charming smile as he sat next to you.

“You know, you could stand to loosen up a little. I know you’re more fun than this, somewhere deep down in that nerdy little heart of yours.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not my job to be having fun with you.”

“Ah, but it could be.”

“Just open your textbook, Oikawa-san.”

He pulled the book out of his bag, flipping it open on the desk but not bothering to look down at it.

“Come on. Seriously. I got a way better grade than usual on the pop quiz we got this week. I feel like I should thank you for everything you’re doing for me. What are you doing tomorrow?”

The truthful, sad answer was that you were doing nothing at all, actually. You had tried to make plans with your friends, but they were all “busy” with something or other. While it pained you deeply, Oikawa was right. You had no social life.

You sighed. “I’m not busy tomorrow.”

“Well, that settles it then. The guys and I have practice. You can come watch the end of it if you want, and then we’re all going out for dinner. You should come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Oikawa’s face lit up in a way you hadn’t expected, and he smiled down at his textbook as he turned it to the relevant page.

“Good. Prove to us that you can have fun after all.”

“Watch it. You’ll remember it’s in your best interest to stay in my good graces.”

Oikawa just laughed at your threat like it was meaningless. He was right to do it. You hated to admit it, but even now he was starting to grow on you.

Oikawa started explaining what he was having trouble with, and just as you were really getting into your subject, you were interrupted by a shrill scream. You stiffened in immediate panic, swiveling in your chair to find the source of the sound. Oikawa, on the other hand, looked momentarily annoyed before pulling his Prince Charming façade into place.

“Oh my gosh!!! Tooru-kun is that you!”

You felt a wave of deep-set annoyance go through you at the girl’s tone of voice. Not only had she caused you to be genuinely alarmed, but she was clearly being way to familiar with Oikawa, unless he had a girlfriend you hadn’t heard about.

“Hey there!” Oikawa turned to face the girl headed towards you, an indulgent smile on his face.

“Oh my gosh! I saw your practice earlier and you were like, so good.” The girl gushed.

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” Oikawa seemed genuinely flattered at this, if you were so bold as to assume you could tell the difference between the fake him and the real him.

The girl giggled, stars in her eyes before they turned to you, darkening dramatically. “Oh, who is this? Is she like, your girlfriend or something?”

You didn’t like the turn the girl’s tone of voice had taken. There was something distinctly catty to the way she said the world ‘girlfriend’ that made your stomach turn. You had met plenty of mean girls in your life, and now alarm bells were going off in your head.

“No, no. Just my lovely tutor. She’s helping me out in my worst class. She’s very talented.”

Oikawa seemed to have picked up on the change in tone, shifting slightly to be in front of you. Presumably, this was to block you from the daggers the girl was glaring at you.

“Remind me your name, would you?” Oikawa’s smile had grown tense.

“Oh, my name is Miko! How could you forget?” She pouted elaborately.

“Silly me!” If at all possible, Oikawa’s megawatt smile grew brighter as he caught her attention again, drawing her in once more. “I remember now. How have you been, Miko-san?”

You smirked to yourself at the honorific, so different from how she had referred to him earlier.

“I’ve been great! Way better now that I get to catch up with you. I missed you!” She stuck out her lower lip like she was trying to catch something with it.

“Well, I hope to see you at my next game, once we’re back in season. Thanks so much for stopping by!”

Oikawa’s body turned towards the table, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. Miko didn’t get the message.

“What are you studying? Maybe I can join you. I’m pretty smart, you know.”

You had officially had enough. You stood from your place, glaring at the girl in a similar fashion to how she had looked at you earlier, but for very different reasons.

“Listen, Miko-chan,” you said, purposefully pitching your voice up into an imitation of her own calling for Oikawa. “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a tutoring session. So unless you intend to pay me for my services, I really am going to need you to find somewhere else in this rather large library to study.”

The girl turned to you, and you expected some kind of temper tantrum, maybe a few crocodile tears before she walked away, but what you got was far worse. She smiled at you sickly sweet, planting a hand on your table and leaning in.

“Pay you for your services? Oh, so I guess you’re nothing more than a common who-”

Oikawa stood from his chair, the legs loudly scraping across the floor as he grabbed her arm. He turned her to face him harshly, and you would never forget the look on his face. You had seen the prince of Aoba Johsai wear many faces, most of them some version of the charming, charismatic boy you knew. You had never before seen the look of cold rage he wore now, grip firm on her forearm as he practically snarled at her.

“You’re not going to call her that. You’re not going to call anyone that ever. If I see you at one of my games, I will make sure you are promptly escorted out. Leave. Now.”

The girl stood still for a moment, frozen in terror, before turning on her heel and bolting as Oikawa released her. You blinked in shock a few times, unaware that your classmate was capable of such emotion, let alone such anger.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, the first words to cross your mind. “She’ll go around telling everyone you’re an awful person now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got in trouble or if she started some kind of weird hate club.”

Oikawa scowled as he sat back down, mind clearly still elsewhere.

“I don’t care. People shouldn’t talk to you like that. Nothing about what she just did was okay. Whatever repercussions I face for that, so be it.”

You stared at him in surprise. Oikawa had come to your defense, at no personal gain to himself. Sure, anyone should have done that, but you never thought he would. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey.” You nudged his side gently, and he softened, looking down at you. “That invitation to your practice still open? I think I’d like to see you play. I hear you’re ‘so great’ or something.”

He smiled again at your gentle teasing. “Yeah. We’d love to have you.”

As the months went on, you began to acknowledge that Oikawa was not what you had thought he was. Reluctant as you were to admit it, you considered him a friend now. As you had grown to know him better, it became obvious that everything you had thought about Oikawa before had been a mask he put up to impress people.

“If you keep poking me with that pencil, I will stab you in the eye with it,” you mumbled, not bothering to look up from your paper until a soft spring breeze floated through the library door as it opened.

“Iwa-chan! She’s being mean again!” Oikawa whined.

Iwaizume, ready to join your Friday study session, cast a lazy gaze over the both of you, assessing the situation in half a second.

He shrugged. “It looks like you deserved it.”

“I’m wounded, Iwa!” Oikawa threw an arm over his chest, falling back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes even as a smile tugged at your mouth. You had gotten used to Oikawa misbehaving. Some might go so far as to say you liked it. Some might even go so far as to say you liked him.

You would deny it if asked, of course. The way you blushed when he complimented you was the same as the way you blushed when anyone complimented you. The warm tingle left on your skin when he touched you was just because he was warm, infecting you with it, burning you alive. And the way you couldn’t breathe around him sometimes? Well, nobody could prove that.

Nobody could prove that Oikawa Tooru was your best friend, and nobody could prove that you were in love with your best friend.

Oikawa rested his head on your shoulder, and you wish you could say you had long learned how to ignore the jump of your heart, but you were only human. You still caught your breath, still felt an ache somewhere in your chest when he did it. It was the sort of feeling you got when you saw something in a shop window you couldn’t have but amplified by a million. It was so strong that sometimes you wanted to scream it out, wanted to stomp your feet and throw a fit like a kid in the grocery aisle because you wanted something you couldn’t have but oh, how you wanted it.

It consumed you some days, the way you wanted Oikawa. The way you wanted to peel back his layers, make him reveal that real self you caught glimpses of when he was with you. The soft boy who cried during sad movies, the brave boy who fought for you when you were sad, the silly boy who made faces just to get a rise out of you. It creeped like a sickness through your bones until you wanted to throw up, wanted to lay in bed all day in your sticky sweet misery and sob taffy tears, taste them on your tongue.

“Who are you going with to the spring dance?” Oikawa asked you, breath blowing against your neck in a way he couldn’t know sent shivers through you.

“I’m not going,” you said, returning to your textbook now that Iwaizume had established his presence.

Oikawa sat up, posture stiff with his indignance.

“Not going? How can you be not going? I know for a fact there are at least 5 boys planning to ask you.”

“They asked. I said no. I’m not going.”

“Why not? It will be fun!”

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the nasty feeling in your gut. You couldn’t very well tell him that you didn’t want to go just to watch him dance with every member of his little fan club. You refused to explain how absolutely heartbreakingly awful it would be to go and watch him rotate through his carousel of girls, all of them beautiful, all of them wanting him, none of them you.

“I’m studying. You know, that thing smart people do when they want to pass their classes?”

Iwaizume snorted.

“I know what studying is.” Oikawa glared. “I thought you would want to come, though. I figured you would already have a dress picked out and a date and everything.”

For a guy trying to convince you to go to this thing, Oikawa sounded almost sad talking about it. He especially seemed rather melancholy at the prospect of your date. You wondered if maybe one of your potential dates was somebody Oikawa hated or something. Not that it mattered, since you had turned them all away.

“I don’t really want to go. These things aren’t really fun anyway. Besides, all the guys who asked me were jerks.”

“That’s true,” Iwaizume said. “Didn’t Itsuki ask you? That guy got in 4 fights just this week. Pretty sure I heard him in the bathroom bragging about…actually, never mind. Point is he’s a jerk.”

“Trust me, I know. They were all like that, too.” You groaned. “If one decent guy had asked me, maybe I would have gone, but apparently there’s something about me that draws in the Itsuki’s of the world. So, I’m not going. I’m just going to stay home and watch tacky movies and do homework.”

“Go with me.”

You froze at Oikawa’s offer. He couldn’t be serious. Didn’t he already have a date? Didn’t he already have girls lining up around the block to go to this stupid thing with him?

“Don’t you already have a date? I thought…” You trailed off, unsure what exactly you had thought.

“No. I…I heard the person I was planning to ask was rejecting everyone who asked her. Didn’t want to risk it.”

For whatever reason, Iwaizume rolled his eyes from where he sat across from you.

“Okay. Well…can’t you just go with one of your fangirls?”

You weren’t sure why exactly you were fighting this. This was what you had wanted, but not like this. You had wanted him to ask you because he liked you, not because he was too afraid to ask some other girl who was apparently too good for the student body population.

“I don’t want to go with them. I want to go with somebody I like.”

Oikawa’s soft brown eyes were too earnest staring into your face. You couldn’t say no to him when he looked at you like that, so open and vulnerable you could almost pretend it was a confession. It would have been terribly cruel of you to turn him down now.

You sighed. “I guess I have to buy a dress now.”

Oikawa smiled. “Yay! You don’t deserve to be cooped up all night in your room. I promise I’ll make this fun for you.”

“You’d better,” you teased. “I’ll tell you once I know the color of the dress. That way you can match your tie.”

“Perfect.”

If you closed your eyes and didn’t think about it too hard, you could almost pretend it was a real date.

When the Friday night of the dance came, you really did almost believe it was a real date. Oikawa had told you he was going to pick you up, but he hadn’t told you that he was going to bring a corsage or charm the pants off your parents. He was acting like you were the girl he had wanted to take this whole time.

He opened your door for you before you got into the car, taking your hand to help you balance as you stepped into the car in your heels. You were dumbstruck when he reached over to buckle you in and make sure you were safe before heading over to the driver’s side. You tried frantically to control your breathing as he got the car started.

It was a short drive to the school, but the whole way there you could barely talk to him, trying to figure out his game. Was he doing this because he didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out? That had to be it. He was probably just trying to show you what a good date was like.

When you got to the school, he helped you out of the car, and you finally admitted it to yourself. When he escorted you in, despite everything, you sort of felt like a princess. Oikawa looked so dashing in his tux, his tie matching the shade of your dress, everything coming together perfectly for a moment before it came crashing down with the realization that you were not the person he had wanted to take to this thing.

In spite of that, though, he seemed intent to act like it. Oikawa’s fan club mobbed you as soon as you entered, but he ignored all of them entirely for once.

“Sorry ladies, but as you can see, I am escorting my date. Any other day you know you all have my attention, but I’m afraid tonight is all about us.” He flashed you a shy smile as he said it, cheeks turning pink on the word us. “Do you want to dance?”

“Uh….sure.”

He was being weird about this. You didn’t have much time to think about that though before he swung you out on the dance floor, swaying you to the beat of the music. The first few songs were fast, but eventually they played a slow song, and so you two danced a slow dance, Oikawa’s hands settled gently on your waist and yours around his neck. He had you pulled close though, enough so that his head curved over your shoulder and your ear pressed against his.

“So, I was thinking,” he said.

“Oh no. That’s always dangerous.” You laughed a little bit.

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, we’re graduating soon, and I…I don’t want to lose you.”

You couldn’t see his face with the position you were in, but you could hear the tenderness of his voice. Your heart ached with it even as he voiced the thought you had been having for a while now. You were coming to the close of your final year and you had wondered if, when you were no longer in school, you would have to face the reality of Oikawa no longer wanting to spend time with you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you said softly.

“Yeah but…” Oikawa released a shaky sigh. “I don’t know if that means the same thing to you.”

Oikawa pulled back, far enough to look you in the eyes. You were too astonished to protest, staring up at him with your mouth fallen open in surprise.

“I want something more. I know you’ve just barely accepted me as a friend and you hardly even tolerate me and I know I’m annoying and loud and brash and obnoxious. I know all of that, but I need you to know that you’re everything I’m not. You’re gentle and smart and careful and considerate and you were the one I wanted to take to this dance. You. Not anyone else. That’s all I have to say.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess that’s my confession. I don’t expect you to accept it.”

Before you could stop him, he let go of you, starting to retreat through the crowd of dancing bodies around you.

“Tooru!” You used his first name in your excitement, forgetting any need to pretend distance.

He stopped when he heard you, a look of desperate hope on his face. You grabbed his hand, pulling him back into you.

“I wanted to come to the dance with you too. You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that. I’m so stupidly in love with you, but I never thought that you would feel the same. I do accept your feelings. All of them. Even the big, loud, obnoxious, dramatic ones. I love them. I love all of it. So let’s not lose each other. I was thinking that after we graduate, I’m probably going to go to college, but I don’t know if you have plans to go pro with your volleyball, or maybe-”

You were cut off when he grabbed your face between his hands, crushing your lips to his. Right there, in front of everybody, Oikawa Tooru started making out with you in the middle of the dance floor. Nobody really noticed the two extra teenagers kissing on the dance floor, but you felt your heart soar.

“We can work all of that out later. For now, I just want to dance with you.”

“And kiss me?” You teased.

“Yes. I would very much like to keep kissing you.”

You laughed, leaning into his shoulder again. The song changed, picking up pace to something more upbeat, and you changed your dance style in accordance with it. You could see Iwaizume on the side of the dance floor looking at you two approvingly, and when you made eye contact, he gave you a thumbs up.

Later, you would have to worry about college and volleyball and everything else. Eventually, it would all work out in the end, though not without some troubles. That Friday though, you danced the night away with your best friend turned boyfriend, and finally admitted to yourself that Oikawa Tooru was the best.

#hq #haikyuu!!#hq fic #oikawa tooru #oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader

57 notes · View notes

the-little-crime-writer · 4 years

Photo

DiAngelo is the only survivor of the largest mass suicide on American soil. He found the bodies of his 39 friends lying with plastic bags over their heads, wearing neat black tracksuits with an 'Away Team' patch and Nike trainers. Now we discover why he was left behind...

It was midday when Rio DiAngelo arrived at the hilltop mansion overlooking San Diego to find all the windows closed, the curtains drawn, and outdoor lights burning in the sunshine. The front door was locked, but he found a side door ajar and warily pushed it open.

The unmistakable stench of death made him gag and he covered his face with his shirtsleeve, which still smelled of cologne from his morning shower. As he walked through the eerie silence, he knew what he would find. And he dreaded it. Upstairs, 39 of his friends lay dead in their beds after the largest mass suicide on American soil. All members of a bizarre cult, they had each downed a lethal cocktail of vodka, barbiturates and apple sauce to leave their 'earthly containers' and join an alien spaceship trailing the Hale-Bopp comet.Yelling out in case anyone was still alive, DiAngelo raced from room to room. But all he found were bodies with plastic bags over their heads. Each one wore a neat black tracksuit with an 'Away Team' patch and Nike trainers with their comet-trail trademark. The 21 women and 18 men had each packed a small bag for the journey, and have five dollars in their pocket. Thoughtful to the end, each had left a note saying. 'I forced myself to go into each room and check everyone,' said DiAngelo. 'With each body I came across, the loss became too much to bear. They were my closest friends. I loved them dearly.'

DiAngelo, who's real name is Richard Ford, became involved with the Heaven's Gate Cult in 1994 after attending one of their meetings in a California hotel or 'Cultifornia' as sceptics often call the state that spawned Charles Manson and the Reverend Jim Jones. He had listened while nine androgynous-looking members wearing identical loose clothes and cropped hair described their absolute belief in aliens, the paranormal, and reincarnation. One of them was 59 year old Thomas Nichols whose sister, Nichelle, played Star Trek's Lieutenant Uhura. Forbidden to have sex, hug each other, or even shake hands, the Heaven's Gate cultists concentrated on purifying their bodies and spirits ready for the move to 'an advanced level of being' on another planet or dimension. They called each other brother or sister, observed daily rituals, and were allowed to watch only selected TV programmes. Individual needs were minimised so that a member who had run out of deodorant, for example, would have to apply for a new one in writing.Anyone entering the immaculately clean mansion referred to as 'the temple' had to take off their shoes and wear surgical socks. Silence prevailed, and many of their neighbours assumed they were 'a bunch of monks.' In line with their belief that they had been sent to earth as angels, six members were castrated and, according to DiAngelo, 'they couldn't stop smiling and giggling about it.'

On some days, members had to report to their superiors every 12 minutes while on other days they were required to wear a cone on their heads as they would in alien bodies. Many common words were changed so that members would not remember their human past once they had ascended into space. For instance, house became 'craft' and kitchen became 'nutri-lab.' Their 65 year old leader Marshall Applewhite had started the cult in 1972 with Bonnie Nettles whom he had met while undergoing treatment for homosexuality in a psychiatric hospital. They had abandoned their human names and called themselves Guinea and Pig, then Bo and Peep, before finally settling on Do and Ti.Ti died of cancer in 1985, But Do, claiming he was Jesus reincarnated, said he continued to communicate with her. The group survived financially by running a successful web page design firm which they also used to try and win converts and spread their message. Their own website featured pictures of stars and nebulae downloaded from NASA and appeared very businesslike. It also stated that suicide is acceptable for cult members who want to ascent to 'a higher level of life.' Heaven's Gate shared some of the beliefs of 19th century occultists like novelist Mark Twain. In 1907, Twain wrote a short story about a hero leaving Earth for 'an extended excursion among the heavenly bodies' on the trail of a comet. He took his passport and five dollars for the fare. Despite their fantastic beliefs, DiAngelo was converted and lived in this eccentric community for nearly three years. I'd just turned forty and recently divorced and I was trying to find meaning in life,' he said. 'I'd had a fairly troubled past that included a violent, unstable mother and other bad relationships. The group shared my interest in UFOs, music and Eastern Religions.

But in, December 1995, Do's teaching took a more sinister turn and DiAngelo later recalled that he 'sat us all down and told us that we might have to leave our bodies behind. Amazingly, we didn't really have a problem with that. We trusted Do implicitly. 'We found a suicide recipe that used phenobarbital, vodka and apple sauce, and Do and some of his helpers went to Mexico to buy enough of the drug for the entire group.' Eleven months later, an amateur astronomer took a photo of the Hale-Bopp comet, which showed a mysterious oval-shaped object trailing in its wake. Although NASA later described it a 'proto-comet' 2,000 miles behind Hale-Bopp, other astronomers dismissed the sighting as a hoax or error. Hale-Mary, as it was called, has not been seen since. Do, however, convinced his followers that it was a spaceship coming to take them away and that his deceased partner, Ti, was flying it. Seeing significance in everything, he told then that Hale-Bopp even had the same initials as Helena Blavatsky, another 19th century occultist with whom the group shared beliefs. Having decided on this 'Star-gate' plan, the group prepared to enjoy a final spree on Earth by spending some surplus money. They went to Las Vegas and stayed at the Stratosphere Hotel, and rode the rollercoaster and the Big Shot free-fall ride. A week later they went to see Star Wars and visited the San Diego wild animal park and Sea World. For their 'last supper,' they booked a table for 39 at a local restaurant where waiter Eric Morales was struck by their politeness and helpfulness. 'From the moment they arrived, all austerely dressed and looking the same, I knew this would be no ordinary shift,' he said. 'I made a joke to sort of set the mood and when I returned to their table five minutes later they were still laughing at it. You could tell they didn't get out a lot. 'All thirty nine ordered exactly the same: turkey pie, salad, blueberry cheesecake and iced tea. They were very pleasant, but guarded. When asked where they were from they said things like 'from the car' and 'from all over.' Six days later, employees at the restaurant watched news footage in amazement when they realised the oddball diners they had served had gone straight home and killed themselves. 'It was the last time they were going to be together,' said Morales. 'The bill came to three hundred and fifty one dollars which included a twenty six dollar tip. Our manager was so taken with them, he stood in the doorway and shook hands with each one as they left.' A month before the suicides, DiAngelo decided he wanted to leave the commune. He moved to Beverly Hills, and began working for a web design company. 'I left with Do's permission,' he said/. 'I told him I felt I had something to do outside...like a task. I think part of it was to explain to the world the philosophy of Heaven's Gate and the sort of people they were. Be an instrument of clarification. 'I believed Do was from another planet. He taught me to be more aware, honest and sensitive to the world. In short, a better person. What I gained from the group was phenomenal.

On March 27th, 1997, a parcel arrived at DiAngelo's office. It contained an upbeat farewell video and a message saying: 'By the time you read this we will have exited our bodies.' 'There was no mention of sadness or fear, but rather an air of excitement and anticipation. The cult he called 'his closest brothers and sisters' were aged between 26 and 72 and are believed to have died in three groups - 15 the first day, 15 the next, and nine on the third. In the heat of the Californian spring, many of the bodies had already begun to decompose by the time DiAngelo discovered them. Eager to be helpful, they cleaned up after each round of dying and had even taken out the rubbish. Police found handguns, rifles, and ammunition at the mansion which DiAngelo believed Marshall Applewhite had assembled because he feared a Waco-like siege by the FBI. He had also spent, $1,000 on an insurance policy that would pay out a million dollars each for up to 50 people in the event of abduction by aliens. The company said Heaven's Gate were one of 4,000 policyholders worldwide who had bought alien abduction insurance, with Britain and the USA being their biggest markets. The aftermath of the Heaven's Gate deaths was predictably prosaic. San Diego County planned to auction off their belongings - worth an estimated $1 million and give the proceeds to surviving family members. But DiAngelo claimed that his brothers and sisters wanted him to inherit the web design firm and announced his intention of settling the matter in court. Neighbours living on the same street as the group campaigned to change it's name after crowds of 'strange visitors' kept arriving to pray there. And the $1.6 million mansion itself proved unsellable because of it's gruesome associations and the obstinate smell of formaldehyde in its air conditioning. Two months after the suicide pact, two former members of Heaven's Gate also tried to 'exit their earthly vehicles' in a Holiday Inn four miles from the cult's mausoleum. They were dressed and prepared exactly the same as their departed brothers and sisters. One died immediately. The other was found unconscious, and went on to evangelise for the cult, touring the country with a 70-minute video of the bug-eyed Marshall Applewhite. He killed himself the following year in Heaven's Gate style after telling his friends that he would 'rather gamble on missing the bus this time than stay on this planet and risk losing my soul.' DiAngelo went on to apply the computer skills he had learned from Heaven's Gate to his earthly life. He auctioned off the cult's van on eBay and signed a deal to write a TV movie based on his experiences. But the project never got off the ground. A tabloid offered him $1 million for exclusive rights to his story. At the time he refused, preferring to preserve the dignity of his departed friends. Upon reflection, he later said he should have taken the money. 'I've been on a rollercoaster over the last decade,' he said in 2007. 'I still miss my friends so much and I still haven't met anyone who can compare to them. Not a day goes by that I don't think about them. 'I'm the last Heaven's Gate member on Earth, so there must be a reason why I'm still here. But although I still want to live like them, dying like them definitely isn't part of my plan.' DiAngelo re-established contact with his 19 year old son and confessed he was now 'a slave to commerce like everybody else.' Ten years on he was still haunted by the events of that terrible day, but relieved that he didn't join his friends in the mass suicide which shocked the world. The group's website is still maintained by two individuals allegedly surviving members who left after 12 years to get married (forbidden within the group which prized gender-free platonic relationships) prior to the group's exodus to the 'Next Evolutionary Level.' They confirmed in a statement on the 20th anniversary of the mass suicide that Heaven's Gate no longer existed but that the site remained available to those seeking information about their beliefs.

The world's fascination with the extraordinary actions Heaven's Gate undertook is yet to abate...

#Heaven's Gate Cult #Marshall Applewhite #rio diangelo #Richard Fort #Mass Suicide #tcc crime #tcc post #tcc cults #tcc blog #true crime #true crime community #real crime #real deaths #religious cults #dangerous cults #The Serial Killer Chronicles #my blog #follow for more

379 notes · View notes

thegoldenreport · 3 years

Text

MIND BENT

Pretending to be someone else is easy, especially when you’ve been doing it your whole life. Amber-Eye 098 is an top tier imitation artist from the Southern Moon district, who has almost twelve years of experience under her belt in deceiving the general public for fun.

She recently sat down with Golden Report executives to share one such experience - how she managed to infiltrate Jatty’s Candy Cave and impersonate the titular owner, while remaining undetected for three months.

If the name of “Jatty’s Candy Cave” doesn’t ring a bell for you or stir up a primordial urge to vomit, we highly recommend an appointment with your local re-education services to rectify the issue. But in the mean time, we’ll ask you a very simple question, what’s really in their candy?

Or to put it in a different way...

Are you meant to be seeing the buzzing, glitching, oozing shadow that stands in the corner of your room at all times?

…

AE098: Whenever I approach a new character, I choose to look first at their environment. Their people. You can tell a lot about how a person is supposed to act just by looking at their people.

Jatty’s Candy Cave, for example, is housed in a very elaborate sewer system underneath the inner city of West Logos. Jatty doesn’t voluntarily share this information, but somehow makes sure her customers spread it like the plague. She wants to be known far and wide, yet continues to stay hidden. Chosen isolation perhaps as a method of retaining control? A walking contradiction nonetheless.

Sending several camera flies into the underground system confirmed she didn’t work alone. A personal assistant named Rael followed her every beck and call. Visuals showed him to be a funny little man who changed his aesthetic and vocal inflection on the daily. Though tended to favor anything revolving around a space or astronaut theme. It was a good thing I wasn’t stealing his identity.

Jatty, on the other hand, donned an a-line purple skirt, skin tight black turtle neck, dark green combat boots (which just so happened to be the same shade as her nefarious chemical ingredient, zeroX), and a pair of velvet back gloves that extended her fingers into claws.

Unlike Rael, she wore this suit on the regular and showed no signs of switching it up. Which of course made things ridiculously convenient for my costumes associate. She does such a sublime job at matching garments down to the very fabric and shade. I had nothing but confidence in her work.

I remember spending long evenings in her sewing shop, top floor of the special ops building. Trying on the boots and pacing around the floor. Feeling out the walk of, shall we say...a potential murderer? An ill advised chemistry enthusiast? Mad science extraordinaire? I wouldn’t know for sure until I became her.

Everything is a performance. Everyone has a good side. Everyone loves to act for the camera that isn’t even there. You may be wondering why we even go through the trouble of full body espionage if we already send in a hundred camera flies to wire tap the place. To that I say again, everything is a performance. The name of the game is not just tearing down the curtain, but walking backstage. The one place a camera refuses to go.

Further audiovisual input revealed her voice to be low and musky, like she constantly had to be clearing her throat (of her own toxins, perhaps?). We had vocal modifier pills that could mimic this effect. And her walk was always brisk in comparison to the slower moving factory workers. She was a being in motion, a blur that could not stop for more than a few moments at a time. And it wasn’t just an urgency to it, but a nervousness, a real fear. I was excited to discover more.

In the days leading up to my deployment, special operatives performed what we like to call a body snatch. Methodically extracted in such a way that Jatty would not even think to deny leaving with us. We offered an opportunity, intentionally vague, but sweet enough to seal the deal. Or that’s how it started.

In reality, we slipped a sleeping agent into her water glass, while discussing terms in the late hours of the evening. I’m not entirely sure where they took her, but by that point, I was ready.

MEETINGS

This is the word I would use to describe my first month in character. I remember the night I slipped into her office chair, torn faux leather at a cherry red mahogany desk. I remember the stickiness of said office chair. I remember pouring through her journals, her agenda books, her middle school science books. She was a being on the move, constantly meeting with someone. But for what?

One such meeting that stook out to me was with a blue deer handler, and only in my second week of deployment. I had read about this particular blue deer. And the sweet nectarine like flavor of it’s blood. Our conversation was brief, speaking about his latest harvest for the factory. He had come across a surplus, could give more this month than before. I was immediately suspicious. Could this blood contain the hallucinogenic properties I had heard about?

Unfortunately, the answer was no. Can confirm. I tried it myself.

It was however the main component of almost all their candy’s flavor profile. But I couldn’t have cared less about the flavor.

CHEMICALS

My second month felt the most comfortable. No one had yet raised a suspicious eye towards me, save for a few factory workers who I quickly disposed of, as per my training. I had gotten used to the endless walking. Learning to digest informative material while on the go. Like all those mad scribbles in her middle school science textbook. Keeping all conversations either short or long depending on what the situation called for.

I had internalized every type of candy we made in the Cave. The pipes hissed. The air smelled like swamp water. The work room was a mental prison of blood, sweat, and flickering lights. It was here that I learned the ingredients. That I tasted the fruit for the first time. Although I was pretty good at pretending I had done it many times.

She must have built up a tolerance to the drugs they use if she does this on the regular.

The candy I tried was called Vox. A lime green sucker that slowly turns into goo as it melts in your mouth. The color is deceptive. One might expect it to taste like an apple or even a lime. It tasted like salted butter.

This particular candy among many others contained a key ingredient known as zeroX: an opaque, thick, dark green almost black liquid at room temperature. Meant to be highly addictive. Meant to simulate an adrenaline rush. Meant to make the whole body shiver. The eyes dilate. The palms sweat. You feel like an imposter in your own skin. You believe that the voices on the radio are talking directly to you. The paranoia crawls deep into your brain, filling the space behind your eyes.

But you don’t hallucinate.

Can confirm, as I locked myself in the chief office and rode out it’s side effects on the wave of a panic attack.

SECRETS

In the middle of month 3, we received a mysterious package from a tall man in a black trench coat. My assistant Rael brought it to me at my desk, during one of the few times I had felt comfortable sitting down. He seemed to know exactly what it was. And assumed I also knew.

It was a black box, no seams or openings, no buttons or lights or switches. The only thing of note was a silver etching of an eye marked out with an X. It was a symbol that made me shudder. I had seen it all over the textbook. I had seen it plastered on every police car and above every government building. It’s a symbol you should all know. That was the first secret.

Our own leaders were in on it. Turning a blind eye.

That was the beginning of the crack in my facade. That little pause. That miniscule choke before my answer. I noticed a glimmer of something in Rael’s eyes. Confusion. Doubt. Suspicion. Patrons not trained in this artform might miss a cue like that, but I knew I had to begin my extraction.

A week later, I exposed my taste to zeroC. One of two chemicals they used as zeroX was designated for hard candy and zeroC for soft. Only five percent of their production contained soft candy. They don’t talk about zeroC. They mix it under tables or in dark corners of the room where the light doesn’t touch them. Which leads to the second secret.

The black box was zeroC, ground up like powder to be mixed with the syrup.

I had been reading about this less popular ingredient written upside down between the lines of Jatty’s incredibly weathered textbook. Similar to the effects of LSD or DMT, but extremely more potent and infinitely more long lasting. Made with the same blood of that fantastical blue deer.

I was fearing the inevitable. My weekly tasting of the newest batch. I could not fake it. All the workers lined up to stare at me at I sat before their production table and consumed their poison. There are some things you simply cannot fake before that many eyes.

I felt the sweet juice explode in my mouth as the candy’s skin broke between my teeth. I swallowed with all the confidence of returning to my office to take a shot of my emergency counteractive medicine.

I immediately started to cry. A side effect I was not expecting. The emotion swallowed me as they all stared. Some perplexed. Some, dare I say, satisfied? I stumbled through the hallways. Rael chasing after me with a clipboard. I didn’t turn to look at him. Escaped to my office, shut the door, and locked it. Which brings me to the third and final secret.

I had been fooling no one. They knew.

Sitting behind the cherry stained mahogany desk was the real Jatty, holding the shattered remains of the syringe, which contained my antidote. Ice blue eyes magnified by the chemicals coursing through my body. Her glare pierced through my skull. I don’t know if she escaped, if I was set up, or if my extraction was on short notice. My supervisors have neglected to tell me.

But as I was there with knees buckled and tunnel vision, I saw the black shadow of a hand appear on her shoulder and she whispered.

Don’t forget this. You people have no control.

I blacked out after that. My supervisors came to collect me after some time. I felt their arms wrapped around me as they dragged me out, slipping in and out of consciousness. Unable to process the shocking and also very strange things I was hearing.

Something about not keeping the deal. Something about craving orange juice. Another thing about an early return. And another thing about wombats in space.

I was in recovery for three weeks afterwards while our physicians on hand constructed an antidote. The hallucinations have stopped, but the paranoia is still palpable. They offered me a mind wipe pill, asked me if I wanted to forget.

I told them it was impossible.

#the golden report #issue two #unreality #paranoia #drugs #original #storytelling #hallucination #delusion #let me ask you this #is this the kind of exposure you wanted?#jatty's candy cave

1 note · View note

jorahssquire · 3 years

Text

Whether or not Trump successfully steals this election, he’s already stolen Biden’s victory -What it feels like to watch the challenge to Joe Biden becoming President Elect.

BY JOE BERKOWITZ

8 MINUTE READ

In my mind, the calendar always ended on November 3. Beyond some potential events and projects, that’s as far ahead as I dared imagine.

Whatever happened afterward would either be too horrible to contemplate in any depth, or would bring such tremendous healing relief that to consider the possibilities for even one second when they could still be taken away would be torture.

Only after the election would I allow myself to open the mental Pandora’s Box of what it would feel like to suddenly wake up each day in a world where Donald Trump is out of power and we could all take a breath and undo some of the harm he’d inflicted and maybe try to do some good.

I didn’t kid myself that a Biden administration would instantly solve the pandemic puzzle or bring the country together. At the very least, though, it would deliver consecutive days without a constitutional crisis.

It took until Friday, November 6, to understand that it was actually happening; that Biden was ahead by so much in Pennsylvania, his victory was all but assured. Some publications like Vox even called the election, though legacy outlets remained cautious. At that moment, I finally let myself comprehend the enormity of the moment and its attendant implications, but only a little.

I dipped a toe into a creek to test the water and ended up falling in entirely. All of what this victory meant finally started to truly dawn on me at once, and an ecstatic energy animated my very being. I let out an involuntary holler, and ran around my apartment, ending up on the balcony, where my joyous screams ripped through the calm of the day.

On Saturday, when the news finally broke that the win was official, my wife and I jumped and danced and made calls to family. We watched videos of New Yorkers and Philadelphians celebrating in the streets, and we went outside in Minneapolis to experience it ourselves, greeted by a cacophonous call-and-response of honking cars and applauding passersby. People were walking around in groups of five, brandishing glib and glittery homemade posters, drinking champagne straight from the bottle. There were the spontaneous revelers, mini-parades, and block parties of a rare religiously festive occasion. World leaders started congratulating Biden, who made a very normal if not particularly inspiring victory speech. It was a moment for the ages, complete with Rudy Giuliani’s Four Seasons Total Landscaping fiasco unfolding in the background, a reminder of just how ridiculous Trumpworld could be, and how it might feel to laugh at them now that they would no longer be in charge.

It was an ending and a beginning and it felt so amazing, I was glad I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine it when there was still a chance I might lose it. Then, by Tuesday, November 10—a week after the election—it was gone.

The victory hadn’t vanished entirely, but it was now tainted by the all too familiar crisis mode, another existential threat suddenly looming. I had expected Trump to be surly and uncooperative, and that he might not concede, so when those things happened, it was almost a relief to see how low and small it made him look. But my mistake was in thinking that the GOP didn’t really need him any more and would just let him twist in the wind.

Instead, by Monday it became clear that the bulk of the Republican party, including its leadership, were fully unified behind Trump. Everyone from Mitch McConnell to Ivanka Trump to Ted Cruz on down, all claimed a peculiar form of voter fraud that only affects the top of the ticket, and not the down ballot section, where Democrats lost as many as 10 House seats and failed to win the Senate. They’re all using the line that “every legal vote must be counted,” implying a surplus of illegal votes, only from Democrat voters. Bill Barr authorized an investigation into alleged electoral irregularities, causing a top lawyer at the Department of Justice to resign in protest. And finally, on November 10, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo assured the country that, in the end, Donald Trump would prevail and remain president.

It was as if America had survived the climax of a horror move only to find out it was actually the beginning of a two-season Netflix series. That release of tension was instantly reversed, replaced with a deep spiritual exhaustion, and the feeling of being turned inside out and wrung dry.

No matter what happens now, whether Trump and the GOP succeed at stealing this election, under the paradoxical guise of preventing it from being stolen, they’ve already stolen our victory, and so much more.

One of the most excruciating aspects of witnessing this attempted theft is that it’s unfolding in exactly the way that experts predicted. Trump alleged in advance that any outcome in which he didn’t win would be the result of voter fraud, something he also suggested back in 2016. He also discouraged his own supporters from using mail-in ballots, despite the pandemic, because in his framing, they were so easy to manipulate. Democrats called out Trump’s maneuvering, and the fact that his appointed Postmaster General Louis DeJoy happened to be slowing down deliveries just before the pandemic election. Pundits speculated that Trump would claim victory based on the early, in-person votes, and that mail-in ballots would later erode his victory and that he would refuse to concede.

It was all so predictable that Bernie Sanders called every shot in advance exactly.

Considering all the Trump-inflamed scrutiny on would-be voter fraud, the election was heavily and thoroughly observed, including by an international panel Trump invited (which is now calling his accusations baseless.)

This broadly embraced charade relies upon tremendous bad faith. No legitimate evidence of voter fraud has been found—aside from the one Trump supporter in Pennsylvania who got busted requesting a ballot for his dead mom—let alone enough fraud to account for anything near the margins by which Trump lost. All claims to the contrary tend to be based on hearsay and shadowy evidence to support a preordained hypothesis.

The GOP is acting only on unearned suspicions and hostility. They clearly started with the conclusion that Democrats stole the election, and are now working backwards, throwing everything against the wall to see what sticks. They make broad statements that their observers weren’t allowed in, when they were, and that droves of dead people voted, when they didn’t. Disgraced scam artist James O’Keefe, who got busted in 2018 for trying to run a #MeToo sting operation on the Washington Post, is offering $25,000 rewards for testimony. All any takers have to do is lie and their voice will be worth more than the people’s voice, as long as enough soulless GOP jackals believe them.

So far, though, all of Team Trump’s cases are being laughed out of court. Either the judges outright toss them, or the hearings end with Trump’s defense admitting that they have nothing and are wasting everyone’s time.

Even the one “whistleblower” O’Keefe unearthed, and who set up a GoFundMe that raised over $120,000, has now recanted his testimony. (The personal fundraising appeal has since been removed.)

How on earth are we expected to accept, after four years of a presidency known for its dishonesty, that high-level officials can contest a legitimate election win on the basis of such amateur hour, fake fraud b.s.? Or that the GOP is owed the opportunity to kick the tires because of how unfairly they’ve been treated? Or that Democrats are just inherently suspicious and, according to Senator Lindsey Graham, can only win by cheating?

The nihilistic cynicism on display here is breathtaking. Trump decided the only way he could save face is to shroud his decisive loss in indecision, and delegitimize it in the eyes of his 70 million supporters. It’s the Birther conspiracy all over again, minus the racism.

The goal at this point might not even be to overturn the results, so much as just inject enough doubt into the proceedings that Trump voters refuse to believe the election wasn’t stolen. (Also, to raise money for Trump’s new leadership PAC and chip away at his debt.) Why would those voters accept the truth, when their leadership angrily swears otherwise? The best-case scenario now is that Trump supporters ultimately forego an actual street-level revolution for just angrily assuming the next administration is utterly fraudulent.

Some of their response depends on how this tumultuous post-game phase of the election ends. At the moment, Rupert Murdoch is dangling rumors of a historic book deal payday in front of Trump, which could cushion the blow enough to get him to go quietly. Or maybe he—in collaboration with McConnell, Graham, O’Keefe, and the rest—will find a way to invalidate the results. Or maybe the fraud allegations will only persist until a lawyer gives a damn compelling speech in a courtroom, and we get the full Aaron Sorkin ending.

Either way, Trump has stolen something from us that he can’t give back.

In addition to the fleeting feeling of victory, which already feels so long ago, and the sheen of legitimacy, he has stolen any naïve hope of Biden or anyone else uniting the country any time soon.

For a brief instant, I thought maybe if Trump was revealed as a bitter, sulking wannabe tyrant for all to see, we might start to agree on some things again. I had a modicum of optimism, which was bound to get crushed by the reality of a Biden presidency, but which felt incredibly refreshing.

It’s all gone now.

For the indefinite future, all those days in the calendar beyond November 3 now look identical to the days that preceded them: Constant chaos, frustration, lies, and irresolvable polarization.

Trump and his cohort have stolen this victory, stolen our optimism, and stolen Biden’s legitimacy.

Some of it can be restored, some of it cannot.

None of it can be forgiven.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joe Berkowitz is an opinion columnist at Fast Company. His latest book, American Cheese: An Indulgent Odyssey Through the Artisan Cheese World, is available from Harper Perennial.

#GREAT Article #I'm not quite this cynical #YET #Trump completely sucks though #and the GOP absolutely disturb and disgust me #criminals and liars

3 notes · View notes

chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

Text

They See Us Trolling, They Hating || Rio and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @3starsquinn and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Rio and Kaden meet a family of trolls in the woods. CONTENT WARNINGS: Minor mention of abuse, mental and physical.

In other towns, hunting was exhilarating, an adrenaline rush. Kaden remembered it fondly. But not here in Wicked’s Rest. No, in White Crest, hunting felt more like a burden than it ever had before. Maybe it was the sheer number of monsters everywhere, maybe it was all the extra bonus weird shit happening everywhere else all the time. Or maybe it was just him. Maybe he’d changed enough that he was as broken as his mother implied he was. Still, it didn’t change what he was. So out in the woods he was, guns and knives on him and a crossbow strapped to his back. His brows at the rustling in the distance. Definite sounds of movement. He crouched down and hid behind a tree, keeping as quiet as he could. His hands coiled around the barrel of the gun and slowly pulled it from the holster, careful to make no noise as he loaded it. There was nothing but darkness and the sounds of footsteps growing louder as he waited, gun raised, aimed, and ready. With a deep inhale, he peaked around the tree to see… flannel kid. “You should try walking a little quieter,” he said, lowering the weapon. “Or come armed. I have a feeling you’ll go for the former.”

If it weren’t for the Scribe building, Orion would never go into the forest again. He hated this place. As if the creepy noises and constant threat of danger weren’t enough, the woods had always frightened him in other ways. They were both open and cramped. Quiet, yet extremely loud. Despite how lonely the place was, he never felt safe with his own thoughts. Perhaps that was the irrational fear talking. He tried to stay alert in the woods, but sometimes his hearing was so deafening that the only way to block it out was with headphones. Today, he had a pair in, playing music just loud enough to block out some of the usual noises. He never really knew when his hearing would cooperate or not. Some days it was perfect, he could cancel out noises he didn’t want in order to focus on certain sounds or people. Other times, everything poured in at once, needles jabbing at his ear drums and making him dizzy. He could only guess that his level of control may be tied to stress or anxiety. Both things that Rio had a surplus of. Of course, the downside to using music to drown at the noise was that he didn’t hear when someone- an armed someone was a yard away from him, popping out from behind a tree and scaring Rio to death. Rio jumped what felt like a mile high, letting out a scream and ripping the earbuds out by their cord. “Holy- Why?” Rio yelled at him through gasped breaths, “Maybe you should try being a little less quiet. So you don’t give people heart attacks!” Of course it was Kaden. Of all the people he could run into from town. His feelings on Kaden were…. Complicated. The two had gone from yelling at each other about the supernatural to casually discussing the humanity of the job. By the end of the conversation, Rio wasn’t exactly sure if Kaden hated him or liked him. Rio wasn’t really sure where he landed on the topic either. The uncertainty only worked to make Rio more uncomfortable by the sudden meeting. “I don’t do weapons.” Rio explained, “The last thing I need is to accidentally stab or shoot myself in the woods. I’d be a lost cause.” He already was, honestly.

“I was hunting. The whole fucking point is to be quiet.” Kaden didn’t intend to roll his eyes. Sure fucking happened anyway. “Putain, were you wearing headphones, too? In the woods?” Was he sure he had hunter training? No weapons? Not listening to anything around him? “You may have a point but even Regan carries mace with her. Do you have a death wish or something?” It was hard to reconcile having the powers that they shared and ignoring them, if he was being perfectly honest. At least Rio was useful with all the book learning and research. It was something he could barely tolerate. Only when it was a subject he was sincerely interested in. And hunting through ancient texts for possible mentions of a thing that may or may not be the thing you’re looking for wasn’t the kind of shit that held his interest. “Where are you headed anyway? I know you seem to be doing everything in your power to get yourself killed out here but I’d rather you didn’t.” Who he was hardly mattered. Rio was human and that was more than enough reason for Kaden to make sure the kid lasted the night.

Orion was going to assume that Kaden did not actually want Rio to answer that question about the death wish, “My hunter hearing isn’t… great. I use things to drown out the noise if needed.” Rio admitted. Kaden might be the worst of the hunters that he could have run into tonight. Clearly the two couldn’t agree on… practically anything. As far as Kaden was concerned, Rio’s lack of a handle on his hearing was probably just further proof that he was just one big giant failure. Rio had enough hunters in his life reminding him of that. He didn’t need Kaden adding to the chatter. And in French no less. “And language” Rio mumbled under his breath. Not that mumbling mattered, since Kaden probably had mastered his hunter hearing. He crossed his arms, suddenly nervous that he was out here in the woods with Kaden. He wasn’t afraid that Kaden would hurt him. Kaden seemed way too dedicated to the whole protecting humans thing that hunters used to justify the violence. He was more nervous about whatever Kaden was out here hunting. “Um- Scribe building.” Rio pointed back towards the direction of the building, “I was just grabbing a few things. And now I was heading home. What…” Rio was afraid to ask, “What are you out here looking for?”

Kaden shook his head at the reluctant hunter. “I know you have zero interest in your abilities but you didn’t even get a grip on your hearing? How the fuck have you not gone insane?” He could understand this from someone who didn’t grow up with hunter parents, didn’t know what they were. But he did. Fucking baffling is what it was. He rolled his eyes at the language comment but dropped it. Wasn’t worth it. Though it did make him want to curse even more, had to admit. Of course the kid had come from the library. He should have expected. What was Kaen hunting, though? “I don’t know. Anything,” he said with a shrug. “Didn’t find much yet surprisingly. Missed a shot at a chickcharney earlier but that was about it.” It was strange that he forgot how much this kid was probably going to squirm at the thought of him hurting a single hair on a supernatural creature’s head. “You know, I feel like I should offer to make sure you get home alright. I know how much you love the thought of violence but I know how much I don’t love the thought of you dead for no fucking reason.” Before they could move a foot, there was a low rumble in the distance. Vibrations rippled through the ground. Kaden concentrated and tried to pinpoint the direction of the sound and turned to his left, putting himself between Rio and the potential threat. He reached for the gun again and brought it up, aimed and ready to fire at whatever monster was headed their way.

“I think the jury is still out on whether or not I’ve gone insane.” Orion sighed. He was sure that his parents, and especially his sister thought that Rio was crazy in some capacity. Seeing the incredulous looks that Kaden gave him implied that he probably thought so too. Rio probably was, in some ways. “I wouldn’t exactly call my family’s training conventional. And I wouldn’t call myself a star student or anything.” Maybe Rio should have focused on their teachings a little longer, tried to master the basics before tuning out all of their outdated, cruel teachings. But clearly it was too late now, and he was stuck trying to figure it out on his own. “You really don’t have to do that,” Kaden offered to get Rio home. It was a nice offer, but Rio wasn’t sure why Kaden would offer. Sure, hunter duties and all. But neither of them wanted to be stuck awkwardly talking about how different their lives were. Rio had escaped hearing about his hunter duties once already, no need to go back. But then the ground started shaking. And Kaden reverted back to hunter mode in an instant, gun up and ready to shoot while Rio’s heart exploded in his chest. If the earth weren’t already shaking, he would be. It wasn’t until the ground began rising and taking a form that Rio realized what they were dealing with. Without thinking it through, or maybe because he truly did have a deathwish, Rio forced his body to move, moving in front of Kaden and using his body to block Kaden’s gun pointing towards the creature. “Don’t shoot them!” Rio held his own arms up in surrender. He was confident that Kaden wasn’t going to shoot him. That was why he had jumped in front of Kaden’s gun, right? “It’s a troll. They’re… not dangerous.” Rio stole a glance over his shoulder at the creature. He had read about them a lot. They had drastic size ranges, from tiny to bus sized. This one must be fairly younger, being no larger than a human child. Still, that tiny creature could lift a bus, and they weren’t exactly unknown to target humans. It just wasn’t super common. “Well, I mean they could be dangerous. But we should be fine. If we leave. Because they usually travel together.” As if on cue, that familiar vibration started echoing around the forest again. The creatures, more trolls it looked like, crept from behind a hill, following along a trail of tries that slowly led up to the one that had now noticed Rio and Kaden standing there. Rio was pretty sure those were his friends. And they looked a lot bigger than before.

Before Kaden could make a single move. Rio was practically throwing himself in front of the gun. “Alright we really have to talk about this fucking deathwish of yours,” he snipped. Putain, he nearly missed what was up ahead. It looked like a clump of moving rocks. A lot of moving rocks. “Get out of the way,” he hissed, not lowering the gun just yet. Still, his finger was fully off the trigger; he really didn’t want to accidentally shoot the kid. He hoped the visual threat would be enough. And yet there was no movement on his part. He caught a better look at the monsters with his peripheral vision, his focus stayed on Rio, hoping he’d get the fucking hint and move. They were trolls back there alright. “I know what a troll is. And you want to tell the hunters they’ve crushed to death with rocks how dangerous they aren't?” Honestly, Kaden wasn't sure anymore how many of the stories he'd’ been told among colleagues at hunter bars were true. Looking at them, though? He’d fucking believe it. Just as he was about to yank Rio by his shoulder and force him out of harm’s way, another fucking monster showed up. And then another. And another. Merde. “Move and let me fucking take care of them. Unless you have a better fucking plan. And if so you better start talking. Quick.”

As more and more began to show up, Orion was willing to admit that he was beginning to get a bit more nervous. Not out loud to Kaden of course. The last thing Rio needed was Kaden with those ‘I told you so eyes’ or worse, actually telling him that he told him so. But internally, Rio was able to begin freaking out. But he tried his best to stay calm, even if the shaking hands and quivering voice may or may not work to give it away. “Yeah well- uh trolls are not typically violent. From what I’ve read. So maybe those hunters were attacking them or something. We don’t know.” The sinking feeling in his stomach made it harder to argue. As it was, arguing over his opinions on the supernatural was a lot easier to do online from the safety of his bedroom. Staying calm and level headed seemed a bit more challenging now. “I- uh yes. I do have a plan actually. Just put your gun down. Or point it somewhere else.” Rio swallowed hard. His legs felt like gelatin as he tried to force himself forward. He wobbled, a straight path across the greenery impossible in his current state. But he tried moving with purpose, and his arms raised slightly in the air as if surrendering. “Hey there!” Rio called out to the group, shrinking himself as he stepped closer and closer to the group. “We are not here to hurt you. We were just passing through. We can both head on. Peacefully.” Rio said as loudly as his voice could manage at the moment, hoping his words got to all of the trolls scattered around the duo.

It was hard to tell exactly how the trolls were feeling at the moment. They stared at the hunter as if studying them, but their features were rigid, literally and figuratively. They weren’t easy to read. Finally, the one closest to Rio spoke, “Hun-ter” The voice was deep, methodically spoken and drawn out. It sent a shiver down Rio’s spine. “No!” Rio immediately called out, looking back at Kaden, the freaking gun in his hand a dead giveaway, “No. Just passerbys. No hunting here. I don’t have any weapons. I don’t even like fishing. Too violent.” He laughed nervously, wondering if the trolls understood humor the way that other Fae might. Jury was still out on if Trolls were even considered Fae or not. “I- we are not here to harm you. I just want to go home.”

Not a single fucking moment of this sounded like a good idea. Kaden was pretty sure this was how they got crushed with rocks. But some stupid part of him wanted to trust that the kid was right. If he was right here, maybe he could be-- Not the time, not the place. He remembered Theo’s words, and the words from his training. Uncertainty is death, decision is survival. He put his gun down by his side and was willing to give this shit a chance. Plus, he had a feeling if his weapon was drawn and this went south, the kid would get attacked first. Better to be a little cautious for his sake. It wasn’t like Kaden wasn’t a quick fucking draw either way. The conversation seemed okay at first. Maybe. But the reply of hunter didn’t exactly bode well for them. “Kid. Might be time to back away,” he whispered mostly through his teeth. He had a bad feeling about this. Of course Rio took this as a fucking opportunity to chit chat with the trolls. Bleeding fucking hearts. It was clear they were too dumb for so many words so fast. “Vio-lent? Squishy humans are violent?” it growled. Putain. That sounded bad. Almost like they missed the many other words the kid threw at them. “You try harm troll? You hurt?” Yup. Dumb fucking rocks were not listening to any words other than the not so great ones. Kaden made sure the safety was off and he was ready to shoot at any moment, slowly inching towards Rio to hopefully pull him away the second this went wrong. “Maybe we should just turn around.” Fuck, there were too many of them to fight if this got ugly.

“Tiny hunter no hurt troll!” it yelled out and before Kaden could leap into action, the nearest troll grabbed Rio and threw him like he was nothing more than a rag doll. Fucking hell. Kaden raised his gun and unleashed a few rounds at the trolls but it was doing shit all. Because fucking relicts were the worst. He ran over to see if the kid was okay. Fuck, they were fucked. One of the rocked fists reached out and grabbed his ankle. Kaden kicked out with his free leg, hearing the crunching of his shoes against the rock, not sure that it did much. Especially with its friends descending.

For how slow the trolls seemed to lug around the forest, they sure could throw people quickly. Before Orion could react, the troll in front of him had latched onto his clothes. He didn’t have much time to try to pull himself free before the troll had flicked him through the air as if he was no lighter than a tic tac. It all came to a screeching halt when Rio collided with the tree. All the air rushed out of his body and was replaced with searing pain. His nerves went haywire, and he was pretty sure he heard something cracking. The pain only got worse once he completed the fall and smacked hard against the ground, his back breaking the fall. Everything hurt. He tried pushing himself off the ground and his chest did not want to cooperate. Every breath felt like something sharp was piercing his lungs. Ribs. Something may actually be piercing his lungs. He was able to push himself up enough to drag his legs under his body and push up to his knees. Where was Kaden? He spotted him, heading towards Rio. Rio sighed in relief, flinching from the pain it caused in his chest. Kaden was coming to help. The two could get away. But then Kaden fell. No, Kaden was grabbed. Rocks were pulling at Kaden’s ankle, knocking him to the ground and starting to drag him.

Rio forced himself to move forward. He had trained with broken ribs before. This should be nothing by now. Whether or not Rio regretted what he tried to do didn’t matter. He was the reason Kaden was in trouble now. Rio searched desperately for something that he could use to help Kaden get free. Maybe there was still time for the two to escape. Rio ducked down and picked up a large rock from beside a tree. Fight fire with fire or something like that, Rio supposed. He stumbled his way through the forest until he could finally get to the troll that was holding onto Kaden’s leg. Rio fell back into his knees and smashed the rock against the troll’s arm, hoping to hurt it enough to let go of Kaden’s leg. “Let. Him. Go!” Rio yelled, one word for each swing. His voice was hoarse, it came out as barely more than a whisper. But it wasn’t working. The body was too hard. And Rio was panicking. Until he remembered the stomach area. The idea of hurting the troll still made Rio sick to his stomach, even now. But the pain from hitting the true drowned out the nausea. Turning the rock so that there were no jagged edges, Rio swung the rock one last time at the stomach, jabbing the troll in the stomach and sending him tumbling backwards. Rio allowed himself a moment of triumph that Kaden had been freed before a troll grabbed Rio from behind and began dragging him backwards.

Shit, Rio looked like he was in pretty bad shape. It was lucky he had hunter genes or else Kaden was pretty fucking sure he’d be a lot worse for wear. Or at the very least, less prepared to deal with the pain. If they had to run, though, they were clearly fucked. “Get out I’ve got th—“ he started to shout, but there was the kid, coming to help anyway. Putain, he was hoping he’d have one less factor to worry about.

Kaden kicked and trashed his feet to try and break free, but it wasn’t doing any good. Rio’s swinging didn’t make much difference either. Until he gut punched the troll with a rock. Alright then. Kaden pulled his foot free and scrambled back. Only Rio didn’t exactly think to do the same. Fuck. Kaden stood and tried to take aim again. No clear opening. If he shot, there was no way to be sure he wouldn’t hit the kid. “Let him go!” he shouted at the troll. “Tiny hunter hurt Borg. Both hurt tiny hunter.” Kaden had no advantage here that he could see. Other than… He took a shot at one of the other trolls genius Borg, aimed for the squishier looking stomach. It growled in pain. “Let the tiny hunter go and we walk away or big hunter will keep shooting.” Another one of the trolls lunged out at Kaden, this time he kneed it in his guts before reaching back for his knife, pushing it right up against the beast’s belly as he reached around to try and headlock the thing. One slice and the troll would be toast. “What do you say, Borg? Yours for mine?” He kept the knife digging, small pinpricks of troll blood spilling out. This better fucking work. He was running out of plans.

Orion couldn’t break free. The troll had hold of the back of Rio’s sweater, dragging him through the woods. His body caught on rocks and branches, stabbing into his back and legs as his own sweater choked him. The troll’s rocky hands dig into his back as he was pulled backwards. Eventually, the grip on Rio’s sweater was loosened, but before Rio could scramble away a fist came down on him. It smacked against his face, crushing his head against the ground and ricocheting off of the hardened dirt. His head felt like someone just hit him with a rock, which he supposed was the case. Hot liquid dropped down his cheek and he could taste the metallic sting of blood as it dropped between his lips. He coughed it free immediately, a mixture of spit and blood pooling beneath him. The punch had split his cheek open, Rio could tell that much without even seeing it.

The troll grabbed onto Rio’s wrist next, squeezing it tightly and twisting it upwards, forcing Rio to follow its direction. He sat there, right arm raised in the troll’s grasp and facing towards Kaden. Rio was shaking, minutes away from full on tears, but he begged himself to stop the tears from coming. Not now. Not in front of Kaden. Kaden bartered for him, threatening another troll for the release of Rio. “Please let me go. Please” Rio begged. His voice was whiny and came out scratchy. He was so freaking pathetic and useless. He had gotten Kaden into this situation. If he had only come up with a better idea. Something not as stupid as begging for safety. As if any troll would have believed that coming from a hunter anyways. Rio used his free arm to feel around the ground, looking for anything he might be able to use to break himself free. “Big hunter lie.” The troll yelled to Kaden. Rio’s hand finally caught on something, a piece of a branch maybe? It was jagged and jabbed into Rio’s hand as grabbed onto it. Rio hissed in pain, pulling his hand back before going back for it more gently this time. His fingers just barely reached it. He stretched his hand as far as it could go and used the tips of his fingers to slowly start pulling the branch closer to him.

Some of the other trolls joined in on the yelling. Rio’s head was swimming, but he could tell that they weren’t positive. They didn’t want them to get away. “Kill tiny hunter” the troll spoke. His grip tightened on Rio’s wrist and he cringed in fear. This was it. Rio was going to die. Killed by the trolls in some horrible misunderstanding. His hand tightened against the wood. What did he intend to do with this? Hurt the troll? Kill it? Was Rio even capable of that? Or was he better to just let himself get killed? “Kill big hunter next” the troll stated, matter-of-fact. If they killed Rio, would Kaden leave or try to kill them all? Would Rio get him killed too? The troll’s hand switched again, wrapping around Rio’s neck and squeezing. He couldn’t breath. Now or never. Now or never. Rio pulled the branch up and swung it behind him as powerfully as he could. He knew he hit his target. When the grip on his neck didn’t lighten, Rio twisted his arm, snapping the branch off and using the shortened piece to stab again. And then one more time. Finally, Rio could breathe again and he tore the arm off of him, refusing to look back as he threw his body forward and started to run back towards Kaden.

The more Rio was injured, the more Kaden could feel his blood boil. He had no idea if the kid saw it that way or not, but Kaden knew point blank they were dealing with monsters. He’d fucking kill every single one of them without hesitation if he could do so without jeopardizing Rio’s safety even more. “I’m n-- I’m telling the truth!” Kaden almost said he wasn’t lying but it seemed the trolls weren’t good with negatives, only the main words being said. “Let him go!” he yelled again. “We’ll fucking leave just let--” The troll didn’t fucking stop, just kept dragging the kid and Kaden could barely concentrate beyond the pounding of his pulse in his ear. He had to stop this but he couldn’t get a shot in, there was still no safe opening. Every time he thought there was, another twist and turn.

“No!” he shouted at the troll’s yelling and ran up to the monster as soon as he saw the rock hands clasp around Rio’s neck. As soon as he tried to get close, another troll cut him off. It reached to grab his arm and Kaden twisted away, shooting at it, not hitting a whole hell of a lot that was significant. The monster got his leg again instead, but this time Kaden knew what to do. He unleashed the rounds into the stomach and the troll growled and wailed, collapsing in a rock heap. Kaden wriggled and struggled to get his leg out from under the previously living boulder. Shit, shit shit, was he dead? Was Rio dead? There’s no way he-- He couldn’t hear past his own panic and breathing as he scrambled to get up, get his gun aimed again. Just in time to see the monster fall forward. Putain. He did it. He was a hunter. For a whole two seconds. Fuck.

Kaden didn’t waste a moment and rushed over to the “tiny hunter’s” side, dragging him away from the other trolls as soon as he could. Some of them had shambled away at the sound of gunshots earlier and the sight of their fallen companions. “Hunters bad! Hunters kill Borg and Trag!” the others bellowed as they turned away. “Yeah we fucking did! And we’ll kill the rest of you two if you don’t let us leave. So back off!” Kaden’s voice was pure venom and anger. It was enough. Whatever it was, it was enough to make them turn back and let the humans shuffle away. “We come back. We kill hunters if see again! We kill you!” the last one grumbled though rock.

Everything felt distant. Orion felt himself being pulled again, just barely registering that it was Kaden this time. And he was yelling… something? But Rio couldn’t focus long enough to understand the words. There was a loud humming noise in the back of his head that drowned out everything else. All Rio could do was stare at one single spot on the ground. His feet began moving on their own, following Kaden who seemed to be leading him through the forest. Or were they still in the same clearing they had been during the attack? Rio couldn’t tell anymore. He could barely feel the pain in his chest or wrist or head. All he could think about was all the blood on his hand. He could hear it dripping onto the ground. Some of the blood was his, probably. But most of it… He had killed that troll. Rio was a murderer. Just like his parents.

When Rio finally broke out of the trance he had been in, it was to finally start sobbing. His legs gave out on him and he found himself on his knees on the ground, a blubbering mess as he tried and failed to choke back the hysterical sobbing. He knew he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t know why he even tried. Probably because he was embarrassed that Kaden was here to see it. “I’m sorry!” Rio coughed through the tears. The pain came back, and every single breath reminded him of the pain some broken ribs could bring. “I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t sure who he was talking to at the moment. Kaden? Or the troll he had just killed? A mix of both, most likely. “This is all my fault. We could have avoided that if-” He cut himself off. Kaden didn’t need a reminder of how badly Rio had screwed up. And now Kaden was hurt. And trolls were dead. Rio noticed Kaden’s limp, but was too afraid to ask him how badly he was injured. Rio couldn’t take that guilt. He felt sick to his stomach, bile rose in his throat but Rio forced it back down. He grabbed onto his chest and tried desperately to quell some of the stinging pain, but all he could do was cry and cry. “I did this. I killed them.” His voice was nothing more than a whispered cry at this point. How did hunters do this? Rio felt like his entire life was coming to an end.

Once Kaden could help pick Rio up off the floor, they started hobbling away. Kaden did what he could to help, but he seemed okay enough to walk and it also looked like he needed a moment. Shaken probably didn’t begin to cover it. They were making their way back towards town, very slowly, the long way around to boot, but they would get there eventually. Kaden heard a collapse into the ground and whipped around to check on Rio, make sure he hadn’t passed out or hurt himself to the point he couldn’t carry on. From what he could see, it wasn’t the physical pain that brought him to his knees.

Every instinct from his training told him to be harsh. To tell him to suck it up, stand up, and keep moving. That was how you survived. Shit was hard but you killed the monsters and moved on, saved your pain and your tears for your pillow if you let them plague you at all. That’s what his training said he should do. But looking at Rio there on the ground, clearly broken hearted and in pain over whatever the fuck had just happened back there, the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t say them. But he sure as shit didn’t know what else to say. It didn’t make sense to him to cry over a few dead trolls. They were monsters. Maybe the next passers by in the woods would be a little safer. Something dropped in his stomach at the thought. Some small piece of him knew that wasn’t exactly true. Those trolls were angrier now and likely more of a threat to humans now then they had been a few minutes ago. He really should have found a way to kill them all.

Kaden stood and watched a few moments, let him figure it out or whatever, then out out his hand to help him up. No part of him could remember what he really felt after his first kill. It was so long ago now, he was only ten. He remembered the fear, though. The fear of dying and the panic when that fight or flight moment kicked into overdrive. The moment no amount of training could possibly prepare you for, no matter what anyone said. His parents had been proud. Even when offering their critique for next time. And what should have been a beginning felt like an end in a way. An end of choice. Or something like that.

He couldn’t say for sure what Rio was feeling right now exactly, but he figured there was some overlap or two. And no part of him could bring himself to tell the kid how to feel. “Was this your first time? Killing anything? In the field?” It was hard to imagine a hunter with parents like his refusing for this long. If that was true, he had to be used to immense pain. Kaden wasn’t sure where that pain would be coming from exactly, but he knew it was there at the end of a refusal to hunters like that. He just knew.

Orion expected to be belittled. To be yelled at or made fun of or something. Anything to bring back some sense of familiarity. But this was all new territory. Something was dead by Rio’s own hands. In just a few seconds, that troll had taken its last breath. Rio had stolen that from the creature. But Kaden let him have this moment. Rio wasn’t forced to listen someone berating him or telling him everything he had been wrong. Or even worse than that, risk his parents actually being proud of him for something. If they ever knew about this, what would they think? Rio would rather risk their insults anyday. Nothing could be worse than feeling for a second that he was like them. “It- I killed a stupid mime once, but-” That hadn’t been real. It had exploded into smoke afterwards, and then again with Winston’s. It wasn’t anymore more than some illusion or clone. “Not like this. Those things disappeared after they died. They weren’t alive. This-” He had stopped from crying, finally. And he accepted Kaden’s hand when it was offered to him. His entire body ached. All he wanted was to go to sleep. Could he even sleep, after what he had done? “You saved me. I got us into that but you still saved me.” He had no idea where he was going with that. He didn’t have it in him to thank Kaden, the murder was still too fresh. So he simply stated it as fact. “Can you- take me home? I don’t think I can drive right now.”

Kaden sincerely couldn’t imagine growing up in a hunter household and never killing one single thing. He was fairly certain he’d have been disowned by his own parents a hell of a lot sooner if that had been the case. “Right. The fucking mimes. Well, I had to kill mine twice. Or well, it was killed twice. I fucked up and let someone else get the killing blow the first time. Guess you really are smarter than I am.” Once Rio was up and standing, he waited a second until they walked again. So taking away life was his hang up? It was hard to argue with that. More and more, Kaden was starting to feel a bit more like a harbinger of death than his banshee girlfriend. The only thing people ever asked him for help with seemed to be killing shit. Alright, maybe that was unfair, but it was most people’s first thoughts all the same. “What, did you think I was going to leave you there?” He gave a small shrug, wanting to brush it off. Thanks and gratitude in any form weren’t something he was ever good at fielding. He was just doing what he was supposed to the best that he could. And he hadn’t done a stellar job of it today, as far as he was concerned. If the kid didn’t have hunter healing, he would have insisted that they go to the hospital. But as it stood, he knew Rio was familiar enough with pain management if not the rest of the hunter benefits package. “Yeah, I can do that. As long as you promise to be more careful next time you’re out here by yourself, got it?”

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #3starsquinn #orion

13 notes · View notes

fistsoflightning · 4 years

Text

14: hero’s journey

prompt: part || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 4813 (i DONT want to talk about how long this is)

You are not simply a hero, but this is still your journey, and the parts of you are waiting along the way. All you have to do is take them.

DRK shenanigans, anyone? Note: distinctly not canon-DRK things ahead, hopefully still keeping the same emotional sort of weight? Also, second person POV! There’s no spoilers because this is just me going off on a tangent :P

Someone had noted—an age old teacher, perhaps, memories inlaid deep onto your crystal—that grief causes the greatest oddities to occur. Simulacrums formed of it weren’t so uncommon as one might be led to believe with a surplus of aether and enough love turned sour.

You just weren’t expecting to be one of them.

Like wildfires, you expect to fade back into the darkness of the abyss easily enough; the hands of such a young knight wouldn’t be able to bear being stained so pitch-black, you think, not when she glows with Halone’s blessing and something even more. Her hands leave freezer burns over the facets of your crystal, frosty fog forming as she keeps training, keeps hunting down more and more aevis until there’s nothing left. Even Ishgard’s worst blizzards fail to stand up against the winter storm of her fury.

Must be some sort of rebellion, violent and reckless as it is. You sit back (as much as a distant flame in the abyss can, anywho) and wait until the worst of her temper fizzles back into snowmelt—which, obviously, doesn’t happen like you assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, now would you?

(When you hear the truth of it, crystal fed enough blood and aether to reach out further than just from the little knight’s pockets—when you hear betrayals and exiles and my brother is dead because of your Braves, Alphinaud, what more do you want from me, your realization shows itself in coldflare and dark light, wrapping itself as best it can around someone so blessed and “loved by the gods” as your ward.

Though you need her more than she needs you, it still doesn’t hurt, you think, to cover her armor in a veil of darkness, even when her shield sings of nevermelting ice and wraps light around her anyways.)

But eventually, it does; Lumelle—you find out her name from a man willing to jump in front of inquisitors and magical spears alike for his beloved friends—her enraged grief bubbles off into a quieter sort at the beginning of Ishgard’s new dawn, and you are left by her bedside when she falls into a sleep after destroying a wyrm with grief that, really, wasn’t all that different. (Besides the whole eternal lifespan and eyeballs of power, and the wyrm’s sibling being eaten by Lumelle’s ancestors thing. That had thrown you for a loop.)

And oh, you expect it to end there, your tale that of accompanying a girl who didn’t need you so much as she needed closure; fading after protecting someone so bright would be an honor.

...

(But there is no rest for the righteous, now is there?)

...

Your next chapter opens in the palms of someone already acquainted with bloody hands, and though the little time spent out of Lumelle’s hands has left you wanting for your senses yet again, it takes hardly any time to figure just what this one’s deal is.

(Her hands shake whenever she sees her party’s astrologian—so small, her head is practically the size of your ward’s fist balled up—and the thought of Vylbrand sours every conversation like milk left to rot. Y’shtola utters the word crone and the spike of earthquake panic you both feel lets you understand the jumble of misremembered nightmares that still haunts the warrior so far north from the place.

When she almost drowns herself in the memories, asking the sea to take her back into her arms, you are the one screaming the entire time—not because she is taking you with her, no, but because you can feel the summer breeze and hear the quiet pond rushing about the housing district looking for her, and you do not know what you’ll do if her death reignites Lumelle’s tempered anger.

The scholar cries out her name just as she falls too deep; Syhrwyda, you remember—you’ll force her name onto this damned crystal if you have to—and the breath of relief you sigh when the white mage forces the ocean to spit her out is all but audible.)

You expect her to let the little supernova cut her down, cleanse burns with blood and old aches with a trip into the abyss, because if Lumelle’s aches were screaming freezer burns then the gentle warrior’s are a quiet erosion. Even dripping blood can wear down a mountain, with enough time, and with a Calamity come and passed, the proof burned onto her skin, it is more than enough to see this mighty willow fallen to the skies opening up and pouring a tsunami’s worth of suffering in retribution.

Both you and her close your eyes when the axe comes swinging down, kneeling on the ground in pain. You do not expect it to be swift or painless like the rumors say of guillotines and execution, but you hope it is anyways.

And yet, and yet, the blade does not come.

(Part of you wonders: would the girl shrouded in fallen moonlight have done the same thing, if she had seen what Syhrwyda had seen? Would she, knowing that the choice was submission or death, have still seen her friend and ally in the woman that burnt her childhood with naught but a single incantation?

It matters not. There is no turning back time, and she has decided to give her friend a boon.)

It is not metal that comes, but a flurry of stars calling a lost sailor home instead, so potent that her magic seeps into your crystal as she collapses against your ward’s shoulder, whispering I’m sorry, I can’t, I won’t like little wishes made upon falling stars. You don’t know if you imagined the croaked it isn’t your fault or if you simply missed the mumbled movements, but Syhrwyda’s aether settles in time with the stars bursting across her skin and you know that your time with her will come to an end soon.

When she sets your crystal by a small crystalline lamp, you hum in amusement, letting yourself slip down into the abyss once more as the watery blue light ripples off the bookshelves.

…

(Who are you?)

(No one of consequence.)

…

You find yourself more confused than before when the scholar picks up your small crystal, facets gleaming brighter than before but still dulled from decades of being frozen under Ishgard’s snows; nothing about him sings of the same pain like the last two. He pockets your crystal easily and you wonder just what use he’ll find from you if he has no abyss of his own to draw from, no font to gather his strength for him to find.

(You miss how quiet he is in the din of everyone and everything else, tuned up to near painful when you open your eyes again. You miss the words he reads, the spells he crafts, the spared glances to his usual tome. Nothing about the man betrays it; hardly anything he does seems to suggest even a hint of regret, grief long since frozen over and forgotten of a home he’d long lost.

This was never an easy road—traveling down into the abyss and to rise back up again—and you do not expect easy wards, but the scholar—)

Even deadly waters can be calm at the surface, deceiving depths holding something stronger, and when he rises to meet the Illuminati and the (not their) primal, you start to see the signs of something lurking in the water and strain to open your eyes, drained as you are so close to Alexander.

(You should have noticed how he balked away from poisons, preferring to sit far away from the rogue; you should have felt the gentle ripple when Mide mentioned Alexander’s purpose and wondered more.

It is too late for regrets, but it is not too late to stop this man, whose hands are too gentle and weary, from falling further into something he did not truly want.)

Are you daft, you whisper, and it’s not the best thing you’ve ever come up with but it’s the first words you’ve truly spoken to be heard. Like the rest, you expect your words to fall on deaf ears—stubborn people, the ones that have found you—but this time the scholar stops. Lingers, the precipice of a typhoon brewing up from the bottom of his soul. Do you truly think this will work?

“Not completely,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble as his small carbuncle shimmers and shakes its way into existence; part of you wishes you were strong enough to do the same just so you could shake the fluff out of this man’s brain to where it belongs. “But it might, and even the smallest chance...”

What of your friends today?

You don’t know what you expected, really; the scholar clams up and so do you, a connection cleaved in two as he walks away from the hand of the giant primal, stone in hand, and you are too exhausted to try and pry his heart open wider. Convincing him to let it all spill forth is harder than convincing a rock to move on its own, so you don’t try.

This time, when you fall back asleep atop a book with a soft leather cover, you desperately hope this is the end of it.

…

(Did you know them, too? Did they lead you to me?)

(In a way, yes.)

(Then you can stay, for now. Just… keep quiet.)

…

And of course, it never is.

It’s hard to describe your next awakening as anything but a bolt of lightning straight to your center, with how much aether rushes through your crystal and into the abyss. Too fast, too quick, like a flame burning too hot too soon. From freezing to the fiery depths of hell, you think incredulously as you reach out, looking to just who might be so dangerously close to tipping too far.

You don’t expect to find the timid white mage staring down at your soul crystal, red eyes and all.

(In a way, perhaps you should have known it would happen; the man was too damned reserved, all flower petals and no bark, the look in his eyes when he saw someone injured too intense for simple worry. He hates bloodshed yet makes his career in it all the same, and you’ve been held by Lumelle so tightly that you felt his magic—summer’s night bottled into a cure, blooming flowers pressed over scars, and you think nothing could be kinder than the way he loves.

Shame that you forgot that sometimes kindness is forged in the abyss.)

You’re sure he doesn’t mean to keep your crystal at all—hells, he sets it at the bottom of his satchel before he goes running off to join the fray in the same place that nearly killed him, the damned martyr—but you get taken with him regardless, and you see just how badly he’s dealt with it all. You don’t retort as snarkily as you might have with Duscha; your current ward is like paper thin glass, and you worry that if you push him he might break into pieces so small not even the sun’s light could find him.

In fact, you’re not sure what will happen if you make yourself known at all. He doesn’t seem strong enough to handle the idea that his guilt is making a simulacrum manifest.

(If you truly wanted, you could make him a fine dark knight. Teach him how to take his love and turn it into strength and protection stronger than anything the realm’s elements might give him, no matter how loved he is by them. Stain this white mage in dark.

But you see his dreams, sometimes—you never had found your way into dreams before, but with someone practically bleeding their life aether onto you, a simulacrum fueled by memories and pain, it’s hard not to have new experiences—and his hands are always coated in blood. His own, someone else’s, his mother’s, his father’s…

You choose not to take him through the abyss. You don’t want to know if he’ll still be there when you walk out.)

Finding someone that might be able to help someone who very stubbornly doesn’t want help is… a lot harder than intended. There’s not too many people… happy, with your ward; not after Baelsar’s Wall, and the man that Lumelle sent flying. You faintly remember a name—Caelestis, or something—but you care little for details and more for solutions, so you keep peering outwards and looking as best you can without fully peering into their heads.

That is, until that someone comes running at the white mage like a teal tulip some sylph chucked at you with the force of a demon.

(He introduces himself to everyone as Haruki, but you can’t help but call him Ruki after one too many trips into A’dewah’s head—Dewah, he says, and you don’t know much about Seeker names but you know that it means more to your ward than it does to anyone else—and you think you can get him to help, even if A’dewah himself is trying to avoid him like the plague.

Especially because he’s avoiding Haruki like he’ll die if he doesn’t.)

It takes a few minor illusions and a trip to the Steppe (you didn’t know how to do these before A’dewah, you think as you practically lead a trail of hints from the Enclave to the tree A’dewah’s stuck himself in) but Haruki’s always been smarter than he might look (you still can’t get over the peacock feather of a mess his hair is) and eventually, eventually, your plan comes to fruition.

You don’t try to listen when they talk, but the rush of relief in A’dewah’s aether and the slow transition of summer bottled up tight enough to crack glass to the light warmth of, say, a greenhouse in full bloom tells you all you need to know, anyways.

(Doma is freed, soon after, and the Warriors are called back home, to Ala Mhigo’s war, but you look one last time out to Doma and see the last moments of A’dewah’s goodbyes, and of course it’s Haruki he tells last. His eyes burn like a solar eclipse, and you think if it weren’t for his son—so small and brave, callouses already on his fingers—he’d come back with you.

You think it might be puppy love, somehow, but you take one last look at what you know and think that maybe he’s just tired of being left behind, of being the last one. Might be love, might be wanderlust.

It doesn’t matter. You still have to leave, even if it hurts.)

On the ship’s journey back through the Sirensong Sea, A’dewah finally acknowledges you, in a way.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to no one in particular as he ties up his hair tighter. His eyes aren’t reddened from crying anymore—just the unfortunate lot of his mother’s eyes being blood red by nature—and you think you can rest, now.

So you do.

…

(Don’t you understand to call for help?)

(I can manage.)

(So sayeth the Weapon of Light.)

…

From one firebrand of a caster to another, you think as your crystal gets put into Valdis’ open palms—you learn her name early, this time, instead of just before the climax of the story—and though her aether is quiet you know well enough that it doesn’t mean there’s nothing hiding behind it.

(It’s the same sort of longing for something long past, you remember. Duscha’s aether had a similar balance to hers, even if Valdis is mostly umbral shade and hardly a hint of water among the flames she pulls into form. Where Duscha was restrained she is explosive, and you don’t need to look too hard to find the root of the issue.

The thing is: you’re too exhausted.)

You’re lucky she doesn’t fight closer to the front line, like Lumelle or Syhrwyda, because you can hardly summon a shadow at this point—perhaps you were played the fool by A’dewah’s tears into doing too much, not saving enough.

But then you look at Valdis and think she might be fine on her own, eyes still lit up and hopeful. Spitfire in her hair and embers in her eyes, already burning like a flame that knows how to rise from her ashes already.

There’s something to be said about youth, maybe, and you sigh as you close your eyes and hope to wake when she needs you.

(The thing is: she doesn’t need to.)

…

(... Hmph.)

(If you’re expecting an apology, you’re getting none from me.)

(I do not need—)

…

Your next venture leads you into the hands of someone so astrally aspected you don’t know if you can even summon the strength to peer outwards. Their aether and yours conflicts so greatly that it’s hard to tell if the abyss is flaring up or dying down, really, but you try regardless.

You will eternally be glad you do not have a face, because the pure shock when the face you see is one that was supposed to be long dead is not a face you’d ever like to see.

Lumelle had been your catalyst, and the little machinist before you the cause; you didn’t think he’d survived, somehow, even if you saw the monk that supposedly fell with him. He’s brighter than you’d thought he’d ever be, as close to the abyss as his sister was, and then you realize—

He truly doesn’t need you. His eyes still gleam on their own, not shrouded by something buried deep. If Duscha’s abyss was well hidden enough for you to mistake it, there can be no mistake here.

When he keeps your crystal close, anyways, you close your eyes again, thinking that perhaps this time you won’t be needed like before.

And for the most part; he doesn’t.

(There are times, surely, when a speck of darkness flickers into the light that fills his aether, but you hardly need to look at it to tell it’s over something silly. A flame that will flicker out soon enough. You don’t lift a finger over that.)

In a way, his hands are a restless reprieve. You cannot sleep, truly, because if you do you don’t want to know how much your crystal’s facets will fade, but there is nothing for you here, either.

So. You watch.

…

(But. Don’t you want?)

(I already want enough. I can get by.)

(Doesn’t mean you should.)

…

The rogue plucks your crystal from Elwin’s bag, a shadow in the night, and you hardly realize the change until you’re set by a pack of crystals. You nearly think to panic—what disaster do you have to reconcile now, tired as you are—but then the rogue whispers like he already knows.

(Maybe he does. Every rogue you’ve seen through other eyes has always been a bit sharper than they make themselves to be.)

“Take a breather,” he hums, flipping his daggers in the air and watching them glint in the dim moonlight. You think you might know his name, uttered once or twice in passing, but you’ve hardly begun to rest from your time in Elwin’s bright hands and aether that it’s slipped you by once or twice already. “Ye’ve helped us out. ‘S high time we pay back, hm?”

I do not do this for payment, you sigh, but his aether is the easiest of them all, really, more comfortable than even Valdis’ despite the light chill of it. He doesn’t respond, merely whistling as he walks along the metal pathway—Garlean territory, and he’s so calmly strolling through it?

You don’t choose to rest, even though you could, and keep an eye on the man anyways.

(It’s worth the trouble, you think when you shroud him in shadows, narrowly avoiding the gaze of some wisened soldier who knows the tricks of the trade. Even if nothing’s gained in return.)

…

(They’re...gone. They’re gone, gone, what do I do now—)

(Breathe. You’ll find them again. You always do.)

(But what if I can’t this time? What if I find them only to lose them?)

(You won’t.)

(How can you be sure?)

(Because you want to find them. I’m still here, aren’t I?)

…

There isn’t so much of a rest between leaving Tehra’ir’s palms and falling into the monk’s own, really; not when the rogue collapses alongside Valdis and the man with the eyepatch after some reverberating call that shook even you, incorporeal as you are. If you’d a physical form, the pain behind your eyes would be overwhelming; the sensation of being ripped from one’s body must be horrible, but even more so being torn from the very aether that keeps you.

Either way, the Elder Seedseer drops your crystal into their hands when she comes from the infirmary with a grim look on her face.There is something so familiar about this new bearer, aether so tempestuous and yet… calm. Leaving you contented and wanting all at once.

You don’t know what use you might be to them, either, but if you belonged in the hands of your past seven bearers then you are at home in theirs, lightning crackling from their skin to your crystal’s surface with great ease, for two non-metallic things.

(There is nothing I can do, the Seedseer murmurs and the sharp ache that immediately takes over the dull pain in their head echoes to you and oh, you understand more than ever now what you must help resolve, head spinning as the abyss flares and rages around you.)

You are there for everything after; when they flee to the Steppe, when they hole up in the empty house, when they take Ochir and fly across the mountains until Lunya calls them back home. Your crystal is usually hidden away in their pocket, safe in the leather pouch and buttoned into the cloth of their pants, and never once do you feel ignored, sitting in mutual silence. There’s nothing to be said, really, because their loss is just as much yours.

Both of you grin when you finally, finally make it past the gates into the First despite the horrid circumstances you have been brought to resolve, because it brings you both one step closer to finding them again.

(At first, you think they’ll be just fine without you, that you might be prudent to fall back dormant once more in face of the terribly draining light. At first, it seems like the others might just be a day’s journey away. The Exarch may be hiding things, but if the Scions are scattered then so too are the wayward Warriors; nothing so difficult as pulling souls back across the rift, yet.

Hah. When has anything ever been so simple?)

The journey is the hardest it’s been out of your eight travels, really; whether it be from the Light or from the constant confusion and grief that they struggle to pull from you do not know, and you keep your eyes open when they cannot—especially after Malikah’s Well.

(You are not the one fighting—never have been, even on that odd occasion that you’ve been able to force your way out of the abyss—but in Eulmore you see the flying eater’s wings seconds before they come crashing down on your bearer’s back with talons and when you reach out, for whatever banal reason, it is not darkness that springs forth.

At first, you think it a trick of the Light, because the last time you saw this shield it was back when you were still convinced you were ephemeral, but the next time you reach forth your ward’s wounds are healed in a burst of crystalline lilies.

You are not so stupid as to think this is your own strength, but they have not been with you for so long that you can’t tell what else it could be, what could be more than the others you have traveled with.

Oh, how blind you were.)

Here, down in Amaurot, it’s harder than ever on them but the easiest it’s been for you, and when they start slipping you have to drag them back to their heels again, lest the Light breaks free and both of you end up dead. You don’t have anything else to give—you do not have Lumelle or Syhrwyda’s inhuman strength or the healer’s prowess of A’dewah or Duscha, too incorporeal to give support like Tehra’ir or Elwin and too loud to stay as quiet as Valdis—but you are there and that has to be enough.

(If Zaya themselves is not whole enough to be worthy in that Ascian’s eyes, then you will find the missing parts that make them whole and bring them home, because in your eyes there is nothing more than them and the little family you’ve somehow managed to pass through like a hand-me-down, and if you and the friends that remain are not enough to guide them through Hades’ abyss then one of them will be.

And the funny thing is; you do, because the missing parts of their soul were the storm in you.)

The final days of Amaurot are harrowing; you are there when Zaya nearly falls to a bird demon, of all things, and you are there when the tempest of aether above a simulacrum of Emet-Selch’s world nearly shatters you into a million stars. It is less you taking the reins and more you standing by their side, the shadow in the light of falling stars that pushes forward when they cannot.

You think Ryne and Y’shtola can see you, can see the glow of seven crystals at Zaya’s side, but it matters not when Emet-Selch still refuses to take reprieve of the abyss and see the merits of something different from what he knows; all that does is that you are by their side, a shade in a city of simulacrums.

(How funny is it, that in his grief Hades dipped into the abyss just as Zaya did in theirs?)

You don’t remember much of what happens afterwards. There is a blur of light, a man’s voice—seven voices you recognize as the abyss flares and takes you back, because there is no space left here for darkness, not now. You expect to die, somehow, because you’d been fighting for so long in a place that threatened to swallow you whole and keep you there even if you followed Zaya resolutely, Hades taking you in his grasp and shattering you just to prove that they are nothing.

There’s a moment of clarity—when dark overtakes light once more—and you take the chance to stretch yourself out, to cover as many people as you can tell are here because Hades’ claws glow with something terrible and you will not lose anyone now, not when you’ve found yourself in them. Even Urianger, even Alphinaud, even Thancred, who is yalms and yalms away from Zaya—all of them have become too precious to lose, too beloved to let be harmed, and if Hades’ form is large then you will become the event horizon that swallows him.

(If you disappear here, it will be worth it—you have served your purpose as a shield, gouged on aether and memories as you are, and if you can give them even a moment more the price of your existence, as much of a simulacrum as you were, it would have been worth the trouble.

If Hades wins you don’t know what you’ll do.)

But he loses. He loses, and you go home as small of a flame as you were when your journeys began.

And when all is said and done, your crystal ends up on a necklace of thin chain and leather, held close to Zaya’s breast. Dark lightning crackles over the shining facets, finally polished to its prime like it was all those years ago when your last owner died; even then, you don’t know if you can ever come back again, really, exhausted and drained and frayed as you are.

It matters little, those ifs and maybes.

(“No matter where you go,” the gunbreaker says, and you can feel Zaya’s soul warm, cracked as it is—or maybe that’s yours, feeling a bit like your own promises are being voiced through his. Ardbert, the bloke, smiles from behind you, and the little part of you that knows exactly how you and he are similar grins wildly. “I will be there, guarding your back.”)

When they need you next to pull them from the blackest of nights, you’ll be there to see the beautiful dawn they bring in return. There is nowhere else for you to go.

…

(I’ll have to leave soon. Heroes don’t stay, you know.)

(Well, you do.)

…

From the depths of the crystal, a quiet light shimmers brightly, and you are reminded of home...

Action learned: The Brightest Dawn.

#ffxiv #my writing #tales from the blue #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020 #elie's ffxivwrite2020 #a'dewah tia #duscha vesnasch #elwin de lipine #lumelle de lipine #tehra'ir naphto #syhrwyda maetityrbwyn #valdis otoel #zaya qestir #solo'ing bardams mettle on monk was not my best decision to date but the voiceless muse is still fucking gorgeous #i *had* to use it. my reputation as steppe simp was on the line #long post

4 notes · View notes

love-and-monsters · 5 years

Text

Wyvern Prince Pt. 2

Male monster X female human, 3325 words.

You spun around as soon as the raised voices reached you. Shouting wasn’t necessarily uncommon in the meetings, but not so soon.

The shouting made you pause, uncertain of whether you should leave or not, and in the time you took, the prince was abruptly ejected from the room. He staggered out into the hall as if pushed and, before he could recover and turn around, the door slammed shut behind him.

He turned, staring at the door with his mouth hanging open. After a few seconds of stunned silence, he raised a hand to knock.

“I wouldn’t,” you cut in. His head turned toward you. Anger burned in his eyes like a smoldering flame. You cleared your throat and dropped into a quick brow. “You were ejected from a meeting, sire. Disturbing it or attempting to reenter the room will result in you being confined to your room.”

The prince turned fully toward you, lips curling over teeth. “Ejected?” he snarled. It was much closer to the voice you would expect from a wyvern than his normal tone. “For what? I have made my demands and yet your queen and your people refuse to acquiesce! My requests are simple and yet your queen insists on complicating every step of the process! What is wrong with humans that makes them so thoroughly desperate to make things more complex than they need to be?”

By the end of his rant, he was leaning over you, one of his long-nailed fingers poking into your chest. It took all your willpower not to step away, or at least lean back, but you managed to stand still and look into his face. His eyes looked like smoldering embers. “I suggest, sire, that we return upstairs before your yelling gets you ejected from the hall as well.”

You were half expecting for your comment to spark another round of yelling, but the prince just deflated slightly. The fight seemed to just seep out of him. He sighed and waved his arm in a ‘lead on’ gesture. You nodded and headed up the stairs. The prince trailed behind.

Once up the stairs, you decided to lead the prince into the smallest library. It was mercifully empty. The prince sat at one of the tables and promptly buried his face in his hands. His breathing was ragged, but you were uncertain if he was upset or angry or both. You stood a respectful distance away, waiting for him to settle back down.

It was several minutes before he lifted his head again. “Are all humans as frustrating as those who occupy the court of your queen?” he asked through his teeth.

A small smile twitched the corners of your lips. “I’m afraid no one is pleasant when engaging in politics. Her majesty is quite kind in usual conversation, but I have heard she is ruthless when attempting to do anything regarding her people’s safety.”

“Safety,” the prince snorted. “This has nothing to do with safety.” He glanced at you and, when he saw you watching him curiously, continued. “Your people have been intruding in wyvern territory recently. I have requested that your people leave the territory, but your queen is insistent that they stay.”

“The new farming settlement in the western woods? Close to the mountains?” you asked. The prince nodded. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about politics, but from what I know about the settlement, it was created due to a surplus population. We needed more food.”

“And my people are exempt from needing food, I assume?” The prince turned his gaze toward you. His eyes burned.

“Apologies, sire. That is not what I intended to suggest.” You licked your lips. “I was under the impression that wyvern hunted for their prey, not that they farmed.”

“We still need land for hunting,” he said. “More than for farming, I would say. If your kind pushes into our territory, we will hunt your livestock.”

“That would start a war,” you said.

“That is part of the reason I am here. To stop a war that would be devastating for both our kinds.” The prince drew a fingertip along the table. “In the prior meeting, I attempted to inform your queen of this. And yet both she and her advisors refuse to move their people out of our land.”

“And what happened at this meeting?” you asked.

The prince curled his lips over his teeth. “When two wyverns are in a disagreement and neither can come to an arrangement, then a show of force is required.”

Your stomach dropped to somewhere around your knees. “Did you threaten the queen?”

There was a silence that stretched for several seconds longer than was comfortable. Your stomach sank to your ankles. “Did you threaten the queen?” you repeated. Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be.

“I did not,” the prince said. “I merely suggested that she was being quite foolish and that if she continued to refuse us, then the wyvern people could not be held responsible for attacking to protect their home.”

You swallowed. “So you insulted and threatened the queen.”

“It was not a threat. That is what is going to happen if humans continue to invade our land.”

“You can’t threaten the queen, sire. No wonder you got kicked out of the meeting.” It was very difficult to keep your voice even, but you managed. “And threatening her won’t get humans to leave your land. You’re going to make things worse.”

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Then I don’t know what to do.” He sagged over the table.

You hesitated. “Sire, if I might make a suggestion?”

He sighed. “If you have something that may help, I am willing to hear it.”

“It seems like the ways wyverns and humans conduct politics are different. You seem to think that if you state the obvious enough times, she’ll cave. Or that if you threaten her, she’ll give in.”

“That is politics. If a wyvern wants something, my family decides who is right. If they do not listen to what is right, then we press them until they give in. That is what has worked.” Frustration edged his voice.

“Sire, with all due respect for your way of life, I do not think that way is going to prevent a war. Politics are quite a bit more complicated than that for humans.”

“I have noticed,” the prince snapped. “And yet noticing this has not made it any easier for me to actually get anything done.”

You took a deep breath. “Sire, humans typically want to get something from their deals. If you want to do well in the art of human politics, you need to brush up on your ability to get as much as you can for as little as possible.”

The prince lifted his head and looked at you, but he said nothing. You took this as a signal to continue. “May I suggest a potential compromise for your problem?” He nodded. “I have only a minimal understanding of the situation, but it seems that this problem can be solved by a tribute. You allow the humans who have already settled the land to stay, but, in return, they must provide you with the food you have lost from the land. It would allow the humans there to use the land for farming, so we won’t starve, and your people won’t starve.”

The prince tapped his claws along his chin. “You think that will work?”

“I don’t know, sire. I am not a politician. But it is a fairy good plan, I think. It satisfies both parties.”

The prince narrowed his eyes and his lips curled back ever so slightly. “I am still not sure I like it. If we allow the humans to take this land without any form of real retribution, we have no guarantee your people will not attack us in the future.”

“That’s true.” You considered that for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll be able to draw up some kind of agreement with the queen. One that secures your borders without threatening the peace we have.”

There was a long moment of silence. The prince drew a hand over his forehead. “I have failed to do so thus far, but I suppose I can do nothing else but try.” He rose from the table and gave you a nod. “I thank you for your assistance, Sara. If you will excuse me.”

He left the room. You stared after him for a moment. You hadn’t realized that he knew your name. But there was no time to reflect on such things. You shook the thoughts from your head and set about your tasks for the rest of the day.

The library was finally organized and fully cleaned by the end of the day, just in time for you to fetch the prince’s tray from the kitchen and bring it up to his room.

He was reading when you arrived at his room, hair clipped back from his face in a messy knot. It was the sort of tangled mess you would expect from someone who was unused to doing their own hair- or perhaps from someone who was simply unused to having hair. He didn’t look up when you walked in, so you gently cleared your throat. He started and looked at you.

“Sire.” You dipped your head as he stood. “I have your dinner.”

“Set it on the table. And come here.” He stepped away from the table, holding the book he’d been reading to his chest. You found a spot for the tray and stepped obediently to his side. “What can you tell me about this?” he asked, pointing to a spot on the page.

Reading had never been a particular strong point of yours- it had never needed to be, really. But you were able to make out the passage he indicated. “The treaty between the two kingdoms was forged in the blood of a union, and in the blood of a new birth,” you read. “Such a union fused the two nations permanently, so that neither could ever harm the other again.”

The prince looked at you expectantly. “Could you elaborate on the passage?”

“Well, I believe it is referring to a war a long time ago in which our nation was merged with a neighboring nation.” The prince was still looking expectant. You continued. “This seems to suggest that they were joined by marriage, likely of either the current leaders or either by the next generation of leaders. The blood of a new birth bit suggests that the couple had a child, who then became the leader of the nations, making them one nation.”

The prince grunted. “Then it’s of no use in this case.” He took the book back and tossed it across the room. It skidded across the table and landed on the floor. You automatically moved to pick it up.

“A political marriage is a bit of a last resort, but it is a possibility, sire,” you said as you retrieved the book. He snorted.

“No. Wyvern do not engage in political marriages. We do not marry in the same way as humans and no wyvern would ever be able to manage in a relationship without any affection for their mate. That idea is useless.” Frustration fairly simmered in his voice. You were suddenly rather aware that you were in the room with a hungry and irritated wyvern.

“Perhaps you should take a break, sire,” you suggested, gesturing to the meal on the table. He glanced at it, then sighed and sat to eat.

He was silent as he ate and you tidied up the books and notes he had. When he had finished, you moved to take his tray, but he lifted a hand. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I’d like some more of your help with these books.”

“Of course, sire,” you said. “What is it that you need?”

“I would like further information on the treaty between your kingdom and the Salagacian kingdom. Additionally, a few of these books have conflicting information on wyverns. I’d like to know which views are more prevalent in your kingdom.” He pressed a small stack of books in your direction. You took a deep breath.

“Certainly sire. I am happy to be of use.”

It was two hours before you were able to leave the room. You were pleased, of course, that the prince seemed to trust you, but you were also now tired. Your feet and back ached from standing and bending over the books- you’d felt improper sitting and he hadn’t asked you to, so you had stood. Slowly, you made you way to the kitchen, stumbled out to your quarters, and prepared for bed.

Despite your exhaustion, you managed to pull yourself out of bed on time. After shaking your exhaustion off, you grabbed the prince’s breakfast and headed to his room.

This time, you found him in his bed, curtains drawn. You opened the window curtains, then the ones around his bed. “Good morning, sire.”

He groaned, but lifted his head. Strands of pale blond hair fell over his face and tangled over his horns. “The queen has decided to reconvene yesterday’s meeting in two hours,” you said as he laboriously sat up.

“I heard.” He stood up, tugging at his bedclothes with obvious irritation. “Come. I’d like you to look over some of the notes I made after you left last night.”

Most of the notes he’d made were solid, regarding ideas for keeping the border secure. Several of them involved vague threats of full-on war if the border was breached. You tactfully reworded them. A threat wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. It just couldn’t sound like a threat. One or two were weak ideas that you discarded entirely. By the time you had finished looking through the notes and giving them back to him, he was finished eating and bathing and the meeting would soon start. And you hadn’t even cleaned his room. A flicker of frustration warmed your chest. You crushed it back.

“Shall we go?” The prince gathered the notes you’d given him into his pockets.

“As you wish, sire.” You led him out of his room and down the stairs.

He entered the meeting room with quiet confidence. His eyes met with the queen’s and they stared levelly for a moment before he lowered his head in a bow. The faintest, palest smile graced her lips. You let out a breath. At least he could take advice.

“Sara,” the queen said, letting her gaze rest on your for only a moment. “Go.”

You turned to leave, glancing at the prince as you did. He was still looking at the queen. His expression was peaceful in its certainty. He was not angry or anxious now. He knew what should be done and he could do it.

It struck you at that moment, under the glow of the lamps along the walls, how his eyes were warm as a winter fire and how fine his hair looked and how long his lashes lay over his eyes. He was very pretty.

And then you were outside and the door closed. It felt much darker in the hall, though the light was only a little sparser. You had to take a moment to collect yourself before returning to the prince’s room.

It was still a mess, of course. The bed still unmade, the tub not washed out, the mirror not wiped down. And you had more work to do after this. Taking only a few seconds to rest, you rolled up your sleeves and got to work.

The work took time and you couldn’t afford to speed up too much- if the prince complained, you would be in trouble. Naturally, you were late for your next task and found the servants you were supposed to be directing to clean out the artifact collection already working. Your stomach sank when you saw one of them wiping down one of the leather pieces with a soaked rag.

“Give me that.” You took it from her hands. She blinked up at you, eyes full of worry. She was a new one, you remembered that much, probably barely older than sixteen. You softened your tone. “You can’t use water on these. It’ll damage the protective coating. See Simon over there?” You pointed to one of the other servants, an older man. “Ask him for the saddle polish. Use that on these leather pieces.” The girl nodded and scrambled off toward the man. With a sigh, you headed off to examine the other cleaning servants.

There were a few other mistakes you had to correct before you started working yourself. Correcting the mistakes took valuable time and, by the time you were setting the last pieces away and sending the servants off, you were late for the prince’s dinner.

It was very hard to run with the tray in your hands, but you managed a quick walk up to the prince’s room. You were going so fast, in fact, that you had no time to stop before you ran straight into him coming down the curving staircase.

His hands caught the tray, steadying it and you at the same time. “I was about to look for you,” he said, staring down at you. He’d already been taller than you and the fact that he was standing on the step above yours meant you really had to crane your neck to look at him.

“I apologize, sire. My tasks today took longer than I expected.” You couldn’t bow while holding onto the tray, so you simply dipped into a very small curtsy. The prince released the tray and turned to head back up the stairs.

“Come along, then,” he called over his shoulder. You followed him up the stairs and into his room.

There were a few books spread across the table, but it was clearer than it had been for the past few nights. You set the tray down. It smelled wonderful, good enough to make your mouth water, and it served to remind you that you’d barely eaten all day. You’d been too busy to take a break.

“How did the meeting go, sire?” you said in an attempt to take your mind off the food.

“I believe it went well. The queen seemed pleased with the suggestion, so we should be able to work something out.” He sat down and promptly dug into his dinner. His obvious gusto eating did not help your hunger. Your stomach rolled over and snarled. The prince glanced at you and you felt your cheeks warm. He turned his attention back to his plate. You sighed in relief.

“Sara, if you would not mind, I have a few questions about human politics,” the prince said as he finished up his dinner.

You were already tired, but refusal wasn’t really an option. You forced your mouth into a smile. “Of course, sire. Anything you need.”

He nodded and took up a book. “I have been examining some of the political squabbles humans have engaged in over the centuries and I would like more information on the segregation between human social classes.”

You took a deep breath. This was likely going to take a while. “Certainly, sire. There are several social classes, with the monarchy, of course, at the top…”

By the time the prince was satisfied, you were beyond tired, tired enough to consider skipping dinner entirely. You managed to convince yourself to stop by the kitchen and grab a chunk of bread that you ate on the way to your room. It had been exhausting, you thought, but it was bound to get better as you worked more. You would get used to it.

#wyvern prince #exophilia #monsterxhuman #monster lover #male monster #wyvern #oc #scuzmunkie

166 notes · View notes

hamiltalian-creates · 5 years

Text

Dreaming of Sleep, Pt. 5

Summary: Remus and Deceit fight to finally make their relationship with Logan official.

Ships: Loceit, Intrulogical

Warnings: Blood mention

Words: 2,120

Remus had just finished up with his dream the morning that things began to change for them. He’d just put down his notebook and looked up at Logan for his feedback, staring expectantly.

Logan hummed in thought as he finished processing what he’d heard, then opened his mouth to respond, interrupted by his door opening.

“Hey, Logan, do you have an extra pair of-” Patton stopped where he was in Logan’s doorway, staring up at the extra guests on Logan’s bed. He might not have been able to see much, but he could very easily make out the yellow of Deceit’s pajamas and the green on Remus. “N.. Nevermind...”

Somewhere outside, Virgil spotted Patton’s spooked expression and appeared beside him. “What? Did he steal my tarantula ag-” Virgil froze as he saw what Patton saw, being able to clearly see Deceit practically wrapped around Logan and Remus sitting in his friend’s lap in his usual black muscle shirt and a green pair of what should are legally not long enough to be called shorts.

“What are we staring at? I want to see what’s turning everyone’s skin as white as snow,” Roman announced as he approached, humming in thought as he saw the two guests in Logan’s room. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming for Remus, not after I heard about the throwing star, but Deceit?”

“It’s too early for this..” Deceit grumbled as he wrapped himself more tightly around Logan. Part of him wished he could just go back to sleep, while the rest of him just hoped that this wouldn’t end in disaster. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was afraid. Deceit was afraid of losing his safe space there with Logan, of losing Logan as even a friend, just because his ways of helping Thomas got him labeled as bad.

And of course Remus felt the same. Sure, he was disappointed by the loss of attention caused by Logan’s tearing him apart, but Logan was the one who proved that he was no monster, that he couldn’t hurt Thomas with his words, even if the only way he could get any attention was scaring people. He was latching on just as tightly as Deceit.

Logan felt it, too. He felt Remus’s strong grip on his shoulders and Deceit’s tight hold on his waist and he could tell how scared they were of losing his presence. And he didn’t want to lose theirs either. As the rest of his friends stood silent in his doorway, Logan subtly put one hand on Deceit’s shoulder and the other on Remus’s leg, squeezing tightly to show that he wasn’t going to let them leave so easily either.

But... It seemed that the worrying wasn’t for much.

“So, which one are you dating?” Roman asked in an attempt to break the tension, a knowing smile on his face. He was a romantic, he could practically see the romantic tension in the air and he wasn’t going to tear it apart for something as silly as a label that he made up for dramatic effect.

Logan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding before glancing between the two sides in his bed and looking back at Roman, shrugging a bit. “We’ve never discussed such a thing, this is a purely platonic situation.”

Purely...

Platonic?

Don’t get things wrong, if Logan had said that he wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with them, Deceit and Remus would’ve respected that. However, Deceit cuddled up against Logan every night after letting him experiment on him. Remus wrote down his dreams, despite how badly he wanted to discuss them as soon as he woke up, and literally straddled Logan as he talked about them. Were they not obvious enough or was Logan really that oblivious to their feelings?

Either way, it was clear that their friendly competition needed to be taken another step forward. Or eight.

And who better to take advice from than Roman?

Once it was time for the two sides to take their leave from the logical side’s room, they both stormed over to the princely side’s room, glad to see that he was quick to answer his door, practically glowing from all of the romantic energy in the air.

“Let me guess: You need help romantically seducing your nerdy prince?”

Deceit nodded quickly. “Yes, and-”

“And you’re not allowed to help Dee! You’re my brother, help me get laid!”

“Wow, because my intentions are as blunt as to get laid,” Deceit said with a roll of his eyes.

Remus tutted. “Oh, you know what I mean!”

“Wait, wait, wait- Are you guys saying only one of you can date him?.. Or is this little argument just for funsies?” Roman asked, a confused, but almost amused look on his face.

“No, Roman, neither of us are actually interested in being in a couple with Logan,” Deceit snapped, now irritated at both brothers. “Since you’re clearly not the so-called ‘expert’ at this that you want everyone to believe you are, I’ll just-”

“No, wait!” Roman interrupted, grabbing Deceit’s arm before he could leave. “I just meant that you aren’t necessarily limited to being a couple...”

Remus grinned. “Oh! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“We’re not having a threesome,” Deceit deadpanned.

“Not like that, Dee! You’ll like this idea.”

Deceit highly doubted it, sure, but he was quickly proven wrong. The three quickly formed a plan and it all began with Roman’s help.

The princely side strutted into Logan’s room one day, mere minutes after dinner and soon before Deceit would typically arrive. As such, Roman found his friend carefully preparing microscope slides for samples and was careful himself to not startle him, letting his footsteps be heard.

“What is it, Roman?” Logan asked without so much as looking up.

“I need your help with something. I’m trying to memorize a monologue, but I’m not quite sure how I should interpret it. Seeing as you did such a great job last time as our drama tu- dramaturg, perhaps you could give me some direction.”

To be frank, Logan was surprised. Roman hardly ever asked him for help with anything, much less something dealing with acting. “Um... Yes, I suppose I can help.”

“Great!” He dragged Logan back over to his room, the logical side unaware of the pair of eyes watching them.

From around the corner, Deceit snuck over to Logan’s room, Remus following close behind him. “And you’re sure this is going to work?..”

“Oh, please! My brother is a literal prince charming, if anyone knows we should do, it’s him.”

As nervous as Deceit was, he figured there was no harm in trusting Roman’s advice. At least if they failed, they tried.

Logan was exhausted by the time he came back, unaware of how hard Roman had worked to keep him busy for so long. He’d almost forgotten about- Logan’s head snapped up as he realized that he’d never gotten the chance to let Deceit know about him leaving. Oh, he must’ve been waiting awkwardly for hours.

He groaned in his head and walked a bit faster down the hall, expecting to find Deceit awkwardly sitting on his bed, as he often was whenever Logan had to leave during their time alone. He swung open his door and began apologizing. “Deceit, I-”

Logan was interrupted by pure surprise as he saw the sight that awaited him.

Remus and Deceit were sitting on his bed, waiting with gifts in their hands and the sentence “Date us?” spelled out in what looked like typical red rose petals. But, knowing Remus, Logan had a feeling that they weren’t so typical.

“Hey there, octo-pi,” the creative side greeted. “Deceit’s to shy to say it, but we like you and want to date you.”

Logan felt his face go bright red and attempted to hide it behind his hand, to no avail.

“You don’t have to hide your blushing.. I’m not,” Deceit admitted, his human half just as rosy. “Remus is right... And we got you gifts just like you’ve given us because, even if you’re not interested in a relationship, you’ve been incredibly nice to us both...”

“Yeah, no pressure, but wouldn’t it be awkward if you said ‘no’?” Remus pointed out, hiding the fact that he was voicing his fear.

“I... I suppose it would be..” Logan began, taking a few tiny steps forward. “But... You don’t have to worry about that. I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you both.. Actually..” he paused for a second, not knowing how the two would react to this next piece of information. “I actually thought that we were already in a relationship.. I simply said that we weren’t because I didn’t want to overwhelm the others with such information.”

Remus looked over at Deceit. “You owe Roman a dollar.”

“Roman was in on this?” Logan asked, only half surprised. “That explains his keeping me busy...”

“Well, we needed some time to get this ready!” Remus pointed out. “Plus, I needed more time to dye the petals.”

“Dye them?..” Logan knew they weren’t typical, but did Remus really go through the trouble of dyeing roses?

“Yeah! You know, like how Aphrodite’s blood created the first red roses?”

Logan couldn’t help but smile at that. Of course Remus dyed them in blood. “I’m assuming it’s your blood?..”

“Deceit was too chicken to give his up.”

Deceit rolled his eyes at that. For Logan, he’d give up blood, just as he had in experiments - he was just a figment of Thomas’s imagination, so it wasn’t like it’d harm him - but to give Remus the chance to have his blood? No way.

“I don’t mind that. Deceit doesn’t have to do the same things as you for me to know that his feelings are genuine..”

Deceit felt his blush darken. “We do have presents, if you’d like to open them,” he said suddenly, hating how embarrassed he felt.

“Of course..” Logan went over and joined them on the bed, sitting in front of them with his legs crossed as Deceit pushed his present towards him. It was shaped like some sort of book, which already clued Logan in to the fact that he might like it. He carefully pulled the wrapping paper open, finding what looked like a regular notebook.

At first, Logan was a bit confused, Deceit knew that Logan had a surplus of empty notebooks. It wasn’t until he opened it that he truly realized what it was. Inside, Logan read a table of contents, labeled with the different things that Logan had asked about or tested as well as some things that Logan had felt Deceit might be a bit more weirded out by, such as scale patterns and how they’d spread over Deceit’s growth.

“I know you have fun doing your own experiments, so.. I thought I’d give it a go. Maybe, if I did anything in there right, I can help you from now on... Save you some time...” In Deceit’s mind, he was showing Logan that he treasured their science time together so much that he couldn’t help but to gain an interest, to try the thing that made Logan so happy.

And the way Deceit worded that made his point completely obvious. Logan fought back a completely goofy smile and instead, leaned forward to hug Deceit, ever so quickly kissing his cheek. One thing he’d learned outside of his experimentation was how much Deceit wanted affection, yet how awkward he felt when he actually received it. So, Logan could start small with him.

“My turn!” Remus called out, giving his box to Logan.

“How could I forget?” Logan asked as he grabbed the box. With absolutely no idea what could be waiting for him inside, he didn’t hesitate to open it up, gasping a bit at what he saw. “Is this real?”

“I conjured it myself! It goes with your love of Shakespeare and science.”

Logan smiled as he held up his new human skull. “Whose was it?”

Remus shrugged. “I made Thomas imagine reciting the skull monologue from Hamlet and it just appeared.”

Logan nodded, too excited to ask about Remus doing such a thing to Thomas. “These are both amazing gifts..” He leaned forward once more and pulled Remus into a tight hug, knowing that he wouldn’t mind in the least.

Remus smiled and returned the affection. “Anything for our little nerd.”

Logan sighed contently as he felt Deceit’s hand on his back, smiling into Remus’s shoulder. He typically wasn’t one for emotions, especially not those as complicated as love, but with those two... With those two, it felt nothing short of perfect.

@readytobakebread @theoddkidnextdoor @an-absolute-failure @rainbab @power-in-plain-sight @canvas-the-florist @angels-are-beautiful @sanderstothestanders @cosmic-melodies @wynniwirt @hereforapathylogic @som3thing-cr3ativ3

#fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #ts logan #ts deceit #ts remus #ts duke #ts logic #intrulogical #loceit #intruloceit #roman sanders #ts roman

141 notes · View notes

profspruce · 5 years

Text

Pokémon in our Biomes pt. 21: Boreal Forests (2 of 2)

I’ve recently decided to make a series of posts with hypothetical thinking and analyzing of what Pokémon species could potentially be found in the world’s biomes. Not at all relative to the games, I will be focusing primarily of the elements, design, and relativity to real life flora and fauna of Pokémon to depict where different species would roam on our big blue marble.

I have finally completed my degree in Environmental Biology and now have time to commit to more research. I feel I have touched on most of the major biomes at least once at this point, so now I think I may add to the biomes that already exist and provide further explanations to the biome’s characteristics. I may even be working on a book in the near future, so stay tuned!

Back to the post, for my first one in a long while I thought I would pay homage to the first Pokémon in our Biomes post I ever did and create a second one for boreal forests.

Boreal forests cover about 17% of the earth’s terrestrial area and freezing temperatures occur for 6-8 months of the year. Boreal forests contain 30% of the world’s total forested area and contain more surface freshwater than any other biome. Taiga is a Russian word that also refers to boreal forests, but describes more of the swampiness of the forests in the summer months. Restricted to short growing seasons and cold temperatures, there is very little herpetofauna in boreal forests, but there are a multitude of coniferous trees, mammals, and grasses that can handle the boreal forest’s unforgiving environment.

Let’s get started!

Pineco/Forretress

One of the classes I took for my Undergraduate Degree was on forestry, and one of the major projects I had to do was analyze black spruce (Picea mariana) core samples and determine what the effect of spruce budworm (Choristoneura) had on the growth and development of the trees. Spruce budworm follow an outbreak cycle with major outbreaks occurring every 30 years or so. Black spruce are a very prominent species in boreal forests, and when outbreaks occur vast numbers of individual tree can be wiped out from an area. I studied the dendrochronology, the tree rings in the core samples to determine when the outbreaks occurred, how significant they were, and what the effect of subsequent growing years was. Due to defoliation from the budworms, many trees had stunted growth after outbreak years. The trees have a harder time resisting frost damage and other pest damage after the majority of their crowns have been consumed by the budworms. Furthermore, as the populations of black spruce rises and falls, this can create an increase in the demand of the trees for harvesting for commercial products. Vast areas of black spruce stands can be damaged or killed, leaving that part of the forest grey and withered. Budworms are a similar species to bagworm, which Pineco and Forretress are (they are both part of the Lepidoptera order). Although they represent only the pupal stage of the true metamorphic insects, they share little resemblance to spruce budworm. Like true bagworms however, Pineco are said to utilize pieces from its environment to help build its shell. Bagworms will strip trees clean much like budworms, but Pineco and Forretress are carnivorous ambush predators. They both hang in their host trees waiting for unsuspecting prey to come close. It is possible that these Pokémon can have the same effect on the coniferous trees in the boreal forest as spruce budworm. As they utilize the tree as a source for their shell, they continue to strip it away until the cambium, or inner living bark is exposed. Once this layer of the tree is exposed, it becomes extremely susceptible to frost damage and fungal infections. Even though these Pokémon may not eat the tree directly, it could create massive die-offs of coniferous tree species as it builds up its shell, likely in preparation for the harsh winter.

It is possible these Pokémon found a niche to utilize in the boreal forests as there is a surplus of coniferous trees to supply bark to with few bird or amphibian species that would predate it. Generally, adult moths of many lepidoptera only live long enough to reproduce. Pineco and Forretress may have developed a reproductive strategy that doesn’t require a complete adult stage. Or rather, it is possible that the adult individual remains inside the shell of Forretress, and this is what the “unknown” body is that moves so fast catching its prey that no one has seen the inside of its shell. I believe that with the utilization of its host coniferous species and overwintering abilities, both Pineco and Forretress are perfectly adapted for boreal forests!

Stantler

Although I mentioned Stantler in the Arctic and Antarctic tundra post, many geographical areas encompass several biomes. Caribou migrate astounding distances, and only some subspecies remain static and don’t migrate. I believe that because of their migration from summer tundras to winter boreal forests, it would be appropriate to categorize Stantler as both a tundra and boreal Pokémon. Caribou are symbolic of boreal forests, with distributions from the Canadian arctic to the Siberian boreal forests. In fact, they were one of Canada’s most widespread species, with distributions covering 80% of the country. However, there is a huge difference in size from Caribou to Stantler. Stantler has a height, with antlers, of 1.4 m and weight of 71 kg. Peary caribou (Rangifer tarandus pearyi) are the smallest subspecies of caribou, with a length of 1.4 m and weight of 60 kg (just for females) and a wither height of 90 cm, but it can be assumed that the antlers and head of large males can add another 60 or so centimeters. The largest caribou is the boreal caribou (Rangifer tarandus caribou, specifically of the mountain range ecotype), can weigh up to 210 kg for large bulls, and could have a height of 2.2 m with antlers. I will mention it is difficult to exactly pinpoint what the sizes for the subspecies are because most heights are measured at the shoulders but the point is, they can get big.

However, one thing that Stantler and other caribou share is that they can produce distinct scents. Caribou have scent glands near their ankles that they use to alert other caribou nearby of danger. Stantler have the ability to create certain sensations in those that stare at its antlers. I suspect that this would be caused by a pheromone similar to those found in real life caribou. As it mentions in the FireRed Pokédex, “those who stare at its antlers will gradually lose control of their sense and be unable to stand.” This is a significant defense mechanism that can be utilized by such a small caribou species. Furthermore, Stantler have another defense mechanism it can utilize with its antlers known as “deimatic behaviour” in which appendages are flashed which startle predators. This tactic is utilized by many butterfly species as they expose large eyes on their wings to startle predators. As a small caribou they may be subject to heavy predation, but by flashing their large antlers that are shaped like eyes they can eliminate any sort of stalking and ambush predation method as many predators only like to attack their prey from behind or when it cannot see the predator. An animal that utilizes this method very effectively and overlaps the habitat of caribou is the Siberian tiger.

It can be assumed that like other caribou, Stantler would most likely travel in large herds. This degree of sociality is a common heard tactic used by many animals to deter predation. It is difficult for predators to pick out a single individual to hunt, so many herd animals stay close together and move as a group. Based on the number of defense mechanisms including chemical hypnotism, preventing stalk and ambush attacks with their large eye shaped antlers, and remaining in a close group, I believe that Stantler would be an exceptionally adapted species for the boreal forest.

Foongus/Amoongus

One major characteristic boreal forest is the lack of nutrients in the soil. Because of the lack of diversity in boreal forests, and of course along with the poor growing climate, there are not a lot of plant species that will shed their leaves or die and contribute to the soil profile. In many boreal forests there is hardly any understory, or layer of plant growth that only gains minute exposure to sunlight that might break through the canopy. In more temperate forests there is an extensive understory with many species of shrubs and grasses that will contribute nutrients to the soil. Due to this, boreal forests have very poor, saturated and acidic soil.

This is why in the boreal forests many understory species are lichens, mosses, and mushrooms. These organisms require little nutrients and sunlight and have very shallow roots. Furthermore, many spores of mushroom species can survive extreme cold so they can continue to reproduce even in the extreme climate of the boreal. Despite the turnover rate of plant matter decomposing into soil being so slow, mushrooms and lichens still serve a vital purpose in helping break down that material. However, what happens when there are simply no recently living organisms to sustain them?

Foongus and Amoongus have strange anthropogenic patterns that I assume would not have developed naturally as Pokéballs are a man-made invention. The species must have adapted their pattern to represent something that would be so widely desired and utilized by humans – the Pokéball. These mushroom Pokémon must have developed the Pokéball pattern to attract strictly humans, as it states in the Pokémon White Pokédex that “they show off their Poké Ball caps to lure prey, but very few Pokémon are fooled by this.” Although many Pokémon species would simply ignore a Pokéball in the middle of the boreal forest, a curious human would probably investigate. A gruesome idea, but once a human ventures close to them, Foongus and Amoongus would release their toxic spores which would paralyze and eventually kill the human, providing the Pokémon with nourishment.

Hoothoot/Noctowl

Owls are a common sight and sound in the dead silent boreal forest, and boreal owls (Aegolius funereus) are one of the few birds that will tough the harsh winter without migrating to southern regions. Owl’s faces are shaped like giant bowls to help direct sound into its face and ears, which is useful in the middle of winter when there is hardly any movement from any prey. Most owls in the boreal are opportunistic predators, and feed on rodents, small birds, and occasionally carrion. In order to maintain its metabolic rate, some boreal owl species, such as the snowy owl (Bubo scandiacus) need to eat at least 7 mice a day.

Noctowl and Hoothoot are very similar in their biology to the animals that they are based off of. Noctowl is said to be able to see in pitch darkness, and many owl species also have this ability. This is particularly handy in northern boreal forests where in the winter daylight may only be present for a few hours. The Pearl Pokédex also states that “if it flips its head upside down, it’s a sign that it is engaged in very complex thinking.” This is likely a useful skill to have where prey may become scarce in winter months, and Noctowl have to think of where to either move to where prey may be, or even how to expose or locate some prey that may be hiding under the snow. It may be able to utilize its psychic abilities to even help it hunt.

Hoothoot is also very well adapted for the boreal for a couple reasons. Hoothoot is round, and a sphere has the lowest surface area to volume ratio. Because of this, Hoothoot would be able to retain much more heat energy and reduce air friction. This is why many animals sleep curled up in a ball or why we huddle up in a fetal position to keep warm. Another reason Hoothoot would be well adapted to the boreal is because of its red eyes. Red filter glasses are used to help increase depth of field, and to reduce blue light. Although Noctowl can see clearly in the dark, it may be more beneficial to be able to see better during the day when most boreal animals would be active. In the boreal, snow is present for the majority of the year, and the sunlight reflected off of the snow can be harsh on unprotected eyes. Red filters help reduce the glare of blue light and would relieve much of the stress on the eyes, even preventing bleaching of the rod receptors that can lead to blindness. This adaptation would allow Hoothoot to see clearly in the daylight with better depth perception and focus on prey without the risk of the sunlight blinding it. Even the black feathers may help reduce the glare from the snow, much like the black streak on football players’ or baseball players’ cheeks. I made a similar comparison to Mightyena’s facial patterns in the tundra post.

Buneary/Lopunny

Snowshoe hares (Lepus americanus) are very well adapted for life in the boreal. In fact, the snowshoe hare is a very ecologically important species as it is a food source for many boreal predators. Snowshoe hares can often be referred as keystone species because they are often described as critical to the survival of the entire boreal ecosystem. Keystone species have a disproportional effect on their environment relative to its abundance. Snowshoe hares aren’t just prey, they also help spread seeds through their droppings, aerate the soil, keep excessively growing plant species in control, they have a critical role in the boreal. But indeed, these hares are significantly crucial to predators as a source of food.

However, L. americanus has many adaptations that make it perfectly suited for life in boreal forests that Buneary and Lopunny don’t necessarily share. For one, snowshoe hare are round, which like Hoothoot, mean that they would have the lowest surface area to body ratio which help preserve body heat. Secondly, horseshoe hares extremedies are small or short, helping reduce the surface area. Snowshoe hare have relatively small ears, and compared to some desert species of hare such as the black-tailed jackrabbit which have large ears to help stay cool, snowshoe hare ears are small to help reduce body heat loss. The snowshoe hare also have long wide feet to help it travel across the surface of the snow without breaking the surface and sinking into the snow, hence the name snowshoe hare. Buneary doesn’t necessarily have large feet, and Lopunny’s small hind feet would definitely hinder its locomotive abilities on the snow. However, hare are symbolic of the boreal, and since there are not a whole ton of hare Pokémon, Buneary and Lopunny just might be the best to fit the bill.

There are definitely some adaptations that Buneary and Lopunny have that would help it survive in the boreal. Buneary and Lopunny have relatively large ears, which indicate that there is a high surface area of these Pokémon. Buneary can even roll up its ears and use them to punch, which means that the ears have extensive musculature and venation, making it even more susceptible to heat loss. However, being able to roll up the ears in cold climates would actually be beneficial as it would reduce surface area, and the tufts of fur offer further protection from the elements. Lopunny has a similar anatomical feature of large ears, but the ears also have large tufts of fur, and in the Diamond Pokédex Lopunny’s entry states that it will cloak its body with its fluffy ear fur when it senses danger. It could also utilize its ears to help protect it from the cold. It also has what appear to be some sort of forearm cover to help keep it warm. Although they may struggle travelling through the snow, Lopunny and Buneary are at least likely to stay warm in the boreal forest.

Well that’s it!

Thank you so much for reading. I apologize for the hiatus, but now that I have my degree I’m hoping to have more time for these Pokémon in our Biomes posts. I also want to apologize for the length of this post. I have a greater appreciation for environmental science, and want to express that in my analyses of how Pokémon may be adapted to their respective environments.

I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have any questions or comments on my work please let me know.

Please don’t take credit for my work.

62 notes · View notes

swpoliticsandmemes · 4 years

Text

Imperialism as explored by Star Wars. Sorry in advance.

I think it’s neat how ever since the good guy/American revolutionary vs bad guy/British empire set up in ANH, the Galactic Empire has been increasingly been grounded in more lucid and descript forms of violence, oppression and exploitation so that now we have one of the most monopolistic and soulless corporations (and in some ways the face of modern American capitalism), Disney, ironically owning a property that gives a competent account of what Empire looks like that doesn’t shy away from the political implications (many of which even go against Disney’s interests.)

First off we have the very shape galactic civilisation: densely populated Ecumenopolises such as Coruscant as well as other advanced and politically influential worlds like Alderaan and Chandrila are focused towards the Galactic core, while groupings of planets with decreasing levels of political and economic significant fall to further and further outskirts. It almost seems to be an intentional allusion to the core-periphery model that plays a central foundation to both Marxist and non-Marxist analyses of Imperialism. Although I’m resigned to accept it was more likely a natural tendency for the creators to put the centre of galactic civilisation in, well, the centre of the galaxy, although any look at the galactic map would possibly put this into question as most of the known space is heavily skewed to the Galactic east, and the deep core actually ends up being on one side of civilisation than in the centre.

Either way, the nature of the relationship between the core and the periphery ends up fitting the real-world model, and this is the case for not just the Empire but for the Republic too. In Phantom it’s just a matter of seeing a contrast between the criminally-run Tattooine to the vast wealth of the capital. I should say now that two key facets of this analysis is that 1. republics, even self-professed anti-imperialist ones (America, USSR, Iran come to mind), can and do engage in imperialism, and 2. there is, at least for some people, a sense of continuity between the Republic and the Empire. This latter point sort of reflects how the early Roman Empire claimed to be a continuation of the Roman Republic, as evidenced by the style of the address for the Emperor being ‘princeps’ or first-citizen, as opposed to the later ‘dominus’ or lord. While Mon Mothma and others would see the Republic as having been destroyed by Palpatine’s coup, men like Yularen and Tarkin smoothly transitioning between high-ranking positions in both governments, would disagree, although by the time of ANH the old systems had been so firmly eroded that even Tarkin gloats that the “last vestiges of the old republic have been swept away.” Nonetheless, the Core-periphery system remains and in fact is intensified during this time, with the Core cultural elite being emphasised in Thrawn and Princess of Alderaan (and reinforced on-screen with the constant overindulgence in English accents) and with assignments for Imperial officials being considered more worthy if being closer to the core.

With the core-periphery model being the basis assumption, there are three predominant models of imperialism. One is based off international realism, which we can dismiss out of hand because it depends on multiple independent states playing a zero-sum game on an anarchic chess board, but in the GFFA, with a few exceptions like the distant Chiss, there is an assumed universal (or in this case, galactic) governance. However, we will come back to IR realism in a bit. The other two models are in direct opposition with one another, although they are not mutually exclusive as most modern theorists try to adapt aspects from both.

One is the metrocentric view, based off the works of rabid antisemite J.A Hobson and general scumbag V.I. Lenin. The nub of their theories was that imperialism was an extension of surplus capital from industrialised nations, as the faster rate of growth in productivity outpaced demand in the home country/metropole (or core) it became more profitable to invest in less developed countries as lower wage-bases would help maintain a high rate of return. However, so many of these places had strong religious or cultural institutions or were even based on non-monetary sharing economies, which necessitated political intervention for a capitalist incursion to work, and so financial interests prompted national governments to dominate these countries, destroy said institutions and build physical infrastructure based around hard resource extraction.

In the sense that the Empire is centrally driven, this theory applies, although the motivation is different. As far as I’m aware, none of the major colonial empires were run by an evil cult centred around the totalitarian authority of one single individual and his acolytes (in this regard the Empire is more like Nazi Germany than anything else.) However, the Empire does clearly work on extracting value from peripheral planets to fund the opulence of the core, and with the clear distinction from the Republic where this process also happened, the Empire wields its military power to protect and accelerate that process, with Imperial Star Destroyers deploying to investigate a slave revolt on Kessel in Solo and a permanent military presence between the resource-depleted Gorse and Thorilide-rich Cynda in A New Dawn.

It’s difficult to ascribe the motivation for expansion in the Empire since it begins already controlling the Galaxy, although picking up on my earlier point about republics engaging in forms of Imperialism, we have something from Tarkin, when it’s revealed that the Republic expanded from the Core, “ravenous for new resources and not above exploiting to enhance the quality of their lives.” The book goes on to explains how competing financial interests propelled expansion, which is interesting because it possibly clues us into the instability underlying the Republic in the prequels, with unchecked financial interests causing corruption and unrest (just short of suggesting class conflict) and feelings of resentment from predominantly Outer Rim and non-human planets who join the CIS. Although the CIS was mostly just a project for those same opportunistic financial interests (such as slavers and interplanetary banking cartels), it’s interesting to note that the regular citizens genuinely thought they were fighting against the corruption of the Republic, with one Parliamentarian in The Clone Wars suggesting that unlike the Galactic Senate, the Raxus Parliament is not influenced by corporations.

But for the faults of both the Republic and the CIS, the Empire outstripped them both; bringing back slavery, coercing entire races such as the Geonotians to work before eradicating them, and with the word ‘stripmining’ becoming a very popular word among various OT media. However, a counterargument to this being a form of metrocentric Imperialism could be the relative non-presence of financial interests during the Empire era. Indeed, while most callous resource-extraction in Africa during the late 19th century was geared towards creating products to dump into world markets, most of the resource extraction we see in the Empire is about directly supplying the military (tibanna in Thrawn, thorilide in A New Dawn) and even the presence of people profiteering seems lacking. Even the villain most clearly associated with profit-seeking capitalism, Denetrius Vidian from A New Dawn, is a member of the Emperor’s inner circle. This alignment of industrial and state interests is probably why the Empire is described as being fascist by Wookiepedia. While I don’t contest the definition, I still think we can accurately compare it with late 19th century colonial Empires, which also had large military-industrial complexes to supply, and whose alignment with private joint-stock companies such as the East India Company is not too unlike the Empire’s close ties with the Mining Guild.

The opposing view is the pericentric model, which argues that the nature of Imperialism is more determined by local conditions, and that colonial empires preferred to rule with a light touch when necessary. The view was supported by the fact that different Imperial territories would have different arrangements. For example, Britain was content just taking a concession from Qing China and dumping Opium into its markets, while it became more direct involved with various African lands which didn’t have a relatively stable system of governance for which to work with. Meanwhile, Britain found itself entangled into occupation of Egypt after the local situation deteriorated after an anti-colonial rebellion, even under the generally anti-empire prime minister William E. Gladstone.

I feel this model applies less to the Empire, since we’ve seen that it pursues imperialism with an almost perverse fervour, but there are examples which fit. Although with less power, the Queen of Naboo remained as an institution, and Clan Saxon collaborated with the Empire and became a pro-Imperial client regime. Meanwhile, the King of Mon Cala resisted the Empire and so was deposed, with it being implicit that had he cooperated, he could have remained as ruler. In Rebels, we see how increasing insurgency leads to greater and greater direct control by the Imperial Navy. Ultimately, however, it’s clear that the Empire, contrary to the pericentric, has a greater inclination towards greater direct rule, with Tarkin saying in ANH that more power will be handed to the regional governors.

Finally, we return to realism, but not to investigate the Core-Periphery model any further but rather to look at another aspect of the Empire, it’s overextension. Part of this is probably to the do with the last point, its desire to control as much as possible, leading to Leia saying in ANH, “the more you tighten your grip, the more systems will slip through your fingers.” This form of realism, offensive realism, plays right into this. This theory comes from Jack Snyder’s The Myth of Empire, and it postulates that late 19th and early 20th century empires became fixated on constant expansion, to deter any incursion into their own hinterland and to break up opposing alliances. This policy, in fact, led to the opposite happening, with empires becoming too stretched thing to properly defend its hinterland, an being so aggressive as to prompt fearful opposing nations to band together to take them down.

In the Star Wars, we can see this in the Tarkin doctrine and the Death Star. The belief that total aggression will be necessary to deter even the slightest thought of resistance leads to an ungodly amount of resources being devoted to this one superweapon, at the expense of other projects getting less than they need (as explored in Thrawn: Treason with both protagonist and antagonist feeling rather miffed by the lack of funding for their own projects). The destruction of Alderaan (among countless other cruelties and war crimes) does more to spur on the Rebellion than anything else, especially once the superweapon they spent so much of their resources on gets taken right from under them. And in a way perhaps that’s the good thing about any empire, that it sows the seeds of its own destruction half the time.

So yeah, sorry about this ungodly and incomprehensible overanalysis of an IP for children. It ended up being way longer than I thought it would, and this was just about imperialism (empire on a grand scale, as opposed to colonialism which would be the specific practices employed by empire in a territory.) I might make another one of these if I get the time.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars rebels #the clone wars #rebels #a new hope #the phantom menace #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith #tarkin #thrawn #thrawn: treason #a new dawn #princess of alderaan #leia #imperialism #empire #republic #essay

45 notes · View notes

fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

Text

Ways To Say You Care

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky’s been out of the dating game for a while, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his eye on someone. Courting someone is a bit different these days, but people still like ‘secret admirers’ right? He hopes you do.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, such fluff, just…fluff

Words: 3106

A/N: I had an idea for a Valentine’s Day fic that actually split into two different fics. So this week is Bucky x Reader because it lost the explicit ‘Valentine’s Day’ setting and just turned out romantic, whereas next week is a Castiel x Reader that is themed for the holiday. This fic is one of those that turned out much different than I expected but I still like the end result, and I hope you enjoy it too.

“Man, you have got this down to an art.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says and sips his drink. He flicks his eyes back down to the paper he’s pretending to read. “Are you staring? You better not be staring.”

“I’m not staring,” Sam chuckles. “You know, this whole thing would be creepy if they weren't checking you out almost as much.”

Bucky smiles into the newsprint. He glances up but you’re sitting on the other side of a wide path, focused on your book with little headphones in your ears. But then– you do glance up, and as soon as you see Bucky looking you hide your face in the pages. He’s pretty sure he saw you smile, though.

“Seriously,” Sam says. “When are you going to say ‘hi’?”

“I’m working on it.” Bucky flips to the next section. “I’ve got to start facing rejection sometime.”

“There’s no reason to be negative like that.”

“They don’t know who I am.”

“Ease up on the angst there, Batman.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they do. There’s not exactly a surplus of people with metal arms. Not even in this city.”

Bucky frowns and checks his arm– long sleeves, gloves, and a jacket usually cover him well enough. “Where’s it showing?”

“It isn’t now, but it did.” Sam’s grin is a bright warning sign. “Remember? That day I knocked you on your ass?”

Bucky scoffs and shoots him a glare. “More like when you knocked me on my face.”

“Well it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.”

“Har fucking har.” But Bucky smirks. “I do remember that, actually. ‘Cause I remember after you knocked me down and they came over and tore you a new one. You remember that?”

Sam snorts. “I remember it took you way too long to tell them I was your friend.”

“I had to decide if you still were.”

“Fuck you, Barnes.”

“No thanks Wilson; I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Sam laughs and Bucky smiles. He watches you though, as you place your bookmark, pack up, and slowly walk away to the main path where runners, cyclists, and the rest of the riffraff eventually swallow you up.

“Seriously,” Sam says. “I’m not Steve and I’m not your therapist; I’m not going to push you. But I am your friend. Please tell me you’re going to do something about this.”

Bucky folds his paper neatly. “Don’t worry– I have a plan.”

Gift One

Bucky is practically fidgeting, he’s so nervous. He’s trying to call on the Winter Soldier side of himself but it isn’t working. On one hand, it’s comforting that it doesn’t come so easy anymore. On the other hand, he could really use it right now.

Though from a completely different hand, it’s possible that even the Soldier is terrified by this.

Someone is coming down the path and Bucky’s eyes dart from side to side until he sees you and forces his vision back to his paper. He should be relaxing, now that he doesn’t have to keep such a sharp eye out for interlopers, but he feels like a crushed-up ball of nerves.

You slow when you notice the card propped on your usual bench, innocent red envelope addressed on the basis of your favorite jacket and your taste in books. Bucky is very careful not to be seen looking, but he watches your every move. You pick up the envelope and keep your eyes on it as you sit, and you barely set your things to the side before you start (gently) prying open the flap.

Bucky watches as you read the card. It was the least cheesy one he could find at the store and the message he wrote was very simple, but your smile lights up your whole face and you let your eyes dart over it again and again and Bucky has to shove his paper up over his face and breathe deep in effort not to rip it because he did that? He had thought you’d be pleased but he never thought he could make anyone smile like that.

He forces himself to calm down. Even though you spend your morning intermittently picking up the card, Bucky doesn’t break rank. He has a plan and he is going to see it through.

After you pack up and leave, smile still on your face, Bucky does allow himself to drop the paper to his lap and sigh.

At least he’s off to a good start.

Gift Two

There’s a small box on your bench.

At first, Bucky was going to put another envelope there but it didn’t sit right with him to do the same thing twice. Even though this is technically different.

The original plan was one gift card. A simple gift that could be personalized to a moderate extent. Then he got stuck between two perfectly good options– he’s seen you with Starbucks, and he’s seen you with books. Both, all the time. Which one do you love more? Warm drinks are good for this chilly weather, but books are also comforting.

In the end he mostly stuck with the plan and got a Starbucks gift card. And then he realized that he’d be setting out another envelope, so he then got you a pair of earbuds, and put both gifts in a small box.

So the plan is already off the rails and he doesn’t like it one bit. Then, as you approach the bench and see the small present, your eyes light up, and it’s when you start to open it that Bucky sees another problem with this plan.

Neither of his gifts have been signed. Sure, it’s reasonable for you to assume that it’s him leaving them– he’s always present and Sam is right, you both have been trading glances for a while– but the fact is that you don’t know who that box is from and you’re not being cautious at all; you just open it and–

Your smile makes Bucky relax. This will be a problem later, but for now he just enjoys watching you appreciate your gifts. “This is so nice,” you murmur to yourself. Not too nice, Bucky notes with relief. Maybe being a little bold isn’t so bad after all.

His phone buzzes and Bucky curses as he pulls it out. Naturally it’s Steve with a “situation” and command to get to the tower ASAP. Bucky confirms, but practically breaks the phone when he ends the call. He takes one last look at your blissful expression before he runs off.

Gift Three

Bucky is exhausted.

He just got back last night and spent too much time tracking down a flower store that was still open. The rest of the team is going to be sleeping for the next few days– even Steve had looked at him funny when he was leaving the house.

“You're up,” Bucky pointed out.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” Steve asked and gestured at his pajama pants and t-shirt. “Is everything okay Buck?”

Bucky hesitated. “It’s…good. It’s going really good. I’ll tell you about it later.”

Steve’s smile was so big Bucky could already feel the boa constrictor hug incoming, and if Steve squashed the flowers in Bucky’s coat, Bucky really would murder him this time. “Now eat your Wheaties and go nap in front of the TV, old man,” Bucky said and swung the door open.

“Have fun feeding your birds,” Steve said. Bucky flipped him off and slammed the door shut.

It’s not a bouquet, just two flowers tied together with ribbon and positioned carefully, but as simple as it is, Bucky likes it and hopes that you do too. He can barely pretend to read, his eyes are so heavy, but his stubborn persistence is rewarded.

If you’ve ever had doubts about where the gifts have been coming from, they’re probably well abolished after several days with no gift and then only getting one on Bucky’s return. However you still humor him, regarding the flowers without looking at him, and quietly thanking your “secret admirer,” your smile widening greatly on those two words.

Bucky feels at peace as he sits with his book and you sit with yours, until you have to go. Reluctantly, Bucky stands and stretches. Maybe he’ll have a nap. A short one. This next present is going to be the penultimate and it needs to be perfect.

Gift Four

He finished it.

It’s sitting on the bench, folded carefully and looking as good as it can. Bucky fidgets– mostly to keep himself awake. Steve had barged in at two a.m. and threatened to tranq him. Bucky had responded by throwing a spare needle into the wall next to his head. Bucky’s going to have to apologize later, and fix the wall, but it was all worth it– the scarf turned out amazing, if he does say so himself. And he does. Say so. Or think so. Christ, he’s tired.

As soon as you catch sight of it you gasp and rush over. It’s all even more worth it as Bucky watches you unravel the scarf and feel it over. He knew it would be worth it, but it’s one thing to ‘know’ and it’s something else to see you running your hands over every purl before you throw the whole thing around your neck and nuzzle it with your cheek.

So worth it.

Bucky’s phone rings and he’s content when he answers. “Barnes.”

“Bucky,” Steve says. “Please. You have got to get some sleep.”

Bucky watches you for a moment while he takes stock of his body. “Okay.”

“You– wait,” Steve says. “Okay?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Bucky says and stands. “You want me to pick up breakfast on the way?”

“Uh…sure. Bagels. And coffee– but none for you,” Steve says sternly. “And yes, I forgive you for trying to spear me with a knitting needle.”

Bucky snorts. “If I had really wanted to, I would have.”

“Mm hm,” Steve says. “So? How’d it go?”

Bucky considers it. “Good,” he decides.

“Good?” Steve repeats, sounding disappointed.

“I’m not done yet,” Bucky says, giving a courtesy glance before crossing. “Tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Steve says. “You better come home and get some sleep then.”

“That’s the idea,” Bucky says and hangs up. He’ll catch crap for it when he gets home, but that’s okay. Steve’s right– Bucky has to rest before tomorrow.

Gift Five

The bench is empty.

Bucky sits, second-guessing himself and glaring at the sky. It downpoured overnight and has already rained again once on his way over. Lightly, but still. He’s not sure if you’ll even come, but he hopes, and his sleeves are wet from wiping the benches dry.

Thankfully, you arrive. Wearing the scarf. He’s too slow to look away and so there’s a moment of brief eye contact. You smile at him, and what’s more– you hesitate. Bucky feels his heart speed up. Is this it? It’s too soon, he’s not ready; he hasn’t prepared enough for– but you take your seat, and Bucky is left with retreating adrenaline and echoes of a racing heartbeat.

You take out your book and he focuses on his, for something grounding. He’s too nervous right now; he just needs a little time to calm down. Natasha has said he gets ‘loom-y’ when he’s nervous and as out of practice as he is, he knows that’s not how you want to ask someone on a date. So he’s just going to take a moment.

The weather has a problem with this plan.

When Bucky sees the first droplet land on the page, he curses. He shuts the book fast but not before more rain wets the page and he hurries to pop open his umbrella just before the cloudburst truly starts.

When he sees you, though, you’re still struggling with your umbrella and getting soaked in the meantime. He leaps up and rushes over, and only realizes what he’s done when you look up at him with a grateful smile. He freezes.

“Thank you,” you say.

He’s still frozen. You go back to fighting with your umbrella and after an eternity he manages to mumble, “You're welcome.”

“What?” you ask and squint up at him through the water still running down your face. He shakes his head and gestures for your umbrella while holding his to you. He crouches down so he can (mostly) stay under the cover while he tries to fix the problem. You scoot in and when he glances to the side he’s practically nose-to-spine with the book in your lap, and only centimeters away from your fingers, which are curled lightly around the waterlogged binding.

The fact that you’re hovering over him spurs him into working faster, but two of the wires are completely busted and no amount of coaxing is going to make it fan right. He looks up to give you the bad news but his face must say it all. You sigh. “I thought so,” you say sadly and glance at your book similarly. “Thank you anyway.”

You hand him back his umbrella and he stands and waits for you to do the same. You look at him curiously. “I’ll walk you to the street,” he says, thanking any deity who’s listening for his suddenly functioning vocal cords. “Until you get a cab.”

“Oh, I don’t want to put you out.”

“I insist.” The words surprise him as much as they surprise you, but you smile. Boldness rewarded, he bends his free arm out in offering.

“I’m soaked,” you say apologetically.

“So am I,” he says, even though he’s damp and you look like you’ve jumped in a lake.

You take his arm and, wet or not, he could stand here all day. Except you shiver and he knows now is not the moment he needs. He waves down a cab in record time. While holding the umbrella at the back door for you, he raps sharply on the passenger window. As you’re still maneuvering into the car Bucky leans in and hands the driver practically enough cash to get you to Canada. “Wherever they want to go; keep the change.”

The man’s eyes go wide and he nods rapidly. Bucky moves back to you just as you settle in.

“Thank you,” you say. You smile nervously. “I’ll…see you when the weather gets better?”

He nods. “Go warm up; don’t want you to catch a cold,” he says. You nod and he stands there awkwardly for a moment before he reluctantly steps back and shuts the door, letting the car speed off. It didn’t go as planned, but that’s all right. He’s going to make this work.

Gift…One

There’s something on his bench.

And there’s someone watching him.

The something is a messily wrapped present that sort of resembles a circle. Vaguely. The someone watching is…you. Hiding behind a tree up the path.

Bucky laughs quietly to himself and goes to take his seat. He picks up the gift and finds a small card underneath. ‘For your running shoes,’ it reads and is signed by ‘your (mutual) secret admirer.’

Bucky can’t stop smiling, and he barely resists the urge to look up at you. Instead he opens his present. Shoelaces. Three bundles, each pair with unique patterns and vibrant colors. Well, Sam always says he wears too much black. Wait’ll he sees these.

Bucky hears you dart off and he watches you speed-walk away. After you almost collide with someone when you try to glance back, you keep your head forward and make your escape. Apparently his plan is officially on hold. That’s all right– Bucky is learning how to roll with the punches on this particular mission. He pockets the gift and card. He’s gotta go lace up his shoes.

Gift Two

The next day he finds a gift card for The Strand. He watches you go again, and when you glance back and notice he’s watching you, you trip over your feet and barely catch yourself from falling.

It figures. Bucky has always loved disasters. He wouldn’t live with one if he didn’t.

Gift Three

A warm beanie. Hand-bought if not hand-made, but Bucky loves it just as much. It’s cool blue and grey, and he puts it on immediately.

He hears a soft, “yes!” just before you run away.

Gift Four

This gift seems more traditional and Bucky unwraps it carefully. It’s a small photo frame, and inside is a candid shot of Steve and Sam wrestling after, Bucky assumes, the two of them tripped each other up.

When he gets home he makes room for it right in the center of the mantle. Steve mutters about how the two of you at least have creepy stalking in common. Bucky socks him in the arm so hard that Steve glares at him off and on for the rest of the day.

When Bucky arrives the next day, there’s no gift, and you’re reading in your usual spot.

He walks right over and asks, “Can I sit here?”

You shut your book too fast to save your spot but you nod, and Bucky takes his seat while you struggle to find the right page again. Once you do, and mark it, he clears his throat. “I’m…James. Barnes. But I go by Bucky.”

That could have gone better, but you don’t seem to notice as you introduce yourself. Bucky hesitates for just a moment before he plows forward. “This might sound out of the blue but I was wondering…if you’d like to go to dinner with me tonight?”

You grin and your body slouches in unmistakable relief. “That is pretty quick,” you say. “You only just learned my name.”

“It’s a really great name,” Bucky says and you laugh. You laugh. Because of him.

“How can I resist a compliment like that?” you say. “I’d love to.”

This is the best day of Bucky’s life.

“But…”

He stops mentally patting himself on the back, but you’re still smiling. “Dinner’s a long time away,” you say. “Maybe you’d like to come to breakfast with me?”

Bucky falls back to a familiar smile. “I’d love to.”

You get up and extend your right hand straight out for his left. Bucky goes to grab it, unthinking, until he notices which hand and– he freezes.

“Bucky.”

He looks at you. You look so patient. So gentle. “If it makes you uncomfortable then that’s one thing,” you say. “But I know. And you don’t have to worry on my account.”

He pauses, but slips his hand into yours, and he doesn’t let go for a very long time.

#bucky x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #avengers fanfic #avengers reader insert #captain america fanfic #captain america reader insert #romance

275 notes · View notes