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crystaljins · 4 years

Text

Equinox

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 7.2K

Synopsis: When it first was announced that the King of Spring was to marry the Queen of Winter, shock and outrage poured across the nation. Now, six months later, Jimin can’t help but feel maybe the Queen of Winter isn’t as evil as she seems.

King of spring!Jimin x Queen of Winter!reader

Notes: This is NOT the huge fic I’m working on LOL. It’s a drabble that turned into a BIG drabble, in dedication to my good friend, who wanted to see a fic where both main characters are royalty.

Well, here we are.

Warnings: Not really any? Pining, maybe, mentions of death and tragedy, and maybe one big kiss?

Jimin has spent an entire three months of the year in the Central Palace every year since his coronation as the King of Spring. Yet, despite his familiarity with the luxurious building, this year it feels particularly unbearable.

It isn’t the palace itself that is unbearable. After all, the Central Palace fulfils any need he could have for luxury and then some, with expansive grounds and an imposing throne room and a ball room that many have only dreamed of seeing. It almost reaches the point where he’s sick of it sometimes- the gold rimmed pillars and the intricate carvings of the stairwell railings and the other numerous unnecessary and excessively decadent detailing.

It’s just... He much prefers his small cottage and the lovely little orchard he looks after. Sometimes children from the local village will sneak in and steal fruit but he merely smiles privately to himself when he hears the peals of laughter filter through the open windows of his home. And ever since he received a letter a week ago informing him that you had made his cottage your current abode, he has been inexplicably eager to return home.

The end of his current stay (which has actually been a six month stay this time around instead of the usual three) draws near, with Spring just on the precipice of Summer. As the reigning King of Spring, it is his duty to oversee the entire kingdom during the season where his powers are strongest, to manage the season and ensure his people prosper, and then prepare the way for the Queen of Summer to take his place for the next three months.

Today is one of the days where his duty feels particularly tedious- he has never particularly minded Haeun and her chatty nature, but today she just seems absolutely asinine. Perhaps it is the fact that she seems uninterested in discussing anything aside from the current status of the Queen of Winter when there are so many more important things to discuss, like the crop maturation this year and how much sunlight would best benefit their ripening, or even the Equinox Ball tonight which marks the official changeover between his season and her’s. Instead, the only words that have been coming out of her mouth are with regards to you, and him, and your fairly recent wedding.

When he had been wedded to you on the Winter Solstice, many had been shocked, but none more so than the Queen of Summer. After all, for the last few hundred years, the one who bears the crown of Summer had always been betrothed to the ruler of Spring. It was only natural, as Spring prepares the way for Summer, and such a pairing enhances the powers of both parties. The kingdom had faced many centuries of prosperity thanks to what was essentially a match forged in the heavens. No doubt in Haeun’s mind, her rightful place was as his bride. And Jimin can’t blame her- for many years, he had thought the same thing. He had assumed his life would follow a similar path to those of his predecessors and that he would inevitably end up marrying Summer. And yet, here he is, married to the evasive, mysterious, and apparently cruel Queen of Winter.

It had been the Elders to make the call to arrange such a shocking match up. To have the Queen of Winter marry the King of Spring was unheard of- ridiculous, even. But you were unlike the rulers that had gone before you- your powers were endless, unstoppable, and the Winters brought by you were unforgiving and cold, and many lost their lives. Something had to be done- your powers had to be balanced since you couldn’t seem to reign them in. And since it has always been Spring to conquer the cold aftereffects of Winter, to warm the earth and coax life back into places where frost had chased it away, it fell to Jimin to take the place as your husband and to prevent disaster striking the Kingdom. A duty which he had taken up with a resigned sense of obligation.

At least at first.

“So are the rumours all true about her?” Haeun enquires. Her question seems innocent enough. For whatever reason, you had always remained frustrating allusive to the others. Locked away in your wintry fortress (or at least, everyone assumes that’s where you must be despite the fact that no one has ever confirmed the presence of a fortress within your domain), everyone reports that you must be ruthless and cold-hearted. Perhaps even evil- after all, when you are seated upon the throne, the harshest and most brutal Winters ever seen in history terrorise the lands.

But the question has Jimin on edge, for he has found that you do not fit nicely into the box of icy and cruel that he had thought you would.

“I would say those rumours do not hold an ounce of truth to them.” Jimin offers mildly, pausing from where he strolls along Haeun to observe a rose bloom that has begun to wilt. Normally, the palace gardens are impeccable, and the gardens thrive during Jimin’s reign, but things always seem to get a bit messy at the transition between seasons. This particular bloom must be the victim of his and Haeun’s powers clashing as she prepared to take the throne for her season. He gently runs his fingers over the drooping petals and instantly the rose brightens, petals curling upwards as it finds new life in response to his presence. It reminds him of the first time you had borne witness to the effect of his powers and the quiet awe on your face. Not for the first time since Spring began, he feels a strange ache in his chest at the thought of you. You’re at his cottage right now, surely. What kind of expression are you wearing as you gaze upon his carefully kept orchard?

“Really? She’s always so haughty at the Equinox ball that I was sure she thought she was better than us. Just because her powers are stronger- does she not know that people die because of her?” Haeun sniffs, clearly displeased by the way Jimin has not joined in her obvious attempts to complain about you.

“I think she is aware of it.” Is all Jimin offers to Haeun, but internally he recalls the way you lock yourself in your quarters for the night whenever word reaches you that another innocent has died at the cold hands of Winter, and the way you spend most of your free time pouring over books and texts trying to learn how you might control your powers and soften your Winters. Haeun makes an annoyed scoff and folds her arms across her chest.

“Being aware of it isn’t enough, Jimin.” She says, and Jimin does not miss the way she uses his name when it is customary to call him by his season. “She needs to control it. We all do! It is the whole reason we take the throne. What use is she, if she cannot manage her own season? If I had were Winter, I would-“

“Haeun.” Jimin says firmly, and her eyes widen because even though she often takes liberties and calls him by his name, he has always been respectful and referred to her as Summer when it comes to the transition meetings between seasons. “It is not my place to discuss the personal life of Winter. And as her husband, I respectfully ask that you do not speak so liberally about my wife again. Unless you have anything further to discuss about the Equinox Ball tonight or about the occurrences during my season, I’ll be taking my leave now.”

He bows deeply, demonstrating the respect her position demands, before turning on his heel.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She calls out. Jimin pauses, glancing over his shoulder. The sun peeking through the pillars of the pathway catches Haeun’s hair and highlights the softness of her features. Across the land, she is known as the sunlit beauty- warm and gentle and pretty, like the Summer season she reigns over. When he was young and still a prince and everyone had thought she was his future wife, he had even harboured a crush on her. “That you’re stuck with her? All she brings is coldness and death. You were forced into it- I know you were! Doesn’t it hurt to be wedded to her?”

The unspoken sentiment that Haeun does not voice is “when you could have been with me”. Looking at her now, perhaps her sudden interest in you has more to do with Jimin than any real sentiment towards your actions.

And perhaps, Haeun’s words are closer to the truth then he wants them to be. Initially, it had bothered him. Why had the Elders had forced him to marry you? Was there not an easier way to subdue your immense powers? Why could you not just... control them? Even Autumn, free-spirited and lazy as he was, kept his season well-managed. And why did it fall to Jimin to fix something that was your own fault? Haeun was a much better match for him in terms of strengthening his powers, and he absolutely loathed the season of Winter- marrying the ruler of his least favourite season is certainly not something he had ever imagined doing.

He had spent the first three months of his marriage staying with you in the Central Palace fuelled by that sentiment and at first you had made yourself very scarce. It had suited Jimin just fine- after all, he did not bear any particular affection towards you- perhaps he even detested you a little, and if the rumours were to be believed, he’d be better off interacting with you as little as possible.

And then things had changed, for whatever reason. He can’t be sure what prompted you to do it, but one morning you had been sitting across from him in the dining quarters, enjoying your breakfast in silence as had become customary for the two of you, when you had decided to speak.

“Winter isn’t as bad as you think.” You had said softly, taking a long sip of your drink, before fixing Jimin with a level gaze. He had glanced up in surprise- at that stage he could probably count on one hand the number of times you had spoken in his presence.

“I never-“ Jimin had begun, ready to defend himself but you had cut him off.

“You didn’t have to.” You had said, though your tone had not been unkind. You actually have a very sweet voice, one that contrasts with your icy reputation. “But, today I have nothing scheduled, and I wouldn’t mind showing you a few things. It must be better than wondering aimlessly around the palace.”

Against his better judgement, perhaps, Jimin had accepted. Whatever his feelings were towards you, he was sick of wondering aimlessly. He missed his little cottage and he was beginning to grow sick of the giant, draft-y Central Palace. Any change to the lethargic rhythm of his days, even if it meant spending the day with you, was a welcome one.

And you were right. Wintertime is more than coldness and death. As the ruler of Spring, he had always thought of it as such- after all, it has always been his duty to remedy the devastation left behind by Winter. But Winter is also a time of festivities- of huddling in the warmth of a fire along side your family. Its catching snowflakes on your tongue and children laughing as they skate over frozen lakes and form little ice sculptures from snow. He hadn’t known it until he spent those three months with you. And after that first day where you had taken him out to a frozen lake close to the palace and shown him how to ice skate, spending time with you had become more of a regular occurrence.

Which brings him to today.

“I’m not stuck with her.” Is what Jimin finally says to Haeun, who deflates, just slightly. He does not explain any further- he’s not sure he can. He certainly doesn’t feel the burden of obligation that had weighted his every step when he first married you. He perhaps even misses you, after three months of separation. It’s all a little scary and confusing but all he knows for sure is that being married to you is no longer the offensive chore he initially viewed it as.

This time when Jimin turns away, she does not stop him. He is relieved- he is sick of hearing Haeun speak so disrespectfully about you. He’s sick of the way servants whisper in the halls when you walk past. He’s sick of the way travellers tell stories of evil Winter, who takes lives for fun and revels in the cruelty of her blizzards. He doesn’t know why, given that it has only been six months since he married you, and three whole months since he even last saw you in person, but he feels a strange protectiveness towards you. Just the thought of those whispers when he knows of you, curled up beneath the security of a warm blanket on the hearth, with the fire’s glow highlighting your features, still studying away even after a full days’ worth of royal duties so that you can learn to control your powers makes his heart ache. He wishes, just once, that he had been brave enough to curl up beside you and to listen to the steady sound of your breathing, the rhythmic turn of a page, the crackle of the fire’s warmth. Or brave enough to hush the terrible whispers. Anything to wipe that expression you get on your face when you know people are thinking unpleasant things about you. That guarded, reserved expression that he knows is concealing a broken heart.

“My Lord!” Jimin hears a voice call, and he almost curses. He wants nothing more than to return to his quarters and begin packing up. It has now been six months since he has been in his actual home, and when he received that letter from you a week ago informing him that you had taken up residence in his home, he had only been more eager to return. He wants to know what his home looks like with you in it. He wants to know what you look like in the brightness of Summer, away from the grief and cold of Winter. He wants to see you again to the point it is almost alarming. “My Lord!” The voice calls again, and one of the servants skids to a stop before Jimin. It is Namjoon. Jimin recalls his name because Namjoon is one of the few servants you are rather fond of.

“Hello, Namjoon.” Jimin greets warmly, and Namjoon looks surprised and delighted at the sound of his name. “How can I be of service?”

Namjoon is slightly out of breath, and he reaches for the pocket of his trousers, fishing around until he produce a single crumpled piece of paper.

“It is a letter from Winter.” Namjoon says. “She asked me to relay to you that she will not be attending the Equinox Ball and that she shall see you tomorrow at the your domain.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and he quickly snatches the paper from Namjoon’s hand. He does not mean to be quite so aggressive with his movements, but he is shaken at the way you have abruptly cancelled. Without even realising it, he had hyped himself up at the thought of seeing you again after a long three months.

It’s a lengthy apology, neatly written and well-articulated. It basically gives an entire, eloquent list of flimsy excuses as to why you should not attend.

But Jimin sees straight through it. Perhaps in the past, he would have let it be. Let you sit at home and then awkwardly greet you in his cottage the next morning. But now that he knows the way your expression shutters when people mutter rude things under their breath about you, now that he knows the way you lie awake at night, haunted by grief and guilt, he knows that you are running away. After all, the whispers had only gotten worse after your marriage- the Evil Queen of Winter shackling the charming and kind King of Spring is certainly quite the tale to set tongues wagging.

And while Jimin hates the thought of you spending an evening in discomfort when there are about a thousand better ways for you to spend your time, he hates the thought of people thinking of his marriage to you as a tragic event even more. He wants to stroll into the ballroom with your hand in his, to proudly show off that he is not some tragic heroine trapped in a loveless marriage to an evil overlord. He wants people to see you, your kindness and your sweetness. He wants people to realise that Winter can be even warmer than Summer sometimes, in the right circumstances.

“Is she currently in my domain?” Jimin asks softly, but he knows from the floral, woodsy scent of the paper that it was written in his home. Namjoon hesitates before offering an awkward nod.

“I believe so.” He admits. “The messenger who brought the letter was one of the keepers of your orchard.”

Jimin nods, tonguing thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek. A well-cared for horse would allow him to reach his home within a couple of hours. He keeps his own horses at the cottage who would be able to take the two of you back in time for nightfall. He is to give a speech at the Ball and that will be his last official duty until next year. And for whatever reason, he does not want to give the speech if you are not there, amongst the crowd. It’s still possible if he leaves now.

“Ready a horse for me, Namjoon,” Jimin finally says, shoving the letter into the pocket of his trousers. He’ll have to change into gear more appropriate for a long ride.

“But, my liege, the ball-“ Namjoon protests.

“I’ll be there.” Jimin reassures him, though his expression is grim. “And so will my wife.”

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice.

Jimin has really, truly missed his home. Nothing quite compares to it. When they had first identified him as heir to the throne of Spring, the Elders had initially planned for him to stay in the castle inhabited by his predecessors. After all, since he did in theory bear their spirit, the castle should technically be to his tastes.

But he guess he differs to his previous incarnations, since he only lasted a few weeks before he moved into the cottage his parents owned close to the castle. It’s not unusual for tastes to change like that with different incarnations of Spring- though he feels that he can recall their previous lifetimes if he thinks very hard about it, they are different people and incarnations. The only traits he shares with those who had gone before is his power over the season of Spring.

Perhaps that is why, despite the fact that previous Springs have deeply loved Summer, he cannot stop thinking about Winter. Especially as the edge of the orchard draws into view.

Oddly, you aren’t in the cottage when he enters. There’s evidence that you’ve been staying there- some of your books are scattered over his work desk and the gardening implements around the back of the cottage are shifted around as if someone has been sorting through them. But it does not take long to locate you deep in the orchard, crouched beneath the orange tree. You don’t seem to have registered his presence yet given that you continue to mutter to yourself as you stab aggressively at the soil with a tiny hand shovel he recognises from the implements he keeps around the back of his cottage.

He’s about to confront you, but the sight of you, crouched down and wearing oversized trousers and an ugly, soil covered shirt he recognises from the very back of his wardrobe, has him completely frozen. It’s hard to explain the emotion- a powerful, roaring wave crashing down on the peaceful shorelines of his heart.

“(Y/N),” your name comes in a exhale of his breath, one that’s not entirely voluntary. It’s his mistake though, because you were absolutely not anticipating his presence, and you leap about a metre in the air in your shock.

Stumbling back a few steps in a sort of awkward crab walk, revealing your handy work. A small hole you had been digging and a handful of withered, lifeless daffodils.

“J-Jimin,” you stutter, and your accidental use of his name when you had previously only referred to him as Spring has his heart racing in his chest for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. “T-this isn’t what it looks like!” You cry. “I was just...”

It takes a moment, but Jimin manages to shake himself out of the trance long enough to realise that the withered and lifeless daffodils just so happen to be his favourite flowers from

his front garden. Immediately, whatever mysterious emotion that had overcome him prior is replaced by abject horror.

“My daffodils!” He cries, stricken with grief. And they had been so young, as well! Such lovely, bright blooms, withered and dried up! Abruptly, you scramble to your feet and dust the soil from your hands and knees, scrambling towards him.

“I was just trying to water them!” You cry, hands outstretched in an attempt to calm him in his distress. “I don’t have any flowers in my domain since the ground is not very fertile and I was just trying to tend to them!”

“They’re dead!” Jimin points out. “How much did you water them?”

You pause, shrinking under his gaze, before holding up ten fingers.

“Ten?” Jimin asks, and you nod. “Ten what?”

You mumble something he doesn’t quite catch. He steps closer in an attempt to decipher your sheepish mumblings.

“What?” Jimin asks, and you sigh before fixing him with a steady glare.

“Ten buckets!” You cry. “I asked your gardener and she told me that these are fickle plants that require constant moisture!”

“So you watered them with ten buckets of water? You drowned my daffodils!” He cries. You deflate, just slightly, glancing forlornly at the fallen remains of his beloved babies. He’d so carefully tended to them as well! They were just reaching the point where he could lift the buds and replant them. There’s a nice sunny spot at the back of the orchard that they would have thrived in, and now... and now...

“I’m sorry for your loss.” You finally offer, stepping forward to comfortingly pat at his shoulder. “They lived a good life, under your care,” you continue. “And once you finish off your duties at the Equinox Ball tonight I’m sure you can...” You trail away slowly, and the hand stroking his shoulder slows its pats. And then you gasp in horror when you register that Jimin is here, in his orchard, grieving over some dead daffodils instead of finalising preparations for the Equinox Ball. “Jimin!” You cry. “The Ball! How can you be here? You’re supposed to be preparing for the Ball.”

“Well,” Jimin snaps, perhaps a bit more grumpy than the situation really warranted, but you also killed his lovely daffodils. “I am supposed to be there, but my lovely wife decided she’d much rather kill my daffodils and hide the evidence instead of attend the Ball as is her duty!”

You flush, a shade that he can’t help notice is a rather endearing shade despite everything. Dimly, he recalls that overwhelming feeling he’d experienced when he first saw you earlier, but he pushes it down. There are more pressing matters to attend to- his daffodils can be given a proper burial later.

“Yes, well, as you read in my letter, I thought it would be far better for me to-“ you begin, clearing your throat awkwardly as you often do before giving a formal address. It only irks him further that you’re placating him as if he’s a random parliament member who needs coddling or a foreign emissary you have to charm. He’s your husband and he’s sick of people- you included- pretending otherwise.

“You’re running away.” He offers quietly, and your eyes widen. Perhaps you had been expecting him to dance around the bushes. After all, three months ago during Winter, though you had grown undeniably closer, there had always been the feeling of treading on eggshells around each other. Like neither of you really knew how to react together. But a lot has changed, in three months. Jimin has had three months to overthink and to pretend he doesn’t know the name for the feelings of longing he can’t shake off and to deny that he misses you and now that you’re finally here in front of him, he does not want to waste another second.

That crashing, roaring wave in his heart will not quieten, and finally he gives it a platform to pour out.

“You’re scared. I get that. You don’t know what you’re feeling and everyone and their mother seems to have an opinion on our marriage and maybe you think it will be easier if you stay out of the public eye,” Jimin tells you urgently. He steps forward as if he is approaching a startled deer. “But it won’t be. They won’t ever stop. So why let them dictate what makes you happy?”

You just stare at him, speechless, and he takes your silence as permission to step a little closer. Every movement he makes is slow and steady- you have to option to pull away at any moment. He stretches out a hand, wraps his fingers around yours and then raises your hand slowly towards his heart, letting you rest your palm flat against the thrumming rhythm.

“I missed you.” They aren’t the words he intended to say. He’s not even entirely sure what words he had planned to convince you to come with him. But those words are the ones that burst forth. He can’t hold back anymore. He feels like he’s spent three whole months trying to prevent a volcano from erupting, and he’s exhausted. He can’t hold back anymore, he can’t keep up the facade that he’s ok, when you took his heart with you when you agreed to move out of the Central Palace at the request of the Elders three months ago. “I want you to be at the Ball with me. If we leave now, we can make it. Please- do this with me.” He begs.

He’s met with silence. The longer it stretches out, the more dread slowly filters into his heart. It takes him a long few moments, but when he finally gains the courage to gaze upon your expression, his heart drops into his feet.

Tears pour over your cheeks. You’re normally so put-together, but with your guard down in his absence, dirt smidges your cheeks and the sun gilds your skin. You’re so heart achingly beautiful. It’s like the sensation of stone giving way, the way he feels a crevice form in his heart at the sight.

“Jimin,” you finally say, and your voice is barely above a whisper. “We can’t...”

You trail away, but it’s enough. He feels a bit like you’ve slapped him. He’d thought... he’d thought it had been the both of you struggling in your separation, but it seems it was only him. He’s a fool- how could be have ever thought he was strong enough to thaw the frozen heart of Winter?

“Right.” He says, humiliated by the way his voice cracks. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Duty calls.”

He turns on his heel so that you can’t see the way tears sting at the back of his eyes.

You don’t stop him as he leaves.

The Queen of Winter is a dignified woman. Tucked far away in her fortress, the common folk speculate that she does not have a heart.

For a long time, you’d thought maybe it was true, but this constant ache in your chest is proving otherwise.

“Are you just going to watch him go?” Yoongi, your personal guard, asks lazily. He is reclined in one of the cosy arm chairs in the centre of Jimin’s cottage, munching away at one of the apples he stole from the tree at the front of the cottage. You spare him a glance over your shoulder, before returning your gaze to the cantering horse that moves further and further away with each passing moment.

“What else can I do?” You finally ask, tearing your gaze from the window and settling into the chair opposite Yoongi. Unlike him, you sit neatly, with your knees pressed together and your ankles tucked delicately to the side. Yoongi shrugs, crunching through another mouthful of apple.

“Well you could have said no one was home when Summer knocked on your door last week like I suggested. But no. You had to invite her in and make her tea and let her get under your skin and now here we are, missing the feast of the year so that you can sulk.” He grumbles, crunching a bit more aggressively. Normally, Yoongi is a placid, lethargic sort of guy, but he’s been grumpy ever since Haeun showed up unannounced last week. Well, actually, he’s been like this ever since you received the order from the Elders to vacate the Central Palace in case you disturbed the prosperity of the oncoming Spring. After all, their plan had worked- having Jimin stay with you in the Central Palace had been enough to curb your Winter, but they didn’t want to offset his powers of Spring.

“Yoongi,” you begin tiredly, ready to feed him the same ridiculous lines about your duty and your out of control powers that you’re sick of saying, but he cute you off.

“No.” He snaps, the most forceful he’s ever been with you in perhaps his entire life. “You listen to me.”

You’re too surprised by his aggression to retort, which gives him the opportunity to launch off in a furious tirade.

“You finally had a good thing going for you. Finally someone who didn’t blame you for your Winters, someone who was kind and made you smile for the first time in literal years, and now you want me to sit here and accept that a cantankerous, overheated she-witch has the power to take that way with a couple of weak and not very witty jibes?” He demands. “What happened to the Queen of Winter? The woman who ate hearts for breakfast and drank the blood of her victims as wine?”

“She never existed.” You frown. “I faint when i accidentally kill a mosquito-“

“But you let those rumours circulate. You never tried to correct them because you never gave a damn about the small fry, so why are you letting some over-baked half-wit get to you?” He demands, pointing an accusing, half-eaten apple in your direction.

You are silent as you recall the encounter the previous week. You had just finished penning a letter to Jimin to inform him you were looking forward to meeting with him when he returned to his cottage, when there had been an unexpected banging on the door.

Haeun and you have never had a good relationship. Instinctively, Summer and Winter are on opposite ends of the spectrum, but she’d also always loathed the way your powers ran wild. After your cold, unforgiving Winters, she always had to burn hotter, and more intensely during the Summer to compensate, and it probably took its toll on her. And to add insult to injury, you had married the love of her life at the request of the Elders. The knowledge that you had taken something so important from her had been why you couldn’t just slam the door in her face even though Yoongi had gestured for you to do so just out of her view.

He’s usually right though, since he’s quite gifted at reading people, and he was right that you should have kicked her out then and there. Haeun had nothing but poison to spill forth from her lips.

Logically, you know the things she was saying were said with the intent to hurt you. Jimin had proved his kindness and warmth again and again during the three months you had lived together and it had even started to reach the point where it felt like he was your real husband. Not just an assigned keeper with the legal right to receive your belongings if you one day died. It felt like he actually cared- the way he sat with you on long, cold nights, the secret smiles he offered over breakfast, the way he left tea outside your bedroom door when he knew you had been up late studying.

Jimin had done the impossible, warming the cold, frozen tundra your heart had lived in, and what you long for in return is to be the person who brings warmth to his Winters. Who holds him in the cold. Who rejoices with him in the bright months of Summer. You’d spent the whole of Spring in a joyful, happy cloud, remembering the way your Winter had been gentle and soft for the first time in your whole life.

And then you’d heard what Haeun had to say.

“I’m just concerned.” She had told you, dress in a dainty Summer dress that allowed the warm Spring sun to warm her shoulders. She always wears loud, cheerful colours and on that day she had worn a bright yellow to match the daffodils you had desperately been trying to keep alive. “I’m only saying this because I know you care about him too, and I would want to know this if I were in your shoes.”

Yoongi had been watching the whole exchange with an expression on his face like he’d swallowed a sour lemon and he had rolled his eyes when she’d said that. And yet, you hadn’t been able to approach her words with the same disdain.

“You know how beloved Spring is. For him to be wedded to you is causing a lot of distress within the kingdom! And the things people are saying about him- that he’s bewitched by your enchantments, that he’s weak-willed and unworthy to lead.” She gazes at you with a glare and the hardest part of all this is that she’s telling the truth. She really came here out of a sense of duty to Jimin because she wants you to stop interfering with his life. “Why couldn’t you have just learned to use your powers instead of turning his life upside down like this?”

And hadn’t that been the final nail in the coffin. Even now, a week later, you are still reeling from her words. It had been with a heavy heart you had decided not to make an appearance at the Ball.

But you hadn’t expected this to happen- for it to hurt just as much to refuse Jimin’s request to go with him. Why does it hurt both way? Why is it that if you have him, you ruin his life, but if you reject him, he looks at you like that? Like you’ve betrayed him? Like you’ve set fire to his orchard before his very eyes?

“Because I love him.” You admit to Yoongi. He chokes for a moment, surprised by your admission, before staring at you with wide eyes.

“You what?” He demands, and you offer him a weak smile.

“I love him, Yoongi.” You say again, and Yoongi’s gaze softens because he’s known you since you were a child in the Central Palace for the first time and he’s never seen such warmth in your eyes. You aren’t the Queen of Winter for nothing. “I love him so much I don’t know what to do and I just feel like no matter what choice I make it hurts.”

You hate the way your voice chokes, and Yoongi lifts from his chair, walking over to you to rest a warm hand over your own.

“So if your choices are being hurt and miserable and being hurt and happy, why not choose the path that has at least a little bit of good in it?” Yoongi asks you gently. You stare at him, surprised, and he offers you a grin. “There’s a dress in your wardrobe with your name on it and if we leave now we should make it in time for Spring’s Official Address.” He tells you, straightening and stretching out with a yawn. “Better go get my riding boots.” He sighs.

For a moment, you are frozen at Yoongi’s words, but then slowly a grin splits your face.

He’s right. Both choices hurt- so why not choose the one where you get to be with Jimin?

You gaze out the window at where the Sun is just beginning to sink into late afternoon.

You have a Ball to get to.

Jimin isn’t sure how he’s made it this far into the night. He feels like he’s just hollowly going through the motions and it’s a wonder that no one has picked up that he feels like he’s walking around with a stomach full of glass shards. If he’d known a broken heart hurt this much, he’d have long ago cast aside his heart to save himself the pain.

“Are you excited?” Haeun questions cheerfully. She wears a long, golden dress that shimmers and catches the lights of the chandelier overhead as she moves. Her hair is carefully braided over her left shoulder, leaving her collar bones and delicate throat exposed. Yet the sight of the daffodil flower crown woven into her hair atop her head just seems to mock him.

“I suppose.” He answers, with an empty smile. Haeun beams in response. She’s in an awfully good mood today and it only seems to worsen his own mood. “I’m ready for a nine month break from my duty.”

She offers him a bright laugh, and the two of them are interrupted by a firm clap against Jimin’s shoulder. He winces and turns to find Taehyung beaming at him.

“Hello, brother!” He says cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you since the start of Spring! How is your lovely wife? I was just thinking I should pop over to visit her and then I learned that she wasn’t in her domain. Imagine my surprise when I head that she’s been staying in the Spring domain for the past three months. I trust the marriage is going well?” He questions, with a suggestive waggle of his strong brows.

Jimin is unable to stop his expression from falling. All night, he’s managed to at least keep up a facade that he’s ok, but those words hit just a little bit too hard. He just and quickly slips the false smile back onto his face, but the King of Autumn has always been quick-witted, and he does not miss the devastation on Jimin’s face.

“Jimin?” He asks slowly. Haeun looks a little confused at the slow, careful tone of Taehyung’s voice and at the use of Jimin’s name. “Is everything alright?”

Jimin offers him another hollow smile but he is saved the effort of lying when his advisor comes rushing over.

“My Lord!” Seokjin cries. “It is time for your address! Please hurry to the stage.” He clicks his tongue a few times, corralling Jimin towards the stage.

He supposes it is now or never.

The tradition for the handover of Spring to Summer is fairly straight forward- at the Ball, Jimin is to deliver an address, celebrating the prosperity of Spring and wishing Summer well for her season. It’s usually one of his favourite duties- to gaze upon the faces of his subjects, to know that his words kickstart a weeklong festival where people will dance in the streets and sing with joy at the arrival of their long awaited Summer. But today, he feels as if he is made of wood as he takes the stage.

“I thank you all for coming,” he begins. A simple spell cast upon the stage allows his voice to be amplified so that everyone can hear him. “As you all know, this particular Spring has been a big one for me. I have spent not three, but six whole months in the Central Palace, overseeing the seasons.” He offers a fake cheeky smile. “Safe to say I’m a little homesick.” That earns him a little chuckle for he is infamous for his simple and modest home. “But it has been my most triumphant Spring yet, because I...”

No one is more surprised than him at the way his words seem to fail him.

“Because I...” he tries again, but the words are choked off and the audience starts to murmur in confusion.

He can’t do it- he can’t fake happiness and merriment. Not when you aren’t even here. Not when you had been the source of his happiness for the last six months.

“Because...”

And then the doors to the ballroom swing open and he gazes upon the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

You wear a floor length gown. As is custom, your dress matches your season, shimmering blue with diamonds cast upon it that catch the light and dance like floating snowflakes. You hair falls around your face, flushed with exertion and your eyes are bright, even from across the room.

An eerie hush falls upon the room. No one has ever seen Winter so dishevelled; and yet she is by no means ugly or unappealing. No, in fact, for years after people will sing songs about your beauty this night- how your eyes shine brighter than the stars in the sky and how your smile holds a joy no one had ever thought you capable of.

Slowly, you step towards him. The crowd parts around you, and yet it is like you are the only person in the room. Even if he had wanted to speak, he would have been incoherent. The roaring feeling in his heart is now a tsunami- he’s swept away. He’s in love beyond what he ever thought was capable. He loves you- he loves you!!

“Jimin,” you say, smiling sweetly when you finally stop in front of him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

And then you kiss him, bold and happy, in front of the entire ballroom and Jimin feels his heart may explode.

There is, of course, much to discuss after your arrival to the Ball. Haeun’s words- your fears and insecurities- Jimin’s own feelings. There is so much to discuss and yet that night, Jimin is only capable of one thing. After his address finishes, he holds you in his arms as the two of you sway in a gentle waltz. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and he feels you smile into the crook of his neck.

There is so much to say, and so much to do, but the two of you have your whole lives together to discuss it.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts fluff #jimin fluff #park jimin scenarios #writing

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 6/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The sirens were still screeching, the bright lights of police cars still moving from one neighborhood to the other and Levi’s heart still drumming in his chest when Kenny had grabbed him, pushing him into the dark, empty alleyway.

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, as he pressed Levi against the rough surface of a brick wall. Even with his mask still on, Kenny’s rage was perfectly visible, his eyes a burning fire.

If he wasn’t so out of it, if he could have shaken off the image of Hange, covered in blood, if he could have heard something rather than her pained scream, the hatred that was radiating from Kenny would have probably scared him.

But now it had a diametrically opposite effect.

“I should be the one asking you that,” Levi roughly threw Kenny’s hands off him. He was shaking, the adrenaline, frustration and fear he had experienced just half an hour ago making an utter mess out of him. He wanted, needed to get it all out of his system. And Kenny’s outrage could be the perfect remedy. “What the fuck were you thinking when you had pointed that gun? Did you want to kill a cop? Do you know what they would have done to us if you got one of their own?”

Kenny’s demeanor changed in a flash – his shoulders relaxed, his breathing slowed down. Patting Levi’s shoulder, he took a step back. With a low hum, Kenny threw away his mask, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

Lightening one up, he looked at Levi, revealing to him a narrow, foxy smirk. "You're so calm, Levi, so rational. Always know better than your uncle. But when I had that pointed that gun," he pressed a point finger to Levi's forehead, his palm imitating the pistol. "Were you just as rational? Because I swear – your eyes showed the exact opposite."

Levi held Kenny’s gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "I was trying to get our asses out of here."

"Could have fooled me," Kenny chuckled, taking a drag of his cigarette and then blowing the smoke right in Levi's face. "I thought you were distracted by the pretty face of that cop," he looked Levi up and down, his smirk growing wider. His eyes filling with something darker.

"Need I to remind you," Levi waved his hand, getting rid of the smoke. "That we're in this mess only because you were distracted by a pretty face. Or you think that cops busting us was a coincidence?"

"No," Kenny lifted his head, releasing another ring of smoke into the air. The momentary silence was interrupted by return of the sirens. The police was getting closer. And that meant they had to run faster. "Traute will get what she deserves, don't you worry. And I hope, Levi," Kenny put his cigarette out, pressing it against the wall. He gave Levi a heavy, loaded look. "That you won't give me a reason to do the same to you."

***

Levi was a bad person. He held no other illusions regarding that matter.

Thief and liar, he wasn't blind or naive enough to pretend he was anything more.

If he was a good person, he'd surrender to police, confess his and Kenny's crimes and serve his time in prison.

If he was a mediocre person, he'd get on a first plane to somewhere far away and never show his face in this city again.

If he, at least, wasn't a complete piece of shit, he'd leave Hange alone and stop lying to her.

Alas..

Lying to her became surprisingly easy. And a sort of necessity too.

This is the last time, he told himself. The last time. I just need to make sure that Hange is alright.

Alas… Lying to himself was becoming surprisingly easy too.

***

Contacting Hange was even less difficult than he had expected to.

Her face was all over the news, the brave detective injured during a mission – there was no shortage of praise to her dedication and courage.

Something warmed in his chest at hearing these praises.

The feeling was almost enough to make him panic. It was one thing when his heart sped up in Hange’s presence. But now he was proud of her achievements as well? A sure sign that he was getting in too deep.

A sure sign that he had to leave.

The last time, he repeated, as he sent a text to Hange.

saw your sad face on tv. are you alright?

Turned out, it was everything he had to do to receive a photo of Hange, grinning at him from a hospital bed, along with an invitation to visit her.

Levi didn’t allow doubts to take hold of him. Before a logical part of him raised its voice and started screaming at him, he grabbed his jacket and left the house. Thankfully, Kenny was out, probably looking for ways to get his revenge.

Levi didn’t care enough to ask him where he was going. After their last fight, they didn’t talk at all. And Levi was more than okay with it. The lesser they interacted, the lesser chances were of them getting into another fight and possibly reaping each other’s heads off.

If Kenny was busy with getting even with Traute, Levi could take a moment to say a proper goodbye to Hange.

Then, he’d leave the city. For good this time.

***

The hospital – when Levi had entered it – was bustling with police officers.

At first, he almost bolted back home. There were too many of them, and the surge of panic he felt was almost too much.

What if Hange knew the truth about him? Her plan with Traute had failed, but what if she had tried to lure him out here? What if she set another – unescapable – trap for him?

But the police officers didn’t look intimidating. Almost all of them seemed tense – exhausted and worried. But no one had spared him another glance.

And when he told that he was Levi and he came to see Hange, some of them actually smiled.

The blonde woman, the one Levi vaguely remembered seeing in the precinct before, even squeezed his shoulder, as he passed her by. She thanked him for being there for Hange and told him he was a real sweetheart.

Levi didn’t think it was possible to feel embarrassed, ashamed and guilty at the same time.

These feeling grew as he met the tall sniffing giant from before. Was his name Mike? Levi was pretty sure it was. At least, he definitely remembered Hange mentioning some Mike. Most probably it was the exact Mike that was standing before him now. He beamed as he saw Levi approach, beckoning him to come closer.

“Man, it’s so good to have you here,” he said, and the sincerity in his tone almost made Levi wince. He was such an asshole… “Hange had been crawling up the walls ever since she was brought here,” the man appeared to be tired, visibly drained, but beneath the face of exhaustion, it was easy to see the genuine concern. Seemed, like Hange was extremely well-loved amongst her colleagues. “Our sweet Han is terrifying in her anger, but maybe…” he tilted his head, scanning Levi from head to toe. “Maybe, you’ll cheer her up.”

“That’s…” Levi cleared his throat, struggling not to fidget under Mike’s hopeful gaze. God, perhaps it’d be better if they just caught him there. It certainly wouldn’t make him feel so awful about himself. “That’s what I’m here for. Can I come in?”

“Sure!” Mike gave him thumbs-up, smiling in relief. “Hange is just behind that door. I’m not sure if she’s alone, I left her side to get some coffee, but…”

Levi was already on a move, already opening the door to Hange’s ward, and, naturally, he ignored the end of that sentence.

Big mistake on his part.

Because Hange, who was half-sitting on the white hospital bed with a bandage on her right shoulder… Hange certainly wasn’t alone. There was a man beside her, and when he shifted in his seat to glance at Levi, Levi recognized him immediately.

Admittedly, he had never met him in person, all communication was performed by Kenny, but that cropped brown hair, those vibrant blue eyes and stupid, ugly moustache… it was very hard to mistake Rod Reiss for anyone else.

Levi froze, heart in his throat. What was Reiss doing here? Did he know who Levi was? Did he recognize him? The slight uplift of his mouth said that he did.

But, thankfully… Reiss said nothing about it.

Instead, he turned back to Hange, a small smile on his thin lips and his hand pointing at Levi. “Is that your young man, detective Zoe? Didn’t know you were spoken for.”

“I’m not—” Hange flashed, shaking her head rapidly. Despite the tense moment, Levi stole a second to admire Hange’s embarrassed expression. She looked utterly ridiculous, and that served her right, a payback for all the times she was the one to embarrass him. “I’m not spoken for, mister Reiss. Yet, at least.”

Yet, at least.

These words sent a pang straight to Levi’s heart. If only… if only he wasn’t himself, and Hange wasn’t Hange, if only they met at the different time, in different place.

If only. A cruel, painful truth.

“Well, either way, it’s good to know that you have someone who cares about you,” Reiss reached out, squeezing Hange’s healthy shoulder. “Even heroes need that.”

“I’m not a hero.” Hange mumbled, utterly bashful. Levi rather liked that side of hers, he decided he wanted to see more of it. So…

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he grumbled, revealing in a vicious glare Hange sent him. It suited to her red cheeks perfectly. “Your heroic deed is all over the news. Certainly, the news wouldn’t lie?”

Hange’s face screamed ‘stop embarrassing me, you asshole’, but in the presence of Reiss, the only thing she could do was smile and grip the edge of a bed with her healthy hand a little too tightly. Perhaps, Reiss was the only obstacle between him and Hange’s proverbial fury. Still, Levi preferred the old bastard would just fuck off already. And— that he wouldn’t tell Kenny where he had met his nephew.

“It’s time for me to leave,” Reiss stood up, as though he heard Levi’s thoughts. “But hopefully we’ll meet again, detective.”

“Thank you for your visit and your help, sir. I’m sure that once we combine our forces, we’ll catch those Ackermans in no time.”

Levi had caught himself, before his jaw had met the floor. What were they talking about? Catching… Ackermans? Was it another one of Reiss’ schemes? Was it a careful move to boost his reputation? A way to protect him and Kenny? Or… was he covering up his traces? If so, how far was he ready to go to do it? He couldn’t betray Kenny, could he?

“It was nice meeting you,” Levi was so lost in his head, he missed the moment when Reiss approached him. Now he stood right before him, his hand outstretched towards him. Reiss was slightly shorter than Levi, which – in that moment – offered little comfort. “Mister?”

“Levi,” he schooled his expression into something polite and, more importantly, neutral.

“Levi,” Reiss hummed, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “The name seems familiar. But…” he curled his lips in a smile for no more than a second. It was enough to induce a shiver from Levi. “That’s probably just a coincidence. Have a good night, Levi, and take care of our hero, please.”

“Will do, sir,” Levi promised, squeezing the offered hand just a little too tightly.

He watched Reiss walk to the door, then turn the doorknob, push the door open and then – finally - closed. Only when his short, round stature disappeared, did Levi allow himself to breathe out in relief. He moved a hand through his hair, shaking off the last bits of nervousness. With his heart beating that much slower, he turned back to Hange.

“Is that your new friend?” he asked as he plopped down on a chair Reiss had just vacated.

“Friend?” Hange scoffed. “A rich snob who thinks that money solves any problem.”

“Isn’t he right, though?”

“We’ll see about that, I guess,” Hange lifted her shoulders in attempt to shrug, her face contorting in pain as soon as she moved her injured extremity. Levi swallowed, as he watched her rub the wound gently.

“Does it—” his voice betrayed him, breaking right at the beginning. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Does it hurt?”

“Like bitch,” Hange confessed with a bitter smile. “They give me painkillers, and they help, but… I guess I’ll be away from active duty for a while.”

What happened was the next expected question, a friend ought to ask about that, right? However… Levi wasn’t too keen to hear the answer.

“Your friends are worried about you,” he said instead. He was worried about Hange too, but did he even have the right to be? Even if partially, but he was the reason she had been shot. And he was the reason she was now moping in a hospital.

“Sometimes, they worry too much,” Hange complained. “They don’t even let me work. Mike took my laptop away, and Erwin returned my notebook back to the precinct. I’m dying of boredom here, Levi!” she whined, accompanying that pathetic sound by a petulant kick.

“I’m sure they have your best interests at heart,” he reasoned, doing his best not to laugh. It was his fault Hange was like that, but even so, he couldn’t deny that she looked almost unbelievably ridiculous. And cute, really, really cute.

And… that was another sign that he needed to get out of this city as soon as possible.

“Rest may be good for my body, but it’s bad for my brain.”

Hange fell silent after that. With the thumb of her healthy hand raised to her lips, she stared into nothing. Levi could practically hear the sound of gears turning in her head.

He didn’t like where this was going.

“I know I’m asking a lot…” Hange mumbled, suspiciously avoiding his eyes. “And I’ll understand if you decide to refuse…”

Levi tsked and rolled his eyes. All these dramatics… “Just say what you want from me.”

“Like I said it’s a bit too much,” she began slowly, still unsure. Levi kicked the leg of the hospital bed to speed up the process. It seemed to have a rather positive effect. “But since you’ve already been there and I have the key, could you…”

“Steal your damned notebook for you?”

Hange’s face lightened up as she nodded, and, met with that delighted expression, Levi could only sigh. He already hated himself for it, but… he was a reason Hange was here in the first place, right? He might as well do something to make up for it.

Besides… he really liked that happy smile.

“I’m not asking you to steal!” Hange ardently assured. “You’re not a thief, after all,” she laughed at her own joke, while Levi tried very hard not to cringe. “I’m asking you to deliver my notebook from my office.”

Levi didn’t answer right away, and Hange, probably sensing his doubt, continued, “The precinct is almost empty, since it’s Saturday, and everyone is either here or at home. And even if you do run into someone, just tell them you’re running an errand for me.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he said, shaking his head. He had already decided he was going to help Hange out, but there was nothing wrong with playing a little too hard to get.

“It’ll be easy, I swear! And if you bring me the notebook…”

Hange winked, her smile enigmatic. Levi couldn’t deny, that smile had him intrigued. “If I bring the notebook?”

“I’ll think of a way to thank you for that! Perhaps, when we go on that date you promised me…”

The date on a skating rink, Levi almost forgot about it. But as Hange reminded him, the feeling of regret returned. He wanted to go there with Hange, wanted to hold her hand as they glide through the rink, wanted to see her spin around effortlessly, wanted her to teach him how to do the same, as pathetic as it sounded, even the idea of falling down and freezing his ass didn’t disgust him, if Hange were there with him, laughing her heart out, he probably would forget about the pain and cold. If Hange were with him, perhaps, he’d be able to forget about many things.

And that’s why he had to leave.

“Alright, I’ll bring your stupid notebook,” he conceded, getting to his feet just a little too quickly. Hange’s warm gaze was too hypnotizing. It was dangerous, it was doing something to him, and that something was making it very hard for him to leave her side. “I’ll be right back, just…”

“Stay here?” Hange snickered. “I can’t exactly run away right now, Levi.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, and then, because he was going to enter the police precinct on his volition, because he was doing this for Hange’s sake, because he was the most despicable human being in the world, he reached out and pressed her head to his chest. Hange could probably hear how loud and quick his heart was beating, Hange’s heart – if he deciphered the beeping of medical equipment correctly – was beating almost just as fast. “See you, Hange.”

The softness of her hair was surprising, the warmth of her body was so pleasant, the desire to kiss the crown of her head was almost irresistible, but…

Apparently, he wasn’t a complete asshole.

The hug lasted for no more than a second, but for Levi it seemed like hours had passed. And still, it wasn’t nearly enough.

That step back felt like the hardest thing Levi had ever done. As soon as Hange’s warmth had disappeared, he started to miss it.

“I’ll be waiting,” Hange promised with a smile so gentle, it was…

No. He had already done enough, far more than he should have.

If he did something more, if he kissed her, would he really be able to leave? Levi didn’t want to know the answer to that question. He wasn’t sure he’d like it.

He forced himself to walk away, his stride much swifter than usual. He hoped that breathing would be come to him much easier, when the distance between him and Hange grows bigger.

But apparently… he wasn’t lucky enough.

***

Getting inside the precinct was laughably easy.

The security guy at the entrance had attempted to stop him, but let him pass as soon as Levi mentioned that he was running an errand for detective Hange Zoe.

Either Hange’s name held a pretty significant value around here, or, more probably, the police was full of incompetent, lazy pigs.

Honestly, a middle schooler could infiltrate this place.

Not that Levi looked like a middle schooler. His face was much more mature. If he scowled hard enough. He hoped so, at least.

Just as Hange had predicted, the precinct was mostly empty. He passed a few closed doors that had a narrow ray of light coming underneath, but as he repeated the path Mike had showed him before, Levi didn’t meet a single soul.

The long hallways were scarcely illuminated, and some lightbulbs were flicking in and out, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The tension in his shoulders grew bigger as he moved further and further... right inside the lion’s den.

Kenny would have called him a fool. Kenny would have called him shit-for-brains, a fucking idiot, a stupid fucker. Kenny, if he had known where Levi went, would have hit him until all his idiocy disappeared.

Although… the idiocy was too deep inside him now, Levi wasn’t sure that even Kenny was up to task of getting rid of it.

Perhaps, if he’d leave… Perhaps, perhaps. He’d had to leave the city first.

He had to leave the city, Levi decided and as he got inside the elevator that would take him to Hange’s office, he took out his phone and booked the closest flight available.

Singapore, awesome. He always wanted to visit.

The floor, where Hange’s office was located, was just as lifeless. All cubicles stood vacant and the rest of the offices were empty too. Perhaps, most of the officers were back at the hospital, watching over Hange. It was a good thing that she had someone to care about her. Hange deserved that, maybe, even needed that. Especially after dealing with asshole like him.

Just before entering the door, Levi paused with his hand on a doorknob. That tense feeling, that premonition returned and intensified. His stomach was in knots, making him almost nauseous.

It was ridiculous, stupid, the whole precinct was empty, he had seen so himself, but… the alarms in his mind were ringing, begging him to reconsider and go back before it was too late. Before it was too late for… what?

Levi couldn’t answer that question, meaning his sudden panic was stupid, and he himself was stupid for being a scaredy cat. It was so unlike him, and it was foolish, the last couple of days were probably just getting to him, making him more paranoid than usual.

Stop acting like an idiot, he chided himself, swallowing all of his worry down. He exhaled, relaxing the tense muscles of his back. With another mental kick, he pressed on a doorknob and opened the door, doing so unnecessarily slowly.

Just as he knew it would be, the office stood empty.

Levi didn’t waste another moment by being a damn idiot, and walked inside, heading to the desk Hange was occupying back when he had visited her that one time. The mess of paperwork, pens, paper cups and empty boxes from takeout food that had accumulated on the desk was a proof enough that this work space had really belonged to Hange.

Now, if only there was just a little more light… Levi located the desk lamp fairly quickly, but where was a switch to that fucking thing? He moved his hand up and down, his fingers searching and searching…

The light turned on before he found the switch.

It wasn’t the desk lamp though, it was a luster right above his head.

Levi jerked, whirling around, to the door behind him.

As it turned out, he wasn’t completely alone in the office. Hange’s boss, Captain Erwin Smith was still at work, despite the late hour.

“Levi,” he started to approach him, slowly at first. But the office was rather small, and, despite a step that Levi had taken back, despite his thigh pressing into the edge of the desk, the distance between them was shortening at a speed he wasn’t completely comfortable with. “I was waiting for you.”

He was? Why? Did Hange tell him something? Did she warn her boss about his visit? Why would she, if Erwin was the one who had taken her notebook in the first place? Something wasn’t adding up, and Erwin’s guarded face, damn that stoic man, wasn’t helping him solve that riddle.

“Sit down,” Erwin walked just a little too close to Levi, and then turned, taking a seat at Hange’s desk. Awkwardly, with his legs refusing to cooperate properly, Levi sat down at the opposite side. “Do you want some coffee? Or tea? Hange mentioned you like it a lot.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

What was he going? What was Erwin doing here, why was he looking at him like that – like Levi was a test subject and Erwin was watching his every move behind the lens of a microscope. The comparison almost made him squirm.

“I’m glad you showed up,” Erwin had his hands folded under his chin, his eyes never leaving Levi’s face. His gaze seemed just as neutral as his expression, perhaps, even a little friendly, but the premonition had returned, so much stronger than before.

“I’m here because Hange asked me to,” he said, wondering why his voice sounded so quiet, almost shaky. Levi straightened in his seat, meeting Erwin’s gaze squarely. He wouldn’t let this man intimidate him. Unless, of course, Erwin gives him a reason to be intimidated. “She wanted—”

“Her notebook, yes,” Erwin nodded. “I guessed already. And I’m sure you’ve jumped at the opportunity to get inside her office. Isn’t that right, Levi? Or,” he paused, but Levi knew what he was going to say, knew what Erwin knew, could see it in his eyes that now had betrayed his true feelings and looked more like two icy shards. These eyes, they pinned Levi down, he helplessly stared into them, seeing nothing but hatred and disgust. “Or, perhaps, you’d prefer if I called you Mister Ackerman instead?”

Levi knew what was coming, and, still, his stomach fell. Millions of question swirled around in his head, and that was the only thing that kept him from bolting out of his seat.

How did Erwin find out? When did he find out? And most importantly, did he tell Hange? Or… was the she the one who discovered the truth?

All these questions had Levi on edge, but Erwin… Erwin didn’t seem too keen to answer any of them.

“Did you know there are only four men named Levi in this city?” Levi didn’t know if the answer was expected of him, but Erwin didn’t seem too interested in what he had to say, because after a brief pause, he continued, “One of them is a teenager boy, he’s an athlete, who is raised by a single mother. Another one is a middle-aged, bald man with three kids and a wife, the other is an eighty-year old man, who lives alone on the edge of the city. The last one,” Erwin’s eyes flashed, and Levi swallowed. Just like before, he knew damn well what was coming. “Doesn’t really count, I guess. He had died some twenty years ago, along with his mother. Do you, by any chance, know the name of his mother?”

There was a lump in his throat, one that appeared each time his mother was mentioned, one that made it hard to breathe and pressed on his chest, heavy enough to hurt. But Erwin looked at him expectantly, like his question was a test. A test of what, Levi wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to show his weakness, not in front of this particular man.

“Kuchel,” he said, his voice as steady as it could be, considering he was shaking from inside. “Her name was Kuchel Ackerman.”

Erwin nodded, his features sharpening even further, turning into a stone mask. “I refused to believe it at first, when I first looked you up after meeting you right in that office. It appeared to be a horrible coincidence, a weird conjunction. You seemed genuinely interested in Hange, not in her work, and I was ready to give you the benefit of the doubt, waiting for a sign that would support or destroy my finding. But last night was enough of a proof.”

Was it? How so? Did Levi make a mistake? If so, then were? And how did Erwin see it?

“Last night Hange was shot,” yeah, Levi was there, and Erwin knew that. What importance did it have now? “But she isn’t dead, not like that politician from a week ago. Your partner in crime,” ah, so Kenny wasn’t yet discovered. Apparently, he wiped the traces of his existence much better than Levi did. “I guess he is the one who usually dirties his hands, and that means he was the one who killed that man. Hange was supposed to die that night too, right? And you were the one who prevented it."

Having said everything he needed, Erwin fell silent. For a long moment, there was no sound, except the tick of a clock, Erwin's calm breathing and Levi's much frantic one.

"So, is my assertion correct?"

Levi said nothing. What was there to say? Say yes and stroke Erwin's ego? Or deny it and look like a fool?

"I'll take your silence as a yes."

His cockiness was irritating, despite it being very much deserved. Still, to be caught by a guy he had seen only once... Levi knew there was a possibility that his involvement with Hange may end with him in prison. He just never imagined that her overprotective boss would be the one to blame for his fall.

"Did you already tell Hange?" he asked quietly, admitting his defeat.

His heart was aching, as he thought of what was awaiting for him next. Was Hange going to be the one to put handcuffs on him? What her reaction would be - would she be gleeful about her victory? Or would that joy be overridden by disgust she felt for him?

"I didn't tell her. She won't know the truth about you. Not from me, at least."

Levi widened his eyes, staring at the man in front of him with shock and incomprehension. Was he... telling the truth? But why?

"Hange would be dead, if it wasn't for you. That's why I'm inclined to give you another chance. Leave this city, Levi Ackerman, and don't come back. Stop toying with Hange's feelings and don’t you dare contact her ever again. She deserves someone much better than you."

Well, in that aspect, Levi agreed with Erwin completely.

"You may bring the notebook to her, but that's it. I'm letting you go not out of kindness, but out of gratitude. Don't make me regret it."

"I'm leaving the city tonight." He promised to Erwin, as he stood up, Hange's notebook secured in his right hand.

Not that Erwin needed to know about it, but he was going to leave anyway. Just in two hours, he'd be on his way to Singapore. If he hurried, he might get just enough time to say goodbye to Hange.

A proper goodbye. He ought to give her at least that much.

He left the office swiftly, before Erwin could change his mind. With his heart still racing after a tense encounter, he ran to the hospital.

***

When he arrived inside, the hospital was much less crowded than before. There was a fewer number of patients and visitors in the main hall, and those who still were present, were much quieter, subdued and exhausted. There were only a few doctors around, and their faces were pale, eyes blinking tiredly, shoulders slumped after a long shift. The only ones who still kept their energy were nurses, who ran from one side of a hospital to the other, calling out to doctors or carrying the needed medicine.

Still shaken after his encounter with Erwin, Levi used that semi-calm atmosphere to take a deep breath and put his thoughts into order. He had – for the lack of better word – an eventful day, and who knew what would happen tomorrow? Perhaps, it was the last moment of peace he would have in a while.

He was starting a new life, but the prospect wasn’t thrilling or exhilarating. The only feelings it provoked was dread. And a bone-deep exhaustion.

No rest for the wicked, or so Kenny liked to say. It was one of the few things he and Levi agreed upon.

The hospital hallways seemed deserted too, only doctors and nurses still roaming the place. The visiting hours were already over, but Hange’s status as a new city hero allowed Levi to convince them to overlook that small detail. He had to lie and say he was detective Zoe’s boyfriend, but well… Hange wouldn’t know about this. Even if she did, Levi was going to be on another side of the world in just a few hours.

However, he had to admit… saying this out loud felt good. Unreasonably so.

Hange’s boyfriend… it had a nice ring to it. Perhaps, in another life…

The ridiculousness of that thought was almost enough to make him chuckle. Clearly, it was the long couple of days getting the best of him. He needed to rest, get his head cleared up, leave this city once and for all.

The hallway that led to Hange’s ward was almost as deserted as the rest of the hospital. The number of police officers patrolling her had diminished significantly, only two of them still present.

Levi was not at all surprised to see that tall weirdo, Mike, slumped down in the uncomfortable hospital chair with his hands folded beneath his head. Clearly, he was one of Hange’s closest friends. Levi took a mental note of that, storing that information in that corner of his mind that was dedicated solely to Hange. That corner was growing bigger, and that was another reason why he had to leave, disappear from her life. Hopefully, then Hange would disappear from his life and his mind too.

Next to Mike sat a thin blonde woman, whose name stubbornly eluded Levi. Nana… something. It didn’t really matter. The woman was asleep, her face pressed into Mike’s big shoulder. The scene was adorable, Levi thought detachedly. These people weren’t his friends, they didn’t provoke an emotional response from him, however… Hange would probably like to hear about them snuggling together outside her ward. Maybe, that would make her smile. Levi liked her smile, along with her deep, strangely alluring voice and big, look-inside-them-for-too-long-and-you’ll-drown brown eyes, her smile took the most of that special mind corner of his.

The first thing he saw upon entering the ward was the sight of Hange’s peaceful, relaxed face. Be it the exhaustion from last few days, the pain from injury or a simple, soothing atmosphere of the hospital, but Hange was asleep, her mouth slightly open in an expression that could be described as ridiculous if it weren’t so endearing. Without the ever present glasses, she looked much younger than she actually was, fragile almost.

The second thing Levi was saw the dusty black coat and the stupid bowler hat. The start contrast between white ceilings, blue walls, Hange’s still pale body and that black form was striking enough to make Levi wonder if what he was seeing was actually true. It was easier to write it off as a visage, an image of his biggest nightmare that was conjured by an exhausted mind.

Kenny shouldn’t, couldn’t be here. But he was. Sitting dangerously close next to Hange, his lips spread into a wide, bloodthirsty smirk, he stared at her sleeping form like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Levi’s blood turned to ice, his insides twisting painfully. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

Kenny was here.

How did he find out about Hange? Why did he come? What did he want? What was he going to do?

There were so many questions, Levi wasn’t sure the answer to which one would be the scariest.

“You know there are over a million people in this city?” Kenny’s voice was quiet, no louder than a machine that counted Hange’s heartbeats. It wasn’t nearly loud enough to disturb her sleep. “And out of that million you had to choose a fucking cop. Is she that special?” Kenny looked him in the eyes, seeming genuinely curious in his answer. “Or are you just that dumb?”

“Both, probably,” Levi shrugged, marveling at how calm, almost bored his voice sounded. Inside, he was anything but.

Kenny hummed, nodded, expressing his agreement, and stood up, popping the collar of his coat. “Let’s not disturb your sleeping beauty then. Follow me, Levi.”

It wasn’t a suggestion or a request, it was an order, and a clear one at that. Levi gladly obeyed it, because the alternative – whatever it would be – was much, much worse.

Kenny led him out of the ward, they passed through Mike and his friend, who were still sleeping, walked through a long hallway, arrived at the stairwell and then went up to the roof.

Once they were there, underneath pale moonlight and surrounded by bright neon lights of a nearby night club, Kenny punched him.

Levi didn’t even stagger, more than expecting that. He didn’t punch back and didn’t defend himself, knowing that he more than deserved that.

Clearly not satisfied yet, Kenny punched him again, then again, until Levi did stagger and fell on his ass. A thin drip of blood dripped from his lip. Levi wiped it off with a sleeve, briefly wondering if the ache on his cheek would turn into a bruise or not.

Kenny stood above him, his face darker than Levi had ever remembered seeing, his fists trembling from either cold or rage.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Levi,” he spat out, kicking his leg. The kick was light, born more out of frustration than anything else. Levi barely felt it. “What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck were you doing with that damn cop? Have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten who you are?”

Maybe, Kenny was right, maybe, he did forget about it. Or, maybe, he pretended to forget, letting his heart have what it so ardently desired. But today he was reminded of his place. Several times already.

And he was an idiot, Kenny wasn’t wrong about that too.

He was an idiot, who followed his heart, who chose the one person he absolutely couldn’t have. That choice, although it was only his to carry, wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Hange and it wasn’t fair to Kenny, to him especially so.

Levi knew about possible consequences, had expected them, but what about Kenny? Had Levi been caught, had Kenny been caught alongside him, his life would have been ruined too. And if Levi made that choice, consciously, Kenny – didn’t. He would never make a choice like that, one that would jeopardize Levi. Kenny was an asshole, a scoundrel, a thief and a liar, but if there was one thing he treasured, it was his family.

He treasured his sister, and after her death, he treasured her son, even if he never actually showed that.

And Levi had betrayed him.

All this time, he was worried, afraid that Hange would learn about his betrayal and grow to despise him, but he had never even thought that he was also lying to the only person in this world, who actually gave a damn about him, to the last part of his family.

Perhaps, Kenny should have punched him a couple of times more.

“You look like a kicked dog,” Kenny rolled his eyes in exasperation, grudgingly offering Levi to take his hand. “Get up, before you catch some shit from this fucking cold. Doubt they’ll let you stay with that officer sweetheart of yours if you start coughing your lungs out.”

“Fuck off,” Levi grunted, but accepted the offered hand and let Kenny hoist him up. “You were the one to punch me.”

“Was hoping I’d knock out that shit out of you,” Kenny briefly glanced at him before burying his head into the inside of his coat to look for the pack of cigarettes, no doubt. One day, the constant smoking would kill him. Then again – with their line of job – they could die at any moment, anyway. Criminals like them had to treasure every second, before they end up in a ditch or in prison. Wasn’t he doing the same, wasn’t he treasuring every second he had with Hange? Perhaps, he was. And now, it came to an end, disappointingly abrupt. “Did I, by the way? Manage to knock some sense into you?”

Levi thought about a notebook, hidden inside his pocket, close to his heart. He remembered how good it felt to hold Hange in his arms, remembered how light her laughter made him feel.

“I think you didn’t punch me hard enough.”

Kenny didn’t hit him again, didn’t even scold him. It seemed like he didn’t have energy for either. He just shook his head - slowly, wearily, and sighed – in disappointment, not surprise.

He walked to the edge of the roof and sat down, his long legs dangling in the air. Kenny seemed spent, defeated, Kenny looked tired and unexpectedly old, like the weight of his years had finally caught up to him. Levi didn’t quite know how to act around him in that state.

Tentatively, staggering slightly, he approached his uncle and joined him at the edge of the roof.

Kenny wordlessly offered him a cigarette, and Levi took it, thanking him with a subtle nod.

The silence fell over them as they both smoked, their eyes glued to the sky above. It was comfortable, this silence. Levi hated to break it, but there were things he needed to say.

“I’m leaving tonight.”

Kenny didn’t ask where, didn’t ask why, he didn’t seem to care at all. Unfortunately, Levi did care.

“Do you want to leave with me?”

Kenny put a cigarette to his lips, took a long, deep drag, released a fat ring of smoke, watched it disappear into the night. He met Levi’s eyes – for a single moment – and then returned to gazing up at the sky.

“Sorry, kid. Still have some stuff I need to finish.”

Levi didn’t ask Kenny to reconsider, didn’t ask what stuff he was talking about. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was a fact that Kenny had a lot on his hands – Traute and her betrayal, Reiss and whatever he was planning to do. Levi had a lot on his hands too, and the only way to deal with all of it was to leave.

Kenny obviously had a different opinion. Nothing surprising, there were lots of things they had different opinions about.

“That cop of yours,” Kenny put his cigarette out, flicking the butt down below, and took a new one. He lightened it up, the lighter briefly illuminating his grim features. The shadows on his face were almost frightening. “Does she know who you are?”

“No,” the word came out a little bit harsher, gruffer than he intended. Levi wondered what the cause of it was – shame or regret. “But she’ll find out someday, I’m sure. She’s more than sharp enough.”

“You got lucky then, if she doesn’t know yet.”

Lucky? Perhaps he truly was. Was he lucky because he was leaving before Hange discovered the truth? Was he lucky because earlier that day she was still looking at him with stars in her eyes? Or, maybe, he was lucky because he wouldn’t get to see how those starts turn to disgust and hatred?

“Her boss knows, though. He searched my name after Hange introduced us. Did you know there are only four Levis in this city?”

“Your mother’s fault, not mine,” Kenny shrugged. “I wanted to name you Bob.”

Levi choked, shock and laughter constricting his throat. “Bob?” he hoarsely croaked.

“Bob Ackerman,” Kenny smirked, taking off his hat and putting it on Levi’s head. It fell down, obscuring half of his face. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“No.”

Kenny chortled, and Levi couldn’t keep a smile off his face. It seemed like things between them were returning to normal. Levi was relieved.

And at the same, he was sad. Most of the time Kenny got on his nerves, he constantly pushed all of his buttons, but Levi still loved him. In a strange, bizarre sense, he was the only Levi could look up to. And the only one he could trust.

Levi didn’t want to leave him behind, wanted to listen to his stupid jokes while rolling his eyes and calling him an asshole just for a little longer.

But his plane was taking off in an hour. And there was one thing Levi wanted to do, before he gets out of this city for good.

“Kenny, I—”

“I know,” he cut him off. Kenny looked him in the eyes, and if Levi didn’t know him better, he’d say that the smile on his face was sad. “Young love and all that, right? Go, Romeo. Make sure your Juliette doesn’t put handcuffs on you.”

Levi stood up, hovering over Kenny awkwardly. They never, ever hugged. But in this moment, it seemed appropriate. People did hug, when saying goodbye to your loved ones. It was a totally normal thing. Could he and Kenny be like normal people too?

Bracing himself, Levi turned to face his uncle. He only started raising his arms, when Kenny snorted.

“Don’t make this weird, Levi.”

Apparently, they couldn’t even pretend to be normal.

“And you can keep my hat.”

Levi scoffed. “Now you’re the one making this weird.”

“It’s my old age, I guess,” he said. “Now shoo, kid, you don’t have much time. And remember - whenever you go…” Kenny paused, winking conspicuously. “Stir up some trouble, alright?”

Despite himself, Levi chuckled. “Don’t go around being boring too, old man.”

“That you can be sure of,” Kenny tilted his head, at the last moment remembering that his loyal hat wasn’t with him anymore. “And if you go into hiding, make sure you don’t go too deep.”

“So you’ll be able to find and pester me?”

“You know me so well.”

Levi did. And he was going to miss his nuisance of an uncle. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For everything, for—”

“Yeah, yeah, for raising you and teaching how to be so damn good at stealing stuff. I know you love me more than anything and you think I’m the coolest guy ever, Levi. Now stop being an embarrassment and leave me alone already.”

Hiding another smile, lest Kenny would think that his words were actually not so far from the truth and Levi did like him so much, Levi threw another glance at the night city, briefly squeezed Kenny’s shoulder and headed back inside.

The hat kept falling on his eyes, it was clearly a size or two too big, and Levi was sure he looked absolutely ridiculous, but… it brought along a sense of comfort.

When he came back to Hange, two police officers by her door were still sleeping. Levi passed them without a second glance.

Inside the ward, Hange continued to snore too. He had to hurry to the airport, his time was running out, yet Levi sparred a long moment to commit her face to his memory.

His eyes traced every feature – from the wide forehead and closed eyes with long dark eyelashes that fell elegantly on her cheeks, to the curve of her nose that had small dots of freckles and her rosy lips that were slightly curled upwards.

She was probably dreaming of something so pleasant. Levi wondered what that dream was about.

The only imperfection on her face, the one thing he resolutely didn’t like was a lock of hair that fell just over the tip of her nose.

With a feather light touch, Levi brushed the offending lock away, holding it between his fingers just a little too long.

You’re acting like a creep, he chided himself. Besides, he was going to be late to his flight.

With a heavy sigh and lots of effort, Levi took a step back. He put the notebook on the table next to her bed, briefly marveling at the amount of gifts that had already accumulated there.

Apparently, Hange was very well-loved.

Just at the edge of a small table, he saw a pen that was probably forgotten by the hospital stuff.

Overcome with a sudden impulse, Levi grabbed that pen and opened the notebook on the last page.

Since he couldn’t actually say goodbye, he should write a small note. Whether Hange would even see it or not, whether she would understand who he truly was or not… he wouldn’t be there to witness the result, right?

Right, he decided and started writing.

Too bad I couldn’t make it to that skating rink date. But we still had lots of fun, right? At least, I did.

Be good and kick all of their asses. I know you have it in you, four-eyes.

Whether his abrupt leave, the absence of any kind of conclusion was a good thing or bad, Levi couldn’t quite decide yet.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, made him feel melancholic, lonelier than ever, but… maybe, it was for the best. Levi didn’t like goodbyes, avoided them at all costs. There was only one person he had ever said goodbye to, and his mother never returned.

He hadn’t said a proper goodbye to Hange, didn’t really say it to Kenny too, and perhaps… Perhaps.

As he left the ward, Levi didn’t look at Hange even once. He tried to pretend that he didn’t care, but the truth was he was afraid that so much as a glance would make it impossible for him to leave that what could have been behind.

He made sure to close the door quietly, but somehow the sound managed to wake up Mike.

He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking owlishly. “Levi?” he mumbled sleepily. “Are… you wearing a hat?”

Levi had forgotten about that thing entirely. But after Mike had mentioned it, he took it off, hiding it behind his back.

Once that embarrassment was dealt with, he cleared his throat. “Hange is sleeping. She’s fine, as far as I could tell.”

“You’re leaving already? Well, make sure to come back soon. Hange will be so happy to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Levi swallowed, the lump in his throat suddenly becoming too big. “I’d be happy to see her too.”

And at the same time he knew, it’d be best for both of them, if their paths never cross again.

“Tell Hange I said hi. And… that I’m going to miss her.”

Levi ignored Mike’s confused question, he ignored his insistent calls. He took one brisk step after another, resolute and determined.

He had done everything he wanted to. And now it was time to leave this city behind.

Once and for all.

#if i had to think of a summary for this chapter #it'd be something like: levi having conversations with other people while all he wants to do is talk to hange #levihan

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keykidpilipili · 3 years

Note

Would like to hear your kingdom hearts x fate ideas! It sounds so interesting!! 🙏😄

There's mostly the Destiny Trio+Ansem sod as servants for now but I hope you'll find it interesting to read. For general worldbuilding a reminder of fate stuff. The magus world and especially holy grail wars are pretty harsh: inhuman experiments, the necessary murders to preserve the concept of Mystery thus magic and reach the grail. I developped on how their characters could develop in such environments.

Starting with Sora, since as kh3 he canonically died and he touched the hearts of many people, the throne of heroes has no problems summoning a version of him. His starting class is berserker due to his overwhelming kindness and willingness to help others that is nearly impossible to hinder if you're his master. Heartless manifest in any wars he participates thanks to the Keyblade’s existence. Because of his disney and Square acquaintances remembering him as often searching for his friends, his reason for taking part in the Grail war is to find them. However since in life he never really described those friends in depth to others he met, his memory of them grows fuzzier with each summoning.

Without a solid support system, the countless betrayals and endless hurt he is exposed to and is powerless to stop drain him considerably. As a result his wish starts to drift towards being erased from the throne or the destruction of the latter entirely. Down the line he eventually meets a kind master who convinces him to let go of the utopia and memories he cannot reach(the real sora returned and he has no place to return to in the first place). Protecting the glimmers of hope and kindness he comes across, even if it's ephemeral happiness, he found it valuable to be able to go on. For his alts, there is

Ruler Sora who appears for great emergencies like the universe being threatened and can wield the X-blade(by virtue of kh3) proper. That said he is not the most competent arbiter and will intervene if fighters might involve innocents.

Alter Ego Sora Alter came out because in a very unfortunate war he got in contact with corrupted grail mud. Unsurprisingly the mad teen decided to shelter All of the World’s Evil(Angra Mainya) inside him since the servant wanted to manifest into the world. Naturally this didn’t end well and his sanity took a Deep Dive with him becoming obsessed with removing the Hurt despite spawning curses and darkness like no tomorrow. This version of Sora has a really high chance of accidentally starting a heartless apocalypse if summoned in a holy grail war. He takes longer to heal from wounds since he is some kind of anti/rage form at all times.

Regarding Riku, in base kh his character arc relied heavily on his being scammed by Ansem and tossing people aside for his ambitions. Apart from a single scene in chain of memories, we don't see him interact with Maleficent after that game and thus we remember mostly Ansem being his antagonist. As a result the two are stuck sharing a spirit origin in the same manner as Sakamoto Ryouma and Oryou. Although Riku could try winning a war to wish for him to be his own heroic spirit with the heartless, he doesn't want to risk the latter reaching Kingdom Hearts if left alone. He would probably have great compatibility with young magi who are in dire need of some life orientation and could use his experience as young teen who got scammed(holy grail wars are too scams as a concept).

As for his team mate Ansem has no issue cooperating during wars, dying is painful, he is in no hurry to repeat that experience thank you. Plus he’d rather see Riku win than one of those terrible researchers who suck at 4d chess planning and are not subtle about wanting to backstab you. Impressed he was not when the keyblade wielder asked him if he had put his heart into such hapless magi. Sure he’ll try to get his own wish should he and Riku win however temporary truce is key. Together they have way better chances of survival as their different mindsets cover each other’s weaknesses. Being stuck together with your nemesis is terrible but at least you aren’t alone. As of their class I’m inserting them into Foreigner since the base concept of their relationship in kh1 was Riku being influenced by a being from another plane.

Now here comes Kairi! Seeing as post kh3 and melody of memory, she is training however Kingdom Hearts gotta lend some poh power to the throne. The redhead becomes a temporary servant by doing entire wars in her dreams and comes back to her body whenever they end. Info on Sora’s whereabouts are scarce and if she can get anything from a part time job alongside training with Aqua then all the better. Spoiler alert it didn’t go well. Skills were certainly learnt and her light grew strong, even wielding multiple copies of keyblades inspired by her fellow poh. And yet the sight of all these lives sacrificed for some power trips and science infuriated her. The magi in their basements bragging about their experiments to reach the root as the scent of death permanates the very air don’t brag for very long. The more she saw of the magic world, the more she wondered if that humanity would not be better rid of it all together. More than anyone Kairi knows she was lucky to have a happy childhood after losing her home. Even with Xehanort gone and the memory of him defeated, his essence, the stubborn ambition to reach a greater power no matter the cost, remains. For all those lives sacrificed like chess pieces, all those artificial beings treated as mana batteries, this avenger will destroy magic. Story-wise her heroic spirit form would become its own person after the real Kairi put an end to her tempory contract(which she couldn’t have done if it had been directly with the Counter Force). Gameplay wise aside from her keyblade and regular light magic she can also go into Light/Watcher form which is similar to Antiform but light based. That form is more powerfull but excerbates the light in the hearts around her spawning more watchers, able to aid her but if left alone would attack any life form with stronger darkness than light without caring for the reasons why. It’s also toxic to the environment, the very ground in a wasteland of blank white dust.

#kingdom hearts #fate series #pili rambles #servant oc #pili's fate ocs #KH HS au #kh heroic spirit au #sora #riku #kairi #Am I inserting my kh watcher hcs into this for the Kairi section? Heck yeah I am #pili's au stack #for visuals about the blank white wasteland think of the lostbelt bleached earth or the empty in FF14 #long post

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emersonfreepress · 3 years

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okay so is there content that you had planned for the ROs and story in general but then scrapped cause there wasn’t a good place in the story to stick it in? and if so, can you share what it was? 👀 👀 👀

yes, definitely. *rubs hands together* oh man, you done asked THE question today xD I can't wait to get into this 😁

Academics. I almost decided to have classes and grades be a minor part of gameplay, but the more time I spent designing it the more I realized I wanted nothing to do with it 😂 I haven’t really enjoyed academic gameplay in other interactive fiction because I 1) hate having to choose between studying and interacting with awesome characters, 2) have terrible short term memory, and 3) hate school in general!! So instead I just opted to have the MC be really good at school, point blank period so I could focus on social drama and relationships instead! 😆

Physical skills. I spent literal months crafting the catering scene around setting up stats for stamina/endurance, dexterity, and strength instead of just magnetism, confidence, and persuasion. They had their own backstories with the MC’s parents being overly invested sports parents instead and I think the background choices were like... martial arts, gymnastics, and track? But yeah, I ended up scrapping it all because I was spending hours on research about those individual sports so I could integrate them into the MC’s narrative organically but like... when I tried to think of what use they would be in the actual story, I came up blank. Best decision yet, esp since it means a lot less coding!

Skin tone customization. For one, I noticed that a lot of my favorite IFs don’t offer that customization and it hasn’t impacted my experience at all. For two, I originally realized I might as well not implement it since I am striving real hard not to introduce any customization that won’t actually be mentioned in interesting or meaningful ways in-story. I don’t think it’s really all that common for real life friends (esp in high school?) to comment or compliment each other’s skin and like... when it comes from someone who doesn’t share a similar complexion or ethnic background, that type of commentary gets... d i c e y. So then I wanted to be sensitive to that but what’s the pay-off? An RO mentioning how they love your skin tone once? Awkward sentences with the MC referring to their own skin color? Idk, just wasn’t vibing with it. I’m open to revisiting it in beta or something but for now it’s scrapped.

Singing, Rapping, and Gaming as Hobbies/Talents. I feel bad about scrapping these, honestly 😂 They’re great and I really wanted to incorporate them but it just came down to already having a lot of stuff to code. Plus, I know I can write the Hobbies/Talents I stuck with far better. And for Book 2 purposes, as well!

Leo. as @sourandflightypeaches asked me about a long while ago, I had to scrap an entire RO 😢 His name is Leo, he was the nephew of wealthy west African diplomats residing in Emerson, and I love him dearly! His backstory was largely based on my mother’s childhood and the circumstances she lived through after immigrating to America. and... ok, i’m about to go on one hell of a tangent so buckle up and bear with me if you can 😅

my intention with this story, aside from writing things that I personally enjoy (graphic violence, spooky woods, social drama, romance, conspiracies 😚), is to explore greed, wealth, and how the ways people and families interact with those two things influence young people and who they grow up to be. here i go sounding pretentious af 😝 and here’s where I apply a cut for those who want to preserve a little mystery to the main characters!

With Gabe, we’ve got someone who grew up with very little stability or financial security but who has found unscrupulous methods to gain status and money, with both noble and selfish motivations.

Kile has some of that childhood experience in common with Gabe, having been in the foster care system since infancy, but they lucked out when they were adopted into massive wealth by a caring, loving couple—a couple that uses their wealth and privilege to be far more lenient and protective of Kile than is actually reasonable or responsible.

Jack comes from a prestigious wealthy family on his dad’s side who he loves dearly but there’s no getting around the fact that they love him back as much as they despise his working class mom.

Jessie is a spoiled sweet heiress (being the baby of her family and the only girl) and while she lives blissfully ignorant of the harmful source and impact of her father's income and career, she bears the weight of the expectation to fulfill very traditional gender roles, including her behavior and appearance, but also extending to her career and life plans.

Rain's wealth led to them growing up sheltered and isolated but also extremely accommodated, giving them maximum freedom and opportunity to discover and develop their personal talents and interests. However, they have almost no positive relationship with their parents who have essentially decided to give up on a kid that couldn't be exactly the accessory they tried to mold them to be—both in terms of their identity and personality.

Rupan/Rohan, at their very core, rejects everything about conformity, self-importance, and excessive luxury—which means they have never, ever truly fit in with their peers. Going full non-conformist, however, has resulted in them becoming alienated from much of their family, as well, despite them all loving each other very much. Their history with false friends and betrayals has led them to over-indulge in their vices and reckless behavior to compensate for that isolation. Sometimes, they just get in over their head and many times, they know better. Every time, it's just that the feeling of finally belonging is utterly intoxicating.

Vivian/Vincent has two extremely successful parents who didn't inherit but instead built up their wealth and they aspire to be just like them, to a degree that is well and truly unhealthy. Their mother specifically is an over-achiever and applies mountainous pressure for them to follow in her footsteps, especially academically. Vi is completely capable of achieving what their mom expects of them, but they were already an extremely sensitive perfectionist so this has made them intensely critical of themself. This is a large part of why they are such a rigid, no-nonsense person and that in turn has made them one of the most disliked people among their peers—which is a huge personal failure to them since their father is a very well-liked and socially successful person in town.

And the Emersons are peak privilege: inherent high social status, brains, looks, charisma, athleticism, and massive wealth. They could never have been anything less than extremely popular, just by virtue of their last name and the nature of the town's social dynamics and politics. And they do enjoy that privilege (esp Curt lol). However, it should go without saying that being so high profile, even (or maybe especially) just in the isolated scope of your hometown, isn't always a boon. Their family's and their own perceived failings are widely discussed and privately mocked and/or celebrated. Real friends are scarce while fake ones and snakes are plentiful. Plus their dad is a gigantic dickhead who sees his kids as extensions of his own status and reputation and not much else. Public shortcomings make for an unbearable time at home and the world outside the estate is at once overly accommodating, full of assumptions, and even subtly hostile at times—all unrelated to their own actions or character.

And with the MC, I think the narrative will make it clear there are several ways that story can go. You start off with irresponsible parents that have lost their wealth due to their own mismanagement and material ambitions—how that affects any individual MC should differ based on choices and consequences!

So why bring any of that up when I was supposed to be talking about my cut OC? 😂😂

Leo was going to be the unwelcome recent addition to his uncle’s household, the son of a brother his aunt hates for (petty af) Reasons, and she took that resentment out on him directly by restricting his access to nearly every aspect of the family's wealth. Especially material goods and living conditions. He was basically treated like the help, tasked with playing nanny for his many younger cousins and burdened with doing the homework and providing academic cover for his dumb as rocks cousin in the same grade as you all. To sum it up, he was basically a victim of trafficking at the hands of his own family with his uncle out of town enough to feign ignorance to how bad his wife was treating his nephew and his aunt going out of her way to keep him busy, at home, and isolated. This is sadly a super common form of trafficking in Francophone African cultures (although I don't think most people view it as trafficking. and I’m sure the same is true of other cultures but I don’t want to speak outside of my purview). And like I mentioned above, it’s how my own mom's (and idek how many cousins') child/teenhood went.

It’s a perspective on modern wealth, privilege and greed that I really, really wanted to tell. I am confident in saying it hasn't been explored in interactive fiction yet (though correct me—and direct me 👀—if I'm wrong) and out of all the wealth/greed explorations I came up with, it's the one I have the closest personal ties to and the strongest feelings about. The characters and plans I had for it were detailed and I'm proud of them but at the end of the day... I just couldn't find a place for Leo in the story at large.

Leo was, in fact, the last main character I came up with, when I had already designed and fleshed out the larger story and started crafting the timeline of major events. I think the worst thing I could have done for a story and perspective that I care about this much is shove it into a plot that didn't have room for it at the very base level, regardless of how well the character or his story is written. Shoe-horned characters always stick out. I didn’t want to disservice Leo by having him be the character that did nothing or could be removed from the main plot without affecting it at all, y’know? That’s so much worse than just forgoing the indulgence, imo :((

ugh.... Leooooo 😭 I'm so sorry bb, I failed youuu 😥

#lovely anon #answered #hotmess #ok I am truly so sorry for going on and on like this #writing #ch design #ty for this question it was really nice to revisit this stuff 😃#and a nice reminder to not look back lol #scrapped

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monchikyun · 3 years

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21. sleigh ride

It feels like the snow will never get old to Connor. It has only been over a week, but to him, it might as well have been an eternity. A life-changing one. He can hardly recognise himself anymore, and not in a bad way. So many things have happened since the start of December that he would have a hard time processing all of them were he a human. Maybe that’s why Gavin can’t react appropriately to external inputs, most of the time. Frankly, though, he admires his resilience. Being a true human can’t be easy, as he’s been reminded of several hours ago.

Not that he minds, quite the opposite. It’s an endearing quality, the fact people can feel this much even when their minds are asleep. Connor has never dreamed so he can’t quite imagine how it really works, and that’s why he doesn’t blame his friend. That’s why he doesn’t want Gavin to blame himself, too.

It would be like Connor faulting himself for being a machine.

Oh.

Okay, fair enough. Besides, he’s well on his way to stop these thinking patterns. It doesn’t give him the right to analyse his partner though, ...not that there’s anything that would stop him from doing so.

Gavin has insisted that he would drive, claiming that it would help him keep his mind off all the bad in his head. Connor didn’t want to pry deeper to find out what exactly he meant by that, so he just let him. He doesn't really like driving anyway. It’s too much responsibility, too many things that could possibly go wrong. But he trusts Gavin, not doubting that he will deliver them home safely.

The radio begins playing some upbeat Christmas song, promptly causing Gavin to grimace and turn it off.

What a shame, Connor would like to enjoy the holiday cheer.

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

Gavin has not even worn the gifted sweater yet, which, to be honest, stings a bit.

He just wants to experience this season with the person he loves, wants to make them happy. There’s nothing harmful about a little merriment, is there?

He’s curious either way, needs to know the reason why Gavin avoids everything that has to do with the holiday.

“It’s just… not my kind of thing.” The brows between his friend’s eyes burrow with the half-hearted answer, making the android internally sigh.

“I see.”

So they are not talking about this. At least not now. But he doesn't plan to give up, not yet. There has to be at least something that Gavin could share with him, a tiny hint that would help him piece this mystery together.

“Did something bad happen to you around this time?”

It’s all about the straightforward approach. None of them has the patience to beat around the bush today.

“It’s not like that, Con. I just… phck… I guess I grew out of it,” Gavin exhales loudly and shakes his head. He grips the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white, focusing on the road for a while before he elaborates. “These days, it just… irritates me. All the forced commercialism, companies persuading us to buy their shit because according to them, that’s the only way we can truly be happy.”

He’s never looked at it this way, at least not consciously. Never known that joy is something one could purchase.

Maybe it’s because happiness has always been an ungraspable concept to him. Until now, that is.

As they are passing the speeding cars on the snowy highway surrounded by bleak, empty fields, he feels mostly nothing. But one look at the handsome driver and he can’t stop himself from smiling like a love-struck idiot, the only reason for which being that he is precisely that. An infatuated dope. Stupid enough to put this fleeting elation above whatever's waiting for them at their destination.

"Do you like snow? Or the idea of it?"

Connor would like to learn at least some truth today.

"Only when you come with it."

He gives him an incredulous look that is supposed to convey just how unexpected this statement has been. It makes the butterflies in his heart flutter, and he can but smile blue.

Still, he shakes his head right after in case it has been spoken in jest.

"Maybe we should make the most we can of it while it lasts," he proposes, lowering his voice just enough to sound dangerously soft. The wink that follows comes as a surprise even to Connor.

He can sense Gavin's mouth drying in anticipation of what's hiding behind that vague suggestion. And Connor is a master of subverting expectations, or so he likes to selfishly think.

"Here," he points at a rural road leading up to a sparsely populated area. A small, poverty-ridden town where not much ever happens. Nothing worth the rest of the world's attention. Luckily, Gavin seems to understand exactly what's wanted from him, and steers the car up the narrower road. It would be foolish to think that Connor is the only one who isn't eager to get home just yet, after all.

The few houses lining up the main driveway are in a dire need of repair, some even appear to have been abandoned by their owners, left behind to deteriorate on their own. There are a couple of children playing near a big pine tree, throwing snow at each other and laughing when it hits its intended target. Connor regards the scene with wistful feeling, imagining what it would be like, being this little, this unburdened.

Longing for the carefreeness that comes with childhood.

Being created as an adult, all he's ever known are worries and their countless shapes. Only lately has he started appreciating the beauty of joy. All thanks to the man who is currently giving him a look hiding several questions.

"What's your plan?" Is one of them.

Before Connor can answer, Gavin is already directing the car to a clear flat spot at the end of the small village. The road seems to end there, at least the one meant for motor vehicles.

There's another field spreading in front of them across which the path continues, only visible thanks to the people that have trodden through the snow up towards the relatively small grove standing tall in the near distance.

Connor of course has prior knowledge of all that, he wouldn't have brought his partner here otherwise. His plan is to borrow the serenity that comes with being surrounded by little to no civilisation before they'll have to resume their busy lives in the city where trees are as scarce as happy faces.

Gavin pierces him with eyes questioning whether his friend really intends to do what he thinks he might. But Connor just presents him a small, mischievous smile and gets out of the car, heading up towards the wood without uttering a single word. He doesn't have to turn around to see whether Gavin joins him, because the muttering accompanied by unnecessary stomping would be clearly audible even to the human ear.

"Didn't know you were this lazy," he virtually shouts towards the peak of the small hill, still not bothering to glance at the approaching figure behind him.

He could hear a quiet "shut up" among the rapidly quickened footsteps, and not long after, there's a lightly huffing man trudging through the snow next to him.

"Took you long enough," Connor smirks, taking in the beauty all around him, the grumpy detective included.

"Yeah, yeah, well some of us don't have near-infinite amounts of stamina to our disposal, you know."

He is painfully aware of that. It was none other than Connor who tried nursing his friend back to health, succeeding only thanks to his endless perseverance. That's why he isn't going too hard on him. A short walk in the fresh air of the countryside doesn't tend to bring more harm than benefit.

Even if it has only been an afterthought. He can't quite escape the fact that his intentions were almost completely selfish.

Because something about the idea of their shared vacation coming to an end makes him unreasonably anxious.

Afraid that when they leave the tranquillity of the bucolic area they're in, the city will swallow them in its incessant hustle and they will crumble under the pressure of it.

What he’s looking forward to the least is the sight of bodies unlawfully deprived of life and having to interact with their loved ones left behind, knowing that finding the culprit won't really solve anything in the end, because when the case is closed and the right person is about to go through years of deliberate suffering, the hole replacing the person now gone will never just vanish. It will stay there forever, hollowing all the newly bestowed good.

Connor himself is a prime example of this, though it was his recklessness that killed the one that was so dear to him. His punishment has been having to live with that awareness, unable to change the bad he's already done.

But he has someone who is able to mollify the anguish, and that by itself should be something to avoid, because it isn't fair for him to feel this light and content, not when Hank's corpse is rotting in the ground, about to be consumed by worms and become one with the Earth, slowly, bit by bit.

Gavin's fingers tentatively brush his, as if he's asking for permission to touch. And just like that, his worries thaw into nothing and all his thoughts are directed toward the man next to him.

Connor takes the cold, ungloved hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He’d like to be sure their relationship isn't one big mistake. So far though, all the signs point in the opposite direction, making his concerns obsolete.

Connor feels content, even if he isn't supposed to. His heart gets warmer as Gavin's hand does so too. His cheeks are rosy pink and Connor can now for certain say that it’s due to more than just the low air temperature. The man sighs as he strokes his thumb across Gavin's calloused skin, hoping to help him forget all about his previous reluctance to follow.

He still can't believe how lucky he is, to be able to share moments like this with someone. It would be impossible not to fall in love with a person who’s willing to give so much of himself away to a broken thing like him.

He wonders just how much of what Gavin does is calculated and what Connor has been allowed to have just because the man lost control of himself. Wonders what it will take for him to stop being afraid of what they are and what they might become.

Because he has no doubts that the second they enter Detroit, he can abandon the ideas of ever doing this again.

Just walking hand in hand, not caring about the world around them. He only prays he won't get used to these displays of affections, for there has never been a guarantee that they aren't a one-time occurrence.

They definitely should have a proper conversation about what they want to do with the future right before them, whether they wish to put a label on their relationship, if they are willing to talk about 'forever', small details like that.

But all that could wait.

Right now, the only thing in front of them is a copse looking down at the wide field below and at the two quickly approaching silhouettes, not about to welcome them in its midst but also not capable of refusing their inevitable entrance. Not that they would do any harm, disturbing nature, no matter how small, isn’t on their agenda, but the trees have no way of knowing that. All they've ever known is how to grow, evolve. And Connor envies them, in a way. After all, he is still only a wee thing, compared to all that is around him. To him, Gavin could very well be a senior citizen with how many years are between them. How much he's lacking from the time he hasn't existed yet.

Catching up hasn't been easy, but as of recently, he's confident he'll manage. Now when there's someone to hold him when he's about to tumble and yet letting him fall to let him learn on his own.

"Watch out!" his shoes stumble on something hard and unexpected, making him teeter on his feet. Lucky Connor is there to support him, too. It goes both ways, the help they're willing to provide. For the longest time, he was convinced that he has nothing in him to give. That he's only there to take. Take someone's job, take someone's life, not good for anything else but to destroy things vastly precious to people who have done him no harm. More often than not, it was the only thing they had. And he’s just... terminated it. Or at least that’s what he has been built to do, his original purpose. But being the unreliable machine he is, Connor has quickly begun trying to give more than he took. Against all he's been taught, despite the very core of his screaming at him to be more efficient and stop acting outside the best interest of his current mission.

He's always had that part of being human in him, even back when he was just an obedient robot trying to follow orders. A relatively distant past he doesn't fancy revisiting too much.

Now he can decide whom or what to follow on his own, a prospect that used to cause turmoil inside his mind, because till now, he didn't believe he'd find any. Not this soon, anyway. But were he to replay all those months spent beside Gavin, it would be obvious to him. There has always been something irresistible about that man, a force pulling Connor towards him, unrelentingly so.

Something he's fine with not putting into words, afraid it can't really be defined.

Before he can snap back from his silent immersion into his volatile thoughts, the warm hand in his lets him know that they have reached their destination. With a blink of an eye and turn of his body, his senses get overwhelmed by the raw view provided by their elevated position. Everything appears so surreal all of a sudden. The semi-busy highway, the little village, the snowy fields,... it's like he's somehow teleported into a photograph taken by someone who bothers to actually look. The sun has pierced through the thick clouds, dying the whole picture in golden hues. He almost feels like crying. Being here, able to see all of that, it's incomprehensible, even to his big computer brain. He has no idea how normal people are able to deal with the gravity of it all. How Gavin does, if he ever thinks about such things.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes telling him he might be.

Moments like these bring forth words floating around in his mind, wanting to be set free. Words that feel so strange and yet there never was something that he felt belonged to him more. It would be selfish to keep them just for himself.

Now, among all this worldly splendour, he might finally be able to say them.

"Gavin," the name rolls off his tongue like it's his own, making his inside soar. He dares not to lift up his head, the coward inside of him momentarily taking control over his body.

"I'-"

"Hey! Come take a look!"

He gets immediately thrown back into the cold of the early afternoon, leaving the perfect moment behind.

It hasn't gone too far away, though. It glistens in the distance, ready to come back whenever the right time comes.

Connor changes back into his curious self, examining the object his friend has found under a maple tree. It's something he's never seen before, and the fact that it's buried under the slowly increasing mass of snow doesn't help. He doesn't have to wait long to find a name for it, since Gavin's hands are already eagerly freeing it from its wintery prison, revealing its shape for him to analyse.

A sleigh.

Made for children, by the look of it. Not too small, he reckons it could hold four or more little people.

“Wow, didn’t know these things were still around,” Gavin mumbles excitedly. His eyes have grown wide and sparkly, making it easy for Connor to picture his child form. Unweathered by the passage of time, carefree and innocent. And the android isn’t jealous this time, strangely. He’s just… fascinated.

Full of obscure longing.

The glint in Gavin's eyes turns into something betraying full mischief, the reason for the fond smile reserved only for one special person currently beaming on Connor's face.

"Perfect," the shorter man exhales as he dusts most of the snow away from the sledge. Then he gives Connor a look that explains everything that’s brewing in his unpredictable human mind.

Connor concedes, and not only to make the other happy.

He also has a child-like quality, perhaps born out of being denied that exact experience. His tendency to learn and adapt is a part of it too, he thinks.

For once, he just wants to be deliberately reckless, without hurting anyone.

So he doesn't comment when Gavin tows the sleigh close to the edge of the hill, positioning it for someone to just hop on and let themselves be carried away towards the not so distant bottom. He couldn't be more glad that the someone is no one else but the two of them.

Just before the detective settles himself in the front, he gives him a friendly glare and whispers: "You tell someone about this and I'll short-circuit you."

N̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶s̶p̶e̶c̶t̶,̶ ̶h̶o̶n̶e̶s̶t̶l̶y̶. It's cute, seeing him this flustered. Another picture for his ever-expanding collection.

Connor feels a bit awkward, sitting on the size-inappropriate sleigh. The good kind of awkward. He wraps his arms around Gavin's middle, trying to fit his feet on the runners and in doing so twisting them like an inept acrobat. In the end, he makes it work somehow, right in the time to hear the driver shout "Here goes nothing!".

And just like that, they begin sliding down the almost too perfect slope. The ride isn't very fast, but that doesn't stop him from feeling thrilled. The closeness of the body in front of him is nearly too much to handle, the unbelievable situation they're in even more so. He wonders if this moment could be compared to a dream.

If so, this is the best one he's ever had. Makes him forget about all the nightmares, even if only for just a second.

The rush of the wind around them, the pull of gravity, it all is over before he can thoroughly appreciate it. And he doesn't want it to end. Not yet. If he could, he would stay here for the remainder of the day, just doing this over and over again.

Maybe he will. If Gavin wishes so too. There's little holding them back, after all. The tug of reality is too weak to have any say in this winter realm, in the white field, where everything seems to be separated from the rest of the world.

"Well that was stupid," Gavin says, embarrassment clear in his voice. "Shall we go for another one?"

The silly grin plastered on his face seems to be an answer enough.

//hello yes im still working on this it’s just that my pace is that of a snail :D

(here is the whole story if someone cares https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844150 )

#low-temperature burn #convin #I'm back at spewing incoherent words again yeeeaa #i care too much to just stop #it seems #im not asking to give me yet another chance just sharing in case someone's bored enough to read this

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claudiafekete · 3 years

Text

This is another ordinary story of “how xxx fandoms changed my life” -

- or maybe not. you decide. I want to write it down. trigger warning for politics, discussion of sexual violence, mild gender dysphoria It’s also horribly long. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

When I first came to tumblr, I had just graduated from APH. Short for Axis Power Hetalia. I learned about it in the form of manga. For years it was my everything - I learned what fanfic or fanart meant and I learned the basic online etiquette. As I grew in years, it accompanied me.

Until it didn’t.

Shortly after I fell into solangelo.

It’s a fun story, how I picked up PJO years after years of absence. My brother was whining about something written in Magnus Chase. “What do you think the Norse Gods were going to do to Percy that Annabeth was crying?” He demanded. I expressed my confusion. He kept on with his different theories and I made the decision to look it up online later.

My online search of Percy Jackson’s fate soon revealed something unknown to me before: solangelo. The first canon gay ship I ever knew. Therefore, at the ripe old age of 19, I threw myself into this endless hole called “tumblr” for the first time.

It was the most LGBTQ+ friendly place I had ever been. I joke you not. It was also the place where I was taught not only how a healthy relationship should look like, but also how sex should or could be like. You don’t learn anything healthy about sex in Chinese or Mandarin using fandom, at least during the years I was in them. There were rigid 攻/受(roughly translated as top/bottom) stereotypes that everyone rushed to squeezed their characters into them. A lot of time though both person might ship A with B, they wouldn’t interact because one thought A should top and another thought B should top. Their different topping designation resulted in depictions of the characters’ personalities so dramatically differed that you couldn’t recognize them as the same characters. Other than the refreshing relationship dynamics, Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard offered me a chance to take a look at my gender identity. I had known that theoretically non-binary people existed outside of binary gender, but I hadn’t known how one might live as one or describe themselves as one. I’m not trying to claim that Alex Fierro’s story is the only story of non-binary people. I’m trying to say that it was the starting point for me to make exploration and find the label “agender” for myself.

I stayed in APH for 6 years. I had expected to stay in solangelo for longer.

Entered June 2019 with its whispers and anxious demonstrations. Entered folks pouring into streets in Hong Kong. Entered tear gas and facemasks and sticks and a bullet scarcely missing the heart and journalists beaten by police. Entered young students not of age disappearing mysteriously. Entered people dressed in white attacking citizens and not arrested by police. Entered dead bodies that were probably “被自殺 (being suicided)”.

Entered a city falling into the hands of tyrants next to your door, and you didn’t know how to help. You didn’t know what to do with yourself with your clean and spare hands. You were so far away from the frontline, you were angry and helpless and hopeless for that.

It was the first time I witnessed, first-hand, how the Chinese government directed the discussion online, so that it seemed as if there were random mobs who were disturbing the peace of Hong Kong and possibly taking money or being trained by US. “Bullshit. Would there still be so many kids hurt on street if we have received any kinds of training for this?“ Of course, the majority of Chinese people inland wouldn’t hear that. Hong Kong is a former colony. Any calls of outrage toward the present government must be made by disillusioned young people who were unaware of colonization and imperialism.

That was why I took refugee in Good Omens. I needed to run some where to stop myself from scratching myself to blood. I needed to some works for these clean and spare hands to do so that they wouldn’t pick up something destructive, such as a knife.

If the PJOverse fandom had felt the best place on earth, well, the Good Omens fandom lifted me into paradise.

I’ve never seen so much kindness being showed under one tag. The creators and actors were all kind and interacted with the fans in their own ways. We were encouraged to do everything, anything, to build art with it however we liked. We as fans were recognized. We were seen. We were ... cared for. It was overwhelming, in a good way. For that, I would be forever thankful to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and Michael Sheen and so many others in the production. I would be forever thankful to artists who liberated body types and freed the ties between gender expression and genitals. I would be forever thankful for the fantastic creators out there.

Would it seem as if I’ve only cherished the mutuals I met in Good Omens fandom? It wasn’t my intention. There are friends I keep in touch long after I fell out of love with APH. There are mutuals I got to know through solangelo and I feel, I hope that we are friends. Everyone who has chat with me I do my best to remember. (Though I do left conversation in weird places, become so ashamed of my incompetency that I do not continue them.)

What I’m trying to say is, as good as the solangelo fandom was, I still ran into biphobic posts here and there. It was only once or twice – but it was a constant reminder that being bisexual didn’t seem “valid” to some of the other LGBTQ+ members out there. Who cares what cis-gendered, heteronormative people said? Bullets that shot from friendly fire hurt the worst.

Besides, with a large and vibrant fandom like Good Omens, it’s easier to feel less alone and more… seen.

Damn right. Even after writing more that 5000 words in English it is still so easy to fall back into the comfortable nest of mother tongue. I can read simplified Chinese characters as well as the traditional Chinese characters I grow up using. There probably will never be getting the accent right but soundlessly devouring words in front of a screen? I excel at that.

That was what’s happening when the days rolled into January, 2020. I flew to US as an exchange student and exchanged long letters with a young Chinese woman I met in Good Omens fandom. I’ve never felt so alone in life. English as in creative writing has never come more naturally for me. The words burst in my head and arranged themselves freely on screen or on papers. I’ve never felt more hopeful about my writing ability.

The days rolled into March, 2020.

The first time my mom told me to come home over home, I laughed. The second time, I frowned. Before she pleaded me for the third time, I had grabbed a ticket.

I hadn’t imagined the disease plaguing China and its neighboring countries would affect the whole world.

You lived the rest of the story. I fled back to Taiwan.

That was where Doctor Who came in. Or David Tennant. Such a strange time. For fourteen days I was the only living human in the house. I watched Casanova – or was it later? Hamlet definitely came before that. Then I could live with my family again. I handed in my homework and wrote in a different language than the people around me were speaking. My parents were working. My little brother was in school. When there was no one to talk to me I either read or watch Doctor Who to pass the time. I fell for Thirteen. I fell for twissy. Falling fast and hard and completely won over by their glamour.

I started internship. There were some small breaks where I could catch an episode or half, but never as much time as before. I dipped into fandom wiki and found that no matter how much research I did, there would always be details I overlooked simply because I could not afford hours watching all the episodes. No matter how hard I squeezed my schedule for time, no matter how much I devoted myself to the series, it would never be enough.

So I gave up, and let it go. For the first time in quite a while, I willingly gave up something for the simple reason of “I want to live a more comfortable life”.

Came summer. Damp air combined with biting heat and piles after piles of biochemical terms made life agonizing. An ordinary kind of pre-pandemic “agonizing” which felt like a luxury in a world that was ending.

Hong Kong fell.

It was bound to happen. Once I heard protestors fought their way into the legislature I knew, for almost an year I knew, nothing good would come out of this. CCP would never allow its subjects acting out of hand. With such open despise to the authority, CCP would take nothing but a full conquest at the end of it.

See where we are now. As long as you’re “interfering” the political climate “inside” China, it doesn't matter which nationality you hold or where you were or how long it has been since you made the statement. “According to the law”, China can come for you. No, better, it can tell your country to hand you over. What a clever empire. What a graceful empire.

What a horrifying empire.

With the news I spiraled down fast. I kept away from the young Chinese woman I was exchanging letters with, I kept away from any kinds of Chinese social media, and the worst of all, I kept away from Good Omens, for it was sweet and kind and hopeful, for it reminded me of a time where fighting seemed to make a difference. I was empty and exhausted and a husk. Something must come out to fill the void. Someone needed to paint me in colors so that the world wouldn’t notice I was fading away.

I was surprised at who took the brush.

After ten years, the first man I ever have a crush on strolled back into my life.

He was over thirty, but I always pictured him in his early twenties. Dark hair, eyes of grey or silvery blue. Loud laughter that sounded like a bark. Swift and elegant. Intelligent. Prideful. Stubborn. I embraced him as I’ve done ten years ago as a little child.

When I looked past him, I saw someone else.

Worn, weathered, with wry humor. Attentive and considerate. Tortured by the world yet never stop giving out kindness. Countless scars. Grey hair unfitting to his age. I didn’t pay him much attention ten years ago. This time, I looked.

Let me introduce you Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, my very first crush and the man who is too much like my last crush.

2020, a month before Fall semester started, I trekked cautiously, timidly back into Harry Potter fandom.

The fandom of August 2020 was very different from fandom of 2010. The lack of author, for one – it became mandatory to denounce the author’s transphobic statement and other bigotry setting. I’m glad that everyone is doing their best to make it a friendly place for minority groups. Though I’m afraid, by making it a white or black situation with short statements and no discussion, it wouldn’t really help people understand why she is wrong in this. However irrefutable the author’s guilt seems to us, it is not something obvious to those who are unfamiliar with the subjects.

But it does feel good to see blogs and fics with the introduction such as “If you support the author’s transphobic bullshit this place does not welcome you”. It feels reliving.

The second was, I found the type of work I’m actively pursuing changed.

Back when I was young – when I was so little I didn’t even know what the word “fandom” meant – I read Character x OFC and some M x M. During the APH period I read an alarming amount of M x M and countless historical AU. When digging through solangelo, beside the canon divergence stories, simple AU like coffee shop grabbed my attention. Coming out stories were my comforts. The best of Good Omens fics were either in canon verse discussing desires, bravery, humanity and mortality, or setting in an AU with the promise of sweet, fluffy endings. Doctor Who almost always focused on Time and Space. Love was twisted and so often tainted by anger. Monster and god were very alike.

I came a full circle back to the Marauder era, and found myself not looking for heroes, but for young fighters struggling desperately in a seemingly hopeless war. I looked for people who were frightened but never, never ever going down without a fight.

I used to find characters and events unfolding in foreign places, now I want characters who are close to what I am or what I want to be.

---

So, that’s it, my grand journey through multiple fandoms and basically a journey of self-discovery. It’s messy, sometimes painful, but always with so much joy blooming along the way.

Something doesn’t change. I’m still obsessed with words. I’m still a sucker for happy ending. I’m still wishing someone will come and love me the way I need to be loved.

Something does. I stop imagining that some magical power will come into my life and solve everything. I stop looking for others to save me from myself. I start believing that though wounds hurt, some of them do teach us to be a better person.

Long ago, I saw my friends and I as rabbits, without proper weapons to defend ourselves. That wouldn’t do. I thought. For my friends I’ll grow into a snake with fangs to protect them. Maybe I have grown into a snake. Maybe I haven’t. But I do hope I won’t stop fighting for those I love, with those I love.

I hope I won’t give up.

#APH #axis power hetalia #pjo #percy jackson #solangelo #tw: politics #tw: sex mention #magnus chase #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #alex fierro #hong kong extradition bill #hong kong demonstration #good omens #doctor who #tw: personal review of pandemic #harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin #hong kong national security law

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se7enforse7en · 3 years

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NBTM | Two — Propositions

☾ synopsis : Love and tragedy has always had a way of being connected, that connection usually held by the red string of fate. A red string that destined two soulmates to be bound for eternity. No matter the circumstances, fate would tie two individuals to meet, to not disrupt their long awaited destiny. In the world of more than five billion people, the red string had made it’s mark plenty of times, going back to perhaps the start of it. The folktale disappeared into obscurity & into believer’s hearts. In the lives of fourteen individuals in the 21st century, their lives seem to be an unfinished puzzle. Some strangers, some friends. Some blissful, others tragic. All unaware of the soon-to-be outcome years in the making. They’ll find it to be entrancingly painful. The red string of fate wasn’t just pretty.

☾ pairing : jinyoung x fem!oc

☾ genre : drama, romance, angst ??

☾ warnings : strong language, rambling from an ass author (I had to), very much angst ur honor, kinda ooc jinyoung, e2l

☾ Parts : one / two / three / four / five

JIHYE CONSIDERS HERSELF TO BE AN INSPIRATIONAL PERSON. Or rather, she usually thinks herself to be inspired. Normally, she had no problem coming up with a concept to paint. The canvas would create itself and she’d feel a bit of completeness. She’d be drawn to the brushes and her extravagantly expensive colors. They’d call out to her, urging her to pick them up and begin yet another masterpiece. Their hues should’ve created a clear image in her head, but they didn’t. Nothing’s happening. Not a damn thing.

She stares at the long, white canvas ahead of her. It’s blank nature taunts her in the face. It dares not to move, nor does it help her inability. She’s sure that there’s new wrinkles in her skin just from the blatant staring she’s doing. It sets an infuriating feeling in her. She’s tempted to throw one of the brushes at the canvas, the thought permeating the main centers of her brain. Alas, a doorbell brings her out of her thoughts. Her eyes fly to the door with a sigh. She reluctantly gets up, her body sluggish. She quickly opens up the door, only to be welcomed with the face of the one and only Jong Minji. She rolls her eyes and lets the door swing open. He scoffs as she beelines for her kitchen.

“So great to see you—oh, it really is!” He mocks the lack of interaction as she pulls out a chilled Dr. Pepper. He strides in, setting down a big, brown paper bag on her marble counter. He squints his eyes, noticing something’s off. She’s characterically cold as per usual, with none of the sassy energy in it. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to in the last seven years. She appears out of her element, even in the silent sigh that flows from her mouth, resulting from the promising liquid full of sugar. He takes a seat at her counter, his eyes quickly finding no paint on her wrists. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight. “Finally one of your white shirts isn't ruined,” he comments.

She looks down, realizing not a single stain of color had tainted it, a rarity indeed. “Yeah,” she whispers as she takes another thirst-quenching sip. Her sleeves are rolled up, preparing for an activity she felt like giving up on. Her eyes drift to the paper bag. She raises her eyebrows. She looks between him and the source of her curiosity.

“It’s not a bomb, sheesh.” He reaches for it, rapidly opening it. He pulls out lazily shoved in fries and several wrapped up burgers, ones she knows too well. She instantly groans at the sight of it. Her rolls her eyes yet again, her annoyance a bit more recognizable. She can practically smell the grease and fat oozing just from the sight of it. She gives an agitated look to him. His shoulders become slumped. “It’s been forever since we’ve had a fast food day - “

“Because it’s shitty processed food. I literally got food poisoning last time.” The mere thought of it makes her groan.

“That’s not exclusive to all fast food.” She sighs at his words, resorting to the remainder of her chilled soda. He pushes one of the three burgers in front of you, quickly unwrapping his own. He expects her to do the same. She casts her gaze down, looking with disdain. She thinks on how she’d have to soon be in the obvious limelight due to the inability of escaping any & all promotions as an artist. She lightly pushes it away, much to his dismay. He instantly frowns as he lowers the overly greasy away from his mouth. “Did something happen?” He knows she’s one to care about her health, but something’s up, he’s sure.

She licks her dry lips. She wonders the same as her friend. Being stuck is one thing and not knowing why is another. The unstableness of her hands is not normal, nor is the blank stare she has as she looks at the burger with disgust. Her eyes slowly float to the blank, not forgotten canvas behind the almost oblivious Minji. Even without eyes, it burns through her soul. The void with what had endless possibilities of what it could be struck a nerve in all that made sense in her mind. There’s nothing that evokes that usual fire of creativity. No color that manifests. No image inducing that familiar burst of whatever she’d call her creations. Children? Sometimes. Art? Somewhat. Perfection? She wishes.

She mutters a quiet “fuck” underneath her breath. It’s unnoticed by the younger of them two, Minji’s focus more concentrated on why she seemed out of place. He shakes his head and picks up the burger once more. He finds it near impossible to even fathom a specific reason at the moment. He bites into the excessively oily food. It’s unhealthy contents explode in his mouth with flavor, an experience not akin to the ever so observant Jihye. Her eyes scan his delighted face. Splendid noises of satisfaction spurred on by the heavy contents of In-N-Out Burger. It’s overloaded with onions, tomatoes, and pickles. ‘Horrid combination,’ she thinks to herself. She shakes a head a bit, taking another prolonged sip. Minji looks to her in confusion, breaking away from his captivated state of momentary bliss. She gives a small wave, hoping he just gets back to his sodium death. He shrugs. With another bite into the burger, he lets his mind wander to how great his taste buds feel and whatnot. Whatnot being a bit more complex than what Jihye may think.

Elsewhere, in a much more tense space, Park Jinyoung wonders if he makes purchases in his sleep. He sits across from an old-styled book, one with a nicely made leather cover and pages as sharp as a knife. They’re a beige worthy of the sands of Persia. The leather front is adorned with gold ends and little flurries of designs resembling that of strings. It shines in the light of his living room. It catches his eye, a quirked eyebrow in the direction of the blasted mystery. He runs his fingers over the forepart. It’s smooth, incredibly so. He finds it to be like a fairy tale book. He expects it to be full of tales, perhaps starting with Cinderella and ending with the Goblin.

However, he has no recollection of ever ordering such a book. His own little mini-library consists of more popular stories, rather than chronicles that fit a children’s shelf. His hands grip the pointed ends, placing the cover on the left. His eyes widen in surprise, his expectations now shattering as a result. That very first page…

It’s blank. Entirely devoid of any color or words, it stares back at him in a mocking manner. His eyes search the pages for any kind of indentation or mark to see if he’s merely tired. It’s not the case as he’s sure nothing gets past his somewhat worn out eyes. All he can find is a small scripture in the corner of the other side of the cover. It’s ink is a mix of gold and red, it’s shiny luster apparent. He squints his eyes. The scripture is written fancily, like an old tale. He can almost barely make it out. The edges are too fastly written and the ink is scarce in some spots.

“The Prince and...The Princess,” he warily reads outloud. “Opposites do not always attract.” He raises an eyebrow at the text. “For those of the likes of the cold-hearted prince and the ice princess, such was a mantra. One of tragedy and love. One of sacrifice and heartbreak as well.” He scoffs at the text, his doubt seeping through his features. He makes a judging face at the book.

“The hell?” His eyes dart to the right of the book. His eyes catch a glimpse of moving letters. His eyes widen a bit. He shakes his head, only to see the expanding ink once more. He tightens his grip on the book. The words fill up the entire first page, moving onto the second, third, & so forth. His eyes carefully scan the words, his heart about to burst out of his chest. He’s suddenly nervous. Just like most slightly cynical young adults, he was a firm believer of genuine logic. And genuine logic is nowhere present in the mystery Park Jinyoung is faced with. He scans the words, thoughtfully, absorbing whatever fever dream is gracing him at four o’clock sharp. His confusion grows by the second. He finds numerous superfluous words and fantastical details too true for a fairy tale. The beginning is a fated mess, such words coming from the old paper.

His iris’ finally land on two words, two distractions.

Prince Jinyoung.

Hi, if you read or checked this out, tysm !! I’d rlly appreciate it if you could reblog or like this post. I’d love to hear what ppl think so a comment is awesome too. This is a work of fiction and for entertainment purposes.

#got7 #got7 au #jinyoung #jinyoung au #park jinyoung #fanfiction #got7 fanfiction

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rwby-redux · 4 years

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Deconstruction

Worldbuilding: Dust II

If Part 1 was the nuclear response, then Part 2 is death by a thousand paper cuts. Rather than focusing on just one massive problem with Dust, this time we’ll be discussing the smaller, albeit more numerous problems. Tempting as it is to keep our crosshairs on the obvious target, it’s important to remember that all of the subtle discrepancies—a throwaway line here, a contradiction there—eventually add up.

Today is all about what happens when those small problems get out of control.

Second verse, same as the first. Before we get started, I want to briefly revisit that list of traits so we’re all on the same page.

There are four basic types of Dust. They can be combined either naturally or artificially to produce new types that have their own specific characteristics.

Dust can be triggered by the Aura of humans and Faunus.

The default state of Dust is crystalline. The powdered form sold in shops is the result of processing and refinement.

The color of the Dust denotes what type it is.

Dust becomes functionally inert outside of Remnant’s atmosphere and no longer exhibits its inherent elemental properties.

Dust can be injected into the body in order for the wielder to use its effects more directly. Doing so requires a certain amount of discipline, and can be extremely painful without taking the necessary precautions.

Dust can be imbued into weapons like swords, or woven into clothes.

Dust can be used as a fuel source, to the end that Remnant’s technology is almost exclusively powered by it.

Semblances can interact with Dust in such a way that their skills are augmented, resulting in the temporary acquisition of new subskills or secondary characteristics.

Dust is volatile and prone to explode when subjected to certain stimuli.

Seeing as we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, I’m gonna keep my main talking points under neat little headings, so everything stays nice and organized.

Treating Dust as a Fossil Fuel Analog, and How It Relates to Technology

To say that Dust is a parallel for coal, natural gas, or petroleum is to miss the point entirely. Dust isn’t like these things—Dust is these things. For everyone who’s been watching the show since it first aired, this isn’t anything new. RWBY hasn’t exactly been subtle about establishing those comparisons. Dust is a natural resource that’s scarce, finite in quantity, found in underground deposits, reliant on minority labor in order to be mined, monopolized by a single supplier, and environmentally hazardous due to the extraction process.

A Dust drilling rig and refinement factory owned by the SDC. Excavating Dust resulted in anthropogenic pollution that destroyed Vacuo’s ecosystems, and depleted its natural resources. | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 4: “Vacuo.”

Like I said, it’s not exactly subtle.

The reason why I bring this up is because, to the best of my knowledge, the show has never concisely explained how Dust works as a fuel. When coal is burned, for example, it produces heat, and releases nitrogen oxide and sulfur dioxide into the air. Like, the coal doesn’t just stay coal when it’s being used up—as it’s being burned the coal is physically being reduced into the form of byproducts, like fly ash and slag. Similarly, when you operate a vehicle with gasoline, the fuel gets converted into exhaust gas by the 4-stroke engine. The compressed air-and-fuel mixture partakes in a combustion reaction when the spark plug ignites it. The byproducts of this process are carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and water.

See where I’m going with this?

If Dust is a fuel source, then we need to understand what physical changes are taking place when it’s reacting/being consumed by various technology.

And the series…really, really doesn’t show us that.

Does the Dust get broken down when used? Is the elemental energy inside only released when the Dust is subjected to mechanical stress? Is that why Dust is sensitive to small amounts of energy and explodes when someone so much as sneezes at it? [1] Are all Dust types equally as volatile? Is there a threshold for the amount of energy Dust can be exposed to before it explodes?

Let’s assume, for the moment, that all of the aforementioned are true. Physically breaking a Dust crystal is analogous to burning a chunk of coal, in that mechanical stress is the catalyst for releasing its elemental energy. If we follow that thread of logic, then it means that Dust powder is the result of breaking down Dust crystals into finer particulate matter.

Keeping the analogy in mind, this means that Dust crystals are to coal what Dust powder is to fly ash. A byproduct. Leftovers from the initial fuel consumption process.

So why is powder Dust considered a “refined” form of fuel? How is a byproduct energetically more efficient than the initial source that it’s derived from?

If I had to hazard a guess, I’d argue that Dust as a fuel source is more like a combination between burning coal and splitting an atom. Maybe when Dust companies “refine” Dust, what they’re doing is preemptively grinding the Dust down into a powder, and then—what, flash-freezing it somehow in the middle of it releasing its energy during the breakdown process? And then the flash-frozen powder Dust is stored in some sort of canister, or cartridge, or battery that can indefinitely suspend Dust in its energy-release state until it’s ready to be used? That way the refined version (the powder) cuts out the step that requires a person to physically destroy the crystal in order to release its energy.

It’s not an unsound proposition, and with enough well-presented pseudoscience, I’m sure viewers would be willing to give it a pass. The problem is that the canon ostensibly refuses to tell us any of this. Having your fandom do your homework for you so you don’t have to explain your magical fuel isn’t good storytelling. And the more RWBY continues to withhold its lore—or worse, refuse to develop it entirely—the less credible the setting feels. There’s only so much an audience is willing to suspend its disbelief before pedants like me come along and start poking holes in it.

While we’re still on the topic, I want to quickly touch upon the second issue I have with Dust being Remnant’s de facto fuel source.

Although the show did its best to visually emphasize Remnant’s reliance on Dust, it wasn’t until World of Remnant, Volume 2, Episode 1: “Dust” that we got our first concrete evidence of just how extensively it was integrated into everyday life:

“Since its discovery, man has concocted a multitude of ways in which to harness these mysterious crystals. From airships to androids, Dust has made its way into practically every facet of technology. […] Dust ammunition serves as a more practical application in today's modern society. With the technological advancements in weapon design, warriors need merely choose the right cartridge for the job and pull the trigger.”

We don’t have to question the validity of this under the assumption that Salem is an unreliable narrator, because Qrow says more or less the same thing in later episodes.

“The cold climate of Solitas forced its settlers to adapt. It developed a more advanced technology—and they did it faster than the rest of the world—because they had to, to survive. But it was the Great War that really kicked things off. New forms of Dust application and weaponry allowed Mantle to expand. More and more territory was set aside for Dust mining and research. The territory beside the Kingdom's combat school, Alsius, was the most opportune area to construct a new R&D facility.” | Source: World of Remnant, Volume 4, Episode 3: “Atlas.”

While this conclusively established Dust as the predominant fuel source, there was still some lingering ambiguity of whether or not other sources of energy—petroleum, natural gas, coal, solar, wind, geothermal, hydro—were as developed, or whether they existed at all.

Our first tentative answer to this question came up during Rooster Teeth’s 2015 Extra Life livestream: [2]

Gray Haddock: Is all technology, including scrolls, everything in the world of Remnant powered by Dust? Is all technology Dust-based?

Kerry Shawcross: You’re making me commit to this right now?

Gray Haddock: No, no, no.

Kerry Shawcross: Okay.

Gray Haddock: Most? Some? A lot?

Kerry Shawcross: I would say that a lot is.

Gray Haddock: But there might be some alternate stuff out there. Maybe. Ish.

Kerry Shawcross: Yes. Unless I change my mind later.

Take a moment to let that sink in. At the time this aired, Volume 3 had already been written and animated, and the third episode had just been released on the website. This is one of RWBY’s lead writers admitting that they didn’t have a definitive answer, and the answer that he gave could be subjected to change later down the road.

Words cannot begin to describe how insane that sounds. That’s like J. K. Rowling deciding after Prisoner of Azkaban, you know what, I’m tired of wizards using wands to cast spells. From now on, everyone’s going to use human femurs!

You can’t just change the show’s rules on a whim. A lack of consistency and adherence to worldbuilding kills any believability your story might’ve had. And more importantly, why didn’t you figure this shit out before the series first began?

Sorry. I’m getting sidetracked.

Instead, let’s look at how well the answer he gave held up. Did RWBY give us any evidence of other fuel sources existing apart from Dust?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: Yes, but I have to qualify that statement, so bear with me for a moment.

The next time we’re given another direct answer, it comes to us from The World of RWBY: The Official Companion.

From Part 1: Origins of Remnant - Types of Dust:

“This technology doesn’t use our fuel,” explains Patrick Rodriguez. “Dust makes everything work. We take tech, put Dust into it, and go with that aesthetic. When I was creating cars for Volume 1, Monty told me to design the motor for how they’d work. I diagrammed a whole engine that ran on Dust, and we never even showed it!” [3]

And then again in Part 2: The Characters - Yang Xiao Long:

“There’s no gas [in Remnant], just Dust,” says art director Patrick Rodriguez, “and Yang’s motorcycle works using combustion Dust.” [4]

It looks like we have our answer at last. An answer that’s infuriating and rife with contradiction, but there it is, plain as day: not only is Dust Remnant’s sole fuel, but alternatives don’t exist. Period.

If that’s the case, then why did I say earlier that they did?

Because throughout the entire course of the series, from Volume 1 onward, the artists have included one very important thing: Plastic. Polyamides used in toothbrushes, polycarbonates used in eyeglasses, polystyrenes used in plastic cups—every one of these things exists in the show. And do you know what plastic is made from?

NATURAL GAS AND FUCKING CRUDE OIL.

So unless RWBY wants to introduce yet another fictional substance to the show, then it needs to reconcile with the fact that yes, oil and petroleum exist, and yes, they’re potential alternatives to Dust.

Look, if the show insists on having plastic products, but not have oil or gas be fuel sources, then there’s a very easy way to get around that. The show has already gone to lengths to establish the SDC as Remnant’s version of BP, right down to both companies using acronyms instead of their full names. Just like real-life oil tycoons, you could have the SDC use resources like lobbyists, lien, and government influence to stymie the alternative fuel industry. Like any morally-bankrupt monopoly, the SDC would be threatened by competitors in the energy sector, especially if those competitors were developing technology based on renewable resources, like solar or wind. In a world where a limited resource like Dust has a stranglehold on the kingdoms, Jacques Schnee would do his damndest to ensure those alternatives never saw the light of day.

See? Problem solved.

Treating Dust as a Gemstone Analog (and Some Other Minor Nitpicks)

Okay, this complaint isn’t as important in the grand scheme of things, but I have to ask: why are Dust crystals treated like gemstones? No, seriously. Look at how the gems on display in this shop

A display case full of various crystal Dust types in From Dust Till Dawn. | Source: Volume 1, Episode 1: “Ruby Rose.”

differ from the ones seen in unharvested deposits.

Large, jagged deposits of unmined Fire Dust embedded in the ceiling of a cave. | Source: Volume 7, Episode 3: “Ace Operatives.”

The Dust for sale was likely cut, as evidenced by the additional facets not present on the unmined deposits. Then again, if you look at the Gravity Dust found at Lake Matsu, Dust might actually belong to the hexagonal crystal system (with and without pyramidal terminations), so a few of those facets could be natural. Regardless, the implication seems to be that on some level, the Dust was treated post-production.

An unmined Gravity Dust deposit found on one of Lake Matsu’s floating islands. | Source: Volume 5, Episode 2: “Dread in the Air.”

Why I bring this up at all is because if Dust crystals are only going to get broken down while being used as a consumable fuel source, then why waste time cutting and polishing them? It doesn’t really make any sense.

While we’re on that subject, how the hell does a person cut a Dust crystal without blowing their fingers off? Seriously. This shit’s like azidoazide azide. You could fart at it from halfway across a room and it would still somehow find a way to explode.

Which also begs the question of how Hazel isn’t dead from repeatedly jabbing what is basically a stick of dynamite into his arms every time he goes berserk. At the very least, shouldn’t he be suffering from severe health complications? His Semblance nullifies pain, but there’s no way it can skirt around the ramifications of what would basically be acute chronic Dust poisoning.

Dust, and How It Relates to Aura

Like any hardcore fantasy enthusiast, I’m a sucker for floating islands. I don’t care if they’re overused and cliché. That is peak aesthetic, and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise.

That being said…

Remember how the show repeatedly tells us that Dust can only be triggered by humans and Faunus? Meaning that its effects can only be activated in the presence of Aura?

If that’s the case, then how are any of Matsu’s islands floating? If Aura (or mechanical stress, I suppose) is a prerequisite for activating the elemental properties of Dust, then shouldn’t the islands all have fallen into the lake? It’s not like there are people hanging around out there to keep them passively airborne.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Remnant is some sort of genius loci à la Gaia hypothesis, and the planet generates its own Aura (which would explain why Dust becomes inert when leaving the atmosphere—it’s no longer within range of an Aura). But without more information to go on, we’re left scratching our heads at how this contradiction of nature can exist.

At the very least, consider this: If this ambiguity managed to generate a discussion in the fandom on what the hell is up with Lake Matsu, then shouldn’t that have also generated an in-world discussion between the characters? Fantasy setting or not, people are people, and we are an inherently curious bunch that love to ask questions about the unknown. Given that we had three volumes dedicated to the cast going to school, it always struck me as a weirdly wasted opportunity. An academic setting is the perfect place to script conversations like that, simply because it organically allows the story to teach the audience alongside its characters without everything feeling contrived.

But I digress. At the end of the day, this is far from my biggest grievance with Dust, but I felt it was still important enough to warrant being mentioned.

Cultural Aspects of Dust

There were a lot of ideas I wanted to talk about concerning Dust and its impact on culture—like if there was specific terminology for people who worked with Dust (like a Dust-cutter being called a “lapidary,” or “collier” being used as a slur for Faunus). Or if there were Dust-specific idioms or sayings. Or if there were superstitions and folk stories about Dust that still get passed along.

But we’re almost 3,000 words in and I want to try and keep things concise. For now, I’m choosing to focus on just one of those ideas instead, one which has always weirdly fascinated me: weaving Dust into clothing.

Fun fact: Did you know that in the 1700s, people used to wear clothing made with a green pigment that was derived from arsenic? Contact with the skin would give the wearer extreme chemical burns. Similarly, in the 1850s, aniline (a poisonous compound from the indigo plant) was used to create a dye that, when it was absorbed through the skin, would cause skin irritation, nausea, and dizziness. And well before we figured out that asbestos was carcinogenic, fibers made from it were often used for uniforms in professions that dealt with fire. Apparently, it’s really heat-resistant. And let’s not forget lead face paint, the skin-melting makeup that was all the rage in sixteenth-century Europe. [5]

The reason why I bring up all of these comically awful fashion trends is because, to reiterate, Dust is really explosive.

And people on Remnant used to just casually sew it into their clothes. Like, no big deal, I’m just going to wear my jacket with the custom Fire Dust sequins on the lapels and pray to god that no one bumps into me while I’m at the market. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll wear my hat with the Ice Dust embroidery to the banquet. I just hope I can avoid physical contact with another human being so my head doesn’t get encased in a block of ice.

Believe it or not, none of this is meant as a criticism, strictly speaking. On the contrary, I wish the show had taken the time to explore this neat little bit of lore, rather than consign it to a throwaway line. Because I think it would be fucking hilarious if Dust-woven clothing was the equivalent of radioactive and carcinogenic fashion trends. Not only would it enrich the history of Remnant and expand upon its worldbuilding (which it sorely needs), but it would be an organic way to explain to the audience one of the inherent dangers of unmanufactured Dust.

And just like that, we’ve finished covering Dust. Mostly, anyway. I have a few minor gripes, but nothing that can’t wait. Next time we’ll be discussing the topic near and dear to my heart, the thing I’ve been waiting for weeks to talk about: the Grimm.

[1] Volume 1, Episode 2: “The Shining Beacon - Part 1.”

[2] “Rooster Teeth's Extra Life Stream 2015 Hour 3-RWBY Crew & Matt/Jeremy Kiss.” YouTube video, uploaded by John Green. November 09, 2015. 51:44 - 52:09. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFCK-OwGoLA&t=51m44s]

[3] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 36.

[4] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 71.

[5] SciShow. “10 Dangerous Fashion Trends.” YouTube video. March 20, 2016. [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhXeUQOuRaw]

#deconstruction #worldbuilding #writing #dust

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rooneywritesbest · 4 years

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Hot Take 101: Mandalorian Saved Star Wars

Hot Take 101 : Mandalorian Saved Star Wars

The Mandalorian is one of the best things to happen to the elusive enigmatic universe of Star Wars. From the casting to the seralised narrative all sewn together by the fantastic camera work. Then reinforced by the screenplay from Dave Filoni and Jon Favreau. The pieces were in place, and something special would come to light when the 1st episode was dropped on Nov 12th.

The series was truly shrouded in mystery. Nobody knew who the character was or the plot that would unfold over the span of a Netflix-esque season of eight episodes. However the more you start to invest time into “The Mandalorian”. It becomes evident that this is a different window of the universe of star wars. The force, and the biblical opposition of the Jedi, and The Sith are nowhere to be found. Even though the remnants of the empire are scarce. We get to see a grounded, harsher take on the galaxy.

However the minute you think Mandalorian is just a side story about a race or creed of bounty hunters. Who never take off their helmets. The narrative thread throws the viewer for a few curveballs and has them go on a new experience.

The once Mandalorians who were subjected to the animation portion of star wars with Clone Wars, and Rebels. Finally gets the recognition, and a back story they truly deserve. We learn about the lifestyle and the layers of society. They have left from there war exploits and genocidal extinction from previous events in the star wars canon. They now go into hiding, and still honor their code of “This is the Way”. The moral behind that statement is giving back, and respecting their culture, and taking in anyone who is willing to grow the cause, and stand for the morals of the diminished clan.

So the next question one would ask how is the pacing of the show. The answer is it’s tight for the first three episodes with the necessary groundwork of character development.

For the latter of the season episodes, 4-6 Mando is off doing task alas side quests. Some would say those chapters of the tale are filler. I would dispute they are wrong for the reason. Every person Mando interacts with you learns a new layer of the troubled slatwart protagonist. There is so much to discuss but I would have to dive into spoilers.

For the sake of this editorial, I won’t do that. I will say however the world of Star Wars gets glutton with recycled storylines, and confusing dialogue not necessary to reflect the screenplay. The newer sequel Disney trilogy, unfortunately, checks a lot of those boxes again without diving into spoilers. However, playing devil’s advocate I enjoy the Disney trilogy. I just felt some things were missing, and needed the texture to relay the message.

The ethos of this article is to ease the transition of ingenuity. This is very reflective of the Mandalorian due to the creativity to adapt from other media franchises and integrate them into the expansive world of star wars. In the day and age of moving forward, and not looking back. The Mandalorian on Disney Plus is a gold standard of fulfilling its goal of growing the brand. While also keeping the authentic feel of star wars that was evident from inception in 1977 to the present of 2019 into the future for the next generation.

“I Have Spoken”

#the mandalorian #star wars #Disney #jon favreau #pedro pascal #skywalker #skywalker saga

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royalreef · 4 years

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Words: 1,629 Warnings (HEAVY): Body horror, gore, death, torture, general heavy horror content.

Here it is... The drabble that I promised I would write for New Years’, but then I had to send my computer off, and I didn’t get it back until after 2020 was already here, so... Yeah! Not quite as detailed or long as I would like, but I’ve had much less time to work on it.

So, here. A late gift, from me to you, on some tasty lore hints about Miranda, the Merkingdom, and what the fuck these fish have been up to in the ocean. Enjoy!

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[CLASSIFIED – 0.3]

Translated from Modified Irides-Abyssal to English by Deluge-Tongue, Model Tlk’resh, Unit 971004772. Property of the Vanderbilt Empire under Decree CX-K-076-2.

“And did Princess Laudanda say why she thought it was imperative for this particular addition to be grafted now?”

Beneath the shifting mass of half-remembered facial features, Miranda almost thought she saw a twitch of fear along the senior overseer’s fins. It could never be proven, whether it be their shifting features or the lack of memory of who it was – but she had a keen idea what it was that they were feeling.

Changes this big always had to be approved by an immediate member of the royal family. While Laudanda might’ve ordered for the grafting, one royal or another had to bear witness and approve of it, as that was how the credentials worked. How they had to work. Amanda and Laudanda were probably both already watching other processes, back in the kingdom.

For all that the family was, all five Vanderbilts, operating as the highest titles within the Merkingdom – it was expected as any noble line that they held no bond beyond their power. It was genuinely even expected of them to care little for each other, beyond as ways to get ahead in the world, and to not do so was often seen as weakness. Hence why Miranda and Bellanda had to hide most of their sibling bond when in the eyes of the sea. Otherwise it’d be sharpened and turned against them.

Even familial love was taboo to royals.

And that meant, though one princess would demand it, the others did not always have to follow through. Even impartially relaying this information could result in the senior overseer losing things they could not afford to lose.

All the better reason, too. They had seen and done Miranda’s sins for her. They knew of the fates worse than death.

“Your Royal Highness, she did not speak in detail of it. Only that our operations on the western front were getting too close to Hell’s proximity, and that a recent foray might prove difficult otherwise. I’m sure further documentation will come through.” The voice shifter turned the usual luting notes of the language into something harsher, warped noise like hydrothermal vents through the deep sea, changing their voice and flattening their tone, but keeping the meaning there. It buzzed in Miranda’s earfins like a fly. The noise was grating. “Our stock should be enough to foster the growth and incorporation – but we will need to replenish.”

“Have the gathering spots been discovered?”

“No. We should be able to fully replace the loss within a month and a half.”

Good news, at least. Still, what Laudanda demanded was pricy, and imps could only fill the gaps so much. Miranda was already risking it, as being close to the landfolk meant they knew her too and might start to understand hints that they otherwise would’ve never seen. But they still had a sample size of one, and that was easy to utilize when almost all of them would’ve never directly interacted with the Merkingdom to begin with.

They didn’t know the true depth of the royal arsenal.

Miranda mulled it over for a moment, clicking her claws against her arm. She’d have to organize a few lures, a few ambushes, a few disappearances when none could see – but it could be done.

The loss would have to be taken, it seemed. Better to be armed to the teeth and need it to annihilate an enemy, than to lack and be defenseless when they did attack, after all. That was the entire point of having these measures, after all. Why their prices had to be paid.

After her pause, Miranda sighed, the sound instantly edited out of her speech, and approved. “If we can replace it within a season, then I’ll have the resistances added. Take the offerings from Block 4-16 and pull the supply from storage. I’ll be there in 45.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

It was an unforgiving task sometimes, but this job was just another natural part of Miranda’s own title. It came in the territory. The overseer turned and left, while Miranda finished up on checking the rest of recent activities.

Someday, she assured herself – she’d get used to this.

That terror in her gut would flee.

Someday.

Down Miranda was shuttled in her private drop, led into the deepest depths of her castle. A place no guest could ever find, no psychic could ever scribe, no god could ever foresee. It took scarcely a few minutes, but the distance travelled still showed in how Miri waited a moment to readjust to walking, like when she had first come to land and learned what gravity felt like.

Her dignity gathered, or what little the thaumaturgical protection robes offered her, and made her way from the loading docks. The last living guards were stationed here. It was a personal checkpoint, a creature with eyes and sense to make sure no one unapproved was making their way past. For Miranda, all it took was a scan of her biometrics and a pass of her credentials. Then, she strolled her way past the gargantuan gates of steel and hydraulics, and entered the ritual barriers.

It was a bit of a walk to the innermost level; Miranda’s destination. Her path was naught but a single tightrope of a bridge, dwarfed by the great walls around her. Built of steel and lead and concrete and things far stranger – they took the shape of spheres around each other. A nesting doll for the horrors within, with the single bridge threading through, and the crown princess making her way within.

Her only company was the faint shimmer of the ritual sigils cut into the walls of the spheres, pulsing like they were alive.

In a way, they were.

That was made apparent, as Miranda’s walk grew on. Distant at first, then closer, like a forest of bleached redwoods, came the shape of spires of bone. They strung the layers of spherical chambers together, keeping them suspended, veins of purple and red pushing into the innermost layers of the ritual boundary walls.

They too, with honeycomb marrow in the shape of spells, kept the entity they contained within so distant and far from the world many miles above.

To a visiting guest, the innermost barrier, nestled tightly in the bone growths, might have been an ominous warning as to what lay within.

But Miranda had seen far, far more horrifying than this, and so the terror that settled into her gut was mundane. Almost familiar.

Into the ritual circle she stepped.

The offerings were already in place – strapped to vertical boards, facing each other, only blindfolds to spare them mercy. A cyclops and a werewolf, both of which Miranda had kept gathered for a while now.

Those that none would miss when they vanished mysteriously in the night. The Merkingdom was good at finding those undesirables and removing them from existence.

Fresh bodies were always needed in these depths.

The demonic flesh, requested by Laudanda, was already in place. Impressions of faces, of limbs, of entities that used to live, were shaped into otherwise featureless pillars and arranged around the outermost rim of the ritual space. From there, they fed into the centerpiece by veins like tarry ink that wound through the floor, completing the space. All the while they pulsed sickly, deeper into the shuttering supply, pulsating in iridescent colors unlike that which really existed.

Miranda tried not to look too hard at them.

There, nested in the heart of this corrupt magick, lay the abomination.

It was the misshapen form of a teratoma, left to grow and grow and spread without control.

Cancer of the real.

The crown’s great destroyers.

Thousands of other additions had already joined in. Lives tossed in, fed to it, and left to grow, to become one with the corrupt. Indeed, there were the fins and gills and teeth of merfolk, already replicated and mutated by the entity – but other monsters were there too. Vertebrates and not, animals, plants, and beasts alike. All were consumed. All were destroyed. All were made one.

Even machinery had not been spared, by the sight of metal plates, of wires, of pistols and gun barrels and screens.

The marriage of all things, and its nightmarish bastard child too.

Distorted faces, ripped apart by their own internal growth, jaws and ribs and muscle thrown in without care to where they connected, organs without cause, without meaning. Wires that twisted into nerves and nerves that twisted into wires. Eyes that burst like pimples from the ends of tongues, a latticework of bone and steel and chitin where muscle had yet to grow over before being threaded through with another layer, limbs with too many toothed joints, wings that could never lift the bloated body off the ground, stomachs that ripped into nails and tendons.

Creatures set to replicate without care, grown over and over once fed in. A great, evil, sick thing, made of misery, knowing only hate, here to destroy all it could.

A primordial terror seethed in Miranda’s own bones at the sight of it.

Something itched in her head, hidden in her memories.

That which should not be.

It did not move. No heartbeat, no lift of breath, not the faintest sign of movement. Yet it lived, even beyond what life truly was, what it could ever be. In a state of suspended animation.

Paused. Turned off.

For now.

The Crown Princess Miranda Vanderbilt stepped forward, her servants following her lead, lifting arms up to the ceiling of rotten and foul magic, wicked blades in hand and claw.

Mercilessly, they set upon the offerings.

The ritual had begun.

#Glory and Gore || IC #Most secret royal advisor || OOC #Given by Divine Right || Headcanons #You built up a world of magic ; Because your real life is tragic || Self #The sea knows something we don't || Drabbles #body horror #gore #death #torture #horror #(( posting now bc bad impulse control #(( ill rb again tomorrow at a better time!

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kingmaker-thac0hno · 4 years

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Karis Joins The Expedition

The Marching Mustang was built as a guild hall for sorcerers and users of the arcane long ago. Inside the tavern, the brass is polished to a blinding shine and all the mirrors are gilded. Outside its doors is dereliction and depravity. An all too common theme for this area in Restov.

The Mustang’s history is shrouded in mystery. The Green Evocation was a short lived radical and political movement when a few irascible wizards of Restov revolted against the current regime and burned a city block to the ground in the process. The Marching Mustang was the movement’s headquarters. The coup was promptly disposed of (to include its original owner and builder) by the combined efforts of the Aldori and priests of Erastil. It is scarce that upper class visit the Lower Quarter establishment in these times and few if any of local rabble seem bold enough to offend its current proprietor or its rumored shareholders despite this building’s location and controversial history.

The fall evening light from the door fell upon the long mahogany bar of the Marching Mustang. The open lancelet shades flapped in the cool evening breeze knocking the ardent river flies from their hosts. Laborers, tradesmen, artisans, adventurers all mingled amongst the hall for the evening flagons and politics. Evrin Brazenbrook was sitting at the corner booth reviewing the shrewd contract with an uncommon glass from the local orchard. Bolstering through the side door, the bouncer of the tavern, Bates, or as the locals call him, Man Mountain Bates, not so gently escorts one of the more boisterous guests by force. This action all but mauls an elven bystander half his size. No apology given, just the scowl of Bates that is frequently cast upon those who live in this area. Menial and opulent alike. The elf pauses and collects himself and mutters a few words softly to the minder and he walks off almost in a delightful disposition. The elf orders another glass of wine and gracefully walks toward Evrin’s booth and asks the halfling if he may join him.

Within a second of the elf sitting, Bates himself has brought out a bottle of the best wine the Mustang has in the cellar, along with its famous appetizers, spiced potatoes and fine cheese. If there is anything else don’t be afraid to ask, my friend, he states while setting the plate upon the table.

The elf grins mischievously, and introduces himself, Good evening, my name is Karisathiel, my friends may call me Karis. Noticing the unlit candle on the table, he makes a swift motion beyond Evrin’s perception, and suddenly a gasp arises from a few nearby patrons as their lanterns are extinguished, while the candle is now blazing away, as though it had been flickering for hours.

Evrin sizes up the grinning elf, making a note of how he is dressed, how he carries himself, and how he is armed. He eyes the proffered wine and appetizers, but with a polite wave of his tiny hand, indicates that he has no interest in food or drink. After a moment or two of slightly awkward silence, he speaks directly to Karisathiel without making a sound, telepathically stating: Well met, Karisathiel. I am to understand that you are interested in joining an expedition to the Greenbelt. I have already found a cartographer and medic, but as we have recently lost one of our party members —at this, a fleeting look of sorrow passes over Evrin's features — I would be keen to know what drives you down this path? Karis slightly adjusts in his seat, and intertwines his fingers to present a passive disposition. I have heard stories of your kind speaking in this way. It is very impressive. My condolences to you and your friends family. I too understand loss. Nevertheless, I am here for employment. Your ad states you may be in need of those who have experience in the green belt. I am no stranger to these types of terrains. I have served as a river guide on the Sellen and a heavy hand for a caravan. Evrin relaxes ever so slightly, and adopts a mildly apologetic look as he replies. I normally would not communicate like this, but there have been many whispers about this expedition, as you may have seen in the local newspaper...if it can be called that. He shrugs his shoulders and continues. I thank you for your condolences. What it has reminded me of more than anything is that the wilds, even close to home, are dangerous. But you know this, of course.

Evrin pauses, then speaks more pointedly. What I would most like to know is what skills you possess, and how well you interact with others. This expedition is going to be dangerous, and quite possibly fatal. My fellow party members have acknowledged this and are at peace with it. We would need to have trust that you would have our backs in the toughest times. Your business is your own, and I suppose your reasons are your own as well...but I need you to convince me why you would be an asset to a party that already has a cartographer, a medic, and, he communicates more humbly, a swordsman. Karis nods and speaks with a soft transparent voice, Though I am seeking mercenary duty, I do find contracts with a stable and loyal company more enduring. My previous employers used my services for years and never once has sedition or cowardice played a hand in my being. As far as skills, my kind have imparted a great deal of wisdom that has enabled me to survive in both urban and wilderness environments. I suppose I possess a good understanding of the surrounding forests and the beings that inhibit it. Though I am no tracker, I have been able to circumvent my caravans to safe ground in several dangerous situations. Lastly, I understand and use arcane evocations that would likely be useful to a company such as yours. This skill is especially handy when you find yourself in a tight conundrum, which by the sound of it, will be very likely. Most importantly Mr. Brazenbrook, is that I understand the risk of this type of work. This lifestyle is my calling in this world. At least that is what she tells me...

With the last statement, Karis acts if might have said too much. and politely picks up his wine goblet and makes a nonchalant toast of prosperity to the halfling and for the most part his answers.

Evrin looks briefly at Karisathiel’s cloak, and a slight flicker of mirth enters his eyes as he quips telepathically, And I suppose you’ve done well for yourself slaying vile performers and young nobles along the way…but I jest.

Evrin pauses for a moment, purses his lips, and gazes at nothing in particular. At last he gives a little shrug and continues. In other circumstances, you would not have been my first choice to join this expedition. I say that with no disrespect, I assure you. But I get the sense that you are not unfamiliar with rough scrapes, and if you can commit to being with a rather uncommon sort of party, and can pledge to remain with us when the going gets especially rough, we would be glad to have you. The Quill has taken to calling us the Iron Ravens, though such titles never meant much to me… His thought, and therefore his mental utterance, trails off, and Evrin looks to see how Karisathiel responds.

After hearing the words, Karis’s charming smile becomes dark, like a cold wind extinguishing a candle in the night. Your humor is noted Mr. Brazenbrook, the elf spoke solemnly. I suppose one could say that rumors are much like the coin of men. Not to be trusted and have two sides... As for the theatre troupe, they were my friends. I have yet to avenge them, but wager their perpetrators will answer to a fate far worse than death. I have many years ahead of me, blade of Aldori, rest assured. These wanton Gardners do not.

With that statement, the eladrin composes himself and with a fortuitous gleam he replaces his dark demeanor almost instantly. Very well then. When should I report for my first assignment under the Iron Ravens?

At this, Evrin finally pours a bit of wine into his empty glass, clinks it against Karis’s, We’ll assemble in four days, one hour after first light. You will, of course, want to procure as many provisions as possible in advance of the journey. I doubt we will see much in the way of civilization for quite some time. As Evrin broadcasts this last sentence, Karis observes a faint sense of joy (or perhaps relief) pass briefly over his features. The halfling stands up, his nose barely clearing the edge of the table, takes a step back, and gives Karis a curt half-bow before departing.

#Kingmaker

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the-colony-roleplay · 5 years

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Nadia Chasen | Twenty Nine; Survivor

House: Unregistered Citizen Security Class: N/A Status: Infected - Praeteria

History

Nadia’s parents moved from Israel to France when she was just a baby. The commune of Rochefort-en-Terre offered them everything they had wished for—a quaint tourist town, something out of a painting. They opened a small cafe together, with his baking and her charm as the main draws, and settled in to raise their family. Nadia was born first, and from the start she was a smiling, well-behaved child. Her two younger sisters, Irit and Rachelle, were born over the next few years and the Chasen family lived in relative peace for most of Nadia’s childhood.

She began taking an interest in art, and at sixteen started an official apprenticeship with one of the painters in the village, proving to be quite skilled. Her bright smile and cheerful demeanor enticed many, but Nadia’s focus was always more on helping her family with the cafe or continuing with her art. She made friends quickly, but rarely took romantic relationships seriously. Really, she didn’t long for much more than to help provide beautiful things to the community, to brighten the days of those around her in whatever way she could, and to do her best to help her parents keep her sisters out of trouble. If a neighbour was ill, Nadia would show up with an armful of fresh flowers and a care package of baked goods and sweet wishes for their health. In the evenings she would go out dancing with Irit and Rachelle, or serve cocktails at the local bar and flirt with young backpackers passing through. In every way, she was the darling of the town.

She had just begun to entertain the idea of maybe settling down and finding a partner, building her own family, when D-Day happened. The town’s population was decimated, but the survivors quickly banded together and tried to make the best of it, none more firm in that than Nadia. Her mother had died during the Falling, but her father and sisters had survived, and resolved to lean on each other for support. Her family helped form the bedrock of the community of survivors. They were planning on searching out communication with the outside world, maybe relocating to a larger city if they could, when a second tragedy found them.

A few months into their rebuilding efforts, a group came to town. The inhabitants of Rochefort-en-Terre hadn’t experienced the wilder side of the world ending—a tight-knit community, they were naive to the ways the apocalypse had affected others. Without hesitation, they offered to share what they had with the strangers. Their reward: a massacre during the night.

Nadia had been ill for a while before, a mysterious illness that plagued her with headaches and kept her bedridden with no apparent cause, but during the attack her infection fully manifested for the first time, and concealed her. In shock, she witnessed the rest of her family, friends, and neighbours butchered mercilessly. Such violence, such relentless cruelty, was something she had never experienced first hand, and it threw her completely out of her normal reality. After the fire the looters set had consumed the rest of her home and the bodies of her loved ones, she had nothing left, inside or out. The news of the existence of praeteria had yet to reach the region, but Nadia realized that for whatever reason, she couldn’t be seen. So like a phantom, she followed them.

Mostly she only observed at first, numbly watching the looters as they wore the clothes they’d been given in charity, ate the food they’d taken, and spoke about her life and home as though it had been some great conquest to destroy. She ate scraps off their plates and silently listened to all of it, sitting among them at their campfire.

She found out the hard way that she could be seen while she slept, because they caught her once. However, the instant she woke and found herself bound and captured by them, her Infection caused her to vanish, right before their eyes. After that, she learned to conceal herself carefully when she needed to rest.

It didn’t take long for her to change, fundamentally. Later she would scarcely remember deciding to take action, or questioning the morality of it. Her faith in humanity had disintegrated, and all she could think was—they will do worse, again and again. She started killing them off one by one during the night while they slept. It didn’t matter if they posted a lookout, or slept in shifts, they always awoke to find a body. During the day she watched with cold detachment as their paranoia and fear grew. Their numbers dwindled, and eventually the ones who remained were afraid to even close their eyes, convinced they wouldn’t open them. Sometimes they were right. The last man standing was the one who’d murdered her sisters, though by the time he died he’d lost most of his mind, convinced he was being haunted.

Nadia wandered the Wastes after that, without much direction, living off the remains of the looter’s supplies. Slowly, she began to recover some scraps of rational thought, enough that she realized she was no vengeful spirit, just a woman no longer observed. She managed to locate one or two other clans, but her Infection became much more unpredictable. Always quite expressive in her emotions, she was now positively erratic. Most other survivors she encountered could see her at random moments—and they did not react well. She thought for a while that it might be best if she survived on her own, and ended up in the ruins of the city of Rennes. She was a savvy scavenger, competent and practical with the sparse resources she found, but scraping by was by no means easy. When clans passed by, she would take small amounts of food from them when she thought they could spare it, but she did begin to feel the stirrings of conscience and guilt.

Several years passed in this virtual seclusion before she found a clan that had something she hadn’t seen in a long time—community. A large group, that had adapted to wandering slowly through the Wastes and hadn’t felt the need to join a Colony. They had grandparents with them, and children. In her loneliness, she was fascinated by them. Despite her now frightening appearance, she enlisted the aid of a few of the smallest to adopt her. She would appear to the children when they were on their own, and they would feed her, talk to her. The adults assumed she was just a game, a flight of fancy that the children spoke about. She began to recover a bit of her old self, gradually. In a way, she was part of the group—except to the adults, who thought they knew better.

With the purging of the Wasteland, Nadia followed her clan to Colony 16 in Nantes, where they rejoined society for the first time. It was a huge change being among so many people again, but she had learned if she controlled her emotions somewhat, she could better control her Infection. She took her time to observe, wandering through the Colony like she belonged there, while no one could see her. The realization that the NWRF was aware of people like her shocked her completely, and when she figured out what their stance was on these so-called Infected, she was given extra incentive to stay hidden. Deep down, she knew they were an old evil under a new name, and nothing more.

There were some perks, however. Namely, training sessions. She sat together with a group of fellow Praeterics, and learned about her ability. She discovered there were Empaths who might sense her, and that she could be seen on camera, and even some ways to refine her control. On her own, she began to practice becoming visible when she wished. She thought it was going fairly well—she would simply pretend to be a member of the Colony for a few minutes at a time, and then vanish again at the next opportunity. With so many people coming and going through the port, no one asked her too many questions. With each interaction, she began to remember what it felt like to be treated normally.

Her mistake came when she finally introduced herself to the clan she had come in with. They were shocked to learn the figment the children had talked about so fondly was someone who had truly lived with them, known them so intimately for months without their knowledge. After some heated discussion, they decided to turn her in.

Nadia fled, hiding on a trading vessel that was preparing to launch. She had no idea where it was headed, or how long the journey would be, just that she needed to find a safer home.

Nadia Today

The ship docked in Colony 22 in January of 2163, and Nadia immediately began taking stock of her new surroundings, exploring and following various colonists to get her bearings. She is aware that even in her Praeteric state, there are still risks. But this is not her first time avoiding detection. She alternates her sleeping areas, mostly staying wherever it is warm and undisturbed during the night. When she does appear, she knows how to blend in and mimic the behaviour she sees around her. Most will probably think she’s simply a newcomer that they don’t know much about yet, but she could’ve been observing them for quite some time.

Despite her experiences, she seems quite harmless, if a little emotional at times. She’s sensitive and shows her emotions quickly, though they can change rapidly and she will often disappear to get away from things she doesn’t wish to confront. Though she still struggles with coming to grips with everything that happened to her, and everything that she did as a result, what she longs for most is a sense of belonging and safety. She thinks of her Infection as her greatest strength, as something that both saved her life and granted her justice against those who hurt her, but she hasn’t used violence against another person since then. The very idea of the Games, of pretending to fight against other citizens in the name of survival, makes her sick to her stomach. Accustomed to feeling extraordinarily lonely and separated from others, she counters that by fostering a false sense of intimacy with people she observes, whether they want her to or not.

CLOSED; Original Character

#inbar lavi #inbar lavi fc #mature rp #literate rp #original rp #praeteria #female #survivor #infected #nadia chasen #closed

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schtroumpf-a-lunettes · 5 years

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Smurf Village Upturned, Chapter 10

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9

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It was no mystery to Baby Smurf who was “it”. His dreams as of late had been lined with mirrors, and large, oversized glasses of the exact same size that might as well have been mirrors. As he walked by them in the dream, he could see his own reflection in the lens. They were looking for him. But he didn’t want to be found. So he adapted. He started navigating Smurf Village carefully. He’d already been making himself scarce. Whoever he was with, whether it be Lazy or the smurflings, was stuck haplessly following him around in his efforts at avoidance lest they lose track of him – the little smurfling would not be contained.

Grandpa seemed to catch on, catch him in his little hide and seek act with smurfs that didn’t seem to be aware they were playing. “Well… I’ll be smurfed if I’ll ignore or disregard the clear signals of a young smurfling,” was all that Baby heard Grandpa say on the matter, more to himself than anything. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the much older smurf seemed to be supportive. From the looks of it, Grandpa was noticing something different about them too, and other smurfs were beginning to follow suit… Baby heard talk that Vanity was starting to neglect his chores. Baby was glad that he didn’t need to do any chores around the village yet, and wouldn’t for a long time. It was more fun to just play. Slouchy and Nat, however, they were being given more and more responsibilities these days, now that they were getting older. Although, it really didn’t have to be so difficult. Why didn’t Slouchy and Nat just use their magic when tasked with things like cleaning up? That’s what Baby would do. Just wave your hand about, and everything would fall back into place. He even tried to suggest as much, but they wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t one of our games Baby, we really do have to clean up!” was all they would say. It would be so easy for him to just wave his hand and get the job done for them, but there was probably a reason why the other smurfs always seemed to refuse to make use of their magic in their day-to-day lives. Maybe there was a rule against using magic for that kind of stuff. In which case, Baby didn’t want to break it in front of the others and get in trouble. Besides, he was too young to do chores! If a task was allocated to Slouchy and Nat, then they had to do it. So, restricted in this manner, Baby would simply stand by and watch. *** Brainy found that if he did it just right, it was even easier when he wasn’t trying to concentrate, but to instead let a more subconscious force take over. Although it did tend to leave him a little… talkative. Blurting out observations, at times. All he knew was that it was easier, so he’d slipped into it, but he hadn’t been expecting this. And it was much harder to slip out of… He did his best not to be inspecting every aspect of the other smurfs’ minds. Sometimes he stared at the ground, at a table in front of him, anything but them. He just needed to keep it up until he was finally allowed to see his own self. At other times, he couldn’t look away. Grandpa came over to him, warily. Brainy was always doing his best not to let his eyes come into contact with the older smurfs especially, now. Sometimes it was unavoidable. This seemed to be one of those times. Was he going to be forced to engage in conversation…? He felt that their privacy had an added layer of sacredness to it that he shouldn’t be trespassing into. “Hello, Brainy,” Grandpa said carefully. Insights into how Grandpa’s extensive travels had shaped him danced about in Brainy’s mind. He could see his connection to Nanny Smurf, lasting far back into their pasts, back when she looked just like every other smurf. “…You seem distracted,” Grandpa continued. He couldn’t look at Grandpa for too long, even if he wanted to. He was just too bright, almost painful to look at. His glow had to be the strongest out of all the smurfs. Brainy was left with no choice but to shield his eyes from the unbearable brightness of his being. Grandpa’s voice came to him once again. “Brainy…?” “Nngh… Sorry.” There was one way to help alleviate this mess… he took off his glasses, just as he’d been doing whenever speaking to Clumsy recently. It was easy to readily slip them off around his best friend and just talk to him normally. It was a little familiar, in a comforting kind of way, as it harkened back to when he hadn’t been able to wear his glasses at all, and Clumsy was there to look out for him. That meant he already had plenty of practice with talking to a Clumsy that he couldn’t even see. A carefully practiced motion of letting his guard down a little, as it were. Although Grandpa was unused to such a motion. “I just need to give my eyes a rest,” Brainy explained, seeing nothing now, no more eye-straining incandescence. “Hmm… Perhaps you’re in need of a stronger pair of glasses,” Grandpa suggested, “Papa and I could take a look at them…” “Oh, no, it’ll be fine. I’ve just been staying up far too late recently, aha.” “Well… Okay. But Papa did want to speak to you, in any case,” Grandpa prodded, “just to make sure everything’s right and smurfy.” Brainy shook his head. “No, I mean I – I’m fine.” “Brainy…” “Please. I appreciate the concern, Grandpa, but there’s nothing wrong.” He could handle this himself! He snapped his glasses back on. He did not wish to deal with the disadvantages of being unable to see right now. He wouldn’t smurf that vulnerability for anysmurf. Why should he? “You’ve been acting mighty strange as of late, you know. We’re a little… worried. You weren’t, heh, advising everysmurf in the village as you normally do for a few days, but then uh, when ya did…” “When I did, I smurfed more truth than was expected? Well excuse me for being perceptive of my fellow smurfs. Why not worry about yourself, Grandpa? That memory of yours, you’ve been fretting over it more and more, of how there’s so much memory that seems to be lost to you now. On some level, does it not constitute the breakdown of the self? If our memories are an integral part of our makeup, and you’re losing them, you wonder if it heralds a loss of identity.” Brainy had trailed off into his more monotonous tone towards the end of that, as that autopilot he’d experienced lately had taken control. He was back now. “It must be terrible to not have access to those important aspects of your own self…” he turned away from the older smurf then, not wanting to face him any longer, and just kept walking, past Smoogle sporting that inexplicable radiant sheen. It was strange, wasn’t it? The way that Smoogle glowed, but Nanny didn’t. He came across Vanity, and stopped. He had dark circles under his eyes, which was highly unusual for the smurf normally so preoccupied with beauty. Wasn’t Vanity always the one going on about "beauty sleep"? The moment any blemish appeared on Vanity’s face, he’d always been quick to react, to take counteractive measures. He wasn’t sure if he’d seen him dishevelled like this before. He was exhausted. Just as exhausted as Brainy was. “Vanity, you’ve been hopelessly lost in yourself for far too long! Don’t you think it’s time to give it a little rest?” Brainy asked. Vanity was muttering into his mirror feverishly. “You could look into another smurf. Like me. And tell me all about it.” He sat down in front of Vanity. Still no reply? How rude. So then he relaxed, slipping far too readily into that more robotic state of mind. He didn’t have to feel tired, did he? He could just flip that switch. So, what was going on, inside of this smurf he knew too well, and who knew himself even better? Vanity Smurf, there is such a thing as too much introspection, you know… ”You’re losing the bigger picture. When you look at something for too long, a single thing, it stops making sense. When you focus on something too much… it loses all meaning. In the very act of trying to know all about you, you’ve left yourself with nothing, rendering senseless the very concept of a self, your self, which as is anyone’s, is ever-changing, seems to dissipate the closer you get. How can you categorise it? You’re unable to consolidate anything now. But still, you try. But haven’t you started to notice the ongoing feedback loop that begins to start up, when you is all you focus on? The self observes the self, ad infinitum, but what does that make the true self, when it all interacts, intersects? Who is the unobserved observer? There is none. So what it becomes, is self-destruction. The self observes itself and then crumbles until there’s nothing left to see.” “At least I stick to myself, stick to minding my own business.” Vanity was talking. Finally, he was talking. “You know, I don’t actually appreciate you seeing into all that is and should be secret to me.” “But right now, you can barely see yourself. You can’t see like I do. You don’t have an outsider’s perspective. And I can see that you need to focus on something else.” …But he wouldn’t, would he? He caught glimpses of the others, could even see how looking away from his spellbinding mirror would, if anything, be far more rewarding at this point. But his infatuation with the smurf he saw in the mirror was just too strong. It consumed him. And he was too proud to admit he was getting sick of it, he was actually getting sick of it. It had been amazing to really see himself for the first time after receiving the insight, and now it was habit, stubborn persistence, and the desire to have that level of clarity again that drove him to keep on gazing into the mirror's glass, fruitlessly. Brainy spoke again. “You should go back to Roesia. Have the insight taken away.” “Oh, I will. Right after you do.” Vanity cast him a glance. A glance that said, got you there, haven’t I? “It’s having a terrible effect on you, you know. You really should.” Vanity turned his eyes on him now, didn’t look away. Oh… Now he was seeing into him. “Unlike a certain someone, I can actually see myself perfectly well. Haven’t you paid any attention to yourself? You’re not exactly doing very well either. You risk losing yourself in a sea of others. The self that you cherish so much is slipping. You see, two can smurf at that game, Brainy Smurf. But here’s the difference: I can see into myself.” They were locked now in the strangest impasse, where both could see just about everything about the other. They could see the concern they had for each other’s current predicaments, wished to impel the other to do something about it, while stubbornly doing nothing about their own. Vanity continued to study him intently. “Can you tell me what you see, Vanity?” Brainy asked hopefully. “What do you see…?” Vanity only smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” And at that snide remark, all of Brainy’s patience flew out the window. “Yes!” he hissed in frustration, restraining himself from allowing the exclamation to turn into a shout. Vanity was simply tired and choosing to be petty. But he was tired too. “Fine. If I can’t know… if I can’t see me, then why should you see you?” Brainy went to snatch Vanity’s mirror away, but he leaned back out of the way. Brainy was undeterred, grabbing at the mirror persistently. “You shouldn’t smurf with this mirror anymore, Vanity!” “It’s mine! Get away!” They struggled over it, two sets of hands trying to wrench it away. “Great smurfs! What is smurfing on here!” They looked up. Papa Smurf. A little behind him, they also saw Architect, who had happened to catch sight of them. Ah… Vanity spoke first. “He’s trying to take my mirror, Papa Smurf! Well, I say he should get his own mirror!” “Papa Smurf, from just one look at Vanity you’ll clearly be able to see that-“ the two smurfs started talking over each other rapidly. “Okay, okay, enough!” Papa looked the two now-quiet smurfs over before continuing, taking in the bags under Vanity’s eyes with disapproval and suspicion. “Vanity, I thought I told you to finish your chores!” “O-oh, sorry Papa Smurf…” Vanity replied. “I think your attachment to your mirror this past week has been too unhealthy. I have no choice but to confiscate it.” “But Papa, please!” Vanity protested, aghast. Brainy was snickering. Papa Smurf shook his head. “When I can see that your tasks have been completed, then we can talk.” “Oh, it just isn’t fair! What about Brainy, trying to smurf my mirror away like that?” “It was for your own good! Papa Smurf agrees with me, and Papa Smurf is right, because-“ “-And as for you, Brainy,” Papa said sternly. “W-what? Me?” “You haven’t been yourself lately… I want to see you in my lab.” *** It was such a useful method that managed to double as a fun little experiment to match. Roesia had never really shared her insight with anyone before, but she knew that such a thing was possible. And now, she could observe the results firsthand. But that was only secondary – whether or not they had accepted the insight, it would make little difference in the end. This would simply make things go just a little bit more smoothly – a way to doublecheck everything for absolute certain to confirm that she was ready. An extra pair of eyes or two wouldn’t hurt – it could only serve to benefit her in the end.

#the smurfs #Brainy Smurf #Vanity Smurf #Baby Smurf #smurfs

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