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animalfalls · 4 years

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Never Good Enough

Leviathan X GN!MC (Angsty and unedited)

Warning: this is really angsty and there is a lot about self-hate so if you are easily triggered I don’t recommend this fic for you.

Word Count: 1813

AN: OMG wow I actually finish something lmao. It includes a phrase in Japanese, I don’t speak the language but I did take a few classes a while back. If it isn’t used right or I was WAY off with it’s meaning please let me know lol. I got it off of a site that explained how in Japanese they aren’t direct with speaking so instead of “I love you”, “I like you” would be more appropriate for this situation. Plus to me it fits Leviathan’s personality.

You know you should’ve seen this coming, yet no amount of preparation could he stop the tears from flowing. Your blank eyes stare back into the piercing gaze of the unnamed demon before you. No matter how strong you are physically one thing always hurts more than anything else. A tinge of pain began to stew in your chest, festering up and choking you out. A clawed hand pressed to your throat in a death grip. You knew this would be your fate as soon as you stepped through the gates of RAD. A school of demons was no place for a powerless human. You were surprised how you managed to last this long.

This was not what caused your tears to overflow and flood your face. Nor was it the sharp edges of the claws ripping into your skin causing blood to trickle down from your neck and seep into the clothes on your chest. Not even the growing suffocation of disruption of air to your lungs. No, it was far worse than any physical pain that could be brought upon you. It was those words that made you lower your guard and give in to your fate. You knew you stood no chance once those vile words flittered off of the lips of this demon. You will never be good enough for him.

It was as if the demon had a paralysis spell over you, your body declining any thoughts of running or fighting back. You knew it was true already, but you never wanted to face the truth. Leviathan… He was too good for you. Any fight you had given up to this point had since coming to an abrupt halt. What were you thinking anyway? You were only a human, you had no right to even hope he would view you as anything more than an annoyance. You were just a burden to all of the brothers and you knew this so well. Yet for a moment you thought you could actually belong somewhere. With others that would understand you and maybe even enjoy your company. What a stupid thought, nothing but the fleeting hopes of a useless human. Pathetic human, you really think he could ever love you? No, but I hoped he could.

The world seemed to be so colorful when Levi was around, a smile from him could send a beautiful warm feeling through you. Listening to him go on about any one of his shows was blissful. He would get so excited at times his demon form would emerge and the way his tail shot straight up as he would go into great depth about his favorite parts. That boy’s passion for anime and video games was second to none. You always liked how he would lend you his manga without you having to ask for them. He’d often leave them in a box outside of your door with a note on them in the middle of the night so he didn’t wake you.

You kept every single note, they were your treasures, he may not have the most legible handwriting but it was adorable to you. The last one he gave you had a phrase on it, it was in Japanese and you hadn’t been able to translate it properly yet. It was a shame you were going to die before you could translate it. The characters still haunt your mind. 好きだよ You curse yourself for never finding the answer, you almost wish you would have just asked him. Now is far too late for that though.

Your attention now returns to the demon in front of you, some low life demon you have never even seen around the school. Not like anyone would really remember you to begin with, despite being fairly outgoing you could never fit in here like you had hoped. You were just too weak and helpless to be able to survive in this world. You were just a burden to the brothers, you understood that it would be annoying to have to look after you. So you opted to go alone to most places, it may be dangerous but it was better than pissing off powerful demons like the brothers.

The world started to fade and finally your instinctual will to live kicked in, you claw and struggle with all your might to remove the vice that clamped shut around your throat. Despite all your effort it wasn’t enough to save you, you were so much weaker than this demon. The most you could do was scratch their hand, your vision starts to fade out and you can feel the pain starting to reach your limit. You shut your eyes tight the only thing you wanted to think about now in your final moment was Leviathan. 好きだよ

This was the last thing the third eldest thought he would see on his way back to the House of Lamentation. He had thought he heard the sound of MC’s voice coming from a well-isolated alleyway so he went to investigate. They should already be home so he thought it was strange that they would stop here of all places. He still hadn’t heard back from them since that last note he left with the latest edition of “I am in love with a human but they won’t take a hint and I am too scared to say anything because I am a yucky otaku.” Maybe they couldn’t translate it properly, they were a normie after all.

Leviathan’s heart stopped the moment he saw you laying there. He had never understood how Satan could lose control to his wrath so easily. This made him learn just how easy it was to let rage control you. Pinned under some demon who would never be missed and being choked out of their life was his beloved MC. They lay there barely able to hold onto the demon’s hand little lone try to pry it off of them. Their eyes shut tight whispered his name and before he knew it Levi was holding you close, you were alive but barely. He hadn’t remembered how he got to this point or where that pathetic waste of space that hurt his MC had ended up. That didn’t matter at the moment, but the blood-covered walls were enough of a hint that the demon wasn’t going to make it far.

Leviathan clung to you tightly, he never thought he would feel so concerned for someone who was 3D, nor a normie at that, yet his heart ached as he called out to you so desperately. Pulling himself together the best he could, he scooped you up into his arms and ran, ran as fast as his legs would allow him to. He knew if you were going to continue to live he had to act fast and get you medical help, not knowing where else to turn to he took you back to the House of Lamentation cursing himself for not finding you sooner.

As your eyes fluttered open the first thing you noticed was the ceiling of Leviathan’s room, the soft glow of the fish tank lit up your vision. Your head was still groggy and you couldn’t remember how you had gotten here. Trying to sit up sent pain shooting through your body, but also made you well aware you were on a bed, not in Leviathan’s bathtub he called his bed. When did this get here? Why was it here? Wait… Why am I here? Memories of what happened before you were about to die hit you like a tsunami. Your breath quickly picks up and you start to lose control of it, your body starting to shake violently. That is when you feel a weight lift off your stomach, and feel a hand in yours holding it tightly.

“I thought I lost you… MC never scare me like that again!” Leviathan cried out to you, quickly pulling you into a warm embrace. His sobs where half-muffled by the crook between your shoulder and neck. “Why wouldn’t you call for my help?! Our pact would have let you contact me! I don’t even care if it wasn’t me! Why didn’t you call anyone?!” He seemed so desperate for answers and he bordered on being hysterical. As you tried to answer him your voice failed you and all you could do was hug him back running your fingers through his hair. This seemed to calm him down enough to stop the never-ending stream of questions. They could wait, right now he had you in his arms, no amount of self-doubt would pull him away at this moment, he needed you to know how he felt. “好きだよ (Suki da yo), it’s what I wrote on the last note, it means I like you… MC I know you will probably never like a yucky otaku like me but I had to tell you. No matter what you feel for me I want to protect you. Even if you can’t be mine I will try to keep my jealousy to a minimum if that means I can just be there with you!” The poor boy had already assumed he’d be rejected.

“Why would you like a useless human like me?” These words hurt him more than any rejection could ever. He was prepared for any type of rejection MC could throw at him no matter how brutal but those words cut deeper than anything he could have imagined them saying. MC thought they were useless… Why would someone he came to treasure so much think they were useless? They were nothing like him, yet they thought they were the one undeserving of him. Leviathan’s heart shattered, he was at a loss of words. His sobs came to a stop right then and there, his grip loosened and he pulled away enough to look into their eyes. He knew these feelings all too well, this wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair. THIS WASN’T FAIR!

“MC! Why would you think like that?! You mean everything to me! I wouldn’t trade any of the time I have with you even for a limited edition Ruri-Chan figurine! Although that would suck losing the chance to get it... You are so precious to me! You are my Henry and I would be stupid not to like you! Even if you are a normie!” You have never seen him blush so hard, and it was taking everything in him not to flee after saying something so embarrassing. The only thing you could think of to do was pull him into a kiss, your hands cupping his face and you took one last glance at him before shutting your eyes and melting into the kiss. While you weren’t sure if you could ever get rid of these feelings of self-hate, for a moment you had hope that maybe you two could work together to be more confident.

“I like you too Levi.”

#obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me levi x mc #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #swd #swd leviathan #leviathan

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glorious-spoon · 5 years

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The Bird and the Fish

Written for days 19 & 20 of Tentacletober: Protective Tentacles and Established Tentacle Relationship. Follows Beached and Overboard.

Rated T; Malec & Clizzy, no archive warnings apply. Other than the fact that it’s an excessively serious take on tentacle monster crack, as per usual :P

In which Izzy starts to become suspicious.

Read on AO3

Izzy has been sleeping on the couch at Alec and Jace’s off-campus apartment for all of a week when she finally gives up on waiting for one of them to tell her what’s going on and corners Jace while he’s putting away groceries. Or at least, what passes for groceries for the two of them; all she knows is that there’s a frankly excessive amount of protein powder and cheap beer.

“So,” she says significantly, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. Jace jumps slightly, then gives her a quick, nervous look that couldn’t be more suspicious if he was holding up a sign reading SHADY BULLSHIT AHEAD. That’s why she started with him, really. Alec is almost as stubborn as she is; Jace will fold like wet paper if you know where to push. Which she does. “Did you guys join a cult, or what?”

Jace blinks at her. “No.”

“Because you’ve both been really evasive since I got here.”

“We haven’t been evasive,” Jace says, evasively.

“Does this have anything to do with the Herondale?” She doesn’t even know the whole story there, other than the fact that about a dozen people ended up getting arrested, including Alec’s boss, and Alec spent three days in the hospital and was distinctly squirrely about the exact details of his near-drowning afterward. “You guys never really told me what happened.”

“Alec caught Aldertree’s smuggling ring, Aldertree had him thrown him overboard like the murdering fuckface that he is,” Jace says, and the anger in his voice, at least, is definitely real. Izzy can relate.

“And then he… what, swam to shore? With a broken ankle?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh, come on,” Izzy starts, but before she can pursue that line of questioning, the front door swings open to admit Alec himself, tousle-headed, sunburnt, and wearing wet swim trunks, dripping a trail of water across the worn linoleum floor as he kicks his sandals off and wanders toward the kitchen.

“Oh, thank god,” Jace says. “Here. Torment Alec instead of me, I need to go get ready for work.”

“Why are we tormenting Jace?” Alec asks. He smells like salt water and sweat when he leans past Izzy to grab a Powerade out of the fridge.

Izzy wrinkles her nose and ducks out from under his arm. “I’m not tormenting him, I was just asking about what happened with your shady boss—”

“Ex-boss.”

“Yeah, near-drowning is one hell of a pink slip,” Izzy says dryly, and pokes his chest where there’s an unmistakable double-row of reddish-purple hickeys showing up under the sunburn. “Nice body art, by the way. Did he have suckers?”

Alec turns bright red, which isn’t unexpected; Jace makes an appalled noise, which actually kind of is, and groans, “Jesus Christ, Alec, you weren’t seriously—”

“I’m gonna go shower,” Alec says quickly, and slips out of the kitchen like he’s been greased, hickeys and all.

“I have to get ready for work, asshole,” Jace yells after him as the bathroom door slams shut. He glances back at Izzy, mumbles, “So I’m gonna just—” then hooks his thumb over his shoulder and flees, leaving Izzy blinking and baffled in the kitchen.

Asking Alec about it goes about as well as interrogating a brick wall, which is more or less what she expected. Izzy has the good sense to stop before he actually storms off and they manage to pass a fairly pleasant evening bickering over terrible reality TV before Jace gets home just past midnight and yells at them both to go to bed.

That doesn’t mean that Izzy has forgotten about it, though.

The thing is, Alec and Jace have always kind of been a self-contained unit. They fight almost as much as they get along, but it’s still always been Alec-and-Jace, with little Izzy trailing along behind them. Never quite in on the jokes, never quite able to keep up.

She’s twenty years old now, with a college degree behind her and med school ahead; it shouldn’t still sting like this. Maybe it’s just that she’s lonely after things ended with Meliorn, maybe it’s that this will probably be the last summer the three of them get to spend together, but it all just feels like the end of an era. Also, there’s clearly a good chunk of the story that she hasn’t gotten, and Izzy is determined not to be left in the dark. Not this time.

Anyway, it passes the time. And it’s better than spending her summer sleeping in her childhood bed while Max is away at camp and her mom is up to her ears in her expanding business and all of her high school friends are off to bigger and better things. At least this way she can get out, swim in the ocean, harass her brothers and flirt with the cute redheaded girl who does cartoon sketches on the boardwalk for five bucks a pop.

She does one of Izzy, late one night after the shops have all closed down and mayflies are circling the tall lights, and it’s not one of the goofy cartoons she sells to the tourists but Izzy’s face sketched out in graceful confident lines, dark eyes and a soft expression that Izzy definitely doesn’t remember wearing, and the girl—Clary, her name is Clary—pushes it into her hands and refuses to take any payment and practically flees before Izzy can do anything else, like, say, ask her out to dinner.

She wanders home with the sketch clutched in her hand, feeling light and warm and unusually content with the world, not even thinking about Jace and Alec and whatever mysterious bullshit they’re definitely lying to her about.

So of course that’s when she crosses through the dunes on a shortcut back to the apartment and sees a tall familiar shadow slipping down toward the water.

It’s Alec. He’s in swim trunks again, barefoot and shirtless even though it’s starting to get cool at night as summer draws to a close. He has something in his hand but she can’t tell what it is. At the water’s edge, he kneels, silvery waves licking up over his feet and legs, reflecting the moonlight, and sets whatever it was he was carrying in the water. He sits back for a minute, then stands again and starts to wade out. A few yards out he must hit the drop off, because his head dips below the water for a moment before surfacing again, silhouette swaying rhythmically against the moonlit sky in a way that means he’s treading water. Izzy drifts closer without even meaning to.

A shadow moves beneath the waves, and then a man surfaces a few feet from Alec, all of a sudden, like he just emerged from the sea. A gleaming grin on his face reflects the moonlight, and from this distance, over the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, she can’t hear what they’re saying, but Alec’s voice is soft and low enough that she’s not surprised when he moves closer, leaning in to kiss the man with a comfortable sort of familiarity.

Just a late-night hookup, then. Izzy makes a face and starts to turn away before she can inadvertently witness any more of it, then pauses. Something is rippling, breaking the surface of the water. Several dark appendages that are definitely not arms twine up over Alec’s shoulders and into his hair, and instead of trying to escape he—turns, and presses a quick smiling kiss to one of them.

“What,” Izzy says out loud, “the fuck.”

It comes out louder and shriller than she intends, splitting the fragile silence. Alec jerks, spins toward her, but the other man—he shoves Alec back with effortless force, spinning so that he’s between Izzy and Alec with the vast moonlit ocean spread out behind them. More of those things (tentacles, she thinks, slightly hysterical, those are tentacles, what the fuck) slip out of the water, making what would actually be a pretty menacing display if Alec wasn’t shoving at them exasperatedly, slipping under one of the tentacles and pushing it out of the way with a careless hand.

“Stop that, it’s just my sister,” he says, and then, “Izzy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Who is that?” She almost says What is that, because the—man, or whatever he is, is staring at her from the water, his eyes an inhuman shade of yellow, reflecting the moonlight. There are long slits on the sides of his throat that ripple faintly as she watches. Gills.

And there are the tentacles. Several of them are still wrapped around Alec, who doesn’t seem bothered by it. He glances at his companion, then back at Izzy, then sighs.

“This is not how I was planning on telling you about all this, for the record,” he says wearily. “Izzy, Magnus Bane. Magnus, my sister, Isabelle.”

“The nosy one,” Magnus Bane says. There’s an odd lilt to his voice, not quite an accent; it’s more as if it’s reflecting against itself, a resonance that makes Izzy think of walesong, echoes in the deep. His smile gleams; his teeth are sharp. “I remember.”

“I’m not,” she starts, then snaps her mouth shut, flushing. The drawing that Clary gave her is starting to crumple in her fist, and she forces herself to relax before she can ruin it.

“That’s not how I put it,” Alec says, glancing at Izzy. “Curious. I said curious. Be nice.”

Magnus Bane surveys her for another moment, then sighs, relaxing. The tentacles coiled around Alec loosen. “All right. I’m sorry.” It’s half to her, half to Alec. “I haven’t had especially good luck with shore-dwellers lately. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Thanks,” Alec says dryly. “Neither have I, honestly.”

That near-drowning thing, Izzy realizes suddenly. Out loud, she says, “I was wondering how you survived that.”

“Yeah.” Alec glances at Magnus, who is watching him with a softness that makes her want to like him, suddenly. Even if he does seem like the exact kind of asshole that Alec would fall for, only in the shape of some quasi-mythical being. Or because of that, maybe. “I had a little help.”

“Oh,” Izzy says. She looks at Magnus, who is looking back at her, and the thing is—

The thing is, there are tentacles coiled around Alec’s shoulders and arms and Magnus has one hand out of the water and is resting it on Alec’s elbow, webbed fingers splayed. There is, absurdly, what looks like sparkly polish on his nails. This whole thing is so patently ridiculously unbelievable that she’s half-convinced that she’s hallucinating it. But the expression on his face is something close to anxious.

“Thank you,” she tells him seriously, and his grin is sudden and sharp and makes him look warmer all of a sudden.

“Entirely selfish, my dear.” He turns back toward Alec. One of the tentacles brushes Alec’s wet hair out of his face, and it’s both incredibly weird and incredibly tender. “Perhaps you should… explain things.”

“I don’t want to stand you up if—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Magnus tells him, and there’s an undercurrent there that Izzy can’t read. “Talk to your sister. I trust your judgement. I’ll let Cat and Ragnor know.”

He lifts his chin to press another familiar kiss to Alec’s mouth, then just—slips away into the water, leaving barely a ripple behind him. Alec stays where he is for a long moment before turning and starting back toward the shore. He lets the tide carry him in, then straightens up in the shallows and wades the rest of the way back. He flops onto the wet sand next to her. Izzy stares down at him, and he gives her a look and pats the sand next to him. She sits.

“You were following me,” he says.

“You’ve been lying to me,” she counters, although that’s probably not completely fair. Alec sighs like it is, though.

“Yeah, well, would you have believed me if I told you the truth?”

“That you’re dating the Loch Ness monster? No, probably not.”

“We’re not, it’s not—” Alec shoves a hand through his hair and grimaces. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Izzy says, more sincerely than she really means to. She’s thinking, suddenly of a scrap of near-forgotten lines from the drama club’s 10th grade production of ‘Fiddler on the Roof’: A bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together?

She’s pretty sure Joseph Stein didn’t mean it quite this literally, but it still applies. Alec’s profile looks thoughtful in the moonlight when she glances over at him, and Izzy hesitates, then settles a hand on his shoulder. She thinks about trying to say something supportive, but she knows from long experience how Alec tends to react to sympathy.

“So,” she says instead. Alec glances down at her warily, and Izzy finds herself grinning, which only makes him look more wary. “Tentacles, huh? How’s that work?”

It gets the reaction she was hoping for. Alec makes a strangled sort of noise and drops his face into his hands. “I am not discussing that with you.”

“I’m just saying. You’re living the hentai dream.”

“I will drown you,” Alec mutters with no real ire, then scrubs his hands over his face and glances over at her. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Izzy says. “Obviously.”

“I mean it. Nobody. Not Mom, not Max, not your girlfriend—”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Sure.” Alec raises his eyebrows and nods at the paper still clutched in her hand. Her own face, lovingly rendered. There’s a signature at the bottom corner: Clary Fairchild. The ‘i’s’ in ‘Fairchild’ are dotted with hearts.

There’s a phone number scribbled under it. She didn’t notice it before. Too distracted by Clary’s blushing face and rapid retreat, and then by Alec and his… whatever the hell all this is.

“Shut up.” She’s blushing. “Anyway, it’s not like anyone would believe me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Magnus and his people, what would happen to them if someone found out—” He breaks off, looking out toward the sea, toward wherever Magnus is. He doesn’t need to continue. Izzy isn’t stupid; she can read between the lines. She shivers a little, though it’s not that cold.

“Jace already knows.” It’s not a question.

Alec nods. “He was there with me, the first time we… met Magnus. It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” Izzy says. There’s not really anything else she can say. She moves closer to Alec, propping her shoulder against his and watching him spin the small metal thing that isn’t a phone around and around in his hand while the moon drifts higher in the sky and the waves wash in around them.

“You should call her,” Alec says eventually. “Your artist, I mean.”

Izzy looks up at him; from this angle his face is all but unreadable in the way that Alec often is, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what he’s thinking. And even if it did, Izzy just so happens to be a genius.

“Yeah,” she says, and bumps his shoulder companionably. “Maybe I will.”

#my fic #shadowhunters fic #tentacletober #look i don't even know what this is

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9uk · 5 years

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Let Me Stay Close To You : epilogue

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 3k

⌲ genre : angst , fluff if you squint

⌲ warnings : mentions of death , suicide , abuse

⌲ a/n : pardon me for I have a lot to say. I feel damn sad that this is really THE END of this series. feels only like yesterday that i decided to work on this baby. i’m sorry if there are any loopholes, i just sort of want to leave it to you guys to decide what had/is going to happen. as always, feedback is seriously more than welcomed! and I just wanted to say for all of you lonely souls out there, victims of bullying, people who are more insecure than they should be feeling, I LOVE YOU! I’m here for you, I’ve met so many people throughout a simple series and I’m always a listening ear for y’all! Don’t give up, press on <3 The road to self-love is a rough yet beautiful one! A big thank you for all my readers’ endless support and words of encouragement, as cliché as it sounds, I would never have made it to the end w/o you guys, no joke. I hope y’all stay with me! ^-^

**there are some references from forever rain by our wonderful leader Namjoon included in this writing.

part six > epilogue.

The rain drops falling on the surface of your umbrella only grows heavier with time.

The pattering is a constant rhythm that keeps you drowning in the bittersweet memories of the man lying before you, under you. Lowering the black parasol you have in hand, you shield your face from the series of footsteps approaching from afar. The sky is crying with you, and that puts your heart an inch closer to complete calamity. Your black leather gloves scrunch as you tighten your grip on the handle, your hand visibly shaking in unadulterated rage. Teeth clenched, you slow down your breaths and allow the last tear drop of longing to roll down your pale skin.

The ends of your long coal dress is drenched with rain water and spluttered with mud, but that’s okay.

Your boots are sinking into the soaked soil and you feel the wetness creeping into the sole of your feet, but that’s okay as well.

The stalk of lily you had gently placed on his tomb is being slapped by the violent pouring of the dark grey clouds who mourn with you, but that’s okay too.

Whether you dig six feet under this polluted ground, no matter how carefully you place the flowers you bring him every year, he would never come back into your life—and that’s not okay. That’s not okay at all, because the best friend you had loved so deeply had taken his own life to end his suffering.

The group of people walking your way is closing the distance and without another glance, you flee from the scene.

Stretching, you make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. It was the morning you had no clue was going to turn your life upside down. The glorious sun rays peeking through your curtains and the sweet singing of the birds flying outside your window grill couldn’t even save you from the catastrophe headed your way.

“Sweetie, there’s a letter for you!” The jingling of the car keys travel from downstairs and you quickly finish freshening up.

“Who is it from?” You ask, hand smoothening down the railing of the staircase as your tiny feet tap their way down the steps.

“It’s from Junghyun, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, before you scurry to your mother’s side and snatch the envelope from her hands.

The six-year old you understood the meaning of privacy, so you’re bolting back to your bedroom with a letter sent from your best friend in hand. And all excitement and anticipation was erased and instantly replaced by worry and fear when the first words you read are ‘I’m sorry’.

Your brows furrow harder and harder as you took in every line written on the piece of dreaded paper.

“So you’re saying that I should wait for her to knock off work to express my sincerity?”

Taehyung nods enthusiastically. “Look, I’m sorry for touching your girl the other day so trust me, this is the best advice I can give you,” Jungkook rubs his temple in frustration. “Doing that will definitely win her heart.” He looks away from his phone just long enough to send a wink.

“I-I’m not trying to get her or anything dude,” Jungkook plays with his fingers and his voice softens, “I just want her forgiveness, that’s all.”

And that is how you notice a certain man by the name of Jeon Jungkook strolling into the diner at 8 on a Sunday morning, orders a banana milkshake and occupies the small booth at the corner for a straight ten hours. He does nothing but play mobile games or doze off occasionally—or attempts to read a book he doesn’t even know the name of—but you will leave that out because he fails terribly every time. You thought you had made it as clear as day that the both of you were nothing more than a bully and victim, so why was he wasting his time here, sitting in the corner of Pop’s waiting for you? Unless…

The lengthy shift ends in the blink of an eye somehow, you don’t think it’s because of Jungkook’s presence and the lingering stares you receive from him—nonetheless you are gleefully waving Kihyun goodbye as you dump your apron into the staff cabinet. You don’t miss the way he shouts after you while wiping a plate dry in hand, “Have fun with your date! He’s a keeper.”

With a roll of your eyes that you know he can see despite not having to turn around, you walk through the backdoor and fish out your worn-out yet loyal pair of earpiece. You’re hoping that leaving from the behind would catch Jungkook off-guard, and that he wouldn’t be able to confront you or you wouldn’t have to bump into him. You couldn’t be more incorrect.

“Running away from me again, huh?” The cracks of the little stones in the gravelly ground beneath the sole of his Timberlands shoot through your ears in an unpleasant manner.

You dare not turn around to fully face him, too exhausted to deal with a person who held so much complications in your life at the moment. Moments later way too soon, he has stepped in front of you, leaving you with not many options.

“Y/N-” He reaches out to hold your hand, but you immediately flinch away as if it was a natural reflex whenever you were around him.

“Don’t touch me, Jungkook.”

His expression falls, along with the outstretched hand and he tucks it away in the pocket of his grey sweatpants.

“Listen I’m,” He runs his fingers through his brown hair and groans in annoyance directed at himself. “I’m..I’m just very sorry, okay?” His eyes are closed now, focusing on putting out the words that come from the bottom of his heart. “I really want the both of us to be something more than just a bully and victim,” Jungkook seemed unsatisfied with the status of the both of you. The walls you painstakingly build around yourself from the world is slowly but surely crashing down to the ground as he kept speaking about the possibility of redemption and forgiveness on your side.

“Can we be friends? I don’t know I just-”

He’s stumbling on his words now. Jungkook feels this inseparable connection with you, since your hearts connected when he hugged you to sleep, since you walk past him on the third day of college, he could literally recognise you anywhere and everywhere, the only face he would notice in a crowd, the only person he felt a sense of belonging to—or maybe ever since you bandaged his wounds up every time you visited.

Sometimes at night, he wonders why you stopped visiting after the death of his brother. Was he nothing more than a boy you took pity on? Was he not valid enough of a reason for you to come back?

He doesn’t know if it’s right to say it, or appropriate in any way but he knows about the value of second chances. After all, he was miraculously given one in life with the cost of his brother’s life.

“I missed you.”

The words falling out of his mouth comes to you as a shocker, eyebrows raised upon the claim.

“You were there for me at my lowest, when I got beaten up by my dad, abandoned by my mother,” Jungkook steps closer, and he steals the chance of you being momentarily stunned to grab your hands gently, cautiously.

He looks to the side, brows knitted in concentration to try and express himself in broken sentences in the best way possible. “You helped me, a-and all I did was try tear your life apart.”

“Yeah, congratulations. You succeeded.” Your tone is menacing, filled with venom and vengeance for the guy who stood before you. But you still didn’t quite get the part of you assisting him in the past. Unless…

The next thing that happens is something you thought you would never be able to witness in your life. The forbidden tear seeps out of the corner of his eyes and flows down the cold skin of his cheek. Because your reply to his heartfelt confession is all it takes to shred the last bit of control he has of his emotions, before he is breaking down right in front of your eyes.

Out of pure instincts and zero intentions, you hold his hand back as a tiny form of reassurance.

You’re wondering if it is in you to protect and to help others in need, or it’s simply just because your heart is beginning to ache for Jungkook and the pain he has been through. It’s like for a minute or so, you have forgotten all about the traumas he created for you and the scars he left on your skin—because the distance between both your bodies are closed eventually (you don’t remember when exactly and who stepped forward) and you’re hugging a crying Jungkook.

It’s baffling how you are willing to put aside your feelings for someone like Jungkook. Maybe it’s in you, maybe it’s just in you, and you would do it for anyone else and it’s not solely because of Jungkook. But who were you lying to?

“I’m sorry Y/N…I really fucking am, god! I would do anything to gain your forgiveness,” Jungkook sobs into your shoulders. If only it were that easy—to forget about all his wrongdoings and eradicate the constant and lingering fear he introduced in you.

“It takes time,” You pull away from him, “but I guess I can try.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as you tell him your decision. His fingers wind up in your hair, clutching you close to the warmth of his body.

You’d rather be free and experience the happiness that is paired with sorrow, then to swirl forever in a whirlpool of anxiety, self-pity and hatred. This could be a turning point for your life, and you were willing to take up on the offer because you had nothing to lose.

Getting hurt will be an experience in your life, whether or not it does occur for the second time, you have grown to accept the way some people are and the way you choose to respond to ugly situations. You were constantly trapped in a cage of uncertainty and insecurity, blinded by the fog of stubborn overthinking and worrying, you failed to realise that the key to unlocking yourself from these bars are in your very own hands. It is a phase of learning, growing, accepting—and loving.

You’re hoping this chamomile tea would fight off the thoughts and memories of your late best friend.

You carefully bring the hot liquid closer to your mouth, your lips resting on the circumference of the teacup, the lovely aroma dosed in the smoke produced flowing into your nostrils and reaching every part of your body.

Your lonely umbrella stands quietly in the corner of this coffee shop, drenched and drying by itself.

It was a rather empty coffee house, located opposite a goddamned cemetery, like which genius on earth decided to open a lovely café filled with sunflowers and tulips, fragrant coffee and sweet pastries beside a home for corpses? Or rather go to work every day seeing the dead and the frequent sad faces of their families.

But the shop came to rather good use for your mini hideout from the cruel family you detested.

After having a quick sip, a man dashes into the shop, the bells at the door ringing so violently the potted plants all turn to face the perpetrator in a face of disgust.

He hurriedly sweeps his hair back, rain water splattering everywhere and dusts the remaining droplets off his windbreaker, before heading further inside to find a seat.

Life never stops to amaze you in every single, way.

Jeon.

His shit-eating grin appears at the sight of you.

Jung.

“Oh, Y/N!”

Kook.

He makes his way over to your place and sits down without invitation.

“What are you doing here?”

It comes out at the same time quite amusingly, and light giggles emitted from the both of you.

“I came to visit a friend.”

“My parents came to visit my brother.”

Same time, yet again but you managed to catch onto his sentence.

“Why aren’t you with them? You hated him with all your life or something?” You try to joke and lighten the already very dark atmosphere, but you realised the worst mistake you could ever make was to say something like that about someone’s death.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to-” You quickly cover up and apologise, hoping Jungkook would take no offence to your stupid joke.

“No, it’s fine really. I didn’t know him that well anyways.”

You keep silent, not wanting to say anything insensitive anymore.

None of you said anything after that, and you feel worse than ever at the change in his expression—like he was hurt by something.

“To reply your question, no. My brother is the last person I would hate I guess. He helped me a lot.”

Confused, you probed further.

“What do you mean by that?”

Jungkook clears his throat and wraps his hands around your cup of tea to seek warmth.

“Well technically, he passed away, I still don’t know how but it saved me from the misery I went through when I was a child back then.”

You watch the smoke rise from the cup, fading into thin air as they soar higher.

I’m Junghyun’s brother, Jeon Jungkook.

The flushing of the rain has ceased to a slow drizzle, and the rain drops left on the window pane are in a race to see who reaches the bottom first.

Your eyes slowly look up to meet Jungkook’s, dawned upon the realisation of it all—the lost pieces of the jigsaw puzzle coming together to form the picture, finally.

Jungkook doesn’t see how your face had entirely changed, your features now plastered with disbelief and a burning urge to find out the truth. He continues blabbering on.

“Nothing surprising, but my parents see me as some bad omen and for me to visit my brother, that’s strictly not allowed. But I have a company dinner to attend to later on so I tagged along and roamed the surroundings of this graveyard since I couldn’t-”

“Wait,” You grab your bag and stand up. “Come with me. You have to see something.”

He mumbles a ‘oh sure why not’ and the both of you are walking towards the group of people you saw earlier on.

“Y/N, is that you?” The whole family lifts their heads to take a good look at you, not paying much attention to the man you’ve brought along with you.

“Oh my, how beautiful you’ve grown!” She exclaims once she confirms that it is indeed you, best companion of their first son. His father turns even more gloomy at the sight of you, his lips curling downwards even more, as if he has been brought back to the times when you came over and played water balloon fights, kicked soccer balls for fun and climbed tress— with his son. His one and only son that he had already lost.

“Why won’t you let Jungkook see him?” Not even a greeting is spared and you may be coming off as impolite, but on serious note you couldn’t care less if it’s anything got to do with these monsters of a parents. Jungkook raises his brows at how daring you were to use that tone against his powerful family.

You’re only met with silence and you push Jungkook to the front, to which he only looks down, seemingly afraid of his parents.

“That’s because I only have one son! And it will be like that forever!” His father raises his voice at you and you don’t even flinch. You almost want to thank Jungkook deep down, for forcing you to become such a tough bitch honestly.

“Then let me tell you now, that your one and only son is gone from this world forever because of none other than his cruel father!”

The clouds decide to release the rest of the water it contains, to wash away all the unspoken misdeeds and cleanse the sins in this corrupted family.

Everyone shuts up at your accusation, his parents know more than their son being reported on the news as a death caused by an accident, behind closed doors are devious secrets and pretentious lies. Everyone knows, only Jungkook is standing there completely clueless about the whole situation. Your umbrella lowers, to hide your bitten lip and tear-stained face. Jungkook takes the handle from your hand and carries it for you, putting his hand around your shoulder to pull you close to him.

It’s hard to see your tears in the pouring rain.

I’m sorry.

Because by the time you are probably reading this, I am already dead.

I’m sorry for scaring you with the sudden news like that but it is something that had to be done. I am tired of the nightmares and scary monsters that creep on me at night. I am tired of hugging my pillow so tight and trying to block off the screams coming from downstairs. I am so afraid, Y/N. I have no idea what my parents are doing behind my back, but it surely sounds like nothing good. I am living in this house with terror and I cannot do this anymore. Sometimes I really want to tell you how scared I am at night when I hear those sounds in the house but knowing you, you will come and help me and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. There is a bottle of rat poison in the storeroom, just know that the cause of my death isn’t from some accident or something that my parents will put on the news. I’m not that clumsy like you haha. This is the only way to save everyone from this misery and I chose this path myself. I will always love you, you know that right? I’m sorry I’m weak and I cannot handle fear. You are strong I know it and you will get over this. Look at the moon when you’re sad okay? Take good care of yourself, Always have you in my heart.

507 notes · View notes

huphilpuffs · 6 years

Text

flares

chapter: 2/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 2793 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine

Ao3 link || read from beginning

“You okay, Howell?”

Dan blinks. The fabric of his uniform is cheap and scratchy and ignites burning crackles of pain under his skin. The shoes are clunky and make his feet ache after standing for so long. His ankles feel like they’re about to collapse under his weight. And he’s not entirely sure how long ago he stopped listening.

The employee charged with giving him a tour of the store is staring back at him, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl drawing at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m fine,” mumbles Dan.

He’d just forgotten how big Tescos could be, apparently.

And how bad he was at staying steady on his feet for any period of time.

The employee—Dan’s already forgotten his name—stares for a moment longer, then shrugs. “You have to learn to pay attention,” he huffs. “Customers won’t like repeating themselves.”

It cuts, the awareness that the other man is right. The memories it spurs of high school teachers calling him back after the bell to lecture him about how terrible he was at paying attention. And of the desperate ways he used to argue with them, fight for them to listen to him, only to walk away crying.

He knows better now, so he just nods and follows along.

With every step, he can feel the rattle of his bones, the ache in his joints turning acute as he walks. It’s only mid-afternoon and his head is spinning with desperate pleas to his body. His hands are shaking. The pin of his name tag is still cold against his chest, and the touch makes him want to press his palm to his ribs until the discomfort goes away.

This is why he couldn’t continue with uni.

Why Taylor stared at him with such concern when he told her he’d gotten a job.

The thought comes and flits away with another blink and another painful step through the backrooms of Tesco. The man in front of him’s steps are sure, head steady as he walks. Dan can feel his neck giving out, the bob of his skull on aching bones, the spreading need to collapse and let something else hold his weight for a moment.

He keeps following, scowl drawing at his lips, the corners of his eyes creasing as he winces.

They stop walking by a closed office door. The man pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks it, steps inside and leaves Dan standing in the hallway. His weight falls against the nearest wall, a burst of ow erupting under in his shoulder at the pressure against it. He wants to stay there. Wants to press his spine to the wall and sink to the floor and forget that he’s at work.

Instead, he aims for awkwardly casual as the man walks back out of the office, a bundle of papers in his hand.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Dan swallows, pretends it doesn’t hurt, and nods.

“Okay then. Here’s a list of regulations and produce codes. I suggest you try to memorize them.”

He nods again, chokes out a quiet: “Okay.”

“And I’ll see you back here tomorrow for register training.”

Another nod. The man offers to show him the way out, but Dan needs to flee. Needs to be alone with his broken body and the tears that are starting to burn behind his eyes. So the man tells him how to get to the staff exit, offers a quiet goodbye, and walks away.

Dan lingers in the hall for a moment, listening to the distant rustle of footsteps as his head dips back against the wall and his ribs heave with every breath.

---

The original plan was to take the bus back to uni and collapse onto his bed for a while before heading to Phil’s apartment to see it. But Dan gets three steps down the pavement before realizing that his body can’t handle a bus right now. His bones still protest every movement and his head is spinning and he can already feel the phantom bumps of Manchester roads as he walks.

Already hurts because of it.

So he slips into a Starbucks that only takes him a few steps to get to. Brushes past the few people inside to find the nearest seat and let his body fall. The rungs of metal at the back of his chair dig into his spine until he leans forward and lets his head rest on the tabletop.

His vision’s blurry. He wonders when that happened as he blinks the clouds away. One of the baristas is watching him, her eyes narrow.

He’s sure that they’ll complain about him later, and part of him wants to call out that he will buy something, will give them business, he just needs to sit and breathe.

Just for a moment.

The papers the man had given him have been crushed by his palm. The weight of his wallet feels heavy against his thigh. He wants to slip away and walk around like a normal nineteen year old. Wants to get a coffee and catch the bus and give his seat to someone who needs it without the disastrous consequences that always follow.

He wipes at his eyes before the tears well, presses his face to his elbow and hopes they don’t come at all.

---

By the time his legs are working again, and the blurred dizziness at the peripheral of his mind has faded, there’s only a little while until he has to be at Phil’s. Around him, the crowd has shifted, the world moved. The barista he’d noticed when he first arrived is at the register now.

He wonders how long he’d been lying there.

How long it took his body to function again.

He pushes himself up from the tabletop. His arm is damp, and he wipes it across his face, hopes its not obvious that he’s been crying. There’s a woman at the table behind him typing away on a laptop, and a couple in front of him both sipping at lattes, and Dan sucks in a breath and stands.

His knees wobble. It hurts, but he manages.

It’s not busy, and he breathes a quiet thank you under his breath as he slides into the queue. Two people are ahead of him. He can do this. He can. His phone is heavy in his hand and his shirt is still grating against his skin and he watches the minutes tick by too slowly. Feels the jerk of his knees under his weight as he shifts forward.

There’s a text taunting him with a notification.

Taylor: hope training went okay :)

He can’t bring himself to respond.

The line moves forward and he shoves his phone into his pocket, stares at the menu until his vision goes blurry, blinks, and tries to commit the words to memory once again.

“Sir?”

A blink. A step forward. He forces a laugh, ignores the pain that comes with the rumble.

“Sorry. I’ll have a caramel macchiato. Or, make that two. For Dan.”

The barista smiles, tells him his total so he can fish the money out of his wallet.

“Have a good day, Dan,” she says.

He smiles, nods, too distracted to think of anything to say.

---

Phil’s building has an elevator.

And Dan hates himself for the sigh of relief that passes through his lips at the sight. Hates that he needs to think about it. That he knows Phil lives so many floors up that Dan wouldn’t even make it to the flat if he needed to take stairs. That there’s tears welling in his eyes and all he can do is smear them across his face with the back of his hand.

Their coffees are warm against his palms. He still hasn’t taken a sip of his. He’s long since given up on drinking anything too hot without a burning in his throat for the rest of the day.

He leans against the wall in the elevator. The railing digs into his spine and his knees are grateful for the break, and he watches the number above the door too intently.

It’s early. He knew it when he got into a cab and offered the address Phil had texted him last night. Knew it when he arrived at the building and stared at it for long minutes, scared to go inside. When he hit the elevator button. Phil probably isn’t home yet.

Still, he knocks. Waits.

There’s no answer.

He steps to the side, lets his head fall back against the hallway wall. The coffees are growing heavy, too.

But he tells himself he’ll be fine waiting, and tries to make himself believe it.

---

Dan ends up sitting in the hallway with his head between his knees. The coffees are on the floor beside him. He’d torn his phone and wallet out of his pockets and grappled with the collar of his polo shirt. His nametag is off and his back hurts and his cheeks are still damp with tears.

He sucks in a breath. One, two, three, four.

Exhales with a shaky five, six, seven, eight.

His head is spinning and his ribs burn with every breath and he’s vaguely aware of footsteps coming down the hall but they’re not the first since he’s gotten here. He’s given up on lifting his head every time.

Except this time the footsteps come with a voice.

“Hi?”

The accent is Northern and Dan grips at his knees and forces his head up. The man staring back at him is wearing a blue button down with white spots on it and has a black fringe that mirrors Dan’s. He has one strap of a backpack thrown over his shoulder and a furrowed brow and blue eyes.

Dan suddenly wishes he’d rushed back to uni to change out of his Tesco uniform.

He opens his mouth to speak, but the man’s eyes go wide before he can say a word.

“Oh, bloody hell. It’s Dan, right? I knew I was forgetting something when my boss asked me to stay late.” It comes out in a rush. “I’m sorry. Not the best first impression, huh?”

Phil’s smile is crooked, and falls as fast as it flits across his lips.

“Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. He reaches over, grabs his phone, wallet, and nametag and shoves them into his pocket. The coffees are cold when he reaches for them. When he realizes just a moment too late that he needs a free hand to drag himself off the floor.

“Fine,” he chokes out.

He doesn’t sound fine. Phil notices.

“Here, I can take that,” he offers, reaching down to grab a cup.

“It’s for you,” says Dan.

The crooked smile returns. Dan finds himself smiling back.

And then Phil’s holding out a hand, and Dan’s taking it, getting dragged to his feet. Phil’s hand is the kind of warm that doesn’t burn.

Dan almost doesn’t want to let go.

But he does, closes both palms around his coffee cup. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “Sorry about that.”

Phil’s still smiling. “It’s my fault,” he says. “Wanna come inside?”

All he manages is a nod. Phil pulls a key out of his pocket, unlocks the door, and lets Dan step inside first.

---

The apartment is mostly empty. The walls are white and the cabinets are a dark grey. There’s a couch and a coffee table and a TV. The bathroom is plain. Phil’s bedroom is already decorated. His bedspread is blue and green, and there’s a dying houseplant sitting on his chest of drawers. The other room is smaller, and empty.

“Oh, there’s a balcony too,” says Phil. “I can show you that if you want?”

Dan feels the exhaustion creeping back along his spine. His head is growing heavy. Phil reaches out for him, and it takes Dan a moment to realize he must have been swaying on his feet.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

But Phil’s face is creased with worry again. He’s holding onto Dan’s arm like he’s scared Dan will topple over if he lets go. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He swallows, nods. “It’s just a thing that happens. Blood pressure or something.”

He means for it to sound casual, to assuage Phil’s worry. But the hand on Dan’s arm tightens, drags him forward with clumsy steps and pushes him down onto the sofa. Phil sits down next to him, pressed to the armrest. He’s staring, eyes wide, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Warmth settles in Dan’s chest.

It’s been a long time since anyone besides Taylor has bothered to worry about him.

“Is there anything that helps with it?” asks Phil. “Since it’s a thing that happens?”

Dan shrugs. “Just gotta wait it out.”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t tell Phil that sitting helps. His head falls against the cushion behind him, and his feet fold under him. If Phil were Taylor, he would close his eyes and ignore the spinning in his head. But others, he’s learned, don’t appreciate conversations with closed eyes and half-responses, so he turns to face Phil, forces a smile.

There’s silence. Phil opens his mouth once, and a second time. He pulls out his phone, stares at it intently for a few moments, grins, and walks away.

When he returns, it’s with a bowl of crisps that he hands to Dan.

“Google tells me salt should help get your blood pressure up,” he says.

The warmth comes back with a genuine smile that spreads across Dan’s face. “I-” He pauses, swallows. The words circling his mind seem insufficient. His gratitude feels like too much for a simple bowl of crisps. “Thank you.”

Phil smiles again. “You owe me some crisps now,” he says. “So what do you think of the place?”

“It’s really nice.”

He watches as Phil looks away, to stare at where he’s picking at the hem of his shirt. “Does that mean you’d like to get to know your potential future roommate?”

Part of Dan thinks that the kindness Phil’s already shown him is all he really needs to know. He swallows his bite of crisp.

“Sure,” he says.

Phil looks up then, laughter gleaming in his eyes. He reaches over and snags a chip from the top of Dan’s bowl, pops it into his mouth his a grin. “For starters, prawn cocktail is one of my favourite crisp flavours.” He pauses, swallows his mouthful.

Dan thinks he should probably mind that Phil talks with his mouth full more than he does.

“You know, since you owe me and all.”

---

Phil, it turns out, has a degree in English language and linguistics, and a master’s in post-production. He grew up just outside of Manchester, went to York for uni, and came back to be closer to family. He has a brother named Martyn who has a girlfriend named Cornelia. Phil isn’t seeing anyone, apparently, and has an addiction to coffee, pizza, and houseplants. He plays video games in his free time, and is rather partial to Mario.

His tongue sticks out from between his teeth when he laughs.

When Dan tells him he took a year off uni, he doesn’t ask why.

And now he’s standing on one side of his door, staring at Dan with that same crooked smile that’s ghosted across his lips since he first found Dan in the hallway.

“Are you taking the bus back to campus?”

Dan’s hand is shoved into his pocket, fiddling with the pin of his nametag. “I dunno.”

The flash of worry comes and goes. “I can call you a cab if you want,” he says. “You’re sure you’re feeling better?”

He nods. “Positive. Crisps are a miracle cure, apparently.”

For the dizziness, at least. He still hasn’t mentioned his weak knees or pained spine or the headaches that too often pound in his temples. Phil doesn’t need to know about that.

“Okay,” says Phil. “So, a cab?”

He’s picking at the hem of his shirt again, and watching Dan as though he’d rather offer to take the bus with him than let him go alone. And Dan finds himself nodding before he can stop himself.

“That would be nice,” he mumbles. His shoes suddenly seem far too interesting. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says Phil. “So, uh, will I see you in a few days, future … roommate?”

He sounds so cautious, so hopeful, that Dan forces himself to look back up. “Did my crying in your hallway and almost passing out not deter you?”

Phil’s smile falls in an instant. He swallows, shakes his head as though to rid it of unwanted thoughts. “Not at all.”

Dan nods. “Then sure,” he says, “I’ll see you in a few days.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words

112 notes · View notes

minamiaurora · 6 years

Text

How blind I was

This is for @lifelovelaughangell123 ‘s “high school musical spn challenge”

I had the line 39 “he’s gonna figure out the right thing to do”

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Words count: nearly 3600

Warnings: I don’t know... swearing and injuries, mention of dead people, nightmares, e.c.t. All the nice things found in the supernatural world.

And if it needs a warning: it's my first time writing and I had no beta reader so all the little faults are mine and if you find any, please just ignore them.

Disclaimer: nothing of Supernatural is mine and I don’t make any money with it. Just having fun with it

Since two and a half hours I drove now trough that big creepy forest that surrounds the small one-horse-town in which I had to be since yesterday evening, after getting a very low-quality phone call from my good old friend Sam Winchester asking me for "a little" favor. He and his brother Dean needed help on a hunt. I rarely understood the town's name where they currently stayed and after a few "What? what di.. ..ou s..y?" s when he tried to explain their case, I decided to just go and help out. I was only a few hours drive away and had no case myself at the time. Besides, it wasn't the first time I helped them. Honestly, sometimes it helps to have tits. The road through the forest was narrow but not in a too bad condition, but that didn't help at all to ease my trip. The mist in the early mornings made it nearly impossible to see anything further than the windscreen of the car. So I was more guessing than seeing where the street is. And the fact that I know what creatures can hide in the dark foggy forest didn't let me feel any safer. Yes, I am a hunter and guess what I still do not like to be in dark forests. especially at night. and when they're covered in fog. So when, with the rising sun, the town finally appears between the trees, I breathed in relief and speed up a little bit thanks to the now lifting fog. I check the name of the Motel Sam texted me and see to my surprise that I have a perfectly fine signal. As I pull in the parking lot I wonder for my self if all these run down motels did only survive because of all the hunters operating in the shadows of the community trying to save the world, risking and losing their life without the majority even knowing about them. Kinda like the M.I.B. I swing the door of the room open, who was like the exterior of the building built and decorated in the late 70s and never changed or renovated since because grand- grand mom liked it that way. A smell like old wet socks and towels which took a nice hot long soaking bath together in a pool filled with used condoms and cigarettes waved directly into my nose. "NOPE!" I harshly close the door again. //I definitely NOT gonna spend one second in that room// "you shouldn't. Not even Dean and Sam were taking that room. and they're not exactly picky when it comes to the choosing of a sleeping place." I turn around when I hear the low voice of the angel who stole my heart many moons ago.h Of course, no one on the team knows about that. I even managed to keep my thoughts away from him if he's around. And acted like a more or less grown-up person. It's after all only a little crush. And it's not like it grows for almost 2 and a half year. It happened slowly. I blamed it on the circumstances of our first meeting. He made his appearance into my life by actually save it from a nasty vamp. After a few nice night talks we had, (because like most in that business my time in dreamland is normally not pleasant. So I try to avoid it or knock me out.) I got scared by how deep in I was already. How much I could relax and open myself to someone. Even if I consider all of them family, not once have I ever spoken to Sam or Dean about the exact way my blood family died. Only with Castiel, I did. Ok, I was drunk as a lord after the last hunt with the infamous trio, but I told him under tears and hiccups how it happened. But for the first time in my life, I spoke about it and of what I can remember it felt really good. Next, I tried to blame his vessel. Why must it be such a good looking one? Special that /your favorite body of Castiel/ of it. His casual nearly submissive, kind being that changes in a split second into the warrior of the lord he is. The way he's sometimes just staring at one with that hypnotic blue eyes (the bluest blue on earth, heaven and hell I am sure of that). I get lost so deep in them happily every time I look at them. And his lips. when they move like they do now, how...// shiiit. He speaks to me. Fokus y/n Fokus!// ".. and she didn't hear a word you just said, Cas. Hy Kiddo" Dean walked around Castiel to greet me with a bearhug. "where were you now?" "..furniture? I.. I.." I tried to get my self together without getting the guilty as hell look. " I just wondered if all the Motels are getting their furniture from the same place. it seems to be all over the same. and it's always ugly." Now the sweet innocent eyes aaaand he smiles, ruffle my hair like he always does and walks past me direction his and Sams room. I turn back to Castiel to ask what he told me before Dean came by. His bewildered face lets me realize that I was not only rude towards him with not listening but I forgot for that second that he is able... "...to read your mind. Yes." My mouth open and close like a fish and my skin color is changing to 'i wanna die right here, right now' red. where are all these monsters who wanna always kill us now? Cas looks at me with his innocent tilted head and I guess his waiting for me to say or do something. "Igonnagetmeanotherroom" I rip the key out of the door, grab my bag and flee to the reception. //I better gonna get me another room in another motel. or even better on another continent. Yep. Or I go ask the guys for a shovel so I can go and dig my grave. If it starts like that I gonna end up shooting myself just to escape from an awkward situation // After I got me a new, and more or less clean, room I go to the guys to finally find out what we gonna hunt. Sam opens the door and pulls me in the room with the same kind of bearhug his brother did he then hold me on arm length. "What took you so long shorty? I nearly called the cops to search you" "I had a flat tire." while he and the reason why my eyes are glued to the floor are just raising an eyebrow, Dean shouts for the bathroom "and it took you 6 hours to fix it?" He walks in the room with his F.B.I. suite, take one Look at my turn to Sam with a devilish grin and hold his hand out." you owe me 20 bugs. She took at least two wrong turns." I stand between them finally looking up to protest. I really had a flat. but it took me like 20 min to change it. and I went only once right instead of left. but even with the wrong turn I took, I still could have made it bevor midnight. Why was I only here in the mornings? Forest. At Night. I sat in my fucking car and tried to get myself to press the petrol instead of the breaks I was pressing like I wanted to push my foot through the car at the beginning of my nemesis. If someone would have passed me there they would be for sure concerned seeing me in my car screaming at myself to stop my shit and get it the fuck together. I was turning my car and drove several miles back and tried it again. long story short, it was first after like two hours I was able to drive trough. I maybe need a new steering wheel but I made it. no need for them to know. after all, till now we only hunted urban together. I realize I spaced out again and were now staring at Cas. I really need to work on that. "How you keep yourself alive with what we do; I think not even God knows. But I see we have you back now. so how much experience do you have with wendigos?" Dean asks while he was putting on his blazer ready to go and play agent I think. Sam goes to sit at the table and opens his Laptop to show me what they had till now. "I had till now one. And avoid them since." My voice is trembling and my hands start to sweat. I showed the pictures that want to show up in my mind far to the back of it. "you think you can handle one, y/n?" the older Winchester brother asks with worrying in his tone seeing me getting paler and paler. "Yes... Yes of course. I mean what could probably go wrong when I`m together with you guys?" Apparently... A lot. Not only are Sam, Dean and I hanging around (literally) in a Wendigos cave since midnight; now I had to give them the whole story of my family getting wiped out by a wendigo when I was a teenager. Because even if I grow up in a hunter family, the fear paralyzed me the moment I heard the screaming of the creature. And since I should have been the boys back up and failed completely at it it is my fault we are gonna end up as the savings for harder days of a Wendigo and I owe them more than an explanation why I couldn't do my fucking job. " and that's why avoid forests. and wendigos. And that's as well the reason why I was only yesterday morning at you guys." I hang my head in shame. It's quiet. Except for the dripping of water from the walls and the blood of the other two victims of which the wendigo already had taken a bite or two. why are they not saying anything? Are they unconscious? "You know y/n, that was a real dick move. If we would have known that before we would never have ask you for help in that case. Everyone is afraid of something. that is only human, man. But to keep such important pieces of information to yourself is a fucking stupid way to end your life and the ones of the people around you. And if we hadn't Cas to get our asses out I would really kick yours. Ok, I still gonna kick it. To teach you a lesson. " Dean finally answers weakly. "And the drinks after we're out are gonna be on you."Sam goes on. "Sounds fair to me." And like he was waiting for his signal Castiel make his appearance in the cave. He is, all of a sudden, standing in front of me. Looking concerned over Dean and Sam to check their condition. While the Guys had some severe injuries (nothing he couldn't fix luckily) from fighting back the Wendigo, I only had a small head wound on my left temple from getting knock out, head first, against a tree. When he "scanned" the Winchester the look in his eyes turned quickly relaxed. Like he is used to seeing them in such a condition. What he probably is. Then his attention turns to me. As soon as he sees the thin blood trail that emerges from my temple all the way down till my knee, remember that whole warrior of the lord thing I was speaking before? Well, that was his gentle look, compared to the expression that I see now. It is there only for a fraction of a split-second but boy oh boy I am sure as hell glad he's on my side. His pupils are nearly non- existing. the normally warm summer day sky blue iris turns in an ice blue that is able to freeze alcohol. then there is guilt. But before somebody can do or say anything he spins around and cut the Wendigo that had sneaked on us in four parts. Like that wasn't enough he kicked the one part of it through the cave. When he's aiming for another body piece Dean brings him back. "Cas! Buddy, he's done! So what about you get us three down here and we fuck off?" and like a light switch the usual Castiel was back. Momentary at least. He cuts our ropes that hang us from the cave top and heals us. Then with a last, for me, not readable look at me, his gone again. The drive back to the motel is filled with, at least for me, uncomfortable silence in the morning sun until Sam turns in his seat. "Ok. whats going on between Cas and you?" "Nothing! Really. I mean I have no idea what you talking about." Shit. It is easier to fool Dean than Sam. "You guys know him longer than me. You tell me whats going on with Castiel." and even if I try my best I can't stop my voice from completely betraying me by getting higher with every damn word. Deans loud laugh let both, Sam and me, turn our heads towards him to raise an eyebrow when he states that everything finally makes sense. Luckily we're just back at our accommodation. I rush out of the Impala and with a quick "see ya in an hour" I storm to my room and loke the door. "So you say that both of them have a crush on each other but y/n don't know how Cas is feeling?" Sam smiles from his seat back in their Motel room, because for him all your strange behavior when the angel was around now made total sense. Then he frowns "And what are we gonna do about that? I mean obviously, none of them will make a move because shorty is as oblivious as can be, and with Cas being an angel is not gonna make it any easier for them." "yeah 'know what you mean man. But I gonna speak with Cas and I think he's gonna figure out the right thing to do for them and their position. And if not we gonna kick them in the right direction. so easy." Sam raises an eyebrow at Deans "easy" idea. he gets up from the uncomfortable seat to take a shower before they all go for breakfast. He hears Dean "pray" for the angel before he opens the shower. when he comes out Cas is nowhere, but Deans grin tells him all he needs to know. this is gonna be very interesting. "WORST hunt ever!" I scream in my pillow after I let myself fall on the bed. I turn to lay on my back and just stare at that ugly ceiling. My had is empty. But not for long. Soon pictures of how the Winchesters were dragged into the cave flicker in mind. They could have been dead. Because of me. Because of my stupid pride. because of my stupid lies. //, Of course, can I handle a Wendigo Dean. It's not like I still wake up every night screaming and trying to run from the dead empty eyes of my little sister and brother I was supposed to guard that night.// I sit up and wipe the tears away that had made their way over my dirty face. I get up again from the bed to take a nice long hot shower. It is always relaxing for me and it helps to clear the dark clouds in my mind. I mean Den said, when we were at the car, that we're fine and in the end, the goal to kill the wendigo was achieved. Even if it was trough Cas Angelblade and not with the explosion they had in plan. " so actually you even saved us a whole lot of TNT" he joked while loading the boxes with TNT in the boot of his Baby. And just like that for him and his younger brother that conversation was done and over. So let me wash myself and think of something nice. Guess what is the first nice thing my brain presents me, yes Castiel. But not the normal happy Castiel, no, I see his face just before he disappeared into the cave. Was he sad or angry? Or confused? No, I know these expressions of him. And it didn't really feel as if he had negative feelings towards me. More as if he'd like to say something important. and couldn't bring himself to do it. Since the water is starting to get cold, I step out of the shower a little bit relaxed but at the same time quite confused. I open the shower door and nearly slip on the wet bathroom floor. I grab the handle of the door and save my had from another injury, but twist my arm behind my back. "ooww fuck!" I quickly leave the handle and fall on the shoulder I just forced into an unnatural position and that fast. Forgotten are the Wendigo, Castiel, and the world. Pain is all I know right now. I hear my shoulder who glides back in position as I turn my body to lay on the other shoulder in a fetus position. Stars in front of my eyes. I silently scream out. I swear. and the tears are falling again. Slowly the Pain fades a little bit. I sit slowly up straight against the bathroom door realizing that my towel is still in place. more or less. I know I could simply pray to my crush and puff everything is right again. A knock on the door stops my thoughts. "y/n/n. are you ready for breakfast? I'm starving!" Dean tries to open the door while he speaks. "Y/n? Are you fine?" he's asking now worried because I didn't answer right away. "All fine Dean. Nearly at lest. I just twisted my shoulder a bit. give me a minute." "Are you sure? should I not maybe call..." "NO! No Dean I'm sure." "hehe. Whatever. we're waiting at the car. Hurry or we may let you behind!" Do I really have to tell you that 10 minutes I am still struggling with putting a shirt on? "You are such a stubborn Human y/n" with only my head through the shirt I spin around to grab my gun on the bedstand at the sound of somebody in my room, but stop when I realize it's "only" the last person I wanted to see right now. "Castiel! How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that! Owowow" His with amused sparkling eyes turn worried when he hears my painful hisses. he is at my side in a blink of an eye. "please let me heal you y/n/n." I am surprised by him using my nickname. I mean by him using any Nickname. But the throbbing pain of my shoulder let me quickly forget about that. I nod and close my eyes. I wait to feel his finger on my head but instead both his big warm hands carefully cup my face, tilting it a little upwards and is forehead is leaning against mine. When the pain faints, I shyly open my eyes. I can not only feel the warmth of his hands and his forehead, it's like I get hugged by his whole being. The warm sensation flows through my body. The glowing blue of his eyes the only thing I see. I feel love. the love he is feeling for me. The unconditional pure love that promises never to betray. It's nearly overwhelming, but for the first time in a long lonely life, I feel completely safe. It's only the two of us. No sounds. no surroundings. I slowly take his hand in mine to free my face and bring a little tiny bit of space between our faces to take in all his features. From his full plumb lips that now curl into a smile to the ocean of love that needs me when I look in his eyes. and I love everything I see exactly like it is now in front of me. Before I knew what happens he unwinds our hands and pulls me with his one arm around my waist closer to him again. The other is in my hair on my backhead and I give in to the kiss the moment his lips are on mine. there are no words needed. we both but all the love, the desire for each other and the need of closeness in that first kiss // I was so blind// we separate after all the air is out of our lungs. "Yes. I already thought that I was misunderstanding your behavior." //you reading my mind again// he gives me a not so innocent smile " yes and so by the way I can hear your thoughts about me even if I am not around"

#High school musical spn challenge #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel fanfiction #Castiel x y/n #Castiel x you #cas x you #cas x y/n #cas x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #challenge #first time writing #wendigo

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pokemaniacal · 6 years

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Wishiwashi

One of my favourite sequences in the whole of the original Sun and Moon was Lana’s Water trial on Akala Island, which introduces Wishiwashi: a small, very weak and actually rather pathetic-looking fish Pokémon with apparently no special powers. Before you actually enter the trial grounds, Lana leads you through Brooklet Hill to investigate several commotions taking place in the area’s many pools. Each is apparently caused by a group of Wishiwashi, most of which flee at your approach, leaving one behind to take the rap, but if you catch one, you’ll get some hint of what’s going on by reading the text of its Schooling ability. The further you go, the larger the splashes in the pools become, slowly building a sense of menace around whatever it is you’re following, and Lana starts dropping hints about a powerful Pokémon that must be causing everything, even telling you at one point that Kyogre is said to live in Brooklet Hill. Only when you reach the shore does Lana reveal that this has all been the lead up to her trial, and tell you that you’re about to confront something she calls “the lord of the ocean” – a creature that, when it appears, bears a striking similarity to Kyogre’s monstrous whale-like form. It’s a dramatic reveal that introduces Wishiwashi’s powers through the player character’s own process of discovery and ties them in beautifully with the plot, to an extent that is unprecedented for a non-legendary Pokémon. Let’s take a closer look at the origins and capabilities of the Pokémon behind it all.

Wishiwashi’s inspiration could easily have been almost any of the small forage fish in the herring or anchovy families. Like Wishiwashi, individuals of these species are fairly bland and unexciting creatures. They tend to bear the standard open ocean “camouflage” colours of silver-blue on the back, to blend in with the deep sea below, and white on the belly, to blend in with the sunlit sky above. This combination is favoured by a wide variety of pelagic fish, including both small fish like herrings that use it to evade attackers and large predators like sailfish that use it to approach prey unnoticed, as well as on the Pokémon Sharpedo, Gyarados, Wailord, and Wishiwashi himself. Herrings and anchovies look about as generic as a fish can look, they generally have fairly boring diets based on several varieties of microscopic zooplankton, they possess few outstanding special abilities, and they are most important for being eaten by the millions, both by humans and by just about every other larger sea creature, to the point that it seems legitimately puzzling they could ever have become some of the most populous and successful types of fish on Earth. As with Wishiwashi, things start to get interesting when you have a lot of them.

Herrings and anchovies are some of the most social fish, and spend practically all their time in large groups which can, at a moment’s notice, form a school: a mass of fish moving in unison, creating the illusion that they are all part of a larger organism. Fish in schools show an almost supernatural awareness of all the other fish around them, and appear to use a combination of senses that is still not fully understood by scientists to track and follow their neighbours’ movements instantly and precisely. Wishiwashi communicate and coordinate by a method appropriate to their wimpish nature – using the light that shines from their eyes as a distress signal to summon their allies. Some of Wishiwashi’s Pokédex data seems to imply that it’s solely the glistening of their moist, tear-filled eyes that produces this effect. Other sources suggest that they can actually make their eyes glow, possibly taking inspiration from deep sea fishes like the lanternfish, which also communicate by flashing bioluminescent glands around their eyes. Whatever the mechanism, the result is a very large cloud of fish, often in the form of a swirling ball or tornado, that looks eerily like it has a mind of its own, greater than the sum of its parts. Fish in a school are harder for predators to catch, because it’s difficult to focus on just one. They can more effectively search out food sources of their own by working together, and chase off competitors for those food sources from their territory. It’s even been hypothesised that fish somehow use less energy while swimming in a school, like geese flying in a V formation to reduce wind resistance. Of course, real anchovies have never been observed schooling in a formation that mimics the body of a gigantic sea monster to destroy much larger predators, and have certainly never earned a nickname like “demon of the sea” (conceivably a reference to the biblical Leviathan)… but hey, artistic license, right? Pokémon has always loved the idea of small, unassuming creatures that secretly have incredible powers – just look at Magikarp. Wishiwashi takes that theme in a unique new direction by drawing on an awe-inspiring real world phenomenon.

There’s just one problem: I’m almost certain it has to be deeply and flagrantly illegal. Pokémon battles are normally supposed to be one-on-one. Well… except doubles, or triples… or trials… or horde battles… but, look, you get the point. Seventy-six-on-one is definitely a significant departure from normal practice. Most trainers, I suspect, would feel justly aggrieved if their current opponent requested a brief time out for their Pidgey to get help from several dozen of its friends to form an unstoppable squawking mass of feathery death. There has to be a story behind how it ever became legal to use an entire school of Wishiwashi at once – maybe it’s okay because all the other Wishiwashi in the school are technically wild Pokémon participating on their own initiative? That sounds like a dubious and easily exploitable loophole, especially in a region like Alola, which is famous for wild Pokémon randomly jumping into each other’s battles just to help out. Maybe it’s rationalised as essentially the same as using a Pokémon like Dugtrio, Magneton or Slowbro that’s made up of two or more smaller Pokémon? Or the Beat Up attack, where all your Pokémon briefly emerge from their Pokéballs and attack together? Ash has had his ridiculous herd of Tauros trample people on occasion but I don’t know if that counts as a “battle.” I think the closest parallel is probably with Vespiquen’s Order techniques, which I think summon a bunch of Combee to do her bidding, but I’m not sure that’s ever been made explicit. Or maybe the Alolans have never thought about it because they’ve never had a Pokémon League before and it’s simply never been anyone’s job to discuss what the actual rules of Pokémon battling should be? I could believe that – but then what happens when we eventually bring Wishiwashi to other regions that aren’t familiar with how this Pokémon works? For that matter, how would the Schooling ability even work in a region with no wild Wishiwashi? None of this is to say that Wishiwashi is a badly designed Pokémon – on the contrary, I think it would have been a shame to throw the design out just because it throws up a bunch of practical difficulties like these, and they actually open some interesting worldbuilding avenues. There are just some weird unanswered questions implied here.

Wishiwashi actually manages, almost impressively in his own way, to beat out Sunkern as the Pokémon with the lowest base stat total in the entire game. But as we’ve seen, Wishiwashi has a secret: the Schooling ability. As soon as any Wishiwashi of at least level 20 enters battle, this ability will immediately summon the school, which has stats worthy of a legendary Pokémon or mega evolution. Its poor HP stays, and its speed actually drops, but its attack, special attack, defence and special defence stats all skyrocket, so that its special stats are nearly as high as Kyogre’s, and its physical stats are comparable to Mega Swampert’s. There’s a catch, though: if its HP drops below 25%, the school will disintegrate, leaving a lone Wishiwashi behind. It’s hard to express quantitatively the impact that this has on Wishiwashi’s tanking potential – you could just count him as having 25% less HP than he actually does, since he basically becomes useless after dropping below that threshold, in which case he’s comparable defensively to Pokémon like Golduck, Lumineon and Phione, hardly classic tanks. That’s not a fair comparison, though, because when those other Pokémon have been knocked out, Wishiwashi can still form a new school if healed above 25% – Leftovers, a Sitrus Berry, Rest, Aqua Ring or an ally’s Wish all come to mind. Because Wishiwashi is too slow for his speed to matter much anyway, you’re also free to invest training in his HP instead. Finally, Water is a reasonably solid defensive type. It all works out to a Pokémon that’s likely to have above-average bulk, regrettable speed, and some incredibly powerful attacks, both physical and special. Remember that, although Wishiwashi will summon the school immediately upon entering battle for the first time, the school will subsequently be dismissed or re-summoned only at the end of a turn – you can’t have an attack be interrupted by dropping below 25% HP, and you can’t heal yourself to put your defences back up in time to absorb an attack the same turn.

Wishiwashi’s offensive movepool isn’t great on either the physical or the special side, and you’d be hard pressed to put together a moveset that focused completely on one or the other. The good news is that you don’t need to, because Wishiwashi’s attack and special attack are easily high enough to pull off a mixed set, using a Water attack, Ice Beam, and Earthquake. Your fourth move is… a little bit more open, largely because of the aforementioned shallow offensive movepool. U-Turn is nice for flexibility, though it’s a little bit wasted on a slow and powerful Pokémon like Wishiwashi; this is a shame, as access to U-Turn is fairly unusual for a Water-type and might be the most interesting thing about his movepool. Hidden Power could be useful if you can think of a specific Pokémon with a double-weakness that you want to hit (Fire for Scizor, Ferrothorn and Forretress is probably the best pick). Other than that, there’s… I guess Iron Tail and Double Edge? I almost have to mention Beat Up because it’s quite a rare move and thematically a great fit for Wishiwashi, but it’s so bad I can’t sincerely recommend it. Beat Up essentially works by having every Pokémon in your party make a weak attack – which means you basically have to run a team full of Pokémon with high base attack, the move becomes weaker as your other Pokémon faint or suffer status conditions, and it’s downright useless in any format where you don’t have a full team of six… but if you can deal with all that, you can give Wishiwashi a decent physical Dark-type attack. Yay. For your main Water attack, you have a couple of choices depending on exactly what you’re after: Hydro Pump for maximum power, Surf for balance, Scald for a chance to burn and win Wishiwashi some extra durability against physical attackers, or Aqua Tail for a physical option. This is probably what Wishiwashi is best at (and it should go without saying that he’s much better at it on a Trick Room team, perhaps to the point of being able to pull off a sweep), but notwithstanding some minor variation in your fourth move and which Water attack you pick, it’s pretty predictable, purely because there are so few other options.

Although his stats don’t support a tanking or stalling approach so well, Wishiwashi does have a few techniques that can help him move in that direction. Aqua Ring gives you a trickle of healing every turn; combined with Leftovers in place of the Life Orb or Choice Specs that you might use on a purely offensive set, it will help Wishiwashi stay healthy for a while longer and maybe even give him chances to come back from the brink by re-summoning his school after being injured. There’s actually an argument for equipping a Shell Bell over Leftovers, because Wishiwashi’s low base HP and very high damage output mean that he’ll often get a better deal out of healing for 1/8 of the damage he does rather than a flat 1/16 of his HP, but there is a lot to be said for the consistency of Leftovers. A Rest/Sleep Talk move set is plausible, I suppose, although the only thing Wishiwashi really has to recommend him over other Water-types for that strategy is an extremely high special attack score that doesn’t require any boosts from Calm Mind or the like to be useful. Whirlpool, Toxic and perhaps Dive or Aqua Ring could go into a stalling moveset, though to be honest I have trouble seeing a Pokémon of Wishiwashi’s merely average constitution as the next great stall Pokémon, and Toxic with a trapping move is not exactly such an exclusive combination that it would be hard to find someone better at it than Wishiwashi.

It’s really kind of a shame that a Pokémon as cool and awe-inspiring as Wishiwashi (well, in school form, anyway) ends up being a bit inflexible. There’s really only one thing Wishiwashi is good at – namely, unceremoniously dropping most of the Pacific onto your enemies’ unsuspecting heads. He looks like he ought to be a better support tank than he is, but I’m honestly just not seeing the movepool to justify it, and for a Pokémon who seems so hard-core dedicated to offence, he’s painfully slow and doesn’t have a lot of choice there either (in fairness, Water/Ground/Ice is a solid enough combination of attacks that you don’t really need a whole lot else). Having said all that, I find it impossible not to love Wishiwashi for his design and flavour, the way he personifies the Alolan ideal of wild Pokémon helping each other in battle, and the evocative integration of his introduction into the games’ story. Now if only we could give him a couple more attacks…

#pokemon #alola #alola pokedex #wishiwashi #watertypes

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scootoaster · 4 years

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The longest species of snakes that slither the planet

This story originally featured on Field & Stream.

Pretty much all of the really impressive “biggest snakes in the world”—the 50-footers and up—live online or in Hollywood. (Many of the latter starred in the 1982 Arnold Schwarzenegger breakthrough hit Conan the Barbarian and are retired now.) But even in the real world, a handful of snake species can grow to immense proportions. The longest of them, pythons, can stretch well beyond the length of George Washington’s 21-foot nose on Mount Rushmore, and there is anecdotal evidence of some specimens reaching 33 feet, or nearly as long as a telephone pole. In 2017, the body of a palm fruit farmer in Indonesia was found inside a 23-foot-long python. Villagers became suspicious when they found the snake “slithering awkwardly” near where the farmer’s boot was found. There was also the man-sized bulge in the snake’s body.

What follows isn’t a strict rundown of the largest snakes ever recorded, as that would mostly involve pythons of slightly different lengths. Instead, here are the world’s largest snake species, along with a few individual specimens that are just too impressive to leave out.

Reticulated python

Cast members of The Edge of Hell Haunted House in Kansas City show off Medusa, a 25-foot, 2-inch reticulated python and Guinness World Records holder for largest living snake. (Guinness World Records/)

Anacondas get all the press about being the biggest snakes because they are in terms of weight (see below). But the longest documented living snake is a reticulated python named Medusa, who resides at The Edge of Hell Haunted House in Kansas City. Medusa is 25 feet, 2 inches long and weighs 350 pounds. When it’s “show time,” Medusa will stay completely still for the entire haunted-house performance. She is fed a small deer every other week or so. A python, like Medusa, bites its prey and then swallows it whole. There is an alleged record of 32-foot, 10-inch reticulated python that was shot in 1912. But, like most long snake records, this one is hard to nail down. Snake stories, it seems, are a lot like fish stories.

Green anaconda

Two men hold a green anaconda skin in Brazil’s Amazon basin. (Hemis/Alamy/)

Green anacondas are the biggest of their kind, reaching lengths of 30 feet and weighing up to 500 pounds. There is a news clipping from 2016 about a 33-foot anaconda in Brazil, but it hasn’t been independently confirmed. Anacondas are a great reason not to go swimming in South America, since that’s where they live and they are primarily water snakes. Their immense weight makes them cumbersome on land, but they’re incredibly stealthy in the water, lying motionless until their prey comes into range. They have been known to eat whole jaguars. That would make an awesome YouTube video, but I looked for three hours and couldn’t find one. So, here’s a video of some anacondas and alligators. As with most snakes, female anacondas are bigger than the males. Eggs hatch inside the snake’s body, so they give birth to live babies. The mother, who goes without food for the seven-month gestation period, eats the babies that do not survive birth. Snakes have never been known for being sentimental.

Burmese python

FWC Python Action Team member Kevin Reich captured this 17-foot 9-inch Burmese python in Florida’s Big Cypress National Preserve. (Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission/)

Python’s were first seen in the Florida Everglades in the 1990s, and now nobody really knows how many of them there are. We do know that the majority of them are Burmese pythons, a favorite of pet owners. What happens when a pet snake escapes or gets too big to keep and the owner doesn’t have the heart to kill it? It finds its way to the Everglades and nearby swampy areas, where it joins a population that has nearly wiped out some species of mammals and reptiles. The longest such snake caught to date measured 18 feet, 8 inches. But the heaviest Florida python was a Burmese killed in 2012 that weighed 164-½ pounds and measured 17 feet, 7 inches. That snake had 87 eggs inside it. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) Python Action Team has now removed 900 Burmese pythons from the wild in Florida. But with high-end estimates of the python population in Florida at 300,000, that’s just a drop in the bucket.

Bushmaster

Bushmasters are the largest venomous snakes in the Americas. (John Sullivan/Alamy/)

One snake that’s easy to remember is the fer-de-lance or bushmaster, whose Latin name has been translated as “Silent Death.” It’s the largest venomous snake in the Americas, occasionally reaching 12 feet. Bushmasters are known for their coffin-shaped head, which is apt because it’s deadly. The bushmaster is often described as aggressive, excitable, and unpredictable when disturbed. Like most snakes, it prefers to flee from danger. But if bothered, it will suddenly reverse course and envenomate you with some very nasty chemicals. The bushmaster is a pit viper, which means it uses heat-sensing pits on each side of its head as infrared sensors. Basically, they see the world the way we do with the addition of the infrared spectrum—kind of like the Terminator. In the state of Lara, Venezuela, it is responsible for 78 percent of all fatal snakebites.

Titanoboa cerrjoensis

This life-size replica of <i>Titanboa</i> was on display at the Smithsonian National Museum of History in 2013. (Smithsonian/)

The biggest snake that ever existed—that we know of, anyway—was Titanoboa. (Get it?) The snake lived 60 million years ago, just 6 million years after Tyrannasaurus Rex departed the scene. Fossilized remains of a serpent 42 feet long—that’s as long as the largest school buses—and weighing an estimated 2,500 pounds were discovered in coal-mining pits in Colombia. Scientists believe that Titanoboa was the apex predator of its time and acted very much like a super-sized anaconda, spending most of its time in the water. It constricted its prey and consumed it whole. Its jaw structure and many teeth suggest that it was adept at catching fish, but it probably also fed on 12-foot crocodiles and turtles 5 feet in diameter. Some scientists point to the snake’s size as an indicator of a tropical climate warmer than has been previously thought. They reason that no cold-blooded animal that size would have had the resources to regulate its body temperature and survive in a climate absent mean temperatures in the 90s.

Eastern indigo

This black snake is the longest in North America. (Danita Delimont/Alamy/)

The longest snake in North America is the eastern indigo, which is a kind of black snake that lives in coastal Georgia, Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi, a region that is undergoing rapid condo-ization. The longest Eastern indigo on record measured 9.2 feet, but the species may not be around much longer. It is listed as federally threatened in Florida and Georgia. The Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources lists the snake as possibly extirpated. When threatened, the indigo can flatten its necks to look bigger—like they’re not already big enough. One survival mechanism this snake does have up its, er, sleeve, however, is that it’s immune to the venom of the rattler, cottonmouth, and copperhead.

Eastern diamondback

The Eastern diamondback can weigh more than 30 pounds. (skeeze from Pixabay /)

For big, scary snakes, the Eastern diamondback rattler is one of your better contenders. It’s often considered the most dangerous venomous snake in North America. Guinness World Records doesn’t have a single listing for “heaviest poisonous snake” but ventures that the Eastern diamondback is “probably” the one. A specimen shot in 1946 measured 7 feet, 8 inches. Perhaps even more terrifying is that it weighed 34 pounds. That’s just way too much rattlesnake. Picture a musclebound fullback that shoots venom through its teeth and you’ve basically got a big diamondback. Also, it has a double-action venom, which, according to one source, contains “a thrombin-like enzyme crotalase, capable of clotting fibrinogen, leading to the secondary activation of plasminogen from endothelial cells.” I have no idea what that is, but I don’t like the sound of it one bit. The Eastern diamondback has the longest fangs of any rattlesnake, at up to an inch. And it can inject enough venom to kill three men.

Black mamba

The black mamba is often cited as the world’s deadliest snake. (Michael Kleinsasser from Pixabay /)

The black mamba is the longest venomous snake in Africa and the second longest in the world. The largest reported mamba was 14.6 feet, although they are more commonly about 8 to 10 feet long. The black mamba has several things going for it in the nastiness index. It hunts both on the ground and in trees, so there’s always the prospect of being struck in the eyeball. Its venom is a daiquiri of neurotoxins that induce painful symptoms within 10 minutes and can be fatal within 20. It’s a sprinter, capable of reaching speeds of 12 miles per hour. It’s a nervous snake and, when threatened, extremely aggressive. Because of these factors, it’s widely considered the world’s deadliest snake. Nevertheless, many citations insist that it’s a shy snake that wants to avoid you unless it feels threatened. Personally, I don’t trust this. If you don’t think it feels threatened but the snake decides it does anyway, guess whose opinion counts for more.

King cobra

The king cobra is the world’s longest venomous snake. (Karsten Paulick from Pixabay /)

Not to be confused with the malt liquor of the same name, the King Cobra is the world’s longest venomous snake, period, growing up to 18 feet. That’s three of me. When confronted, it can “stand up,” lifting a third of its length off the ground, and still propel itself forward to attack. Native to the forests of Southeast Asia, this thing makes you want to think twice before going for a hike. Like Mike Tyson, it is shy and retiring right up until it isn’t. It’s the only snake in the world that builds a nest for its eggs, which it guards “ferociously.” The good news, relatively speaking, is that king cobra venom is not particularly potent, as these things go. The bad is that they can deliver so much of it in a single bite—up to nearly half a fluid ounce—that there’s enough of it to kill 20 people. Or, as occasionally happens, an elephant. For some reason snake charmers like king cobras. But snake charming is a sad business when you know how it’s done. They use an exhausted animal which is conditioned— through pain—not to strike the charmer.

King brown

The king brown is actually a member of the black snake family. (Ken Griffiths/Alamy/)

One thing I’ve learned while researching this story is that you want to avoid any venomous snake with the word “king” in its name. Another Australian native, the king brown is actually a member of the black snake family. The longest on record was 11 feet, although most average 6 to 8. There are more venomous snakes in Australia, but the king brown makes up for this with a savage bite and a habit of chewing on its prey as it injects large quantities of venom. The venom breaks down blood cells, damages muscle tissue, and is mildly neurotoxic. On the whole, you don’t feel very well. Should antivenin be required, make sure to request black snake antivenin, which works much better than that for brown snakes. This is the only venomous snake here that is not listed as placid unless provoked. Which probably means it’s crazy and bad-tempered all the time.

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[MF] The Journey

A soft ringing from the alarm on his watch woke him gently, while the blinds receded into the ceiling revealing a beautiful summer morning. The sun caressed his wrinkled face, his eyes slowly opening and a timer on his watch started counting down from forty-eight hours. He looked to his right and noticed an envelope occupying the space where he usually found his wife. She was not one for early mornings and would be more demonic than human before he brought her a cup of coffee and an apology for snoring yet again. To Ragnar. For your journey. Love, Ilse. The words were written in golden runes and immediately his eyes went blank before a serene drop of water ran down his cheek. He was turning seventy in two days and before his journey was over, he would have read and burned that letter. The day you turn seventy is a day that is cherished by everyone who loves you and even by those who do not know you. He smiled to himself, putting the envelope on the nightstand before getting dressed. Usually he would wear jeans and a simple shirt but today he wore a white robe with gold trims and stitched runes running across his chest and back. Stretching his arms above his head, joints cracking, muscles flexing, he recited to himself, “We who think we can walk are merely crawling compared to the gods. This life is but an instant and nothing but the energy you bring with you in the afterlife matters. Love everyone and everything for you are them and they are you. Odin, All-Father, teach me to walk as I have now learned to crawl.”

As he came into the kitchen, he saw Ilse finishing up breakfast. A great spread of smoked fish, eggs, vegetables, sourdough bread and fresh berries drizzled with a salted caramel vanilla sauce that was his favourite stood before him, the guest of honour. She is as beautiful as the day I met her, he thought. She looked no older than forty even though she was only six years younger than him. “The gods have been kind to both me and you wife, for blessing you with the beauty of Freya and also making you dumb enough to love a fool like me.” She gave him a look only he would understand before her smile brightened the room like no sun ever could. Slowly, she walked across the room, wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and kissed him gently. She tasted like morning dew drops and smelt of sweet honey. To him she was beauty manifested, sculpted by the great powers of these worlds. Her slightly crooked nose, the freckles hugging her cheekbones and eyes as blue as the clear water, dancing close to the ocean floor. They ran deep. To the ends of the universe and back. “Ragnar… You have made this life of mine one worth remembering. Not even the great wolf will be able to swallow what we are. Connected by more than one plane of existence, we are eternal, my love.” She stroked his cheek, his beard soft as down, partly covered a scar running down from his left eye. He had the face of a warrior, but he had never seen war, except for the emotional kind. Bright green eyes that would pierce through you, making you feel completely naked and vulnerable, yet warm and welcomed. He hadn’t swept her off her feet, because as she learned over the years, that was not Ragnar. He was slow, but focused, gaining speed like an old locomotive until it reached the speed of light. When it hit her, it was like the world had been shook by Thor’s mighty hands.

They had met in school in their first year. Him being one of the elder students, Ilse had noticed him quite quickly, but he mostly kept to himself, reading for hours on end in the library. It took until the very end of that school year before they spoke their first words to each other. They were studying late in the library one day, something she had gotten used to over the last couple of months. For some reason, she didn’t want to be the first one to go home between the two of them and this strange rivalry that he was oblivious to had grown slowly, but steadily inside her mind. Usually though, he won, but after consuming half her bodyweight in coffee she felt confident even though she probably had to go pee a million times before leaving. Midnight struck and in the corner of Ilse’s eye she could see him slowly packing his laptop, the scratched crimson lunch box, which made the room smell heavenly every time he opened it and this small portable lamp that he always used even though the lighting in the library was more than good enough. She knew that he was a great cook, a hard worker with laser-like focus and he didn’t buy new things just because they looked old or used. Before she knew it, he had caught her looking at him and she instantly looked away in horror. She felt electricity shooting down her spine with such force that it felt like she was going to become paralyzed. Dreading to look back, she started packing her things. Her fleeing the scene was obstructed by the sudden smell of cedarwood and lime. He stood there, tall and broad, a breathing statue made of marble, flesh and blood. “My mother gave me this lamp you know.” He sat it down on the table, his voice higher than she had expected but it felt like velvet to her ears. He continued on, “I was ten years old when she came into my room in the middle of the night. It was completely dark except for this small lamp illuminating her face, stretched and thin. She looked like a skeleton that didn’t know it was dead.” He sighed and even though he only stopped for a second, to Ilse it felt like an eternity. “You see, my mom was very ill. She didn’t look like how I remembered her for most of my life, but she was still beautiful, the warmth of her soul radiating from within. She put the lamp in my hands before saying that if darkness would ever find me, this light would protect me from it. She told me that the light emanating was powered by a part of her, the part that would always love me and be with me, until the day we would see each other again. She kissed my forehead and died right there, holding me in her arms.” It felt like every molecule of oxygen had been stripped from the air. Inside her head, a voice screamed for her to say something, but nothing came out. He smiled crookedly and walked out of the room as if nothing had happened. From that moment onward, they spent every day studying together. She found out that he had wanted to talk to her after she had stayed late at the library for a week straight, but he was shy and never mustered enough courage. Even though he loved her from the very beginning, her love for him grew slowly over the course of months. When she did finally kiss him, she told Ragnar about how the fly experiences the world and how it’s so small and quick that they see us moving in slow-motion. If you wanted to swat a fly she said, you need to move as slowly as you can. To the fly you will look immovable, a statue which poses no threat to its short-lived existence until death is but a fact. When it came to her and Ragnar, she felt exactly like the fly.

After their lavish breakfast, they each did their part in cleaning up and washing the dishes while soft traditional music played from the stereo. An enchanting flute accompanied by soft drums and strings floated effortlessly through the air. They kept on strolling down memory lane, talking about favourite vacations, foods, mistakes and more. They had been in love for such a long time, this display of their bond was nothing more strenuous than breathing. Ragnar felt his heart beat fast, while mixed emotions ran through his mind and body. He put his hands to Ilse’s cheeks and stared into her eyes for a moment. He could feel his eyes water over, but there was nothing to do. There was no use trying to hide anything from her, especially not now. “What is it my love?” She put her hands on his; her eyes darting back and forth as if she were trying to see through him. The silence went on for a minute while Ragnar collected his thoughts. “I was just thinking about Elfdan and what it would be like if he were here with us right now.” His voice wavered while tears started running down his face, one after another, as if they were trying to win a race. “It has been thirty-five years, but I can’t stop blaming myself for what happened. I failed him, Ilse and the guilt never subsides. It gnaws at my bones and marrow, draining me slowly but surely.” He bowed his head and stared at the floor. “Ragnar… There was nothing more you could have done. You were a great father to him but sometimes life can be overwhelming even when you have the greatest of people guiding you through it.” She pressed her body against his, her arms holding tight. He continued. “Why a fifteen-year old boy would even imagine hurting himself is a mystery to me. He should’ve been busy chasing girls, disobeying us and make stupid mistakes that he would look back on with fondness knowing he learned his lessons. I am afraid that he is abandoned by the gods and that he wanders the frozen tundra’s always searching for shelter and warmth. He did not leave this world as he should’ve and not knowing terrifies me.” She waited for a second, making sure that he was finished with what he wanted to say before she replied. “I think our son had too many questions for this mortal world. Questions not fit for any man or woman to both ask and answer.” She lifted his head, planted a big kiss on his lips. Drying away the tears on his cheek, she was oblivious to the ones running down hers. “I saw how hard he took to the state of the world outside our country’s borders. If you let the whole world inside your heart at once, it is almost impossible to keep it from breaking.” Her voice was as calm as the still sea, even though sadness and pride flowed within her. Ragnar sighed, laid back in the couch and in his mind, he held fast a picture of his son on the day of his birth. He had always had a great memory, almost photographic and as he went through the short period of time his son was alive, he started smiling. They really had done their best and it was true what she said. Their son’s soul was maybe not meant for this world. Maybe he found peace somewhere else.

As Ragnar woke up the following day, he could feel the joints in his fingers aching. They had been doing that for a while now and it seemed to only get worse. He looked over to the nightstand and he groaned slightly when he saw that his bottle of meds was empty. Ilse laid besides him, her eyes darting back and forth beneath her eyelids. He took some time stretching his fingers, removing the rust he imagined was on the inside. On the digital calendar, two words were displayed in bold black letters, temple and feast. “It’s going to be an interesting day for sure,” he said to himself, careful as not to wake his dreaming wife. He got up, went to make breakfast while humming a solemn melody. Those of us who had heard it before would recognize it as “Odin’s farewell”, a classic Norwegian folk song made by a skald, whose name eluded the pages of history, perhaps a thousand years before. He thought about the fact that even though people were temporary beings, their mark on the world could sometimes be timeless. After spending a few hours making sure that everything was ready for the party later today, Ragnar kissed his wife goodbye and went to the temple. He went past a mosque on the way, admiring the mosaic of red and blue on the outside. He smiled and said hello to the people going inside for what he assumed was a midday mass of some kind, his mind pondering the rich tapestry of people that made up today’s society. A woman of Arabian descent went past him in a wheelchair. Her family had to push her as she was much too old and frail to do the job herself. She had to be at least fifteen years older than Ragnar and he wondered how it was to be incapable of taking care of yourself. The thought filled him with dread, but also relief, knowing that this wouldn’t happen to him. The sun shone brightly in the sky and even though he could take the bus, he decided to spend an hour walking instead.

The temple stood tall before him; a mighty construct made entirely of wood. The scent of low burning fires emanated from within, the giant statues depicting the various gods protecting the outer wall, made of marble and covered with silver and gold. A good amount of elderly men and women were going in and out, some smiling, others looking quite dazed and weary. As Ragnar went in, he entered the reception, took his queue number and sat down in a comfortable chair, his body supported by a soft hemp pillow. While waiting, a young blind woman with silver hair, dressed in a lilac robe approached him, offering herbal tea and a soft biscuit. Ragnar enjoyed the near silent chattering and shuffling of people and before he knew it almost an hour had gone by. He saw that it was his turn and went promptly to the lady calling his number. She smiled brightly with a perfect set of teeth and asked for his national ID card. She looked at it and her smile grew even wider. “It’s your seventieth birthday tomorrow? My father is turning seventy in a year and he’s still abroad, enjoying retirement before returning a week before his birthday.” Her voice was quite nasal, but the sheer joy of her being made it less annoying, Ragnar thought. He smiled, “Well you should be proud. Your father helped build the country and now is reaping his deserved reward. May Odin be with him and your family.” He bowed his head slightly as he said the last words. “Well, Ragnar, you can go to Journey Room number six.” She pointed towards an ivory coloured door to her left. “It’s just down that hall and shouldn’t take you more than a couple of minutes before you see the room. Do you have any questions?” Ragnar scratched his beard before shaking his head slightly. He took a deep breath and thanked the receptionist, her smile still glowing. He walked slowly towards the room, enjoying the artwork displayed throughout the temple halls. The ceiling was covered in a great mural depicting Thor’s great victory over the Jotuns. The Vikings of yore celebrated battle and thought of no better destiny than to die in one, surrounded by friends and foe alike, blood covering every inch of their bodies, screaming bloody murder. Even though they stopped fighting and raiding long ago, no modern Viking ever feared death. It was only an end to one part of their journey and the fantastic start of a new chapter. As he arrived, he saw a man struggling to open the door while he was holding on to his walker. Ragnar knew he was as old as him, but it looked like he had medical condition because he couldn’t properly hold and turn the doorknob. His skin was pale and wrinkled, but his grey hair hung down beneath his shoulders. “Do you need any help?” Ragnar said, trying to sound casual. He knew how some people had too much pride and even though they needed it, they loathed the idea of receiving help from anyone. The man turned his head and sighed, “These damn hands don’t work like they used to. I’ve been living down south for the last five years, enjoying the warmth, my joints getting weaker by the day. Now I’m here and it’s humiliating to be standing here, not being able to open a fucking door…” As he spoke, his eyes welled up, his hand retracting from the doorknob to pre-emptively strike against any teardrop that dared leave his eyes. Ragnar smiled warmly, clearing his throat before greeting the man. “I am Ragnar and even though I’ve been lucky, I can feel my body beginning to fall apart.” The man’s hand was weak, but extremely warm to the touch, as if it had been held close to a fire all his life. “Thorbjörn. Nice to meet you Ragnar. Shall we go in?” Ragnar opened the door and they both went into the room where around fifty men and women were going into tiny huts. Low tribal music could be heard all over, even though the source of the music was nowhere to be seen. A man clothed in a simple white robe greeted them, gave them a cup filled with a strange brew. Ragnar knew that this was the elixir of the gods, made from the great mushrooms only found a few places in the country. As he was led to his hut, he could feel his heart beat faster and stronger in response to the journey that lay before him. “I hope you find everything you are searching for my child. May the gods be with you and those you love.” The cleric’s deep voice surprised Ragnar at first, but it felt oddly comforting as he drank the elixir and went inside.

He lay himself down on a bed made of sweet-smelling moss, covering himself with a great fur blanket. He was nervous but ready, knowing that it would take about half an hour for the elixir to take effect. He thought about his life, Ilse, his lost son and even though there were moments that felt torturous, he had no regrets. He had lived life to the fullest, experiencing every emotion available to man. It had been a rollercoaster, but he couldn’t imagine it being any other way. As time went by, he could feel his head becoming lighter. Shadows and colours started drifting, moving like waves at sea. Nothing stood still, his thoughts racing back and forth, keeping up with physical world around him. It felt like he was falling into darkness and before it took him, he held the face of his son clearly within his mind. Waking up, he found himself in a lush green forest, surrounded by colourful flowers, buzzing bees and he could hear reindeer laughing from afar. It felt like he had been slumbering forever, his head heavy and his eyes difficult to open. As he stood up and started walking, he felt his mind and body becoming lighter with every step. He did not know where he was or where he was going, but apparently his feet knew exactly where to go. An hour or so later, the forest started thinning out, the trees growing taller but further apart. The thick canopy above shielded anything below from the sunlight, long shadows appearing everywhere. Suddenly, Ragnar stopped, his eyes darting back and forth as he could hear the low sound of someone singing. It took a moment, but he managed to hear where it was coming from and started walking in a brisk pace towards whomever it was. He saw a clearing in the distance and a young man sitting on a log by a fire. He could smell the tender meat roasting and sweet tea brewing. As he closed in, he was about to speak when the man turned. Ragnar felt his heart stop. The man before him had a neatly trimmed, reddish beard, glacier blue eyes and you could easily see that this man had been through the wilderness, the small scars scattered about his face proof of his adventures. Ragnar knew that even though he looked much older than when he last saw him, this was most certainly Elfdan. Unable to speak, he all but gazed at his son, sitting before him fully grown. A wide smile appeared on Elfdan’s face and before Ragnar could move, he was embraced by two strong arms. Ragnar felt tears rolling down his cheek, but he was not about to let go of him to wipe them away. After enjoying a moment which he kind of wanted to never end, Ragnar let go. “Elfdan… I can’t believe it’s you. I have missed you so much, not being able to see what fine man you would grow into. You are quite the sight for these sore eyes, my boy.” He resisted the urge to wipe away his tears, fearing that his son would vanish if he closed his eyes for too long. Elfdan smiled and motioned towards the two logs by the fire. As they sat down, Elfdan spoke. “Aye, father, it is me. I have longed for this day for some time now, but now that we’re here, I have to say, you looked terribly old.” His voice was smooth as churned butter, the words leaving his lips like a dove fluttering its wings. Ragnar looked at him for a second before they both started laughing. “Well, I turn seventy tomorrow. That’s why I am here, wherever this is. What about you? How did you come to be here?” Elfdan poked the fire, the snap and crackle of burning wood breaking the silence between them. “It’s a big day tomorrow, that’s for sure. Are you ready? Are you ready for the next chapter of your journey?” He looked at his father intently, not breaking eye contact for a second. Ragnar suddenly felt unsure of himself. He didn’t expect to be asked this by his dead son or to be talking to him at all. He looked away, not in shame, but to think, to recollect his thoughts. “To be honest, I am not sure. All I know is that life from now on would be harder and my mind would rage as my body weakens. My spirit is strong, and I do not regret much in my life even though I failed you.” He slumped together for a moment before looking up. “You didn’t answer my question, son. How is it that you are here, exactly where I ended up after ingesting the elixir?” Elfdan scratched his beard before pulling out what looked like dried meat from his bag. He cut off a piece with amazing accuracy and speed, offering a piece to Ragnar. He looked puzzled but accepted the offering. “Oh, Odin told me you’d be here.” Elfdan started laughing as the shock on Ragnar’s face was too apparent. It took a while, but he regained his composure and looked lovingly at Ragnar. “Father.. You did not fail me. You did quite the opposite to be honest.” Ragnar looked puzzled but said nothing. “You showed me the true face of the world we lived in, the horrors, the greed, the unsurmountable amount of misery and pain and I thank you for it. Yes, it led to my death, but as we know, death is only the end of the first part of our journey. I was not made for the world I left behind, but it was not because my spirit was too weak. It felt like that in the beginning, but Odin showed me that I was wrong. He told me how some spirits end up in the wrong place and even though some endure being lost, others like me, do not.” Ragnar once again felt the warm tears trickling down. He wanted to hug him, to hold and coddle him like he did once, the young boy’s corpse cold in his embrace, but he knew Elfdan was not done, so he refrained from doing anything except listen. “I tried to numb myself, to put my mind and soul into a living coma. I was deeply ashamed of course, knowing how you and mom would feel, but there was no other way. When I understood that death was coming for me, I did not weep, and I did not fear. All I felt was excitement and bliss, because I knew deep down that one day you would understand.” They were both crying now, mixed emotions running deep, but it did not stop Ragnar from speaking with a stuttering, faltering voice. “I was so afraid that you would be lost forever, not only to me, but to the gods as well. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say these things, but, but….” His voice faltered as he looked down. Anxiety turned its ugly head and he could feel his entire body becoming tense. “But how can I know that this is real? How will I ever know that I am actually here, talking to you, my son and that this is not just made up by my subconscious trying to heal an open wound?” He started crying and Elfdan embraced him, not saying anything until his father relaxed. They stood there in the now dead silent forest, the sun rapidly vanishing from the sky, letting everyone and everything that night was to come. Elfdan let his father go and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You do believe in the gods, don’t you?” Ragnar nodded. “Then let your faith be strong and your will even stronger.” As moonlight hit Elfdan’s hand, it slowly started to fade away. Ragnar saw this and knew that this part of the journey was over. He hugged his son like he’d never let go and as Elfdan faded away, he uttered his last words. “Right before your death, father, listen for my voice and then you shall know that this was all real. I look forward to walk the great plains with you”. Ragnar woke up with tears in his eyes and began his trek back home.

The place they had rented for his birthday party was coming together, Ilse thought to herself. It looked like the great halls of the chieftains and kings that once upon a time founded the nation. Long wooden tables, stylishly decorated with wildflowers and silver plates stood back to back, easily allowing a hundred people to sit down and enjoy themselves. On an elevated platform in the middle of the room stood a huge brazier, with smouldering embers glowing, the heat permeating the entire room, making it comfortable to wear nothing at all if one pleased to do so. The smoke escaped through a hole in the ceiling, while fresh air tried desperately to enter. Ragnar and Ilse’s table was placed at the end of the horseshoe table formation, so that everyone could see them. The catering company was bringing in heaps of smoked fish, meats, stews and fruits. There was enough for the party to go all night, which it usually did when people celebrated their 70th birthday. There were pictures of Ragnar’s life hung all over the walls, celebrating his life, accomplishments and revering the memories that were made immortal by machine. Ilse walked towards the door and exited the room, headed for another with hers and Ragnar’s name on it. As she entered, she saw her love dressed in his white robe, his beard trimmed and braided with gold strings. On the top of his head he was placing a platinum circlet which Ilse knew had been passed on for generations. He looked towards the door and smiled when he saw his wife enter. He quickly rushed to her, kissing her like there was no tomorrow. His blood boiled and even though he had spent hours getting prepared for his party, he could not care less. They made love for an hour, lost in the throes of passion, time standing still in respect to their wants and needs. They lay on a huge rug made of reindeer, the soft hide caressing them both. Ragnar felt his body ache and even though it was worth it, he felt sad that even though his mind was young and virile, his body was slowly withering away. Sience, he thought, had come a great way in the last thirty years but unfortunately for him, the promise of eternal youth was still just that, a promise which most likely would never be fulfilled. He moaned as he stood up before going to get a glass of water. “Even though you make love as if you were twenty, I can hear that doing so takes it’s toll”. Ragnar knew that she said this lovingly and even though it was the painful truth he couldn’t help but laugh. “Indeed, it does, wife, indeed it does… Now if we could somehow put my mind inside some kind of robot that looked like me when I was twenty, that would’ve been something.” A huge grin appeared on Ilse’s face. “Well if I could put your mind into a robot then I’d have that robot look like Brad Pitt in his prime… now THAT would’ve been something”. Ragnar shook his head, laughing as he did. He looked towards the clock hanging on the wall, realizing that they had better get ready for the party.

As the room was lit up by the flames, so were the people who had gathered to celebrate Ragnar. Some family, mostly friends and colleagues, they ate, sang, danced and drank long into the wee hours of the night. Throughout the party, there were many toasts of varying quality and length. This is one of them.

“I have been Ragnar’s best friend for as long as I can remember, which right now isn’t very far back if I’m perfectly honest. He was the strange kid at school, always looking at things you never really noticed, like the moss covering tiny rocks in the schoolyard, how light reflected from different surfaces and how ants would organize and work together as a collective for the greater good. He certainly never noticed the girls, but for Ilse’s sake I think that was a good thing, because they would all surely fall for the greatest man, I’ve ever had the honour of knowing. You have been there for me, through thick and thin, and I hope you feel the same, because I say this with no irony. I would die for you, Ragnar, a thousand times over because I know you would do that for anyone you love as well. I know your mom went before her time, but she surely did leave an impression on you and I know you’ve carried her love with you ever since she left. I am sad to say that you won’t be around to celebrate my birthday later this year, but you are always with me, no matter where you are in this world. And Ilse, if you ever fancy being with a worse version of your husband, you know where I live”. And with that, everyone laughed, especially Ilse, who raised her glass and threw out the golden honey wine, a sign of playful disdain.

The morning after, they both woke up at the same time, hungover but smiling, nonetheless. After a hearty breakfast of leftover food, they got dressed, both in simple black clothes, Ragnar putting on a wooden mask covered in bronze runes. They exited their apartment; hands clenched tightly and began walking towards The Facility.

In a room which smelt of incense and ash, a shaman marked Ragnar with runes and symbols, preparing him for the ritual. He was an old man, much older than Ragnar and Ragnar found himself pitying the man before him. He was frail, his hands tortured by old age and use, skin sagging and bones creaking as he moved. Such was the fate of those who walked closest to the realm of the gods. As the old man exited, Ragnar opened the letter that his wife had given to him three days ago.

To Ragnar, my love and eternal fire

From the moment I realized I loved you, that love has only grown

You are not only my best friend in this world, but you are also the father of my child who unfortunately was lost to us

No one has made me laugh or cry as much as you and I look forward to the day that we are reunited

Until that day my laughter will be hollow, and my tears will fall heavier to the ground

You are my universe

Every star, planet and moon

And the darkness that lies in-between

You made me a stronger and much better person

So, walk, my love, with your head held high and meet the gods with a roar that will echo throughout the nine worlds

I will see you in but the blink of an eye

Yours forever

Ilse Bengtisdottir

He wept. Tears stained the letter, but it did not matter at all. All he felt was the tremendous love for his wife and knowing that they would always be together even if they had to say goodbye for now. As he threw the letter into the fire, he put on his mask, opened the door and went into a dark chamber lit only by candles. Ilse waited there, holding a candle, wearing a white mask of her own. They held hands before he sat down on a throne made of wood and gold. A doctor came in, dressed in traditional robes, with a small tank connected to a mouthpiece. He smiled at Ragnar. “Thank you, Ragnar Thorsson. Your sacrifice will lead to the development and strengthening of our great society. You are one of many heroes and I hope you leave this world truly knowing that.” The doctor and Ilse kneeled for a minute before he turned on the machine.

As Ragnar felt himself becoming drowsy, he waited for the sound of his son’s voice to call out for him. Right before his last waking breath, he heard nothing, and fear consumed him.

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