#going to the city and watching the at least decades years old trees fallen with their roots out with this face 😬 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

royallyjoon · 4 years

Text

nephilim (un)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violent behavior

the mysterious, age old town of ichabod. within it rests a history hidden from its inhabitants, who are forced to remain there out of fear. you simply wish to live in this town with the people you love without facing its wrath for as long as you can. unfortunately for you, there are great powers on your side who are willing to do whatever it takes to get you. whether you come willingly or not. after all, it only takes a little hellfire

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“Come along now, (Y/N).” Your mother’s grip on your wrist tightened as she all but threw you in front of her. You nearly twisted your ankle on the twigs and tree roots that outlined the forest floor. “We are late enough as it is.”

You huffed and tore your wrist from your mother’s hand to hike up the long, white dress you wore. “Good. I wish we didn’t have to trek out here in the middle of the night every month. Maybe we’ll miss the gathering entirely.”

She smacked your arm harshly. “Not another word from you, smart mouth.” Your mother dressed similarly, the only difference being that her ivory dress paled considerably compared to yours in the moonlight. “We’ve been attending for years. I highly doubt that such a change would be allowed, much less appreciated.”

You shivered at the thought. No matter how much you resented these meetings, you wouldn’t dare miss a summoning.

You stayed quiet for ten more minutes, taking in the rustling of the forest and focusing your efforts on avoiding sharp rocks underfoot.

Trees rested on either side of you, lining your path and blocking out any natural light with their twisting, sneaking branches. It took all of your effort to ignore the oppressive silence, broken every so often by the snapping of a trig or the movement of some animal, cloaked by shadows in the dark.

Soon enough, you and your mother reached the clearing.

She pulled you back just as you were about to step into the moonlight, throwing a dark cloak in your face. “Are you mad? Put it on!”

You smiled abashedly and threw the material on. The hood was so long it cast a shadow over the lower half of your face but was wide enough for you to see.

Your mother finished arranging her hood and the two of you stepped into the clearing, joining with the last of the circle of cloaked shadows.

The moon shone brightly without the cover of the forest giving your surroundings an ethereal facade. A wooden stage lay at the very middle of the clearing, upon which stood your small town’s resident royalty.

The Kims.

They were the ruling force of the town, the husband being the mayor, the wife a successful actress. They both settled down in Ichabod twenty-five years ago with their children. What had once been a town amuck with violence and chaos was transformed into a prosperous, well-functioning borough.

How the Kims managed to transform the area nearly overnight, few knew. They have run your city for nearly three decades. And everyone in it is terrified to cross their path.

Directly behind them stood their seven adopted sons, faces shrouded by hoods and masks. You didn’t know too much about them besides their names and faces; five of them currently attended your school and you made sure to give them a wide berth, being as polite as possible.

Kim Moonsik raised his left arm, twisting his wrist in a full circle. He then pointed his hand at the sky, gently lowering his pinky and middle fingers. “Greetings to the moon from her earthly servants.”

You lifted your forearm with everyone else, copied the gesture, and repeated the phrase quietly with disinterest.

“I thank you all for coming on such short notice.” He continued. “As another month commences, we have the pleasure of standing before you all. The moon has graced us with her everlasting beauty and prosperity rains down upon our small town, just as it has for decades before.”

This is usually the part where you would start drifting off. Kim Moonsik could drove on with his speech about the moon for far too long.

About what felt like an hour but was approximately fifteen minutes later, Mr. Kim trailed off and the forest became so silent, you hushed your thoughts in fear of thinking too loud.

The oppressive feeling in the air returned full force and you shivered underneath the warmth of your cloak as Mr. Kim eyed each and every person attending. He was not able to directly see your face, but you felt like the man was staring into your soul.

“Regrettably,” He said, clasping his hands together, “we are not able to part tonight without the moon’s divine punishment.”

Ah, you thought. There it is.

The reason your heart pounds at every one of these meetings.

All you wanted to do was be that half-asleep little girl again, clutched in your mother’s arms as she trudged her way here every month.

“Wylynne has decreed that there are sinners in our midst.” Mr. Kim says it quietly, but the gravity in his words travel.

And with a mighty roar, the pyre behind the wooden stage was lit with orange flames.

The crowd stood in silence, waiting for the dreadful sound. You quaked in the dirt. Would it be you this time?

But by the grace of the moon, no.

The telltale, piercing shriek came from the right side of the crowd. Citizens rushed to get away from the teenager cradled in her parents’ arms. The mother could not let go of her daughter, heavily sobbing as the child clutched her head and continued to scream. Her hood had fallen off and your eyes widened as you recognized her.

Natalia Pierre. The two of you had had some awful confrontation a few months ago. Nevertheless, the resident embers of anger could not stop the overwhelming pity you felt as the Kims’ men ripped her away from her parents.

“Please!” She cried as they forced her to her knees before the mayor. Not that she wasn’t already bent over, riddled with pain. “Knives-the knives won’t stop, please get them out!”

Kim Moonsik lay his hand on her shoulder. “Do not worry, my child. You will soon join Wylynne’s heavenly army. May your failures be a lesson, victories a reward, and may your soul live on with the moon forever.”

“May your soul live on with the moon forever.” You whispered the last phrase with everyone else, ignoring the tear that made its way down your cheek.

Before Natalia could say another word, her screams were cut short as her body was engulfed in purple fire.

It only took a second. Within minutes, her cloak, dress, bones, and ashes were gone. She hadn’t even scorched the grass. You could almost believe you’d dreamed it if her father wasn’t kneeling next to her writhing mother in the dirt.

Mr. Kim smiled gracefully, a sight that reminded you of the grim reaper with the shadow on his face. “To her heavenly grace, the moon, may she travel. To my fellow citizens of Ichabod, I bid goodnight.”

The orange flame behind the stage was doused. You, your mother, and the crowd bowed your heads as you wished goodnight to the Kims. It was only when the last son had left the clearing did anyone else begin moving.

You clutched your mother’s hand all the way home.

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Since before you could remember, your mother had been dragging you to Ichabod monthly town meetings. It was the Kims’ way of ensuring the people that the moon continued to bless and favor them and would send prosperity their way in return for a sacrifice.

In short, they were trapped here and if they wished to keep their lives, they would know better than to cross the Kims.

The people that had tried to run away all failed. They would either, depending on the “grace of the moon,” show up alive right back where they started, or their bodies were placed on the front doors of relatives or neighbors.

Now, you weren’t stupid. You did not believe that it was the actions of Wylynne or whomever Mr. Kim spends his nights singing praises to. The fatal injuries were always exterior, therefore it must have been nothing other than the work of man.

Nevertheless, you were too afraid to risk leaving Ichabod. You preferred to live your life quietly, holding on to your closest friends and family. And it has been successful for the past years.

The next morning as your mom drove you to school, you used your phone’s camera to check your appearance. There were bags under your eyes, so heavy that makeup would not be enough to cover it.

As she drove, you sighed heavily and thought back to last night, wondering how Natalia could have possibly angered the Kims. She never tried to escape--at least, to your knowledge--and she never talked to them at school either...

Your mother pulled up to the curb and you stuffed your phone into your uniform pocket, kissed her on the cheek in goodbye, and closed the car door.

Ichabod Academy, the resident school for all children born and raised inside of this town. It ran from first to twelfth grade, in several different buildings, and made for quite the large campus for the size of your town. The buildings looked quite dreary from the outside with its gray walls and glass doors, most of the lights inside still off.

It was comparable to the size of a small, inner-city university. Everyone knew everyone, for the better or worse.

You walked to the upperclassmen building, entered your first class, and lay your head on the desk.

Usually, you would be able to get at least four hours of sleep the night after a summoning, but last night you barely managed to achieve two.

Natalia...she wasn’t a bad person. She made mistakes, yes, but she was human above all.

“(Y/N)?” You heard someone gently ask. You pried your eyes open to see your best friend.

“Hey, Mana.” You yawned. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than you, clearly.” They snorted and dropped themselves into the seat in front of you. “I couldn’t believe...”

You watched them tiredly as they failed to speak their words. “I know.” You finally whispered back.

The teacher walked into the room with a student trailing behind her and you immediately sat up, warily eyeing them both. “Good morning, class. Today we have a new student, transferring from another section. Please introduce yourself.” She motioned.

As if he needed an introduction.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Kim Jimin. I hope that we can get along and have a great year. Please take care of me.” He bowed slightly.

Your class chorused greetings and you balked slightly as you realized that the only empty seat was...

“You can take the seat next to Ms. (L/N). (Y/N), please raise your hand.”

You put your hand up and Jimin waltzed over to you with the biggest smile. He placed his bag on the floor next to the metal leg of the table. “Hello, seat mate. I hope we can get along.”

You sent a small smile his way--though it may have looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, me too.”

---------------------------------------------------

The bell rang for the break and you immediately slammed your notebook shut and dropped your head onto the desk.

Jimin giggled at your side. “Did you not sleep well last night, (Y/N)?”

You groaned out a “no”.

Mana turned around slowly and gently poked at you. “It was emotionally taxing for both of us, I think.” They said and smiled at Jimin. “I’m Mana, (Y/N)’s close friend.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He stated. “Emotionally taxing you say...may I ask why?”

You lifted your head. “Mana, and I used to be good friends with the tribu--girl who was chosen last night.” You quickly corrected yourself. “Then she got involved with this guy...”

“We told Natalia he was no good news, from the very beginning.” Mana interrupted. “But she insisted that he was different with her and kind to her. Then a couple of months into their relationship he has her smoking, drinking, sneaking out to have sex-”

“And it’s not that these things are bad,” you continued. “Like it was her life and she could do what she wanted as long as she was safe, you know? But she wasn’t like that at all before. To see such a drastic change...”

“Next thing you know, he’s spreading her private pictures across the entire campus.” Mana’s fist clenched and you put your hand on theirs to relieve the anger. “We tried to talk to him about her and he was always rude to us, dismissing us off-hand and insulting Natalia behind her back. (Y/N) tried to confront her about his behavior and Natalia fought her, saying she was just jealous of them.”

“After that, we lost touch with her.” You said. “But I would give anything to go back and speak to her, or just apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mana fumed.

“The power of Wylynne is divine and just.” Jimin commented as he stared at you and your friend, unblinking. “She must have taken Ms. Pierre into her celestial army to spare her from facing the punishment of her earthly crimes for the rest of her life. She always has a reason, after all.”

Mana looked at the table awkwardly. “Yes,” they said, “praise Wylynne.”

You nodded.

“(Y/N)?” Jimin looked at you expectedly. You weren’t familiar with the weight of his gaze, but you quickly learned it wasn’t something you were trying to get accustomed to.

“Praise Wylynne.” You said, flashing another grimace-smile.

Jimin’s eyes disappeared as he smiled and the bell rang, signaling the end of break.

——————————————————————————

As the bell rang for lunch, Mana practically yanked your joint out of the socket with how quickly they wanted to leave the classroom. “Come on, we should try and get some food in is before next period.” On the way out, however, you couldn’t help but notice Jimin pulling out a plastic bag that contained a series of containers. There was one large plastic container that had what looked like a main meal, accompanied by four smaller containers that held side dishes.

Jimin sighed forlornly at the pile and you felt a touch of pity for him. Before Mana could drag you out the room completely, you tapped them, gesturing with your head at Jimin and making puppy dog eyes.

They sent you a look that clearly questioning your sanity, but you rolled your eyes in return, gesturing once more to Jimin. A couple of seconds of staring later, Mana allowed you to drag them back over to his desk.

“Hey Jimin,” you gently approached him, “why are you eating lunch in the classroom?”

“Oh...” his face drooped even more. “...My little brothers and I would always stay behind while everyone else left to go to the cafeteria. We found it uncomfortable to enter that place when everyone would just go quiet and speak around us in whispers....I guess it was just a force of habit.”

You nodded in sad understanding on the outside but sighed in the back of your head. Of course people would avoid them. The Kim children were abandoned out of fear and respect rather than any overt effort to ostracize them.

Before, Jimin was probably accustomed to eating with his brothers Taehyung and Jungkook, but this morning’s schedule and class adjustment ripped the three apart.

You put a hand on his desk, wanting to show comfort without crossing borders. “Well, Mana and I would love to get to know you better as a classmate, or friend... you’re welcome to sit with us if you want?”

Jimin’s eyes widened, glistening with moisture. He snapped his head up, cheeks rosy with a hopeful blush. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude...”

“You’re not intruding! Come on, I’ll grab your bag for you.” Jimin rushed to pack up the containers. He took his bag from you with a smile. “Thank you both,” he whispered.

Walking through the relatively empty school halls with a Kim gave you a sense of confidence you didn’t need. You walked in a line, with you betwixt Mana and Jimin. All the students that saw you widened their eyes and bolted to the side to make way. It wasn’t because of you or Mana--you knew this--but the feeling made you uncomfortable.

It was powerful.

When you all arrived at the cafeteria, you tried to enter inconspicuously by piggybacking behind some tall classmates but it failed miserably. The moment Jimin was spotted, people indeed stopped talking and the room was engulfed in whispers.

You gently took Jimin by the elbow, smiling at him assuredly, and directed him towards your and Mana’s usual table. It was thankfully empty, so you put your bags down and took your wallets out.

“We’ll be right back, we’re just gonna go buy some food,” you stated, hearing chatter pick back up. Your best friend must have shot everyone their “mind your business” glare. Jimin nodded, neatly unpacking his lunch. Mana all but dragged you off.

“‘We’d love to get to know you better’? Seriously, (Y/N)! There’s a reason why people avoid the Kims! And you just openly invite one to our lunch table? Are you trying to become the next sacrifice?!” They harshly stage whispered.

“Come on, Mana,” you scoffed as you arrived at the lunch bar. “He’s been separated from his only brother in his class and trapped with a bunch of strangers. The least we could do is eat lunch with him. Don’t transfer the sins, or fear, of the parent to the child.”

Mana glared at you for a long while but eventually huffed out their agreement. “Fine.”

You payed for your food and walked back to the table where your new classmate was politely waiting. “Aw, you didn’t have to wait for us, but thanks!”

“Of course I had to! I should be the ones thanking you for being willing to sit and eat with me...” Jimin spoke ever so softly, looking down at the lunch table.

In this moment, it was easy to forget the fear that lingered from yesterday’s cold, dark night. It was easy to take the hand of the cherubic boy that sat before you and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Think nothing of it. We’re going to be doing this a lot more often, so please look forward to it!”

It was easy to forget the curve of his lip as he quickly hid an arrogant smirk, morphing it into his trademark angelic smile. “Yes, please take care of me!”

--------------------------------————————————

Lunch was quite awkward, as it was the first time the three of you had spent a meal together. You and Mana were used to speaking about anything and everything during lunch. You both especially tackled controversial opinions concerning the Kims and their vice-like grip on the minds of those in this town.

Clearly, in this case, that would not have made for clever conversation.

Jimin saved the discussion by turning it towards school, questioning you both on your favorite classes and teachers. If he was able to tell how religiously liberal you were, he was excellent at hiding it.

He shared funny anecdotes of shenanigans he accomplished with his brothers, stories that had the three of you holding your stomachs in laughter.

For the most part, you and your friend were relieved. Jimin was not nearly as terrifying as some of his siblings.

Time passed swiftly and before you knew it, the warning bell sounded, prompting people to throw out the rest of their lunch and swarm through the doors.

You grabbed your and Mana’s tray, throwing the waste away as necessary and placing the trays on the counter, thanking the lunch lady that took them. Then you headed back towards the table, where the two awaited you.

Unlike the passageway that was fairly empty on your way towards the cafeteria, the halls were now teeming with students. They whispered non discreetly, taking glances at the three of you as you walked.

Mana grabbed your arm, letting Jimin go slightly in front as they pulled you back to whisper in your ear. “I could get used to the attention.”

They started snickered but yelped when you slapped their arm. “You wouldn’t be saying that for long. Think of how annoying the constant whispers would get. The Kims have to suffocate underneath all that attention.” You muttered back. Mana considered your words, eventually nodding their head in agreement.

Your best friend did not often have a gentle temperament. They would blow up at students fairly quickly--especially if they were whispering in their face.

The two of you reached the classroom, thanking Jimin as he held the door. Your classmates’ voices hushed and you internally sighed. If you hadn’t noticed their explicit cautiousness before, you definitely did now.

The teacher for the next lesson, Mrs. Hargrove, came in quickly after you, placing stacks of papers on their desk and shutting down conversation.

“Good afternoon, students. I hope everyone had a great lunch.” Mrs. Hargrove’s appearance looked a little more frazzled than usual as she pushed her frizzy hair behind her ears and smoothed down her skirt, but no one made a comment on it. “Today, we’re going to be making an adjustment to our syllabus. Rather than have you all complete individual projects and two tests for semester, I will be placing you in pairs where you will complete a much larger research project with only one test.”

Some of your classmates sighed in relief while others groaned, and you all erupted into conversations. You didn’t mind completing an individual project, but the stress of research and choosing the topic would weigh on you for a while.

Mana turned to you, dread written all over their face. “We’re going to have to research? Kill me now. What topic do you think we should choose?”

You giggle at their dramatic antics but are swiftly interrupted by the teacher. “Actually, Ms. Waye, Ms. (L/N) will be working with Mr. Kim here...as they are seat mates after all.” Mrs. Hargrove glanced over to Jimin, almost as if she were looking for something in his expression.

His face gave away nothing and he disregarded her with a stare.

Mana sneered at the teacher’s blatant disregard for their pronouns, but Mrs. Hargrove paid them no mind, eyes blown wide open as if she’d seen the devil himself. She turned away, stuttering.

“You w-will all be working with your seat mates. I don’t want you taking up any class time to fight over who will be your partner. Now that we have an even amount of students in our class, it settles everything quite nicely. As for the chosen topic, I want each pair to research and present on a certain mythological creature.”

You smiled apologetically at Mana, who pouted and turned around to talk to their partner.

Mrs. Hargrove walked back up to the front of the class, handing out the stacks of papers with the required information for the assignment.

“So, (Y/N),” Jimin calling your name broke your attention from the teacher and you looked over at him. “What creature do you think we should research?”

“I’m not sure...but I kind of wanted to talk about a more obscure creature. We could choose one that isn’t as highly discussed.” You said excitedly.

“That’s a good idea! I’m pretty sure my parents have some old books of lore in our library at home...we’d easily be able to find a creature that people don’t know about there. Would you want to come over and check them out?” Jimin offered.

You stared at him, grin slightly slipping. Going to the Kim household? Without your mother’s hand to hold, or reprimanding to keep you from doing something foolish? This would be completely different from meeting them in the woods and escaping to the safety of your home afterwards.

You’d be walking into the lions’ den of your own volition.

Jimin saw your hesitation and his face crumpled. “It’s fine if you don’t want to...I’d understand,” he muttered.

But seeing his crestfallen expression, you shook all the bad thoughts from your head. “No! It’s fine. I would love to come over...I just have to let my mom know.”

What is she going to do--say no? You thought to yourself, grimacing.

Jimin’s face broke out into the biggest smile you’d seen today. “Really? That’s great!” His cheeks were full in happiness and you felt immensely better.

You raised your hand, bringing Mrs. Hargrove over. “May I go make a quick phone call to my mother?”

She nods, glancing again at your partner. You wanted to extricate yourself from the strange atmosphere as soon as possible, so you shoved your phone in your pocket and trekked out into the hall.

You fully weren’t expecting your mother to answer, but she picked up after only a few rings. “Hello?”

“Hey Mom,” you said. “How’s everything at work?”

“Fine,” she said. “I can’t be on the phone for long--what’s up?”

“Would it be okay for me to go over to a classmate’s house for a school project? We were just assigned it and we need to do research. It’s a really big part of our grade this semester.”

She was silent for a moment. “Who is this classmate?”

“...Kim Jimin.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and scanned your eyes up and down the hallway as your mother’s volume increased by multiple decibals.

“Yes, I know...He invited me to his house, he said his parents have books we can look into...yes, it’s necessary, unless you want my grades to drop!”

In your determination to placate your mother, you didn’t notice the classroom door opening, nor did you notice the shadow that lurked around the corner.

“Mom, we can’t exactly refuse...it’s just a school project, I’ll be fine!”

You sighed in exasperation as your mother launched off a series of directions, ordering you to text her every hour and watch your behavior around the Kims in her absence. After a string of “yes”, “I know”, and “I will”s, you hung up the phone, shaking your head.

You shoved the device in your pocket and hightailed it to the nearest bathroom, wanting to splash some water on your face before returning to class.

Jimin smirked at your retreating figure, taking his own phone out and tapping out a message. Once he received the response he was looking for, he tucked his phone away, brightened his facial expression, and opened the door to the classroom.

------------------------------------------------------------

The moment had finally arrived: the end of the school day.

Mana watched on pitifully as you packed your books away, Jimin standing patiently above you.

Perhaps it was a bit dramatic to feel so scared, but as far as you or Mana knew, this was the first time someone was (willingly) going over to the Kim’s house. And for something as simple as a school project, no less.

“Alright then...we’re off!” you told your best friend, swinging your bag over your shoulder and tugging them into a hug.

“Good luck on your project! Hope you guys find what you’re looking for,” Mana said, squeezing your midsection painfully tight. “See you tomorrow morning.” They smiled at Jimin, who acknowledged them with a small grin.

You nodded, stepping out from behind the desk and followed Jimin out the classroom.

As soon as he had one toe out the door, however, he was tackled by a blurry figure with neck length, curly, dark hair. Jimin, whose surprise quickly turned into glee, wrapped his arms around the figure. “Taehyungie!”

The sudden motion made you pause in the doorway, one breath away from knocking your head into Jimin’s back.

“I missed you today! I hate the fact that Mr. Burham made you switch classes--we always stick together!” Kim Taehyung pressed his face into Jimin’s neck, but you managed to hear the words he spoke. Jimin chuckled.

“We live together, Taehyung ah, we’d see each other regardless!”

Taehyung lifted his face from his brother’s neck, brittle brown eyes glancing up to meet yours. You felt intimidated by the loss of the sparkle they’d held, but raised a hand to smile and wave at him regardless. “Hi...”

“Oh, Tae! Let me introduce you two.” Jimin hauled his little brother off of him and pulled the two of you by the hand out the doorway so that other students could leave. “(Y/N), this is Taehyung, one of my younger brothers. Tae, this is (Y/N). Mrs. Hargrove assigned us a project on a mythological creature and she’s my partner, so she’ll be coming home with us today to start research.”

You stood against the wall, a polite smile on your face. Taehyung was staring at you with a deadpan expression on his face, assessing you. You didn’t know much about the qualifications of this test, but you assumed it was crucial that you passed it.

All too quickly, his face broke out into a large grin and he swept you into his arms. You grunted at the force with which he pressed you into his chest. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)!”

“Um, nice to meet you too...”

“Tae, you can’t just touch her without her permission!” Jimin pulled Taehyung off of you, smiling apologetically. You waved it off, gaping at both of them as they rehashed their day for the other.

The two brothers chatted happily, arms around each other’s shoulders as they ambled through the halls and out the front door of the school. Students sent you scandalized glances as you trailed behind them, but you were too busy updating your mother to pay attention. When you finally looked up, you saw Jimin and Taehyung leading you to a large, sleek, black van.

Is this what getting abducted in broad daylight feels like?

But you recognized this car. This was the Kim’s family car, driven by a hired professional to take their five children to school and back. You’d seen it many a times in the morning with your mother.

Students whispered as the three juniors approached the vehicle while you cautiously eyed the three figures that stood in front of it.

Kim Jungkook, the school’s most talented freshman. He’d already made high marks in all of the clubs he’d joined, with special attention to the music and sports club. He was so talented in boxing that the Kims, already large beneficiaries of the school, had given the director the money to start and finance the new boxing club.

Kim Hoseok, the captain of the dance team with an academic prowess that was second to only one person in the whole school. He’d taken your school dance team to nationals and, although very kind to the general student body, it was not lost on everyone how exhausted the members of his team would be in competition season. No one in after school activities could forget the sound of him sounding out beats or barking orders through the halls during rehearsals.

And finally, Kim Namjoon. The president of the Association for the Student Body and resident academic genius. He’d held the top scores for every class he’d been in since freshman year. The school trophy case was jokingly nicknamed “Namjoon’s Bureau” after the amount of awards that had his name on them.

Never would you have guessed that you would be meeting not one, but all five of the Kim siblings--on the same day, no less.

“Oh ho, Jiminie,” Hoseok teased as you approached, ruffling his little brother’s hair. “Who’s this?”

Be still, my beating heart--

“Hello! I’m (Y/N), a classmate of Jimin’s. It’s nice to meet you all.” You greeted them with a sharp, but quick bow.

“We were assigned a project to research a mythological creature.”Jimin clung to Namjoon by the arm while he and Jungkook were busy staring at you. “Namjoon hyung, would you help us find the books Dad once showed us in the library? The ones with all the lore and stories?”

On the outside, this felt like a normal day of being introduced to an acquaintance’s family members.

On the inside, however, you were reminded of the purple flames that stole Natalia’s existence from this mortal plane in mere seconds every time you looked one of the older Kim siblings in the eyes.

Jungkook merely looked curious, doe eyes wide in surprise. But Namjoon...

Even though they were adopted, Namjoon held the same crazed, righteous look in his eyes that Kim Moonsik would have whenever he announced the next tribute for Wylynne’s army.

“I’d be happy to find them for you guys,” Namjoon grinned at you.

You “smiled” back.

That was a grimace...that was a definitely a grimace. You seriously needed to work on your facial expressions around them.

Hoseok opened the car door, sliding into the very back with Jungkook and Taehyung while Jimin leapt for the window seat. This left you between him and his older brother, and you fought the urge to groan aloud.

Once inside the car, Namjoon alerted the driver that everyone was present and the man took off without another word. While he was distracted, you lowered your phone brightness and updated your mother again on your location.

“So, (Y/N), how was your day?” You jerk your head up and turn towards the voice, Hoseok questioning you while still wearing that ear-splitting grin.

“It was alright! I met Jimin this morning and then we attended classes and lunch...” you said, fiddling with the power button on your phone.

Hoseok and Taehyung continued to ask you a few more questions, like your favorite color and artists, about your classes and any future career plans. Jimin would cut in every so often with a statement or question of his own, and Jungkook and Namjoon simply watched on quietly as the conversation took place.

You leaned your head on the space between the headrests of the seats, tilting it to the right. You thought this morning’s fatigue had been chased away by the excitement of the day, but it was actually resting, lying in wait for the moment where you would put your guard down.

As much as you wanted to avoid it, the rumbling of the AC and comfort provided by the plush, leather seats caused the background noise in the car to fade before disappearing completely.

Jungkook seemed to be the only one to notice your breathing slow. “She’s asleep.”

Any and all conversation that had been taking place shut down immediately as they all gazed at your figure.

At some point in your sleep, you started to shiver from the temperature of the AC. Jungkook quickly peeled off his school sweater and handed it to Jimin, who pouted slightly as he draped it over your form.

They watched the slow rise and fall of your chest and listened to the soft breathing noises you let out in your sleep. The world outside was forgotten, and for a few, precious moments it was only you and them.

And if all went according to plan, soon it would be much, much longer than a few precious moments. Their world would only consist of you and them, all of them, for the rest of time.

#cult au #bts cult au #yandere bts x reader #yandere bts au #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere jung hoseok #yandere kim taehyung #yandere kim namjoon #yandere kim seokjin #yandere park jimin #yandere min yoongi #Yandere jeon jungkook #x reader #religious au #high school au #college au #ot7 x reader #poly ot7

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Plant Day!

Whumpblr, forgive me for this... xD this is either the best or silliest idea I've ever had and honestly? I think it might be both at once. Heed the tags but also just know nothing is as serious as it seems by the time you reach the end...

for @brutal-nemesis' whump of the month prompt: plant day.

Thank you @muddy-swamp-bitch for helping me work out how to tag this thing

Warnings: cutting, knives, scarification, body horror (???), corpse mutilation [!?], environmental whump, [mass] killing (???), multiple whumpers (but not at the same time), survivors guilt, curses, magical whump, whumpee with she/her pronouns, captured whumpee. Mentions of: eye whump, bugs/insects, slavery whump

The knife wasn’t sharp enough, not for this. It was a hack job, and it wasn’t going to heal pretty. It carved into her slowly, inch by torturous inch, scraping away the surface of her skin. She screamed, but no one seemed to care, it wasn’t like they spoke the same language.

The two people leaning over, peering at her, paused in their work.

I hope crows peck out your eyes

They talked and brushed away the carnage their knife wrought, tittered, went back to their work.

I hope your children never know love, or freedom

It hurt, digging deep into the fibres of her skin. Changing the surface of it forever. It was going to scar, these strange, crude letters forever marring her perfect form.

It was no worse than anything else she had suffered but she resented it all the same.

May bear excrement ruin your water source and wasps sting you to death

Her cries went unheard. And curses didn’t mean a wad of shit if no one observed them. She liked that word shit, she’d learned it from the humans long ago. Shit shit shit, it was all shit.

Long ago, in the days before, she had watched her people be slaughtered. Hacked down one by one, cut to pieces and their bodies heaved off by horses. Horses bound to do the humans bidding, such a wretched life, she thought, but they seemed happy, they hadn’t come to her aid when she called.

She had mourned and grieved her fallen brethren, watched their lifeless forms be stacked and chained together to be burned or put to some other nefarious use, and only hoped that her own pain would end so swiftly. But it was not to be. She had been left to witness, the pain hers alone to bear.

Long, long years passed, held captive in this barren, dying place. The colonies that tried to take up life in her people’s old home were uprooted, shunned. Nothing and no one could prosper here.

She waited a long time; long after the woodcutter, and the woodcutter's son, and the woodcutter’s son’s son…. and, well, she lost track of the generations a bit after that but it had been a while.

The sun was older, the earth quieter. She was cold, her joints creaked and ached and everything was heavy. She had been abandoned by her own people and the humans who had caused their destruction. She alone, left to weather the harsh… weather. Lashed with rain and beaten by the hot sun, no friends left to help give shelter. No happy little breeze now, just the violent waves of wind, unhindered.

Her eyes were cast ever skyward, and it hurt to look at the sky, but it was better than the memories that clung to the earth. She would weep, but it only made her feel sticky and sickly.

One day a mere mortal, not more than three score years and probably not even that—she noted his features were smooth and bare, no whiskers on this one— wandered by. He was dressed strangely but everything they did was strange so she didn’t pay it much attention. He laid a hand on her and she tried to shake it loose.

Stupid humans, no touching, dirty hands, ruinous hands

“What was that?” He murmured.

She thought he was a he, he had that air about him. Entitled. An extra trunk between his legs too, if her eyes weren’t mistaken.

Go back to your cities, cretin

His hand slid around her, feeling for… something. It brushed over the scar of the initials carved into her, that claiming mark.

“Tsk, this won’t do.”

He brought out a knife. Of course he did. Just like all the rest.

He cut into her and she wailed, throwing herself around and trying to get away but it was no use. He just kept on cutting, and though his work seemed like it had a purpose she couldn’t tell what it was. Her life force oozed out around the hole he was making as he cut chunks, stole away parts of her, until a hollow hole was left where part of her should be.

It felt… if not better, certainly different. They were good at change, these humans. She looked skyward again, only feeling a little better when she noticed the scarring marks were gone. He’d cut it away?

Well, more power to him, if he wanted a piece of ruined flesh so be it. She thought no more of it until he came back three moons later and talked to her again.

“I know what you are.”

Oh goodie, someone with some brains for once. Very pleased to meet you I’m sure

“I can hear you, you know.”

I doubt it

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. I know your secret, hiding in plain sight. But you can’t hide from me.”

She stayed silent, thinking, considering. If he was telling the truth…

“You’re no tree,” he murmured, stroking at her with his silly little furless paws. “You’re a wood nymph.”

Hmmph

“No, I said nymph.”

And you are a wizard, what do you want a pat on the back?

“No, just a conversation.”

She was taken aback, she hadn’t talked to anyone for years.

“You must be lonely.”

Obviously

“You’re very grumpy.”

I’ve been stuck in a tree for near three hundred years, you would be too

“There’s not enough magic left for you to get out.”

Congratulations on stating the obvious but there is nowhere I could go anyway

“I have somewhere.” He produced a small box from his pack and her heart—woody though it was—faltered. That was—

“Yes I made this from you.”

Thief!!

“Come now, it won’t be so bad. I have a wonderful collection of items, and creatures, you won’t be lonely.”

I won’t be free

“You’re not free now.”

I won’t go

“Oh yes you will.” He opened the lid of the box, ornately carved and beautifully made but still the desecrated corpse of part of her flesh. Disgusting, sickening. Very pretty but so macabre.

It was powerful magic, runes and other things that should be of no consequence but she was too weak to resist and had been for too long. She screamed, waved her branches, reached for the sky but no great eagle or eager buzzard came to her rescue as she was pulled down, down down into the tiny wooden prison made from her own bones.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” He asked as he snapped the lid tightly shut.

The box rattled with the force of her rage but he wrapped it in cloth and she felt the slide of ropes twinning tightly about her. It was strange, feeling part of herself outside of herself, when it shouldn’t have been part of herself any longer. I was dark and cool inside the box, but that was about the only good thing she could say about it.

Let me out

“No.”

He slipped her into his satchel, and she bounced and shook as he walked further and further away from her home.

Curse you

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. But no, you will be a blessing. A boon to long life, nymphs, if the books are correct. We’ll be happy together.”

I doubt it. Ridiculous boy with your toys and tools, I could never be happy with you

“Hush now, tree, or I’ll leave you in that box forever.”

Shoddy craftsmanship, you should be ashamed

He laughed. “At least I know you’re not going to sulk silently like some of my prizes. No, you’ll be more entertaining.”

She went silent, just to make a point.

“If you’re very good, maybe one day I’ll work out how to re-plant you and you can feel the mud between your toes again. Wouldn’t that be nice? A little glade, lots of life around you, plenty of growing things to watch over.”

She perked up at that, suddenly feeling… was that what hope had felt like? It had been a few decades since she’d last let herself feel it.

“See, I told you. Your old tree may wither and die without you, but you can be new and fresh as a spring bud. As long as you do what you can for me.”

So that was that, she was to be a slave? No worse than she deserved, after watching her people be killed and not able to do anything to stop it. Finally her long awaited fate had caught up to her, it was about time.

Do you have what the humans call television?

“Yes, why?”

I’ve wanted to see what it is, can’t I be curious?

“Well you won’t have eyes for a good long while until I know you can behave, but we could start with some music.”

Nature makes the best music

“You haven’t heard rock’n’roll, just wait.”

[My thought process for writing this was: hmm, plant day. Plant whump... what if... the plant was the thing that was whumped. Hahah, nah... unless 👀?

And I thought about that for like three weeks before finally churning out 1k the night before the event. Sexily unedited, just the raw chaos]

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newstfionline · 3 years

Text

Monday, September 20, 2021

Biden’s Entire Presidential Agenda Rests on Expansive Spending Bill (NYT) Biden’s entire presidential agenda is riding on the reconciliation bill being crafted in Congress right now. No president has ever packed as much of his agenda, domestic and foreign, into a single piece of legislation as President Biden has with the $3.5 trillion spending plan that Democrats are trying to wrangle through Congress over the next six weeks,” Tankersley writes. “It is almost as if President Franklin D. Roosevelt had stuffed his entire New Deal into one piece of legislation, or if President Lyndon B. Johnson had done the same with his Great Society, instead of pushing through individual components over several years. If he succeeds, Biden’s far-reaching attempt could result in a presidency-defining victory that delivers on a decades-long campaign by Democrats to expand the federal government to combat social problems and spread the gains of a growing economy to workers. If he fails, he could end up with nothing. As Democrats are increasingly seeing, the sheer weight of Mr. Biden’s progressive push could cause it to collapse, leaving the party empty-handed, with the president’s top priorities going unfulfilled. … If Mr. Biden’s party cannot find consensus on those issues and the bill dies, the president will have little immediate recourse to advance almost any of those priorities.

Child care in the US is a ‘broken market,’ Treasury report finds (Yahoo Money) A Treasury Department report this week characterized the U.S. child care system as “unworkable” as Democrats push reform that experts say is an “overdue and critical investment.” The average American family with at least one child under age 5 uses 13% of their income to pay for child care, according to the report, nearly double the 7% that the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services considers affordable. Additionally, less than 20% of the children eligible for the Child Care and Development Fund—a federal assistance program for low-income families—are getting that funding. “Child care is a textbook example of a broken market, and one reason is that when you pay for it, the price does not account for all the positive things it confers on our society,” Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen said in a statement on Wednesday. “When we underinvest in child care, we forgo that; we give up a happier, healthier, more prosperous labor force in the future.”

Inspiration4 Astronauts Beam After Return From 3-Day Journey to Orbit (NYT) After three days in orbit, a physician assistant, a community college professor, a data engineer and the billionaire who financed their trip arrived back on Earth, heralding a new era of space travel with a dramatic and successful Saturday evening landing in the Atlantic Ocean. The mission, which is known as Inspiration4, splashed down off the Florida coast at 7:06 p.m. on Saturday. Each step of the return unfolded on schedule, without problems. Within an hour, all four crew members walked out of the spacecraft, one at a time, each beaming with excitement as recovery crews assisted them.

Haitians on Texas border undeterred by US plan to expel them (AP) Haitian migrants seeking to escape poverty, hunger and a feeling of hopelessness in their home country said they will not be deterred by U.S. plans to speedily send them back, as thousands of people remained encamped on the Texas border Saturday after crossing from Mexico. Scores of people waded back and forth across the Rio Grande on Saturday afternoon, re-entering Mexico to purchase water, food and diapers in Ciudad Acuña before returning to the Texas encampment under and near a bridge in the border city of Del Rio. Junior Jean, a 32-year-old man from Haiti, watched as people cautiously carried cases of water or bags of food through the knee-high river water. Jean said he lived on the streets in Chile the past four years, resigned to searching for food in garbage cans. “We are all looking for a better life,” he said.

Three Weeks After Hurricane Ida, Parts of Southeast Louisiana Are Still Dark (NYT) For Tiffany Brown, the drive home from New Orleans begins as usual: She can see the lights on in the city’s central business district and people gathering in bars and restaurants. But as she drives west along Interstate 10, signs of Hurricane Ida’s destruction emerge. Trees with missing limbs fill the swamp on either side of the highway. With each passing mile, more blue tarps appear on rooftops, and more electric poles lay fallen by the road, some snapped in half. By the time Ms. Brown gets to her exit in Destrehan 30 minutes later, the lights illuminating the highway have disappeared, and another night of total darkness has fallen on her suburban subdivision. For Ms. Brown, who works as an office manager at a pediatric clinic, life at work can feel nearly normal. But at home, with no electricity, it is anything but. “I keep hoping every day that I’m going to go home and it’ll be on,” she said. Three weeks have passed since Hurricane Ida knocked down electric wires, poles and transmission towers serving more than one million people in southeast Louisiana. In New Orleans, power was almost entirely restored by Sept. 10, and businesses and schools have reopened. But outside the city, more than 100,000 customers were without lights through Sept. 13. As of Friday evening there were still about 38,000 customers without power, and many people remained displaced from damaged homes.

Favela centennial shows Brazil communities’ endurance (AP) Dozens of children lined up at a community center in Sao Paulo for a slice of creamy, blue cake. None was celebrating a birthday; their poor neighborhood, the favela of Paraisopolis, was commemorating 100 years of existence. “People started coming (to the city) for construction jobs and settled in,” community leader Gilson Rodrigues said. “There was no planning, not even streets. People started growing crops. It was all disorganized. Authorities didn’t do much, so we learned to organize ourselves.” The favela’s centennial, which was marked on Thursday, underscores the permanence of its roots and of other communities like it, even as Brazilians in wealthier parts of town often view them as temporary and precarious. Favelas struggle to shed that stigma as they defy simple definition, not least because they evolved over decades. Paraisopolis is Sao Paulo’s second-biggest favela, home to 43,000 people, according to the most-recent census, in 2010. Recent, unofficial counts put its population around 100,000.

The barbecue king: British royals praise Philip’s deft touch (AP) When Prince Philip died nearly six months ago at 99, the tributes poured in from far and wide, praising him for his supportive role at the side of Queen Elizabeth II over her near 70-year reign. Now, it has emerged that Philip had another crucial role within the royal family. He was the family’s barbecue king—perhaps testament to his Greek heritage. “He adored barbecuing and he turned that into an interesting art form,” his oldest son Prince Charles said in a BBC tribute program that will be broadcast on Wednesday. “And if I ever tried to do it he ... I could never get the fire to light or something ghastly, so (he’d say): ‘Go away!’” In excerpts of ‘Prince Philip: The Royal Family Remembers’ released late Saturday, members of the royal family spoke admiringly of the late Duke of Edinburgh’s barbecuing skills. “Every barbecue that I’ve ever been on, the Duke of Edinburgh has been there cooking,” said Prince William, Philip’s oldest grandson. “He’s definitely a dab hand at the barbecue ... I can safely say there’s never been a case of food poisoning in the family that’s attributed to the Duke of Edinburgh.” The program, which was filmed before and after Philip’s death on April 9, was originally conceived to mark his 100th birthday in June.

Relations between France and the U.S. have sunk to their lowest level in decades. (NYT) The U.S. and Australia went to extraordinary lengths to keep Paris in the dark as they secretly negotiated a plan to build nuclear submarines, scuttling a defense contract worth at least $60 billion. President Emmanuel Macron of France was so enraged that he recalled the country’s ambassadors to both nations. Australia approached the new administration soon after President Biden’s inauguration. The conventionally powered French subs, the Australians feared, would be obsolete by the time they were delivered. The Biden administration, bent on containing China, saw the deal as a way to cement ties with a Pacific ally. But the unlikely winner is Britain, who played an early role in brokering the alliance. For its prime minister, Boris Johnson, who will meet this coming week with Biden at the White House and speak at the U.N., it is his first tangible victory in a campaign to make post-Brexit Britain a player on the global stage.

Hong Kong’s first ‘patriots-only’ election kicks off (Reuters) Fewer than 5,000 Hong Kong people from mostly pro-establishment circles began voting on Sunday for candidates to an election committee, vetted as loyal to Beijing, who will pick the city’s next China-backed leader and some of its legislature. Pro-democracy candidates are nearly absent from Hong Kong’s first election since Beijing overhauled the city’s electoral system to ensure that “only patriots” rule China’s freest city. The election committee will select 40 seats in the revamped Legislative Council in December, and choose a chief executive in March. Changes to the political system are the latest in a string of moves—including a national security law that punishes anything Beijing deems as subversion, secession, terrorism or collusion with foreign forces—that have placed the international financial hub on an authoritarian path. Most prominent democratic activists and politicians are now in jail or have fled abroad.

The Remote-Control Killing Machine (Politico/NYT) For 14 years, Israel wanted to kill Iran’s top nuclear scientist. Then they came up with a way to do it while using a trained sniper who was more than 1,000 miles away—and fired remotely. It was also the debut test of a high-tech, computerized sharpshooter kitted out with artificial intelligence and multiple-camera eyes, operated via satellite and capable of firing 600 rounds a minute. The souped-up, remote-controlled machine gun now joins the combat drone in the arsenal of high-tech weapons for remote targeted killing. But unlike a drone, the robotic machine gun draws no attention in the sky, where a drone could be shot down, and can be situated anywhere, qualities likely to reshape the worlds of security and espionage.

Israeli army arrests last 2 of 6 Palestinian prison escapees (AP) Israeli forces on Sunday arrested the last two of six Palestinian prisoners who escaped a maximum-security Israeli prison two weeks ago, closing an intense, embarrassing episode that exposed deep security flaws in Israel and turned the fugitives into Palestinian heroes. The Israeli military said the two men surrendered in Jenin, their hometown in the occupied West Bank, after they were surrounded at a hideout that had been located with the help of “accurate intelligence.” The prisoners all managed to tunnel out of a maximum-security prison in northern Israel on Sept. 6. The bold escape dominated newscasts for days and sparked heavy criticism of Israel’s prison service. According to various reports, the men dug a hole in the floor of their shared cell undetected over several months and managed to slip past a sleeping prison guard after emerging through a hole outside the facility. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip have celebrated the escape and held demonstrations in support of the prisoners. Taking part in attacks against the Israeli military or even civilians is a source of pride for many Palestinians, who view it as legitimate resistance to military occupation.

Jaw-dropping moments in WSJ's bombshell Facebook investigation (CNN Business) This week the Wall Street Journal released a series of scathing articles about Facebook, citing leaked internal documents that detail in remarkably frank terms how the company is not only well aware of its platforms’ negative effects on users but also how it has repeatedly failed to address them. Here are some of the more jaw-dropping moments from the Journal’s series. In the Journal’s report on Instagram’s impact on teens, it cites Facebook’s own researchers’ slide deck, stating the app harms mental health. “We make body image issues worse for one in three teen girls,” said one slide from 2019, according to the WSJ. Another reads: “Teens blame Instagram for increases in the rate of anxiety and depression ... This reaction was unprompted and consistent across all groups.” In 2018, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg said a change in Facebook’s algorithm was intended to improve interactions among friends and family and reduce the amount of professionally produced content in their feeds. But according to the documents published by the Journal, staffers warned the change was having the opposite effect: Facebook was becoming an angrier place. A team of data scientists put it bluntly: “Misinformation, toxicity and violent content are inordinately prevalent among reshares,” they said, according to the Journal’s report.

#headlines #news

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litwitlady · 4 years

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whatever walked there, walked alone - part one

My Halloween fic which I love writing too much to abandon. Content warnings: mentions of child abuse, Alex is dead and not coming back to life, blood, emo poetry.

Michael Guerin exits the city limits and heads west. The sun is beginning to set, framing the mountains in flames of orange and red, painting the sky in purples and pinks. His phone GPS says the house is 13.3 miles from Roswell city center. A scant ten-minute drive.

A few miles later, the ironwork of the property’s fence comes into view. The house is hidden behind several large hawthorn and plum trees, creating a dense canopy that protects the mansion from the blazing desert sun.

Michael parks outside the gate and pulls a bolt cutter from the bed of his truck. The ornate ironwork is buried in English ivy. He clears the vines away and breaks through the chains locking the gate doors, swinging them open. They creak and moan as the rusty hinges strain after years of disuse.

It’s like walking into a dream. Or a nightmare. Another planet, maybe. The desert disappears and suddenly there’s thick grass beneath his boots. Flowers bloom despite the heavy tree coverage and everything green is overgrown. But the house is finally visible – the cornices crumbling, the menacing marble lions shrouded in yellowing moss.

A breeze rustles through the leaves, sending a shiver up Michael’s spine. He feels eyes on the back of his head and spins on his heels. A cat hops out of a maple tree, sending several birds flying from their perches. Michael laughs to himself and turns back towards the house.

Dead, drying leaves are scattered across the stone steps. The giant wood doors are also locked with chains. Michael makes quick work of them and pushes against the splinted oak. But the doors won’t budge. The moisture and heat have warped the wood. So, no matter how hard he pushes, there’s no give. With a sigh he climbs back down the stairs. Vows to come back the next day with the necessary tools.

And maybe not alone.

But as his boots sink back into the grass, he hears the doors open. A thick, musty scent settles in around him. When he glances over his shoulder, the doors are gaping at him like a hungry mouth ready to swallow him whole. The cat dashes past him, through the doors, and he swears he hears his name whispered from somewhere deep inside.

He swallows hard and pulls out his cell phone. But there’s no reception. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to go inside. Definitely not by himself. Wants, instead, to head back to Isobel’s and crawl inside his warm bed. Wants to forget this dilapidated old house even exists.

Michael takes several deep breaths, reclimbs the stairs. And then he forces himself to cross the threshold into the darkness.

The foyer floors are filthy. Covered in muck and grime, the black and white checkered marble barely visible. Spiderwebs crisscross from surface to surface, collecting dust and other debris he’d rather not think too much about. The windows are all curtained with heavy, velvet drapes – allowing no light to pass.

Michael runs his fingers along a gilded mirror, eyes catching on a group of picture frames still hanging from the garish floral wallpaper. He leans forward, blowing the dust from the glass. Sneezes several times. The photos show a family. Father, mother, and four boys – the youngest just a baby. In most of the pictures, the father is dressed in full military regalia. His wife pretty and unsmiling. The children with hands in pockets, devoid of that devilish charm so common to young boys.

He begins to notice a pattern as he follows the frames down the hallway. Three of the boys start to grow up – getting taller, shoulders broadening. But the youngest never grows past eight, maybe nine years old. Michael feels a sadness clutch at his heart. Wonders what happened to the little boy. Suspects it’s nothing good. And likely the reason the house has been left to rot for so long.

The cat reappears out of a hall closet. Michael startles and watches him dash towards the curving staircase, bounding up the stairs. He looks back at the front doors, making sure they are still open. The sunlight is entirely gone now. He pulls out his phone and clicks on the flashlight app. Continues further into the belly of the house.

In the kitchen, he finds the cabinet doors all removed – probably stolen by some house foraging flipper – but the bowls and plates left behind. An eight-burner stove takes up a third of the room. The gigantic commercial refrigerator another third. There are two center islands and clearly the kitchen was for catering lavish parties. Michael is unimpressed by the cold austerity of the space and is already mentally remodeling.

He putters through the cabinets and stumbles upon a collection of toddler-sized sippy cups. There are four – each with a boy’s name painted across the top. Clay, Gregory, Flint, and Alex. He reaches up and pulls the one labeled ‘Alex’ from the shelf. The cup is cracked and chipped around the rim. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck shiver, sending another chill down Michael’s spine. He drops the cup onto the floor, the crash echoing down the hallway.

Upstairs the cat screeches.

Michael hears his name whispered again.

And then the doors slam shut.

***

‘The house is haunted, Iz.’ They are at the grocery store, restocking for the week ahead.

She rolls her eyes at him while grabbing more cereal. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts, Michael. It was just the wind.’

He stares back at her like she’s stupid. ‘There’s no such thing as aliens either. And there was no fucking wind.’

Isobel, hands on hips, stops mid-aisle. ‘The place is a gothic nightmare. It got in your head and freaked you out. The sooner you sell that place the better.’

Intellectually, Michael knows she must be right. But he can’t ignore doors closing on their own and floating voices calling his name.

‘Do you know what happened to the original family? I think their name was Manes?’ He’d pulled the old deed. There wasn’t much to go on other than the name Jesse Manes. ‘I don’t remember them from when we were kids.’

She grabs a bag of rice. ‘Jesse Manes was a General in the Air Force. Served as Chief of Staff to the entire USAF when we were in high school. Really big deal. His kids all went to some military academy on the east coast.’

‘Was? Is he dead?’ He sneaks two boxes of pop-tarts into the cart.

‘Not that I know of. He was dishonorably discharged. Not too long after his youngest son died. Something about an extortion scandal.’ Isobel shrugs her shoulders and turns onto the next aisle.

‘His youngest son? The little boy – Alex.’

She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Alex Manes. Yes. But he was 28 when he died. Killed overseas. Maybe he’s your ghost.’

‘Wait – that doesn’t make sense. That house looks like it’s been abandoned for at least a decade.’ He tries to do the math in his head. Three years might lead to some broken windows and cobwebs, but not the level of decay he’d discovered. The grime on the floors alone would have taken at least twice as long. And the bannister was literally rotting.

‘Don’t know what to tell you. Happened three years ago. I was working with the General on a military fundraising event. And then, poof! He was just gone. Nothing left behind but newspaper gossip. And that house.’ She looks down at her shopping list. ‘I’m going to grab some milk – meet you at checkout.’ She gives a little wave and rolls off.

Michael leans against the row of shelves. Thinks about what Isobel’s told him. He doesn’t know why Edna May Rollings bequeathed the property to him in her will. Or all that money. Sure, he’d mowed her grass a few times – changed her oil. But the Manes property was worth well over a million dollars.

Nothing was making any sense.

Later that afternoon, Michael decides to do his own research at the town library. He pulls up article after article from the Roswell Gazette highlighting the many philanthropic endeavors of the Manes family. Jesse Manes often lauded as a hero. His sons all highly decorated military officers themselves.

In all the articles, he only finds mention of an Alex Manes once. In his obituary dated October 14, 2018. The paper mentions he’d been killed by IED while serving in Iraq. There’s a grainy, black and white photo above the obit. Captain Alexander Manes in his uniform, blank expression on his face. And it’s a good face – cheekbones for days, expressive eyes, and a full bottom lip. Michael stops for a minute to admire the handsome soldier and to lament his early demise.

He pulls out his notebook and writes down the names mentioned in the obituary. All of the survivors – mother, father, brothers, distant relatives. Surely, one of them lives within driving distance. If not, there’s always the phone or email. He intends to find some answers.

Michael leaves the library and drives to the Roswell cemetery. The plots are arranged alphabetically, for the most part. And he finds the Manes family relatively easily. Alex’s tombstone is the white marble of fallen soldiers. But there’s no inscription beyond his name or the relevant dates of birth and death. It’s odd not to see a ‘beloved son’ or ‘cherished brother’. He’s beginning to suspect the Manes family buried more than just their son three years ago.

The next day Michael heads back to the house. But this time he’s not alone. He’s accompanied by an entire cleaning crew and Isobel. Who merely intends to rifle through the family’s forgotten belongings and steal whatever trinkets catch her eye. And to tease him mercilessly about his ghost.

Michael does his best to avoid everyone. He has his own mission in mind and doesn’t want to be disturbed. The upstairs hallway leads to all the main bedrooms – master on the left and the four smaller rooms on the right. Each of the secondary bedrooms is nearly identical in shape and size. Except for last room – tiny and dark. A single bed compared to the doubles next door. He knows deep in his bones that this was Alex’s room.

A terrific sadness envelops him when he steps inside. He tries to flip the light switch, but nothing happens – the only light whatever sun fights its way through the dirty window.

Michael starts there – wiping the glass clean. He sweeps and mops the floor, dusts the baseboards, and removes the cobwebs. Opening the closet door, he finds a torn cardboard box tucked inside. Pulling back the battered flaps, he discovers several yellowing journals. Pages and pages of scribbled notes and poems and the various ramblings of a teenage boy. He takes the journals to his truck immediately, stashing them beneath his seat.

As the day stretches into night, there’s no sign of any ghosts. No weird noises. No strange whispers. Isobel has taken every mirror in the house among several crystal dishes. Most of the rooms are as spotless as they’re going to get, the smell of bleach giving him a headache. But the place is starting to feel less creepy.

After everyone else leaves, Michael takes one more trip up to Alex’s bedroom. Sits in the middle of the room and waits. For what, he’s not sure. A presence maybe. Which he knows is insane, but something or someone called his name the day before.

The sun is nearly gone. The room is dark and still. That sadness from earlier still pushes at him, but he doesn’t feel afraid. Oddly enough, he feels safe and warm. And then the floor creaks. Not just once. Over and over again. Like someone’s pacing from the window to the bed and back again.

‘Hello?’ His voice sounds scratchy, dry and nervous.

The footsteps stop. Michael’s breath catches as he strains to listen. ‘Alex? Alexander Manes?’ Something blows across the back of his neck. He swallows but stays still.

‘I’m going to bring your journals back. I promise.’ Making a ghost angry is probably a bad idea. ‘I just wanted to get to know you better.’

Nothing happens. And he feels a sinking sense of loss.

At Isobel’s later that night, Michael is curled up in his bed staring at Alex’s journals. He’s anxious about reading them. Worries that what he’ll discover is worse than anything he could have ever imagined. Worries that he’ll meet someone in these journals that he’ll come to love. Someone that he’s already lost.

The first journal is marked 2003. It’s plain black with a Further Seems Forever sticker peeling along the spine. Opening to the first page, Michael is struck by how neat the handwriting is. His own is nothing but chicken scratch. But this kid wrote in neat, tidy letters – not a smudge in sight.

July 2003

Today I am a teenager. And I missed mom for the first time in forever. I came home and dad was drinking. Started yelling at me to put his ladder back where I’d found it. But I never, ever touched his stupid ladder. That was Flint. He didn’t care. And now my ribs hurt. Happy Birthday, Alex.

I’ve only been home for two weeks, but I already want to go back to school.

Michael’s fists clench but he continues.

August 2003

Flint got his learner’s permit today. Dad is teaching him how to drive stick. Will probably even buy him a car to take back to school. I fucking hate Flint.

I wrote a poem or maybe a song that I actually like. Here it is:

‘The hallways are empty

And I am blind

Locked in this castle

Where no one is kind’

I know that’s not much. But it’s a start. Been saving up for my guitar. Greg is going to buy it for me once I have enough money.

September 2003

It’s because I’m gay. Why he beats me and no one else. I will try so hard not to be gay anymore.

Tears burn Michael’s eyes. He picks up another journal. This one gray with lots of cartoon doodles marring the cloth cover.

September 2007

Senior year has begun. The Academy finally feels bearable. No upperclassmen to avoid. My fucking dad has me flying out this weekend to interview at the Air Force Academy in Colorado. Fourth son, fourth branch of the military. None of us got a choice, but of course he saved the Air Force for me. Of fucking course.

I snuck out with Maria last week to sing at an open mic night at her mom’s bar. I’ve never felt like that before – enjoying all those eyes on me. Most times I just want to disappear. Forget I exist. There was a guy – curly hair, big hazel eyes. He was beautiful and I worked up enough to courage to talk to him, but he wouldn’t stop staring at Maria. So.

I guess someone at the Pony must have known my dad. Because he was waiting up for me when I crawled back through my bedroom window. I didn’t beg this time. Just let him do what he was going to do. Honestly, I felt like I deserved it. For thinking that guy might actually want to talk to me.

Michael stops breathing. He tries to recall a night at the Pony from fourteen years ago. But he can’t remember ever meeting Alex. He had dated Maria, briefly. Maybe it wasn’t him – maybe he wasn’t the curly-haired, hazel-eyed boy. But the possibility lingers thick in his chest.

December 2007

I’m not going home for Christmas. Even though mom has agreed to show up for appearance’s sake. A perfect fake fucking family. I won’t be missed. Dad laughed when I called and told him. Called me a coward and hung up. He won’t have his favorite punching bag and I hope that means he won’t turn his fists to someone else. Like mom.

Things with Danny haven’t progressed at all. I thought he was flirting with me at the football game, but he hasn’t talked to me since. He’s shy though – kind of like me – so I think I may still have a chance. He’s not going home either – his parents are overseas on some mission trip. Maybe I will be brave enough to kiss him. I’ve never kissed anyone and I’m already 17. Pathetic.

January 2008

Sometimes I look up at the stars

And your eyes look back at me

Filled with the fire of an exploding sun

Sometimes I look up at the stars

And there’s nothing there at all

Just empty space, hollow and undone

So, Danny is dating a townie girl. I’m always so, so stupid. But I’m not giving up on myself no matter how hard this world tries to beat me down. And it’s trying pretty damn hard.

March 2008

Dear Alex,

you are blue and black and yellow

bent and bowed like the dying myrtle tree outside that window

your pliant plentiful petals putrefying in the blades of summer grass

you are unseen and forgotten, disgraced by the midday sun

blown apart like the dandelion waste of suburban landscapes

wilted and wallowed and left without a trace of your own dignity

June 2008

My father’s hands have spent so much time taking. Splitting me open and unthreading the blood, the sweat, the tears of me. Spilling my insides and then stuffing the gore back deep in the darkest recesses of my heart.

I want hands that will take but give something back, leave something behind. Hands that will heal and stitch the splintered parts back together. Hands that will shape the dark edges of me into something bright like hope. I want hands with wings to fly me out of this nightmare.

But instead I’m going to war.

After Alex graduates the military academy, there are no more journals until 2017. Michael spends the next several hours poring over the earlier ones – meticulously kept records of a broken childhood. One abuse after another. Cracked ribs, a shattered wrist, and a never-ending deluge of bruises.

But also, so many dreams. Alex was a hopeful kid, despite the sad poetry, with music in his future. There are pages and pages of songs – the scratching down of harmonies and verses. Intricate details of chord progressions and key changes. Michael grabs his own guitar, strums through some of Alex’s notes. The songs are simple but refined. He wishes he could hear them sung with Alex’s voice.

The 2017 journal stares at Michael from his nightstand. It’s dirty and pocket-sized, bent and beaten at the edges. Caked in blood. He opens to the first page. Alex is in Iraq – the place where he dies – and Michael’s not sure he wants to read further. But he also can’t stop himself.

November 2017

The desert here is different. Hotter, I think. I am always sweating and never clean.

February 2018

There was a boy. In the carnage. Riddled with bullets. Bullets that may have been my own. I tried to feel something. I did, really. I tried.

March 2018

Only two more months. And then one war exchanged for another. Clay is getting married. I think I’d rather stay here.

The next several pages are stuck together with the dull, brown ink of dried blood. Michael can’t make out more than a word or two through the thick stains, but the entries seem longer and more rambling. The back half of the journal is empty – filled with nothing but blood splatter.

Michael pulls out his laptop. Something about the timeline feels off. Alex’s obit and his tombstone both marked his date of death as October 14, 2018. That’s months after this journal stopped. Months after whatever nightmare caused all this bleeding. He thinks briefly about calling Liz and asking her to ID whoever all this blood belonged to.

He googles ‘Alexander Manes Iraq death’ and nothing obvious pops up in the searches. But on the next page he sees a newspaper article from a Virginia paper, clicks it open. It’s from summer 2018 and includes a list of purple heart recipients. A Captain Alexander Manes among the names.

So, he made it home. Hurt but alive. Michael’s best guess is that he returned to Iraq before his death in October.

He runs several searches for Alex’s brothers. He gets a hit on a Gregory Manes. Local newspaper photo of him with several kids from a science fair. The school is near a reservation in the northwest corner of the state. He jots the information down but decides to start a little closer to home.

People in Roswell must know the Manes family. And so that’s where he’ll begin. Starting with local business owners. First thing in the morning.

#malex #malex fic #halloween fic #whatever walked there walked alone #i am reposting after my hissy fit #i like writing this #i really do #letting autumn come early this year

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xxsovereignsarayaxx · 4 years

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A King Needs His Queen - The Originals

“True love is like playing chess the King may be the most important piece on the board however the Queen is the most powerful and dangerous as she performs more moves than any other. The Queen will always protect her King.” Word Count: 5054 Warnings: None Authors Note: For those who have read Elizabeth Mikealson - What If? Here is the original origins for Elizabeth. I’ve given this a lot of editing to make it worth the read and I wanted to give everyone an alternate view point. I hope you like it. I have up to chapter 4 written so I’ll be posting a new chapter everyday until that point. For those who enjoy my ‘Lizzie-Lijah’ fanfic don’t worry I am in the process of writing a new chapter. If you want to be tagged in this series please let me know <3

True love is like playing chess. The King may be the most important piece on the board however the Queen is the most powerful, most dangerous as she performs more moves than any other. The Queen will always protect her King.

Being the wife to Niklaus Mikaelson was never an easy task, he was impulsive, rash, a temper which has a dangerously short fuse, competitive and many other things but the one thing he had going for him was a lovely irresistible puppy face. But one of the one things we loved nothing more was to sit back and have an intense game of chess why you may ask? Chess is a war game and currently we the Mikaelson family were stuck in the middle of one war between the witches, werewolves and vampires. And myself my husband and the rest of our family were not welcomed with open arms when we first arrived back in New Orleans. It didn't quite help due to the fact Niklaus was a hybrid and the very large statement he insisted on making when we returned home. I understood he was upset that Marcellus had continued Nik's empire without him but we were all under the illusion that he was dead, burned to ash. But the little warrior had survived the attack made by Mikael at the Opera House in 1919, I remember the events vividly and it still haunts me to this day the terror I had felt when I thought my family was going to die but we escaped by the skin of our teeth, Nik carried Rebekah out onto the street while I had received aid from Elijah we watched as the Opera building had lit up the cities dark evening night sky and from that moment we fled for our lives together as a family. After that dreadful night I was and never will be afraid of whatever enemy I will stand in front of because I know who stands behind me. Who will protect me as I will protect them. I promised Nik he would get his empire back at whatever cost because I too also shared his personality traits.

I remember when first stepped foot in New Orleans back in the 1800's we had made a name for ourselves and ended up getting very cozy with the Governor we ended up staying at his residence, it was a delightful place very elegant but Rebekah who I love so dear got a little too involved with Emil, the son of the Governor and one particular day Niklaus had killed him, another one of her lovers had bit the dust or should I say had a snapped neck, it wasn't the first time and surely wouldn't be the last but I did feel sorry for my sister-in-law at this rate she would never be able to have a suitor to settle down with if Nik carried on being the over-protective brother and so we attended the funeral of Emil it was a hard day for his remaining family as well as Rebekah I held her so close as she wept of my shoulder, her sorrows broke my heart. But Niklaus had really chosen the worst time to remove the lover from existence as we was the height of the summer season and I was sweating so profoundly in my dress. I encouraged Rebekah to start heading back to our temporary lodgings as I guided her down a quite dirt road accompanied by my husband and Elijah to see a young boy no more then 6 years old being whipped by a man on horse back.

The cries of the young boy tugged on my hearts strings as I too wanted the chance to bare a child with my husband but because we were vampires we could not procreate but we sure as hell loved to try. But back to the matter at hand turns out we was not burying the only child of the Governor, it had turned out he had another son from a mother to whom he owned. I walked arm in arm with my husband, Rebekah on my other side, but as the whipping of the boy intensified so did the poor screams that left the child's mouth, Nik had ground to a halt and myself and his sister and brother also stopped in our tracks the funeral that was going on ahead of us continued without us. Niklaus just stood there and stared at the boy, but to be fair we all did, how anybody was able to treat a child to the manner were the real monsters of this world. The boy fell to his knees and took hold of one of the nearby apples that had fallen from one of the many apple trees and threw it with all his might at his attacker, the boy gave a look of courage as he stood up for himself panting because of his beating, without me noticing Nik had left our sides and started to move closer and closer to the situation in front of us. Elijah stood in complete silence while I continued to hold Rebekah and dried the tears that were flowing down her beautiful face.

The attacker on horseback and re-composed himself and began swinging his whip around for another session when Nik had interfered and grabbed another apple that was left on the floor and threw it with such force the man fell down dead from his horse, unfazed by what had happened. He then strode other to the boy who was on the dusty ground, as he fallen to his knees in pure agony.

"What is your name?" Niklaus asked the boy. The boy looked shocked but not frightened with Nik's presence panting he replied.

"Don't got one, Momma wouldn't name me till I turned 10 case the fever took me. Then it took her." I un-linked my arms with Rebekah and left her in the care of her brother, I picked up my skirt and made my way over to the two males who were talking, I had a small smile on my face as I re-joined my husband and softly held on to his arm. The three of us just stood quietly when I carefully knelt down in front of the boy.

"Your a survivor, and survivors need names don't they Nik?" I said softly.

"Indeed they do" Niklaus replied as he also crouched down to join me.

"How about Marcellus?" Nik added.

"Marcellus?" The boy asked while he looked at the pair of us.

I nodded gently "It comes from Mars, the god of war and it means little warrior" I say to him.

I offer a hand to Marcellus and Niklaus held mine as we helped each other back to our feet, I dust myself down from the dirt that had collected while I was knelt on the ground. I turned my head back to Rebekah and Elijah who stood far back shock on their faces, Niklaus was acting very different too how he had been acting days well years prior instead of being reckless and indulging on the humans he was showing compassion.

Nik had decided to take Marcellus under his wing, I could tell that Nik saw himself in the boy as he too was beaten when he was a child. Niklaus was never fond to talk about his life when he was child and I was never one to push him, but the fragments I was told were from his siblings, I had been married to Niklaus for nearly 300 years, so I understood my husband very well to say the least.

During the 1500's I was the handmaiden to Anne Boleyn the second wife to Henry VIII, I was the handmaiden of Catherine of Aragon but after the divorce I was re-assigned to Lady Anne. Even though I was just her handmaiden we were very close. In April 1536 I became incredibly ill, I had been diagnosed with dysentery by the castle doctor. Days had passed I had taken a turn for the worst and I was on my death bed, it wasn't until then Lady Anne revealed her biggest secret. She in fact was a vampire and saved my life by turning me, a gruesome act really being fed the blood of a vampire and then the fastest act to the process done I had my neck snapped, it was quick and clean and that was it I was turned into one of her kind.

I was forever grateful that she saved my life but days after she was arrested and sent to the Tower of London with some people saying she was involved in witchcraft as I had made a remarkable recovery. Funny really they were right in the supernatural sense just wrong species.

After Anne was beheaded Henry had re-married, during that time was how I was introduced to the Mikaelson family a loving family a bit dysfunctional but loving non the less. I had grown close to them and being and a new vampire I had struggled with my blood lust, the castle being a busy place food was no shortage but my methods for feeding were not discrete at the best of times and I was sure to be found out, it was then I was taken into the care of the Niklaus and he siblings. At first we didn't see eye to eye and I spent my days with Rebekah or locked away as I hated what I had become. After moving around from place for years on end me and Nik grew closer and he personally taught me the perks of being a vampire, he explained that his family were the first vampires ever created, I was fascinated and was falling for him hard. But turns out Niklaus had fell for me the day he had met me and shortly after we was wed.

And that was how I married a Original vampire.

Over the course of my long life I have come to believe we are bound forever to those with whom we share blood or by name. And while we may not choose our family, that bond can be our greatest strength or our deepest regret. This is the unfortunate truth that has been my downfall for as long as I can re-call . And yet I'm starting to tell you my story as I lay desiccated by a witch in a coffin being hauled around the country in whatever decade this may be. While my so called husband flaunts around doing whatever he pleases. Being angry with him was the understatement of the century, I was livid and when I get out of this god-forsaken box I will rain hell on him. I admit I was no Original but I sure was stronger then the average vampire thanks to a very good witch friend of mine who cast a spell to make me just as strong as my husband and his siblings. I would not die from a stake to the heart and I could be daggered just like Niklaus had done to his brothers Finn and Kol. But as I lay here unable to help my remaining family I was forced to lay and wait for my time to rise once more to wreck havoc with my husband.

Present Day

The night is still young in the French Quarter of New Orleans, humans party in the streets and the soothing sound of jazz plays throughout the streets, laughter and enjoyment heard by all and yet Niklaus is stood on a balcony over-seeing the festivities when Elijah appears next to him out of nowhere.

"Evening Elijah" Niklaus greets his brother.

"Niklaus" Elijah responds bluntly.

"What an entirely un-welcomed surprise" Niklaus says with sarcasm.

"And what an entirely un-surpising welcome but do tell me Niklaus how long do you intend to keep Elizabeth confined to her coffin?" Elijah asks.

"Elizabeth will stay put until I say so" Niklaus says with a sneer.

"She has been confined for nearly 100 years, you are meant to be her husband Niklaus, but we have other matters to discuss, come with me" Elijah says.

Niklaus takes a step forward towards his brother and looks him dead in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Elizabeth will be kept safe and hidden until I find out who is conspiring against me, against this family"

Elijah just stands there and straightens his tie "I believe I just found that out for you, but I warn you Niklaus once Elizabeth is freed she will not be pleased" Elijah warned.

And with that the two originals leave the balcony and through the busy streets of New Orleans to arrive at a cemetery, they head inside to a tomb to see some witches and another young girl present.

"No! It is impossible." Klaus had said shocked by what he saw in front of him.

To which Elijah replied "I said the same thing myself"

The two originals stood in front of young werewolf called Hayley to whom was pregnant with a child, Niklaus being the father to said baby. So when Elijah had warned before that Elizabeth would not be pleased with the news he was not wrong.

"This is a lie! You are all lying. Vampires cannot procreate!" Niklaus had shouted to everyone in the tomb.

"We are aware that vampires cannot, what I would like to know is why you would betray your wife, you wife Niklaus! The one woman who always stood next to you in whatever plans you had devised. This will be like killing her when she finds out!" Elijah ranted at his brother.

Hayley looked at the two males, dumbfounded.

"But werewolves can, magic made you a vampire, but you were born a werewolf. You're the original hybrid, the first of your kind. And this pregnancy is one of nature's loopholes" The witch stood next to Hayley admitted.

"You've been with someone else, admit it!" Niklaus had turned and screamed at Hayley, he was about to take a step forward to be held back by his brother.

"Hey! I've spent days held captive in a freaking alligator bayou because they think that I'm carrying some magical miracle baby. Don't you think I would've fessed up if it wasn't yours" Hayley shouted back looking the hybrid square in the eyes.

"My sister gave her life to perform the spell she needed to confirm this pregnancy. Because of Jane-Anne's sacrifice, the lives of this girl and her baby are now controlled by us. We can keep them safe. Or we can kill them. If you don't help us take down Marcel, so help me Hayley won't live long enough to see her first maternity dress." The witch shouted.

"Wait? What?" Hayley stuttered.

"Enough of this nonsense, if you want Marcel dead, he's dead. I'll do it myself" Elijah said sternly. "No we can't not yet. We have a clear plan that we need to follow, and there are rules" The witch continued. Elijah looks over to his brother, who looks like his blood is boiling with rage.

"How dare you command me? Threaten me, with what you wrongfully perceive to be my weakness. This is a pathetic deception. I will not hear any more lies!" Niklaus rants.

"Niklaus! Listen!" Elijah shouts to his brother, after that silence fills the tomb, and the soft heartbeat of the baby that resides within Hayley can be heard. Niklaus looks at Hayley, towards the witches and then looks at his brother, he swallows and then clears his throat.

"Kill her and the baby" He says bluntly and turns to leave the cemetery into the night.

Elijah runs and catches up to his brother who had taken to running through the streets of the French Quarter, he grabs his brother. "Niklaus please" He says.

"It's a trick Elijah" Niklaus replies still angry with the news.

"No, brother its a consequence to your actions while Elizabeth has been absent from us but also a gift, its your chance, its our chance" Elijah starts.

"To what?" Niklaus interrupts. "To start over brother, take back everything we lost have lost, everything that was taken from us. Our parents came to despise us. Our family was ruined... We was ruined I mean for heavens sake you made a witch cast a desiccation spell on your wife and stored her in a box for the past 100 years. All you and Elizabeth have ever wanted was a family, all that we ever wanted was a family" Elijah told his brother.

"I will not be manipulated" Niklaus growls and turns away but Elijah vamp-speeds over to block his path not allowing his brother to run any further.

"So they are manipulating you. So what? With them, this girl and her child - your child might I add live" Elijah says trying to reason with his brother.

"I'm going to kill every last one of them" Niklaus threatens and shoves Elijah and turns away in the opposite direction but Elijah once again speeds over to block his brother once more.

"And then what? Then you return to Mystic Falls to resume your life without your wife as the hated one, as the evil hybrid? Free your wife or is it so important to you that people quake with fear at the sound of your name?" Elijah continues.

"People quake with fear because I have the power to make them afraid. What will this child offer me? Will it guarantee me power?" Niklaus argues.

"Family is power! Niklaus. Love, loyalty that's power, this is what you swore to another one thousand years ago, what you swore to Elizabeth almost 500 years ago, before life tore away what little humanity you had left, before ego, before anger, before paranoia created this person to keep their wife sealed away, someone I can barely even recognize as my own brother This is us! The Original family and we remain together always and forever. I am asking you to stay here, free Elizabeth from her slumber and I will help you, stand by you. I will be your brother. We will build a home here together. So save this girl. Save your child." Elijah pleads.

Elijah places a hand on Niklaus' shoulder, were his brother brings his own hand to Elijah's neck it was their own brotherly gesture, a sign where they showed each other how much they cared and loved one another. They look at each other and Niklaus just whispers

"No" and walks away leaving Elijah standing in the street.

Walking into New Orleans Elijah knew where his brother kept his wife hidden, he knew that the only person who stood a chance to get his brother to see reason would be Elizabeth, yes it would be dangerous for the werewolf, but in order to save the child, and his brother Elizabeth needed to be woken from her century long sleep. Finally arriving to where the coffin was stored he lifts the lid to see his sister in law peacefully asleep, he gently lifts her out and holds her tightly to his chest. There was a time before where feelings for Elizabeth were deep in his heart, but after she fell for his brother she was no longer seen as a love interest and was only seen as family, and Elijah being the noble family man that he is, he had swore to protect her as well.

Elijah had made his way back to the tomb where Hayley and the witches were talking. Elizabeth still in his arms he entered the tomb to just have everyone look at him as he interrupted a conversation.

"She can't, I'm not entirely sure I can, but the woman in my arms is our best bet. But now that your coven has drawn ire. I have a question, what prevents my brother from murdering you instead of cooperating?" Elijah asks with a smirk on his face.

"Who is the woman?" One of the witches ask.

"This here is Elizabeth Mikealson, Niklaus' wife and the only force I believe that can get him into submission. Unless you have a better alternative?" Elijah responds.

One of the witches takes a needle, and holds it up to Elijah and sticks the needle into her hand, pricking the skin drawing a drop of blood.

"Ow!" Hayley yelps and there is blood on her hand in the exact place where the witch had hurt herself.

"Hey what the hell!" Hayley shouted.

"The spell my sister performed, the one that got her killed? It wasn't just to confirm the pregnancy. It linked me to Hayley. So anything happens to me, happens to her which means her life in my hands. Klaus may not care about his own child, but its very clear what it already means to you. If I have to hurt Hayley, or worse to ensure that I have your attention, I will" The witch threatened.

Elijah looks at the witch with a smirk on his face. "You would dare threaten an Original?" He asked.

"I have nothing to lose" The witch replies and with that one sentence the smile was wiped of his face. He takes a few steps closer to the witches, Elizabeth still in his arms.

"You have until midnight to get Klaus to change his mind" The witch threatens once more.

"You have until midnight to awaken Elizabeth" Elijah responded gently placing his sister in law on the ground and left the tomb.

After the chanting of a spell cast by the witches I was awoken, the grey that once covered my skin slowly drained away, my eyes start to flutter open and my crystal blue eyes are met with the world. I slowly get up and runs a hand through my long black raven hair.

"Where am I?" I ask the crowd of witches.

"Your in New Orleans, Elijah wants you to find him its regarding your husband" A witch starts.

"My husband is a dead man walking, do you know what it is like to be kept in a coffin for a century?" I snap and with that I left the tomb, I was hungry and if I didn't get blood soon I would do some serious damage to something or someone. My long white dress drags along the floor, while I walked barefoot the cool concrete was welcomed to try and damper my fiery temper that was ever growing by the minute.

As I walked out of the cemetery I spotted a elderly couple, I approached them with a small smile and looked the man in the eyes.

"Don't be afraid" I said. And with that the veins under my eyes grew visible and my fangs bulged through my gums, as I pierced the neck of the elderly woman in front of me, her blood followed into my mouth and down my gullet I was so hungry but I was never a killer when I was feeding, I gently released from her and bit into my own wrist for her to drink my blood to heal her wound. I did the exact same with the man and I was feeling much better, I compelled them to forget me and wished them a safe journey home. It was now time to find my brother in law.

As I walked through the streets I heard loud music playing and the sound led me to a courtyard, I remembered this courtyard from years before this was our home but before I could enter I was whisked away up onto a balcony, from up here I could see vampires drinking and dancing the night away. Until I noticed one vampire in particular Marcellus the very boy we had raised ourselves, but also the very boy we all thought had died in 1919 all thanks to my twisted father in law. After what had happened I was shoved in a box for the next 100 or so years to rot.

"Elizabeth, I trust you found yourself here ok?" Elijah asked me.

"I did thank you brother, but enough small talk where is he Elijah? Where is Niklaus? Where is he so I can rip his heart out" I shouted

"Hush now my dear, we must watch" Elijah said calmly as he gestured down to the scene which was unfolding down below us.

"Hey man, where'd you run off to? Someones put you in a mood. What can I do?" Marcellus asked my husband.

"What you can do is tell me what this thing is that you have with the witches" Niklaus replied in a low voice, a voice he would use when he was displeased.

"We're back to that" Marcellus said in a bored flat tone" To which all my husband had said

"Yes, were back to that" Marcellus had taken a step towards Niklaus with his arms wide open

"You know I owe you everything I got, but I'm afraid I have to draw the line on this one. This is my business. I control the witches in my town. Let's just leave it at that" Marcellus had said.

And I felt outraged all of us were responsible for what he had here today, it wasn't his town! The town belonged to the Mikealson's not Marcullus Geraed.

"Your town?" I heard my husband shout.

"Damm straight" He replied.

I was again angry with the situation to which was in front of me, I gripped the railing and glared down at the vampires beneath me and Elijah, I felt a soothing hand run circles on my back and I was starting to feel calmer.

"Part of me is debating to go down there and start ripping out hearts, and tearing of heads Elijah" I hissed at him.

"I know, but its not time for you to reveal yourself just yet." He told me, still rubbing my back.

"That's funny, because when I left 100 years ago, you were just a pathetic little scrapper still trembling from the lashes of the whips of those who would keep you down, and now look at you master of your own domain, prince of the city. I'd like to know how" Niklaus boosted.

The music that was playing in the courtyard had stopped playing and all that could be heard now was the two vampires trying to have it off and the slow breathing from everybody else.

"Why? Jealous? Hey man I get it. Three hundred years ago, you helped build a backwater penal colony into something. You and your family started it, but then you all left, actually, you ran from it. I saw it through. Look around. Vampires rule this city now. I got rid of the werewolves. I even found a way to shut down the witches. The blood never stops flowing and the party never ends. You wanna pass on through? You wanna stay a while? Great. What's mine is yours, but it is mine. My home, my family, my rules." Marcellus says loud and proudly.

But he was down right wrong, this was our home and our family but the one thing that was certain is that everyone in my family played by my rules. "And if someone breaks those rules?" Niklaus asks.

"They die. Mercy is for the weak, You and Elizabeth taught me that, too. And I am not the prince of the Quarter, friend. I'm the king! Show me some respect" Marcellus shouted.

All is silent, down below us all is quite no one moved and when I turned to look at my brother he just looked on, his jawline tense and he didn't move a muscle. The wind had picked up a little and blew my hair around a little, as I brushed some behind my right ear I see my husband rush forwards to one of the other vampires that are present at the party, he bites him viciously in the neck and I was confused to as why, Nik was a vampire so biting another vampire was pointless...Unless he broke his cure that he had vowed to do years ago.

If that was the case my husband was what they call a hybrid, a being that had vampire and werewolf blood run through his veins and venom in his fangs, he truly was a force of nature. My thoughts were interrupted when Nik had said "Your friend will be dead by the weekend, which means I've broken one of your rules. And yet I cannot be killed. I am immortal. Who has the power friend?" My husband just stands in front of Marcellus, no more words are exchanged, Nik smiles at the crowd turns and leaves.

Myself and Elijah were still stood on the balcony as we watched Nik leave the mess he had caused. "So he finally broke his curse?" I ask him. Elijah nodded at me

"That he did, but that story is better told another day, come lets get you in the warm and cleaned up. We can worry about what Niklaus is doing tomorrow" Elijah held out his arm and led me to a hotel to where he had been staying and ran me a warm bath. I laid back in the large tub allowing the hot water to soothe my body, turns out being in a coffin for 100 years leads to more aches and pains then you can imagine. As I got out of the tub I wrapped a towel around my body, while I had been getting cleaned up Elijah had been on the phone talking to my dear sweet sister Rebekah. I quickly got changed into the spare clothes Elijah had kindly left out for me. After getting dressed, I re-joined Elijah to where he now ended his call. "How about getting some sleep my dear? It's been an eventful few hours for you" Elijah suggested. I looked at him but I didn't wish to pry, I did feel exhausted even though I have been asleep for the past century, I complied with him and padded over and gave Elijah a long hug and kiss on the cheek. Once we had broken the hug, Elijah had pulled me back to kiss my forehead.

"Niklaus does love you, Elizabeth always and forever"

#the originals #klaus #klaus mikaelson #Niklaus Mikealson #klaus x original character #original character #elijah mikealson #mentions of elijah #marcel gerard #vampire diaries #fanfiction #fandom #vampire #original vampire #hybrid

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eyeloch · 5 years

Text

For fun, and to remind myself how to write, I figured I’d write up a DnD 5e one-shot I played yesterday.

How to make this less dry? Well, this here little chunk of words would be how my character for it, Dyne Freeborn, might tell it many years later. Therefore, if I make any mistakes, then they’re in-character and it’s not me being wrong!

Take a glance down the right dark alley, and you’d see - well you’d see nothing, if you knew what was good for you. If you had more curiosity than sense, though, you might spy a door. A grimy door, well hidden, but there nevertheless.

Venture inside, and you’d find a surprisingly-lively little pub. Decent ale and spirits. Good wine - long as you bought it yourself. Or stole it.

Today though, the wine was mediocre at best. More importantly, however, there was something of a celebrity within. Well, perhaps it’d more more accurate to call him an infamous figure. Celebrities typically aren’t on the run from multiple countries. Or, at least, not on the run for arson, prison breaks and inciting violent mobs.

Drunk off cider (and the atmosphere), a certain Dyne Freeborn - the celebrity in question, if you haven’t already guessed - was in a jolly mood. True, he might be laying low in a succession of safe houses yet again, but such was life.

The sooty-coloured hair of the half-elf was now steely with age. Slight crows-feet collected below his dark eyes - often lively with mirth, no matter what troubles life threw at him. If it wasn’t for the soul of the phoenix dwelling within him, he’d probably have been content to just be the life of the party.

Instead, he was on the run once more, and feeling a tad reflective that night. As the bartender refilled his tankard, Dyne began his story...

I’ve always been freeborn by name and nature, mates, but I wasn’t always so selfless. Here he paused for a round of chuckles. Nah, it was back in me youth that I really found me life’s calling. And, like today, it all started in a pub. More or less, at least...

See, I woke up after some drinks, not sure where I was. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up - it has happened the normal way too! ...but see, this wasn't me bein' blackout drunk. Nah, this was me drugged - slipped the old sleep herbs like I was some amateur (though I 'spose I was back then).

So yeah, I wake up tied down - not the first time, mind you - and obviously I try my little magic touch on the ropes. Turns out the rotten things weren't actually rotten - pretty well made, and (unfortunately) a little too damp for me ignition to do much more than make a bad smell.

So, as I'm weighing up the pros and cons of starting a little bonfire under meself (I'll admit - as a Freeborn, I can get a little riled when I'm tied down), I spy someone else, shimmying out of their own bindings! Now, obviously, I call out to them - ask the elf to free the Freeborn - and they're nice enough to oblige. Still, as we made some makeshift tools to break out of the outhouse we'd been stuffed into, I began to realise that this was some kind of copper. Not the usual sort - they're not as acrobatic, and they don't tend to cope so well when they wake up after a druggin' - but a copper none the less!

Turns out, just beyond the door, there was a whole lotta birds! No, no, not the fun kind - well, unless you like watching scavengers pick at a fresh corpse. (Tiamat’s arse, Gerard, you have a problem!)

...anyway, I’m planning me old razzle dazzle on these winged blighters, when the copper - Tíu was their name, if I remember things rightly - convinces me we should just leg it to the other cabin they’d spied. Well, I didn’t need to be told twice!

So, luckily these birds weren’t much interested in prey that’d fight back, and we made our way to the other pile of kindling without much fuss. There we found two things - another fresh corpse and, more importantly, our stuff! The copper, as you expect, does a little digging - and manages to rope me into helping case the joint. I go along with ‘em - hey, Tiala, sometimes we have to - and soon enough we’re going down another path. Not a city path, mates, nor a garden path - but a simple trod load of grass.

Now, not long after that, we come across a lady - fellow half-elf, if me memory serves me right. Nasty old wound she had - right on the cusp o’ death. Now, obviously, the copper tries their best to patch her up. (Yeah Sul, I do mean obviously - some of ‘em are decent sorts, and you should always work out if they are. It makes them easier to manipulate, once you know what they burn for.)

Anyway, since I was feeling in a generous mood that day, I managed to succeed where the law had failed. I knew even less about medicine then than I do now - but I could still tie a decent tourniquet, when the need should arise. Used some of me favourite shirt to do it too!

Having gotten meself a decent read on old Tíu, I spun the elf a quick yarn about how they’d have to chose if their duty was to punish or to protect. Yeah, it could have blown up in me face, but it didn’t! Instead, I used me old quarterstaff - yes the non-magical one, I was decades from getting the one I have now - and a similar branch to fashion a hammock with a spare cape.

So burdened, we strode on. Turns out this particular copper liked to travel between towns - liked their maps and charts - and so he got us safely to a tiny little “village” in the arse end of nowhere. “Westbridge”, if I can remember, was pretty much just a single farming family. A single family who wasn’t too chuffed that we’d wandered in with one of their enemies in a stretcher!

Still, Tíu did what coppers do best, and convinced people that they were really on his side. I wasn’t complaining, though, since I did get a free meal out of it!

So, anyway. He smiles into another empty flagon of cider, waving for for a refill, before continuing his tale. Eventually the half-elf wakes up. Coppers do what coppers do, though Tíu wasn’t the violent sort of interrogator. ...yeah, ‘suppose that’d be counter-productive with someone that wounded anyway.

So, local matriarch, the copper and the now-prisoner talk - eventually they piece together what really going on. And this is where things heat up, if you’ll pardon me pun.

See, turns out we’d been drugged by bandits and dragged off - they’d been going through our stuff, to see if we were worth ransoming while they stole the couple of valuables we had. Simple enough, I’m sure you’ll agree. The twist, friends, was that these bandits had been disagreeing over if they should take a certain deal. See, ‘round those parts - half-a-dozen kingdoms away from where we’re sitting - there were some nobles who loved themselves some hunting. Nah, not the stuff they’d call poaching if we did it. This bunch preferred humanoids.

Horrible, ain’t it. Hunting people, hurting people, that’s one thing. But just for sport? Well. . .it stoked my anger, let me tell you!

...yeah, that was first time I ever went back once I’d fled. First time I ever really lived up to me name.

Just two of us, it was. Just the two of us against two ex-bandits and a bunch of blue-blooded drunkards. We observed the situation from the tree-line, stealthy-like. We knew we couldn’t win head on, and Tíu was so adamant that I not burn the hunting lodge down, that we decided on an improvised plan.

...well, I say decided, but Tíu sort of made the decision for me. Bloody copper.

Basically, he blew his horn. As the only ex-bandit who wasn’t regretting every life choice went-a-hunting, I thought fast and made a bornfire with me blood’s magic. While that was goin’ on, we did a little strategising, and Tíu and I went to go release the horses. Yeah, there were horses - it was a hunting party!

Unfortunately, I wasn’t as stealthy back then as I can be these days. ...yeah, I know I ain’t always the stealthiest now either. Anyway, I got spotted. Things got real dicey real fast after that!

Obviously, I started with me favourite hello - a firebolt launched as quick as a wink. They didn’t like that, but I didn’t like the cut they dealt me in return. I called upon my flames to burn this whole rotten lot to nothing - but by then it seemed to be too late. I’d been dealt a lethal blow.

Here the half-elf stopped to role a sleeve up - showing several old scars, each still discoloured and puckered, unlike the rest of his near-elvishly flawless skin.

Funny thing happened, though. As I wreathed myself in the fires of freedom, I didn’t burn away. Oh, I was definitely dying. But I incinerated nobles, scared away the thug who’d regretted their betrayal (last I hear, they’d settled into a quiet life in some monastery up in Driscol). The horses were released in the confusion -Tíu had come through, it had seemed. In the chaos, though, we were both dying. Tíu had fallen from an attempt to ride a horse - I like to think it was to help me, and not to abandon his erstwhile ally - and found himself beset by a cadre of rich arseholes. They did well - cutting into them with punches, kicks and icy magic - but were knocked down in time. My own flames were sputtering by this stage, but I summoned up the nearby insects to infest that bastard. (No, not the copper, Gerard, what’s wrong with you?)

It wasn’t enough to save the copper - an ally in this moment, despite the natural state of things. At the time, I really did think I’d saved the guy. Turns out I was wrong, though I never thought to check at the time. (He did get a burial, courtesy of those folks at Westbridge. I’m glad for that, at least. ...we might have been enemies had he lived, but he was a decent sort - and people like that deserve to become part of the air or earth. That’s just a little rule of mine.)

With what I thought would be my last breath, I lit fires inside the hunting lodge (as it hadn’t caught alight in the cross-fire of battle, despite my best efforts), and let the screams of burning blue-bloods lull me to my eternal sleep...

...’cept I woke up. Tired, sore, but very much clinging to life. Fucking painful trip back to civilisation that was - not only was I fainting every few hours, but the minor burns surrounding all my cuts started to get infected after I fell into a boggy ditch! Still, I found my way back to my then-current employees, and they nursed me back to health.

‘course, not long after I recovered, I burnt their operation to the ground. Them along with it. Harsh? Cruel? Perhaps. But as I recovered, I realised how selfish I’d been with flames and freedom given to me by birth. Freedom gives me joy. Fire gives me joy. And I realised, then and there, that I needed to give everyone that freedom.

Oh, it’d be years before I could put it to words, but that day - with the druggin’, the copper and the blue-blooded bastards - that day was the day I realised I needed to free everyone!

Yep, Tiala, you’re right - free the wealthy from their cash! Free the prisoners from their chains! Free the slaves from their masters! Free the nobility from their bloated lives!

...I doubt Tíu would have approved, had he lived - but hey, what could a single copper do against The Freeborn?! ...besides, he’s got the freedom of the grave now - it’ll be another century before I get that last freedom, should I be so lucky!

Finishing one last drink, Dyne’s tale wound to a close. Most of the pub’s regulars had left - off to go bludgeon anyone wandering unlit back-allies, no doubt - but his little band of brigands was still surrounding him. Some of the newer recruits, like Tiala, still listened attentively - while seasoned veterans like Gerard were dozing off, used to his old tales.

Truth be told, Dyne did sometimes feel regrets about the path he’d taken. Not all he’d freed found the freedom to their liking - and some simply used new freedom to imprison others yet again. Still, he stoked the flame of revolution, of rebellion, of resentment wherever he could - because it was the way to feed the flames within.

Fire satisfied his senses in a way nothing else could - not even the freedom his folks were named for - but sometimes the resulting screams weren’t so sweet to his ears. Still though, he’d choose this path again in a heartbeat - or perhaps, to be more accurate, he’d chose it again in a spark.

#DnD 5e #dungeons and dragons #oneshot writeup #eye write #my OCs #my PCs #heheh #eye headcanon #(kind of)

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romericasecretsanta · 5 years

Text

a marvelous night for a moondance

Read on FFnet here! This is for the awesome @aph-american-sin can-sin, who I don’t think I can tag in a submission? Merry Christmas have some Romerica!!

[Soundtrack: Moon Dance/Moondance]

—

a marvelous night for a moondance

Lovino had been turned back in the 16th century at the young age of 23. His sire had been an affable Spanish man, appearing to be in his mid-30s, who Lovino had met before and hadn’t thought to be threatened by until it was too late. He’d awoken from a bloodfever haze six days later, and immediately known what he’d become and what it meant for him.

Being turned so young had been both a blessing and a curse. No wife or children yet, but he’d had a bright future ahead of him that now had turned dim, moonlit instead of sunlit. Being forever young — he didn’t think it was vanity to say he was very attractive, which in some ways made his life easier. He never had any difficulty luring prey. On the other hand, it made him more memorable. He was never able to stay in one place for more than a few years. He’d also never had any difficulty finding work as a stone mason or dock worker, frozen in the prime of his life, a strong and healthy young man, albeit one who kept weird hours. But he would never look old enough for more respectable work, at least not in Italy, where tradition permeated the very stone of the buildings, and seemed to linger in the very air that Lovino didn’t breathe. So, in the early 20th century, he left Rome for New York City.

By that time, Feliciano was long dead.

America was different; it had its own unique mix of new customs and Old World traditions. Lovino had always been a fast learner, so he had little trouble adjusting. Especially among the vampires, there was a set of guidelines for interaction to help prevent disputes over territory or prey. Their kind tended to be fairly solitary anyway.

Which was why it threw Lovino for a bit of a loop when he wandered into a secluded part of Central Park one night and spotted another vampire (they were always immediately recognizable to each other). He was even more surprised when, rather than the traditional solemn nod, the other vamp gave him an enthusiastic wave.

Taken aback, Lovino stopped and gaped a little, which was apparently all the invitation the stranger needed to approach him.

“Hey what’s up haven’t seen you around before my name’s Alfred you can call me Al!”

All one sentence. Spoken without pausing for breath, obviously, but also without even the slightest acknowledgement that there should be pauses between sentences, dammit.

“How old are you?” Lovino demanded instead of introducing himself, which was terribly rude, but the other vamp had started it.

“Uh in like human years or vampire years?”

Oh he had to be recently turned. “Both.”

“Okay, well, I was 19 when I got turnt, haha, but it was back in 1986 soooo I guess I’m 51? Gettin’ up there!”

“Excuse me?”

“What, why, how old are you?”

Lovino felt what little blood he had left from his last meal a few days ago rush to his face in an attempted blush. “What kind of a rude question is that!”

“You asked me first! Hey, are you Italian? You sound kinda Italian.”

Lovino tried to collect himself. “My name is Lovino Vargas, I'm several hundred years old, and yes, I’m originally from Rome.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, causing a fresh wave of resentful blood to course through Lovino’s withered veins. “Oh, one of those old types. Y'all are such sticklers.”

“How is it you’ve been turned for 30 years but your sire or somebody hasn’t taught you any manners?”

“Ha! He tried but I told him noooo thank you, following rules is the opposite of why I got you to turn me into a vampire so you can leave me alone with that nonsense. He was old and British, so you know, if you’ve ever met a British vampire? They are every stereotype you could possibly think of.”

Which, there was a lot to unpack there. But the first thing that came out of Lovino’s mouth, for some reason, was, “Like in the original Dark Shadows TV series.” Incredibly embarrassing, but for some reason this made Alfred light up.

“Yeah! Not the weird movie remake, which I have strong opinions about.” Yeah, Lovino did, too. “Man, I knew you looked cool! Have you watched a lot of vampire stuff? Like What We Do in the Shadows?”

Lovino puffed up a bit. “Of course I have! I’ve seen and read every major and minor piece of vampire media made in the last 200 years. I find it very important to know what the current trends and misconceptions in human media are. You never know when they’ll actually catch on to something.”

Alfred squinted at him, which was ridiculous because they both had perfect night vision and the moon was full, besides. Lovino squinted back.

“That’s a whole lot of media…” Alfred said slowly, sounding exaggeratedly suspicious.

“Well, I have a lot of time on my hands,” was his dry response.

This actually made Alfred laugh. “And he jokes!”

Sometimes, Lovino would actually make jokes about garlic and being Italian when he got food at his favorite pizzeria at 2AM. No one was ever around to appreciate those jokes, though. And he wasn’t about to tell Alfred about it.

Alfred rocked back on his heels, delighted grin on his face. “Every single piece of media, huh? I call bullshit.”

“I have —” he started to protest, but Alfred flapped a hand at him.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you’ve done it, I’m saying I don’t think it was research. Anyone who watches the 2004 Van Helsing movie willingly is doing it because they’re really into that stuff.”

Direct hit. “Better than Twilight,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. This just made the other vamp laugh again.

Wait.

“Hold on just a damn minute, did you say you deliberately got turned?!”

“Yeah, so I could fly!”

Lovino deliberately took a deep breath, turned around to collect himself, and immediately spun back around and shouted, “We can’t fly! Are you nuts?!”

“We can in Castlevania,” Alfred told him matter-of-factly.

Lovino stared at him. “Are you referring to the video game that came out in 1986? That Castlevania?” Then it hit him. “Oh my God, you are. You said you went out and got turned in 1986. Because of Castlevania?!” He was vaguely aware that he was practically screeching, but he was too riled up to care.

“Well yeah, the game was awesome!” Alfred said defensively.

At this point, Lovino devolved into cursing extravagantly in Italian.

Alfred seemed unfazed. “Man, you sound like my brother. Except he yelled at me in French instead of Italian.”

This brought him up short. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah! We’re twins!”

Like him and Feliciano.

“He’s…still alive?”

“Yeah! I always joke he’s waiting until he looks like the older brother before he lets me turn him. Well, now he looks more like my dad when we’re hanging out together.”

“You're in contact with him?”

Out of this entire strange interaction, this was what hit him. It was just so different from what he’d done. He’d been turned into a monster, someone who would never fit back into society. Rather than subject his twin to that, he’d run, and he’d watched from afar, and Feliciano had mourned him and then gotten older and fallen in love and lived happily and then died. And Lovino had never spoken to him that whole time.

This guy had deliberately gotten turned into an immortal, for a power they didn’t even have, after playing a goddamned video game from the 80s. But. He still talked to his brother.

Overwhelmed, Lovino started to take a step back. Alfred must have seen something in his face because suddenly he reached out to grab one of Lovino’s hands in his.

“Oh, but wow, I’ve been so rude!” he exclaimed in a faux-repentant voice. It made Lovino pause long enough, because yeah he had, that Alfred was able to also grab his other hand. “Do you wanna dance?”

Lovino was speechless yet again. “What?” he finally spluttered out. “What kind of manners did this asshole teach you, what the fuck.”

“You’re the one swearing,” Alfred said primly. “Anyway, I took some ballroom dances when I was in college in the 80s, I mean obviously I’m doing night school and online coursework now, but I had the dancing thing down pretty good, at least by college standards. So! Wanna dance?” He phrased it like a question but by the time he was finished speaking he’d already dragged Lovino into a basic waltz.

“You’re out of your mind,” Lovino told him dazedly, unconsciously following the steps as he stared up at this blond madman. “Castlevania.”

Alfred laughed and graced him with another smile — it was quite a nice smile, actually — but didn’t say anything for a minute. “You know,” he said quietly once they’d gotten into a rhythm, cutting over damp grass with light steps, “We always joke about it but I’m pretty sure Mattie’s going to stay human.” Another pause. “At least I have this time with him. I’m a little scared of what I’ll do after he…well. After.”

Lovino considered this with the seriousness it deserved. “Well. You keep living, I guess. Or not, as the case may be.”

Alfred blinked, surprised, and then snorted. “You really do have jokes.” He said it softly. It sounded almost fond.

They were still dancing, but Lovino started to notice the ground felt odd under his feet.

He looked down.

The grass glistened darkly in the moonlight, several yards below them. They crested near the tops of the trees, and Alfred spun him in a way that made the shining lights of the city around the park, just for a moment, look like stars whirling around them.

They were actually flying. The air under his feet was not quite solid; it had a strange sort of give to it but also an elasticity that seemed to push him back up every time he took a step. Lovino gasped, a breath he didn’t need, and then felt a laugh burst out of him in a way that hadn’t happened in at least a few decades.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asked Alfred when he’d managed to contain himself to just a smile. It felt a bit flirtatious on his face, which his dance partner must have picked up on if the way he waggled his eyebrows was any indication.

“You bet! Are you feeling something in that cold, dead heart of yours?”

Lovino looked down and then up through his eyelashes, something he usually did for luring prey. This was more genuine.

“Maybe sometime we should…get a drink. Go dancing again.”

Alfred mock gasped. “Excuse me, I’m only 19 and it’s not legal for me to drink.”

Lovino felt himself snort. At the moment he didn’t care that it was inelegant.

As they started to descend, still slowly turning in circles, Alfred smiled. “I’d love to dance with you, though. If you think you can keep up with me.”

“How rude. You know, as your elder —”

They touched down back on the grass just in time to hear a sharp gasp, the kind that came from someone who actually used the air they took into their lungs.

A man stood on the edge of the clearing they were in, staring in amazement.

Alfred and Lovino looked at each other. Then, graciously, Alfred stood back and indicated he should go first.

Lovino grinned at his companion, feeling his teeth start to elongate.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the burning ember of hope deep inside of him — hope for the future, the centuries stretching out in front of him seemingly without end.

Because maybe he wouldn’t be alone.

With Alfred humming a Van Morrison song from behind him —

— he lunged.

#gifts #2018 #fics #fics 2018 #aph america sin #piratecat #submission

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gaytaztrash · 6 years

Text

Bedtime

A fic based on this post: http://theoppositeofprofound.tumblr.com/post/164769171479/a-concept-lup-being-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night

The moon base had fallen silent hours ago. Every able member of the Bureau had set to work repairing the damage done on the Day of Story and Song, and they’d gotten a lot done, but even three days later, the world was still reeling and exhausted from the shock. Work stopped about the time the sun went down, and everyone was asleep not long after.

Except Lup.

Barry and Taako had put the letter she’d sealed with a kiss over a decade ago now into the pod in the back room of the Fantasy Costco, and from the lingering DNA on the seal a fresh new Lup-body had begun to grow, but it wasn’t nearly inhabitable yet. This spectral form couldn’t meditate the way elves were supposed to. She had discovered that in the cycles after she and Barry had become liches. It hadn’t been pleasant during their journey, and it wasn’t pleasant now. For a little while, the quiet and solitude was peaceful, but after the first few hours of the first night it was boring; there was only so long she could feel content watching Barry snore peacefully or Lucretia toss and turn, and she wanted to give Taako and his spooky boyfriend some privacy. She and Barry were still on shaky ground with this world’s Raven Queen, and she wasn’t going to fuck up their chances of getting off easy by interrupting Kravitz’s private sappy time with her brother. No matter how bad she wanted to get back at Taako for doing the same to her and Barry or to her and Lucretia. They would have to strike a deal before she could ruin his good time.

So instead, she drifted across the Bureau of Balance campus, looking at the repairs that had been finished and what was still left to do, marveling at how much of Lucretia’s personality was reflected in its construction – the grassy quad covered in graceful trees, exactly the sort of place where she had always loved to sit while she watched and wrote in her notebooks; the glass domes, a style of architecture that she had fallen in love with during their…seventy-first? Seventy-second cycle? It was the seventy-second, right. That had been a peaceful one. They had found the Light in a matter of days and spent the rest sightseeing, and Lucretia had asked Lup along to tour one of the biggest cities in that plane. The downtown area had been filled with domes just like these, rising and falling all around and catching the light from the plane’s two suns, reflecting it off in prisms in every direction. She’d filled a whole notebook with sketches of them and conjectures about their construction. Lup could see it as if it were yesterday: Lucretia’s eyes bright as they flickered from the domes back to her notebook, curls falling into her face until Lup pinned them back with one of the dozen or so hairclips she’d learned to bring with her whenever she went out sightseeing with her. She’d been so vibrant, so full of energy, so young. Now she was the Director, and tired, and it would take time before she finally warmed up again. She’d cut her hair so short. She had always said it would be too difficult to deal with long if she hadn’t had the others’ help. But she had whispered to Lup yesterday that she thought she might start to grow it out again now.

It was hard to believe after so long that things were finally right. Lup hoped that if she looked around the campus, silent and peaceful, for long enough, she might finally come to believe it.

There was a light on inside one of the domes.

Lup frowned. It was three a.m. What reasonable living person on the base was up? Gods, she hoped it wasn’t Lucretia again. The woman needed her rest. She drifted closer.

A sign above the door into the dome proclaimed it to be the Bureau of Balance library. The light was coming from deep inside; probably a reading nook. Maybe someone had fallen asleep reading in there? It was probably that nerdlord with the beard. She could wake him up and scare him a bit. That would break the monotony just fine. She drifted inside.

The library oozed Lucretia’s personality, too; the shelves were high and the aisles narrow, muffling sound so that it felt as if it were only her and the books in the world. The shelves opened into little nooks crammed with squashy armchairs and little tables where you could pile your books or set your favorite reading drink (on a coaster, naturally, and away from the books please). It took Lup several wrong turns to track the source of the light to a nook right in the center of the library, and for a moment, she didn’t see anyone there; only piles of books ranging from technical tomes on spellcasting and runes to what looked to be a young adult mystery series. Then she noticed the puff of curly black hair sticking up above the pile. Not the nerdlord; the nerdbaby. It was Angus McDonald. He was awake.

“What the hell are you still doing up, little man?” Lup asked.

Angus jumped and looked up from his book. His eyes were puffy and there were dark circles in the skin underneath them that his glasses didn’t quite cover. It wasn’t a good look for a kid. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry, miss – Miss Lup, I’m sorry, I didn’t think that anyone else was awake and I just couldn’t sleep so I thought –”

“You’re fine, kiddo,” Lup said. “Knock off that ‘Miss Lup’ garbage, though. We fought in a battle together, I think we’re there. Do you know what time it is?”

“Three ten,” Angus said.

“That’s right,” Lup said. “And you’re ten, and I’m going to bet that’s way past your bedtime. I know you’re the closest there is to a responsible adult on this base, but somebody ought to have put you to bed about six hours ago.”

“I tried, Miss, but I couldn’t sleep,” Angus said. “I thought this was a good place to not bother anybody.”

Lup couldn’t exactly sit, incorporeal as she was, but she drifted down into the armchair next to Angus’s and rested there. “You’re too polite for your own good, little man,” she told him. “You’re a smart kid – haven’t you figured out by now how many people on this base care about you?”

Angus looked down. “I…I just don’t want to bother anyone,” he said. “Everyone’s so tired from Story and Song and working to repair the base. The only person who might be up is the Direc… Miss Lucretia, and she needs to sleep, too.”

“You need it as much as she does,” Lup said. She rose. “Come on, Ango, we’re bringing you back to your room and I’ll tuck you in. I’d tell you a bedtime story, but I think Fisher and Junior already told you most of my best ones.” She waved a hand and a bookmark flew in to mark Angus’s spot before the book snapped shut.

“I’m ten years old, I don’t need to be tucked in,” Angus said. He grabbed for the book as Lup moved it back onto the pile, but he missed. “I’m not going to sleep. Please give that back.”

“You’re stubborn. I see why Taako likes you. Nope,” she said, and magicked the whole pile out of reach when Angus grabbed for it again. “You need sleep, kiddo! I’m making it my duty to not leave you alone until you get it.”

“I’m not going to sleep, Miss Lup.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“I just can’t!”

Lup folded her arms. “Well, I’ve got no choice then, have I?” she asked, and cast Sleep.

A soft breeze spun around the armchair that Angus was in. The kid’s eyelids drooped, and he swayed in his seat for a moment; then the breeze faded, Angus blinked, and he frowned at Lup. “Did you just try to magic me to sleep, Miss?”

“…Mayyyyybe,” Lup said. Internally, she swore. Son of a bitch. I thought that would work.

Angus folded his arms. “I appreciate your concern, Miss Lup, but we fought a battle together, I think we’re there.”

Lup stared at him for a moment. Then she broke down laughing. “I like you a lot, little man,” she said. “But you’ve met your stubborn match.” Then she flung the hem of her robe around and vanished from the library.

She reappeared out in the middle of the grassy quad and started to pace. Who would be her best bet in helping to get the kid to bed? Magnus, Merle, and Taako had met him first. Magnus loved him unreservedly, but he could barely be trusted to be responsible for himself. Merle was also untrustworthy; he’d told her about his own children and Lup had had to work not to laugh at the idea. Merle fuckin’ Highchurch, a father of two? And moreover, he refused to admit he liked the kid, although after a hundred years with him Lup knew enough to be able to tell that he really did. Taako liked him, too, but he was more likely to keep him up encouraging him to use his newly-learned magic to play inconvenient and mildly illegal pranks on everyone in the Bureau than to get him to go to bed. Lucretia adored him, but Angus was right: she needed sleep just as much as he did. Lup was sure she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in at least ten years. Barry had only known him a few days. Davenport him had known him as long as Lucretia, but he’d spent most of that time as a shadow of himself. The closest interaction they had had was silently playing chess one day, according to what Davenport had told her. He’d expressed affection for him, but he didn’t know the kid. That, and he was either currently asleep curled around Merle or awake, and if he was awake, Lup didn’t want to think about what was going on in Merle’s chambers.

Magnus. Magnus was the best bet. She sighed, squared her shoulders, and headed for the elevator that led down to the boys’ chambers.

It was dark in there, except for the faint light of the world below coming through the window in the floor. Plants lined every flat surface in the apartment that wasn’t covered in half-finished and completed woodcarvings; faint, long-ingrained smells of meals past emanated from the kitchen. Lup felt a wave of nostalgia hit her. Add several dozen books, scattered pens and notebooks, a few pairs of spare glasses, and instruments and novelties picked up from a hundred worlds, and it was the Starblaster in miniature. They’d forgotten everything, but they hadn’t changed. As soon as they’d come together again, they’d fallen into their old routines without even realizing.

The bedrooms were alcoves on the left side of the room, blocked off from the rest by hanging curtains. Lup made for the one made from wood beads. She brushed through it without rustling the strings – there were benefits to being incorporeal.

A large lump, covered by blankets despite the relative warmth of the night, marked Magnus in the bed. Muffled snoring came from below the pile. It shifted slightly as Lup whispered, “Magnus. Mags. Wake up.”

Magnus muttered something incoherent. Lup repeated his name, a bit louder this time. “I need your help, Maggie.”

The lump shifted again. After Lup called him a few more times, he finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Wassup Lulu?” he mumbled. “It’s the middleufthenight. I was sleepin’.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that,” Lup said. “I need you to give me a hand with something.”

“What d’you need?” he asked.

“Your boy detective,” she said. “He’s in the library and he won’t go to sleep.”

Magnus hid a yawn behind a hand. “You’ve got magic,” he said.

“Little shit resisted. Have I told you how much I love the kid?”

“Uh-huh. ‘Kay, I’ll go with. Lemme find pants.”

Lup sighed. “I was hoping you’d grow out of sleeping nude,” she said. “Do you know how many times I wanted to scrub my eyes out with bleach on the Starblaster?”

Magnus grinned and flipped her off as he got up. Lup turned determinedly away. She heard Magnus rustling around on the floor. “You of all people oughtta get it,” he said. “How much time did you spend without a shirt on after that fantasy HRT kicked in? Same deal.”

“Not the same deal. Boobs and penis are not in the same category of body parts.”

“Whatever.” There was a bit more rustling. Lup kept her eyes averted until she heard a noise that definitely did not come from Magnus. Then she turned. There was still a lump, albeit much smaller, under the blankets, and it was moving.

“Hey Maggie.”

“Huh?”

Lup folded her arms. “Who were you sleeping naked with in your bed?”

“Uh.” Magnus had stopped with his pants halfway zipped. “Tits.”

Lup grinned. She couldn’t see colors in the dark, but she knew Magnus was starting to blush bright red. “You wanna tell me who you’re fucking, my dude?”

As Magnus scrambled for words, the lump moved again, and a head popped out of the mass of blankets. The face was almost covered with a mass of long bedhead curls, but Lup made out a short, curly beard and a pair of squinting, bleary eyes. “Mags?” the person asked in a voice that sounded as if they had a bad head cold. “Wuzgoinon?”

Lup clapped a hand to her mouth, but since they were both spectral, it didn’t do anything to hide her shout of laughter.

“You’re fucking the nerdlord???”

“Great, I’m glad the whole base knows now,” Magnus muttered, flushing deeper and deeper by the second. “Lucas, go back to sleep, apparently Angus won’t go to bed and I’m going to help.”

There were sounds of stirring in the other boys’ bedrooms. Magnus sighed. “Fuck you,” he told Lup.

“Why is he still awake?” Lucas asked blearily. “Do you need a hand, what’s up?” He reached for the bedside table and fumbled for a few seconds before he found his glasses and shoved them back onto his face. Lup had doubled over. She shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t laugh –

Four heads poked through the curtain, one above the other, and Lup lost it. “What the hell is going on in here?” Merle asked. “It’s fucking three in the morning! Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“What in the world is he doing here?” Taako asked, looking at Lucas.

“Would you all please shut up,” Davenport said. “Lup! What’s happening?”

Lup tried to push down her laughter. “I – I was around the base because I can’t sleep like this and I found –” She stopped for a second and held back another peal of laughter – “I found Angus awake in the library and wanted Magnus’s help convincing him to go to bed, and when I came to get him I found – I found –” She burst out laughing again, pointing at Lucas.

Magnus finished zipping up his pants. “I’m fucking coming, let’s just get Ango to bed and then forget about this,” he said.

“No, no, no,” Taako said, “we are not forgetting about this. Since when have you and Lucy there been uhhhhh, doin’ it, huh?”

“Please don’t call me Lucy,” Lucas said.

“Please just go back to sleep, you guys,” Magnus said. “This isn’t a big deal.”

“I would disagree,” Kravitz said.

“Can I please just go make the little kid who is up at three in the morning go to bed?” Magnus asked. He picked another pair of pants up off the floor and threw them at Lucas, who didn’t raise his hands in time and caught them with his face. Lup started howling with laughter again. Taako joined her. Davenport had dropped his head into his hands. Lucas pulled the pants under his pile of blankets and started to put them on.

“Well, we’re all up, we might as well make it a group mission at this point,” Merle said. “You wanna go muscle the kid to sleep, Dav?”

“I guess,” Davenport said through his hands. “Let’s make this quick. I don’t want to think about what I just saw here.”

When Lup led her army of pseudo-parents into the library, she heard faint voices coming from the middle nook where Angus had holed up with his pile of books. She frowned and looked at the others. Most of them shrugged. Davenport cocked his head to listen and then said, “I think that’s Barry and Lucretia.”

Lup sighed. “My useless insomniac partners,” she muttered. “All right, that’s just a couple more we have to put to bed.” She marched through the shelves and stopped in the middle of the nook, looking around at Angus, Barry, and Lucretia.

“Why the fuck are you people all still awake.”

“Dear, please don’t swear in front of Angus,” Lucretia said.

“I work with adults, Miss Lucretia, I’m used to it,” Angus said.

Barry looked around. “So babe,” he said, “not that I mind, but why are all of you here?”

“Well, I was planning to just have Maggie pick the kid up and make him go to bed, but I ended up with a whole lot more backup,” Lup said. “Which is good, because apparently I have to force the two of you to go to sleep, too. What is going on?”

“Miss Lucretia and Mr. Barry couldn’t sleep either and came here,” Angus said. “Why is Mr. Lucas here?”

“You know, that is a good question,” Taako said. “Magnus, why is Mr. Lucas here?”

“Shut the hell up, Taako.”

“Watch your fucking language, Magnus,” Merle said.

“Come on,” Lup said. “Time for bed, all three of you. Get up.”

“Lup, dear, I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself when I’ll go to bed –”

“Lucretia, you look like you haven’t slept since we got to this plane. Magnus, do your thing.”

Magnus picked Angus up out of his chair and slung him over his shoulder fireman-style. Lup caught Taako’s eye and winked; then she snapped and cast Levitation on Lucretia. Taako followed suit and cast on Barry. They both rose from their chairs with cries of protest.

“Come on!” Lup ordered. “We’re all going the fuck to bed!”

She turned and marched with the others out of the library and back towards the elevator.

On the way there, she positioned herself between Kravitz and Lucas, who were helping to push Barry’s and Lucretia’s floating forms along. “Did the kid tell you why he couldn’t sleep?” she asked them.

Lucretia sighed. “He’s had a difficult few days,” she said. “He couldn’t stand being alone in the dark.”

“Lucretia and I were hoping to at least help him fall asleep in the library if he couldn’t fall asleep on his own in his room,” Barry said, “but apparently you had other plans.”

Lup grinned. “I’ve always got a plan of my own, babe, that’s a guarantee,” she said.

Back in the chambers, they collected blankets and pillows from the boys’ rooms and the cushions from the couch and chair and made a sort of nest over the window in the floor. “Nobody is sleeping alone tonight,” Lup declared.

With nine people curled up, the floor was crowded, but it looked incredibly cozy, Lup thought as the lights went out and the others began to fall asleep. She drifted down to occupy a clear space of floor a little bit away. She watched them and smiled.

The nest came again, night after night, and months later, when her body re-formed, she finally joined them. She closed her eyes happily, nestled between Barry and Lucretia, listening to the soft rise and fall of their breath and feeling their warmth against her. It had taken so long to find her family. None of them would ever let go again.

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blatherkatt · 6 years

Text

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 33: Declarations

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Implied/Mentioned abuse, mentions of terrorism, death mention, injury mention, depiction of an emotional breakdown, trauma aftermath; Illustrated; Pesterlog

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

— carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling tipsyGnostalgic [TG] —

CG: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

— tipsyGnostalgic [TG] is an idle chum! —

CG: FUCK YOU, I CAN SEE THAT FOR MYSELF, YOU PIECE OF SHIT PROGRAM. I’M GONNA FUCKING YELL ANYWAY.

CG: I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO PICK ME UP AT NOON. IT’S LIKE, 1:30 AND YOU STILL AREN’T HERE, WHAT GIVES?

CG: IF YOU GOT KIDNAPPED, TOO, I SWEAR TO FUCK I’M PERSONALLY PUTTING THIS ENTIRE GODDAMN FAMILY UNDER PERMANENT WATCH.

CG: I’M NOT ABOVE SITTING ON YOU ASSHOLES IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES.

TG: okay first off i know youre like a literal alien but heres a protip for ya:

TG: general human earth etiquette is to not text people who you know are probably driving?

TG: its like a whole thing

CG: WHY

TG: idk probs because texting while driving’s a great way to fucking crash lol

TG: anyway!!

TG: yeah im real sorry about that mom fucking rang me up like

TG: hi im at the airport come get me!

TG: out of fucking nowhere because everything has to be a fucking hassle with this woman

TG: so i had to go get her

CG: WHY THE FUCK WAS SHE AT THE AIRPORT?

TG: because fuck me is why

TG: and THEN shes like

TG: ooooh i gotta do some mysterious whatthefuckever errand at some mall out in the middle of nowhere

TG: so now im sitting in the parking lot waiting for her to get back which might be a while because her bad leg’s been acting up lately

TG: and thats why im not there yet >:(

CG: WAIT. WAIT, HOLD ON, I’M CONFUSED.

CG: BY “MOM” ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT RACHEL? I DIDN’T EVEN THINK SHE HAD A BAD LEG.

TG: nonono

TG: ray is like. dirk and dave and rose’s mom

TG: i dont call her mom i just call her aunt ray cuz shes not my mom yknow

TG: my mom is aunt ray’s sister

TG: aunt ramona? they talk about her?

CG: OOOOOOH. YEAH.

CG: THE WOMAN WHO WRITES THOSE SHITTY SUPERNATURAL ROMANCE BOOKS KANAYA LOVES.

TG: hahaha yeah her trashy shit is great

CG: SHE’S HERE?

TG: apparently!!!!!!!!

CG: I’M SENSING SOME BITTERNESS.

TG: ugh its fine she just always does shit like this

TG: womans always gotta make a fuckin entrance even if that means not telling anyone shes coming

TG: and its goddamn annoying as shit!!

TG: but its fine i get it shes here to help out and we are kinda all hands on deck

TG: speaking of tho i heard something about kanaya not coming along after all?

CG: NOT YET, NO.

CG: SHE’S BEEN TALKING TO ROSE, AND APPARENTLY DAVE’S BEEN PRETTY UNEASY WITH THE NUMBER OF NEW FACES AT THE HIVE.

CG: HOUSE. WHATEVER.

CG: TEREZI’S PROTECTION DETAIL HAS HIM KIND OF ON EDGE, I GUESS?

CG: SHE’S GONNA COME AROUND LATER PROBABLY. AND MIGHT END UP STAYING WITH PORRIM AND KEEP IT TO VISITS, AT LEAST UNTIL THINGS SETTLE DOWN A BIT.

CG: SO IT’S JUST ME FOR NOW.

TG: ooooh yeah geez i bet

TG: poor dave :( :( :(

TG: i gotta tell you and mom some uh. serious shit about him when i pick you both up

TG: id pass it on here but its probs better if i just tell you face to face?

CG: OH, WONDERFUL!

CG: MORE NO DOUBT HORRIFIC NEWS REGARDING DAVE.

CG: I CAN’T WAIT. THIS PANIC ATTACK’S GONNA BE ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOKS, I CAN JUST FEEL IT!!!

TG: :(

TG: tl;dr hes not in great shape but hes getting better but theres some stuff we gotta go over

TG: jfc mom what the fuck are you doing its been ages

CG: SO WAIT. SHE JUST HAD YOU DRIVE HER OUT SOMEWHERE AND WALKED OFF ALONE?

TG: yeah

TG: woman can take care of herself just fine so like im not worried??

TG: but still, like. cmon woman!!! whatever it is hurry up a little

TG: it cant be that important we got places to be

In terms of location, it was almost an outlet mall; somewhat detached from the nearest city and surrounded by forest. It was mostly all one building, positioned in a dip in the ground next to a clear stream, and these features had helped make it a serviceable fortress during the invasion, although Derek had regularly complained that he’d have preferred a site that held the high ground. Still, they’d made do; the roof was high enough that one could see for quite some distance, the stream offered fresh water, the trees provided decent enough cover during skirmishes, and the walls were thick enough to turn away most weather and weapons. It hadn’t been much, but it had served well enough as home for six years for around threescore ragtag survivors-turned-fighters.

Out in the surrounding forest, those who hadn’t survived that conflict still lay buried in pitiful graves marked only with a stone or a chunk of wood. There hadn’t been time to properly put anyone to rest; it had been risky enough for two or three people to slip out during a stretch of quiet with a shovel and a body. They simply hadn’t been able to afford to have any sort of formal burial, not with the threat of an attack constantly looming.

Even so, even so…

Derek had picked a spot he would remember.

In life, the oak tree would have been the kind people would have thought of as a monarch, with branches spread wide and gnarled wood ancient and strong, holding children in its branches as easily as if they were made of nothing; but the tree had already been dead by the time the invasion started, a great, ancient, dried-out husk. Even so, decades later, it still stood, its branches reaching toward the sky, the other trees forming a circle around it as though too respectful to come too close. Mushrooms and trails of greenery crept about a quarter of the way up the ancient trunk.

At its roots, a rotting wooden spar stuck up out of the ground. This, too, had been reclaimed by flowers, grasses and mushrooms, decorating the splintered and decayed timber with dark summer greens and pale white-and-lavender blooms.

Derek Strider, down on one knee with his sheathed sword held in his right hand, sighed. Of course, the trouble with having to bury the dead so hastily meant that there’d been no one to look over the graves, so it was to be expected that it be in such disrepair, but even so, seeing this one choked out by the invading flora was…

It wasn’t right.

Overhead, the ancient branches rustled slightly, and the raucous calling of a bird broke the silence. Derek narrowed his eyes and ignored it, tried to write the disrespectful noise out of the scene.

The crow seemed to have other ideas. The bird lighted down on the wooden grave marker, red eyes fixed on Derek’s face. It flapped its wings a few times, cawing incessantly. Derek scowled, unsheathed his sword, and struck —

The blade passed through the bird with no resistance whatsoever. The creature’s body split in two, bloodlessly, as though Derek had cut through smoke — it even looked like smoke, like a cloud cut in two by a passing jet. As Derek looked on, uncomprehending and with a growing sense of dread, the bird’s body seemed to pull itself back together, a video played in reverse, and the bird’s accusatory squawks started up again as though nothing had happened.

Derek was on his feet in an instance, stepping away from the beast, and as he did, he happened to look up…

Perched on nearly every branch of the old tree were ravens. Unlike the crow, they were all silent, and aside from the occasional shifting of a foot or tilting of a head, motionless. Scores of staring animal eyes bored into him.

Derek had never been a superstitious man, but nor was he the sort of fool to ignore the truth his own eyes showed him. He’d spent six years fighting alongside a witch, and seen enough to learn that some things really couldn’t be explained away as coincidence.

Had it been anyone else, he would have responded to the sound of footsteps approaching this site with a furious attack; even Ben knew better than to disturb him here. But when he whirled to face the intruder, he froze.

She’d aged more since he’d last seen her than he would have expected. Hints of silver streaked her hair, and she leaned heavily on her gnarled black cane. A faint breeze stirred the black fabric of her dress, playing with the light shawl laying across her shoulders. The crow had fallen silent.

“Put that thing away before you take someone’s eye out,” said Ramona, nodding nonchalantly at Derek’s sword.

Derek narrowed his eyes, and did not respond aloud, instead choosing to slowly and deliberately slide the sword back into its sheathe. Only after his left hand had returned to his side did Ramona nod and continue.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now we can talk things over like reasonable adults. Mind you, I ought to do the world a favor and wipe you out right now,” and Derek took a slow, deep breath at that, as she continued, “But I’d prefer not to desecrate your brother’s grave by staining it with your blood. I respect him far too much for that. You, however, have somehow managed to exceed all of my worst expectations to a nearly unfathomable degree, as of late. I’ve held off on this confrontation out of respect for the past, but I can see now that this was a mistake.”

Derek shifted. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect our damn planet, Ramona,” he started, but was cut off.

“Really?” she said, “Well, then. I’m not about to attempt to ask you to cease killing trolls, as we both know that would be pointless, but I would very much like to know how exactly burning your own son alive plays into your grand battle strategy?”

“He…he turned on us,” Derek said, through gritted teeth, “He forced my hand, left me no choice!”

“He is a child!” Ramona snapped. “And you, of all people, should know better! If you really must follow this path of self-destruction to its end, fine, but he should never have been involved!”

“I—”

“And in any case, you had a perfectly good sword on hand, I’m sure. If young Dave really did need to die, you could have executed him with minimal pain, but no, you wanted him to hurt, to know he was dying and to fear you and suffer as he passed. How do you justify that, Derek? How does anyone, especially a child, deserve anything of the sort?”

The eyes of the ravens and that damned crow still drilled into him. He could feel the stares on his back, but kept his eyes locked on Ramona’s, refusing to back down.

He wasn’t going to take back what he’d done. There’d be no guilt, he’d done nothing wrong except overreact a bit. It was justified. That…that boy wasn’t Dave. Ramona was using the name like a blade, but she’d not win that way. He didn’t deserve the fucking name, didn’t deserve to have anything to do with Dave, he never would have let Rachel name the kid that if he’d known he was going to grow up to be such a pathetic, useless little coward.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” said Ramona, folding her hands over the top of her cane. “I’ve a fairly good idea, in any case.” She sighed. “The war is over, Derek. The time to put aside this violence and misery is long since behind us. Our children do not deserve to grow up as we did.”

“The trolls are still here,” Derek spat.

There was a long silence. Ramona sighed again.

“Fine, then,” she said, “So be it. Do as you will. Chase violence as long as you like. But if you come near my family again, I will consider it an act of war.”

She turned, and he was tempted to take the bait, to try attacking her while her back was turned, but he held still. It was infuriating, knowing what a pointed insult turning her back on him was, knowing that she knew he would not risk attacking her—but she was right. She was much too dangerous.

“Come along, little one,” she said, abruptly. The crow rose off the grave and flew to land on top of Ramona’s cane. If Derek had cared to pay any attention, he might have noticed the crow look back at him with something like regret in its eyes, but Derek was already far too lost in his own thoughts.

As one bird, the ravens took wing, dispersing in all directions, leaving him alone again.

The trouble with trying to go from Alternian to English was a multifaceted one, to be sure, but so far the most obnoxious piece of it that Karkat could see was the tendency of guides on how to speak English to simply use the closest Alternian equivalent as an English word’s translation. More and more, the two languages were notably extremely different, and while he could speak English well enough that he’d never had any serious problems, there were any number of words that he kept tripping over as a result of a translation being extremely unclear and culturally misleading.

Witches, for instance, were clearly something very different on Earth. The Alternian word that was translated to English as “witch” was, like most Alternian words, a series of noises in the ‘click and growl’ family that most humans lacked the anatomy to create, and generally refered to certain lowblood prophets and healers in Alternian folklore. They were those who lived away from society and who, through some lucky genetics and convenient psychic powers, were able to fend of drones and effectively disappear from the world at large’s knowledge. They kept to themselves, sought to harm no one who didn’t attack them first, offered shelter to the weak and the hunted, and as such were always portrayed as utterly despicable beings in fiction, as no writer with any sense of self-preservation had dared to portray such reckless treachery under the rule of the last Condesce. There might have been some changes to the lore under the new one’s rule, but things like that changed slow.

In any case, they certainly weren’t anything like the old woman in a shawl who was sitting next to Roxy in the front of her car.

She was dressed all in black, for one thing. Alternian witches didn’t tend to wear much black. Some Alternian witches didn’t tend to wear all that much clothing at all, really. Most seemed to belong to ancient religions that weren’t particularly fond of shirts.

Ramona was definitely magic as shit, though, Rachel’d been right about that much. Was that all a witch was on Earth, just someone with magic? Fuck, if that were the case, then probably like at least a third of all trolls were witches by Earth’s standards. Then again, maybe magic was another poorly translated word? English didn’t seem to have a word to separate “things that we (read: trolls) know exist, like psychic powers and psiionics and ghosts and chucklevoodoos,” and “things that are super fake and don’t actually happen ever and make no sense.”

Whatever. In any case, Ramona didn’t look at all like Karkat had expected, and when he climbed into the back of the car, she didn’t react to his presence with anything stronger than an amiable nod. She seemed to have her mind on other things, and was largely silent at first.

Roxy wasn’t; she immediately piped up happily as Karkat swung open the door with a “Hey, man! Sorry about taking so long! Can you, uh, do me a favor and check on Jaspers? He’s in the carrier behind Mom, Rose asked me to pick him up while she and Aunt Ray were gone. He’s been missing them a lot, all staring out the window and kneading his blanket and shit, and he’s not a huge fan of car rides.”

“He’s asleep,” Karkat said after glancing into the little crate.

“Awesome. Alright, buckle up and we’ll get this damn show on the road.”

“On the road again, just can’t wait to get on—”

Karkat tilted his head as the car’s radio abruptly changed from quietly playing some human pop song over to something much louder and completely different. Ramona stifled a snort as Roxy stabbed a button, switching the radio back to the previous channel.

“No, thank you,” she said, glaring. “Christ, the fuck is with this thing today, I swear to god.”

“I suppose it may simply be getting into the spirit of things,” said Ramona with a smile. As the car pulled away from the curb, she turned back a bit to face Karkat. “It’s Karkat, isn’t it? Rachel’s been sending me any number of emails with updates, and from the sound of things, you’ve been rather instrumental in bringing young Dave back into the fold, so to speak.”

“…Into the what?”

“It’s a figure of speech, meaning in this case that you’ve helped us return him home as well as helping him to adjust to being there,” she said. “For which you have all of our heartfelt thanks. Ours is perhaps not the most functional of families, but it is ours, and as I’m sure you’ve seen firsthand, ripping away a piece of it the way Derek did has had some very painful consequences for all involved. We owe you a great deal.”

“Yeah, man!” Roxy said. “And from what Rose has been telling me, you were kind of a big part of why he finally spilled what he knows. Which, he did bee-tee-dubs, which means he’s off house arrest finally, so that’s good—”

“—And a partridge in a pear tree,” the radio crackled.

“What the fuck? It’s August,” Roxy scowled. She turned the radio off altogether as Ramona glanced hurriedly out the window.

“Speaking of Dave,” Karkat said, hopefully before anyone got distracted again, “Roxy, you mentioned that there was something that you needed to say face to face?”

“Right, shoot, yeah,” said Roxy. The car turned onto the long road that led eventually to the Lalonde hive. “Okay, so, like. There’s definitely some shit you should know before we get there, but I wanna preface it all real clearly by saying that Dave’s okay, y’know? He’s got a lot of healing to do, but the doctors said that as long as he’s looked after and we change bandages and shit and he gets plenty of rest, he’s definitely not in any danger anymore. He’s…weak, but he’s not like gonna keel over at any moment, okay?”

“Not actually making me feel any better, Roxy!” said Karkat. Oh, boy, with a preface like that…

“Well, fuck, I tried, I guess. Uh. So, Dave did get hurt…pretty bad, and there were some other complications—oh, for fuck’s sake!!”

“Watch me, watch me, hey, watch me, watch me!” The radio was louder than ever. Ramona’s hand flew up, poorly hiding a grin.

Karkat leaned around Roxy’s seat to glare at her.

“What the fuck, Roxy,” said Karkat.

“I’m not doing this!” Roxy said, waving her hand wildly. “I swear to fuck, I wouldn’t! I really do need to pass on some shit about poor Dave, and the radio’s never done this before? It’s been acting up since a little before we picked you up, keeps changing on its own and shit, augh!”

She fought with the controls, but the song stopped only for a moment before getting even louder.

“Why the fuck do you humans even have this obnoxious song?! Who listens to this?? It’s literally just some squawking wiggler screeching for its lusus’s attention!”

“I mean, I kinda love it for that honestly, it’s terrible and stupid and wonderful, but like, come the fuck on??? What’s with this thing?! Now is not the time!”

“Ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass—“

“GOD, that’s even worse!!” Roxy yelled, slamming her fist down on the dashboard. “Fucking stop!!”

“That’s enough for now,” Ramona said, almost murmuring it.

The radio turned off. Karkat and Roxy both turned a suspicious eye on Ramona, and with equal simultaneity, decided to drop it for now.

“Anyway,” Roxy said slowly, “What I was trying to say is, um…Karkat, do you know what it means for someone to ‘flatline?’ Because, um. Dave kinda did, for like, a minute and a half.”

Karkat shook his head, realized Roxy probably couldn’t see him with her eyes on the road, and said, “Uh, I have no idea what that word means, no.”

“Well, um…”

“It refers to a heart monitor indicating that the heart has ceased beating,” Ramona said. “The machine indicates activity with a line which shows peaks and valleys, and it goes flat when that activity has stopped, thus, ‘flatline’. The organ we call a heart serves an equivalent function to what trolls call a ‘blood pusher’ or a ‘pump biscuit.’”

Karkat felt for a moment like his own pump biscuit had stopped.

“Shit, Mom, when did you get so good at translating to trolls?” Roxy murmured.

Ramona shrugged. “I’ve made efforts to reach out,” she said. “The war ended, after all, and since we’re allies now, it doesn’t hurt to learn about each others’ cultures.”

“His fucking—What?!” Karkat screeched, unable to keep the harsh buzzing whine out of his voice. God, that was such a moirail noise, and any other time he’d have yelled at himself for not keeping it under control, but not now, not when… “His fucking blood pusher stopped and I’m supposed to be calm!?!”

“They got it moving again!” Roxy said. “He’s okay now, the doctors said it was going strong! It was, um, mostly just exhaustion, they think? Like, the burn wounds could’ve killed him on their own, sure, but they got on those quick enough that if he’d been healthy to begin with he probably wouldn’t have been so bad off? But between ten years of, you know…and just, apparently he hasn’t been eating enough even while he’s been back with us? And Ray’s gonna get on his ass about that, but, just—look, the thing is, Dirk doesn’t know about this yet, and Aunt Ray’s asked that we try to keep it that way, and I don’t really get why but I think she has her reasons?”

Karkat was definitely hyperventilating, oh fuck, oh fuck—Ramona’s hand reached back to touch his own, snapping him out of it.

“It’s fine to be worried,” she said, gentle. “I promise you, though, it is as Roxy says: he’ll be fine given time to recover and the safety with which to do so. He’ll be alive when we get there.” She sat back in her chair, turning towards the road again. “As for Dirk, I suspect Rachel is waiting for things to settle down before breaking it to him gently. He is, for better or worse, very like his father, and Derek handled his brother’s death poorly, in large part because at the time we could not afford to mourn. Rachel probably wants to make sure that Dirk does not feel he has to force himself to be strong when she tells him.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Roxy muttered. “Anyway, the main thing about that is that he’s not got a lot of energy right now, so don’t…take it personally if he just falls asleep on you sometimes? Especially with the painkillers he’s on, apparently that’s a side effect, too. He can walk short distances, but he gets wobbly quick and needs help sometimes, so there’s that too.”

“Fuck,” said Karkat, softly.

The next ten minutes of the ride were carried out in tense silence. This was broken by the radio once again bursting back on and blasting the ass song again, at which point Roxy threatened to pull over and smash the fucking thing to smithereens.

By the time they actually got to the fucking house, Karkat felt like his soul was going to vibrate right out of his fucking body with impatience. They had yet another delay in the form of Terezi’s protection detail—Terezi herself wasn’t there, but some officers were, and they insisted on knowing about any weapons the three of them had as well as names, and went in to check with the family while making them all wait outside by the car. Karkat already had his fucking bag in hand, he was ready to go, but no, they had to go through this tedious procedure! Sure, it was probably a smart move, and when he was feeling a little more sensible he’d be more okay with it as it was the sort of thing that probably would make them all feel a bit safer (especially poor fucking Dave), but right now the were a pain in the ass and he was going to fucking explode!!! If they didn’t!!! Let him get in the fucking hive!!!!!

Rose stepped out as they were still talking to the police, and for the first time in his life Karkat was unspeakably happy to see her. She quickly confirmed to the police that all three of them were in fact expected and trusted by this household, and then gently let Jaspers out of his carrier. The cat immediately yowled and threw himself into her arms, kneading at her shoulders and rubbing his face against hers, and it all would have been super cute if Karkat didn’t have his mind on other fucking things.

“Come on in,” Rose said, nodding towards the door. “Dirk’s on the couch and Dave’s in Mom’s room, as neither of them can handle stairs right now and Dave needs his bandages changed at least twice a day. Karkat, do you—”

She was talking to air. He was already in the fucking door.

And then had to face the fact that he’d never actually been to Rachel’s room. Fuck. Rachel was coming up the hall, though, and a slightly bewildered young human (wait, fuck, that was Dirk, what happened to his hair? It looked so weird hanging down like that instead of spiked up) was sitting on the couch with an Earth husktop on his lap. Roxy pushed in the door with Ramona right behind her, dropped a heavy wheeled bag right next to the door, and immediately launched herself at Dirk, who gave a startled yelp as she did so.

Rachel rested a hand on Karkat’s shoulder as she passed him, rushing up toward Ramona throwing her arms around her shoulders. The two shared a long hug, and Rachel kissed Ramona’s cheek.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Karkat heard Rachel murmur, before Rose tapped his shoulder.

“I was asking if you knew where Mom’s room is,” Rose said.

“Uh.”

“It’s down the hall to the observatory, but you take a left before you get to it. Make sure to make plenty of noise on the way over, Dave gets really jumpy when he’s the only person in that room. He can’t block the door since we need to be able to come in and out, and it’s got him a bit on edge.”

Karkat nodded, unable to get any words out past the lump in his throat. He more or less just dropped his bag on the ground and pushed past, zooming around toward the room indicated. Dave looked half-asleep when Karkat pushed the door open, and waved as he sat up with some effort.

God, the photo Rose had taken didn’t do justice to how fucking bad he looked. There were bruises across his face and neck turned a weird greenish-gray but still dark against his skin, and bandages everywhere, his hair was a mess (although that might have just been from sleeping). He was in some oversized shirt with an Earth hoofbeast on the front that was probably Dirk’s judging by the size, and Karkat had no idea why Dave had it on but right now he didn’t care.

“Hey, man, uh. Shit’s been crazy, huh?” Dave said with an awkward grin. He didn’t have his shades on either, which made sense if he’d been sleeping, except they weren’t on the bedside table (which did instead contain a nearly empty glass of water, several bottles of pills and salves, and a first aid kit from which clean cloth bandages overflowed).

Two weeks of emotion boiled over all at once. Wordless, Karkat stomped across the room and grabbed Dave’s stupid fucking shirt in both hands and tugged him close.

“It was three days, Dave,” Karkat hissed.

“Wha—?”

“Three days! And you got yourself fucking kidnapped by a terrorist on day goddamn two!! What the fuck, Dave?!” His voice was threatening to abandon him, but Karkat forced it right back into place by sheer willpower. This tangent would not be fucking stopped, hell no. “I take my eyes off of you for two days, and you get yourself into shit again! What the fuck!!! Do you have any idea how-how fucking agonizing it’s been waiting for news?! And you’re just sitting there like ‘Oh, hey! What’s up?’ What’s up is my foot up your waste chute, you hopeless fucking—!” Okay, nope, his voice was leaving after all, actually. He felt tears roll down his face, and he should’ve been more worried about that, but Dave already knew about his blood color and he was the only troll in the house right now, so, fuck it, fuck it all! Helpless, he tugged Dave closer again, letting his face press against that stupid shirt, claws still twisted into the fabric as he sobbed.

“Holy shit,” Dave muttered.

“I was so fucking scared,” Karkat gasped. This was pathetic, they weren’t remotely a couple, Karkat had no right to be this worked up and he knew it, but…Dave wasn’t exactly pushing him away, either, was he?

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t even…It wasn’t planned this time, it just sorta happened, and Dirk got hurt, and I…”

“I’m not actually angry at you, despite having so much right to be that legislacerators everywhere have preemptively declared me innocent. I’m just fucking screaming for the sake of it, dumbass.”

“Oh.”

The awkward pause that followed was filled with only the sound of Karkat’s weeping, which, fuck, he was probably too fucking embarrassed to tell him off. Except…Dave’s hand lifted up to rest gently against Karkat’s back, so, maybe he didn’t mind that much? Was that wishful thinking?

“Sorry for this,” he said, just in case, as he pulled away a bit. “It’s really fucking embarrassing, I know, I just…”

“It’s cool, man,” said Dave. Then, with a wink, he said, “I know you got your massive Strider homocrush, it’s only natural—”

“Dave, I swear to fuck, injured or not, I will pummel you into dust with a fucking pillow, don’t test me!” Karkat snapped.

Dave snorted. “Hey, man, it’s fine, everyone’s allowed to be a lil gay sometimes with their friends, it’s only natural.”

“I’ll ‘natural’ you!! Motherfucker, I spent the two weeks worrying about your wellbeing and you come at me with more of this bullshit!!”

Dave cackled with laughter. Karkat rolled his eyes and sniffled. He feigned annoyance as best he could, but, God, it was such a relief to hear Dave laugh. Rubbing a sweater sleeve furiously across his eyes, Karkat pulled back, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Okay, but seriously, what’s with the shirt?” he asked, gesturing at the floating head of the hoofbeast. It wasn’t even a joke or a drawing. It was just…a straight photo of a hoofbeast’s face, with no text or explanation of any sort. What the fuck??

Dave glanced down, and snickered. “Oh, shit. Uh, yeah, we needed something that’s easy to get me in and out of, since the bandages on this fuckin’ burn need to be changed like, a lot, not to mention the gross-ass cream they have us slathering all over it on the regular. We tried a button down, but the buttons were kinda chafing, and like…who the fuck wants to ruin a fancy shirt with gross burn juices, right? And Dirk’s shit is more comfortable, and this one’s big enough that it’s real easy to take off even if I’m high on the damn painkillers.”

Karkat winced slightly, but decided not to comment. The scream from the video echoed somewhere in his think pan. “Where’re your shades?”

“Bro fuckin’ stepped on them or something, man, I dunno. They fell off at some point, and they were already cracked before all that, and Terezi just found pieces. Which fucking sucks, I mean God dammit, those were a gift from John. Shit sucks.”

“John?” Karkat tipped his head.

“Yeah, he’s like, an old friend of mine. Have I not mentioned him to you? Whatever, he, uh.” Dave scratched at the side of his head. “He was an online friend from before Bro started doing the, uh, raid shit, and I kept talking to him and another friend, Jade, for a while afterwards even though I wasn’t supposed to?”

“Jade’s name I remember,” Karkat said.

“Haha, yeah, yeah cuz I told you about…anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I guess since Dirk’s college is starting up again soon, not that he’s going for the first couple weeks with his leg and a fucking concussion, but, it’s starting up, and John’s sister goes there too, and he’s gonna come with so we’ll be able to hang out for a bit? Which is fuckin’ rad, I haven’t even talked to the guy in three years and we’re finally meeting in person.”

“You want him to be here? While you’re this badly injured?” Karkat yelped.

Dave blinked at him like he’d just grown a secondary head.

“I mean, yeah?” Dave said. “Like, yeah, I’m not in great shape and I guess it’ll be a lil weird for him to see me like this, but I’ve missed him.” Before Karkat could press the question further, though, Dave yawned. “Ugh, fuck, I wanna keep talking, but I’m…halfway to falling asleep, shit.”

“Oh,” said Karkat. He got up, ready to leave. He wanted to stay, wanted to curl himself around Dave’s obnoxiously lanky frame as best he could and protect this fragile idiot human from the entire universe, but…it wasn’t his place, was it? No.

“You leaving?” said Dave, rubbing at his unbruised eye.

“You said you wanna sleep,” Karkat said.

“Right. Uh. Could you, like…fill this back up for me, then, I guess?” Dave said.

“…Sure,” said Karkat.

He was…still confused, but Dave was tired, so he didn’t press. But he couldn’t wrap his head around wanting a friend around while he was so injured—well, he’d wanted Karkat around, hadn’t he? He’d seemed happy to see him, aside from the, uh, yelling. Still, it didn’t make sense! Every troll knew as a small child that the only people you could trust when you were injured were your lusus, your moirail, and maybe your matesprit! Anyone else might take advantage of the weakness and kill you, that was just basic logic! But Dave didn’t even seem to be thinking about it.

And…and yet, come to think of it, Roxy’d been awfully forthright about how bad Dave’s condition was. Hell, she’d heard it from Rose, who seemed like the one most likely to know not to spread that weakness, but the humans were all sharing it and passing it around. It wasn’t just that they didn’t seem to care who knew that Dave and Dirk were injured, it was like they wanted people to know.

And as he filled up the glass of water in the kitchen, he watched as Roxy and Dirk talked on the couch, as Dirk told her that he’d passed on the news of their condition to Jane already, that Rose had told her and Dave’s friends, and it just kept going. Everyone had to be up to date on the fact that both brothers were injured and vulnerable, and yet…

“I hope the flight wasn’t too long,” Rachel was saying to Ramona.

“Nothing would be too long right now,” she said in turn, blowing gently on a cup of tea that Rachel had just poured her. “Times like these, we all need to do our part. I know I might not be able to do much, mind you. My leg’s been acting up something fierce, as of late, but I’ll do whatever I can.”

Something clicked. All at once, the curtains pulled back and Karkat saw the whole picture—saw maybe not what it always was, and certainly not what the Lalondes achieved on any sort of regular basis, but what it was supposed to be, how it was meant to work.

On Alternia, everyone lived in constant competition. Trolls had to be strong as close to all the time as they possibly could, or at the very least find a moirail who could, because otherwise their society wouldn’t particularly care much if they died. That just meant they didn’t deserve to be a part of the gene pool or to contribute to society. If they were injured badly and left vulnerable, it was seen as normal for others to take advantage of that weakness and exert power or outright kill a rival. It was how they survived so long, or so the cultural narrative had so long stated: by this competition, the strongest survive. Nevermind that this survival was built on the corpses of uncountable trolls who didn’t make the cut, it Worked.

As a result, trolls had been bewildered just as Karkat had by how humans as a species managed to be so frail and yet so reckless and to still survive, especially when they didn’t exactly have the kind of numbers that trolls did. Humans lacked the numbers to be expendable, lacked the strength and toughness that kept Trolls alive, and yet they looked Death in the eye and pointed and laughed, and pushed themselves to extremes for no purpose other than to have some warped idea of fun. It was a question that had lingered around his consciousness for ages; how the fuck do humans even work as a species? How had such a seemingly doomed race not died off yet?

The answer that hit him now, as he watched Roxy help Dirk stand up and balance himself on a pair of crutches, was that humans didn’t have to be strong all the time, and that was the magic of their little social units, their families—they took care of each other. No one person had to be good at everything, or so good at one thing that it could keep them safe in any situation. It didn’t matter that their skin was thin or that they weren’t particularly strong or fast, they always, always had others around who would pick up the slack, others who would come even across oceans to offer what aid they could in times of strife; they weaved together all their strengths and weaknesses into a fabric able to withstand just about anything. Fuck, no wonder they’d wanted Dave back so badly. The Lalondes may have been less a tapestry and more a patchwork quilt, but it was still their quilt, and Dave was a part of it….

He felt a near-agonizing pang of envy that he didn’t have a quilt of his own. Humans might have been stupid about a lot of things, but this…this they’d gotten right.

“Fucking water? Is that really the best you could think of? Fucking dumbass,” Dave muttered to himself. God. This was stupid. This was all really fucking stupid. He couldn’t even deal with being alone while he was asleep, for Chrissakes! Too scared of nightmares of a big mean dog, like some fuckin’ little kid.

Yeah, he was tired, but he really, really didn’t wanna be alone right now, was the thing. Not with that fucking troll-drug-induced nightmare lingering around the edges, waiting to chase him down again at its first chance. But. Like. Karkat was kind of right? Bros don’t watch each other sleep, that’s fuckin’ creepy. Like. Okay, so maybe they’d done a bit of that way back when Karkat had been kidnapped, but they didn’t have a choice back then, and anyways they mostly slept at the same time during that experience, which was super different from just asking his best alien friend to fuckin’ hold his hand so the bad dreams wouldn’t get him. Fuck.

So he’d asked Karkat to refill his glass, even though he wasn’t thirsty right now, because it was an excuse to make Karkat come back, at least for a few more minutes, and they could talk for a bit, and maybe Dave’d stop being tired, wouldn’t that be rad.

Karkat came back in looking really thoughtful. He handed the glass over, and Dave took a sip to try and look like he hadn’t been 100% bullshitting there, and mumbled a thanks as he set it down. Then, just as a thought, he jerked his head toward the rest of the bed—it was a big king-sized one, probably left over from before the divorce and Mom had just never downsized or whatever, so there was a lot of space to Dave’s right—and told Karkat he could sit down if he wanted, Dave wasn’t gonna, like, pass out right this minute or anything, haha.

Karkat stayed quiet, which was fuckin’ weird, but he did sit down. He stared at the sheets for a minute, and then spoke up suddenly, saying, “I think I get it.”

“Get what?” said Dave.

“Why they wanted you back so bad,” said Karkat. “I mean, way back when you were first arrested. I kind of fought with Dirk over it at one point, because my only experience with the word Dirk used for why you should be with him was fucking Strider. And also I think I get why this shit all works, for humans in general. I mean, I’m probably just saying obvious shit, but it’s not how trolls work, we don’t take care of each other, not like this.”

Dave tipped his head.

“I mean with the whole fucking family thing,” Karkat said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been trying to get it this whole time, but this shit’s used to justify so much bullshit with you humans, and I think I get it now, and why it’s so fucking important to you as a species.”

Dave snorted. “Dude, it’s not that big a thing—”

“It is, though! It just seems normal to humans because it’s how you always work, but, Dave, I’m serious, back on Alternia it’s every troll for themself. Maybe you have one person who has your back if you’ve got a moirail, maybe some are lucky like me and have friends who are actually consistently on your side and won’t take the first chance they get to kill you or fuck you up some other way, but we definitely don’t have a whole cluster of others we can just fall back on any time we’re met with something we can’t handle alone.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Dave started, but Karkat just kept going. Apparently he’d had some sort of fuckin’ epiphany in the past two minutes.

“It took me so fucking long to get this, but I get it now! You know what I don’t get, though, is why the fuck you ever tried to convince me that Strider is part of your fucking family.”

Something in Dave dropped like a stone.

He’d…had a similar thought, really. Repeatedly. Multiple times, over the past week or so. He’d been kind of trying to avoid it, because every time it popped up, he got really stressed out.

“And don’t give me any of the bullshit about being ‘related’ or what the fuck ever, I don’t wanna hear it,” Karkat kept right on going. “I still don’t get why you humans care so much about that. The whole point of this family thing is that you all take care of each other, not that you’re related or whatever! Your aunt’s here, did you know that? She flew across an entire fucking ocean just to make sure she could help out you and Dirk! What the fuck did Strider ever do for you?”

It was a good question. And the answer, of course, was: aside from trying to kill him, do you mean? Hahaha.

Karkat was still talking, but Dave wasn’t really hearing him. Fuck, this had been a mistake, he should’ve taken his chances with the fucking nightmare dog. That was better than this old song and dance with his own thoughts.

The facts were pretty simple. He’d operated under pretty clear logic when he went up against Bro: We’re family, so he loves me, so therefore if I ask him to let me leave and explain that I really can’t deal with this, he’ll let me go. Except, Bro had tried to kill him, which meant that…

That was as far as Dave ever got. He couldn’t think any farther than that.

He felt like…like the next thought should be obvious, but he couldn’t make himself think it. It was too big—not so much a square peg in a round hole as it was trying to cram a grain silo into a pinhole, and the thought threatened to overwhelm and destroy him, so instead of thinking it, his brain kept rejecting it, the effect being like a broken record skip-skip-skipping, over and over, repeating the last thought he could get to before the Big One, because he couldn’t not think the Big One, either…

It was so fucking stupid, it was just a thought, why couldn’t he…

“Hah, yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I was always kinda wrong about this shit, wasn’t I?” Dave said, unable to stop the sardonic laughter bubbling up in his throat. “I mean, fuck, no wonder it took you so long to get, I probably gave you the wrong idea. My dumb ass was convinced he’d never try to kill me, cuz we’re family, and, well, here we fuckin’ are!”

Skip, skip, skip—

Karkat was still talking in stuttered phrases in the gaps of Dave’s own flood of words, looking almost scared, but Dave didn’t comprehned any of them, and anyway, the ranting had started, there was no stopping this shit now. “Like, what the fuck was I even thinking, right? I really thought that was gonna work, that somehow he’d just let me go if I asked, like a fucking idiot! Haha, what a fuckin’ dipshit, right?! And here I was thinking he—” Frantic laughter bubbled up, overtaking the words, not that more would’ve come, that next thought was just too big. Was he crying? Fuck, Karkat didn’t need to see any of this shit, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think

Skip, skip, skip, skip, skipskipskipskipskipskip—

It wasn’t Karkat’s fault. It really wasn’t. He might’ve set it off, but the storm had been building up for days, now, and it broke hard, sweeping Dave up in a torrent of just wordless mental screaming. He couldn’t think the next thought. He couldn’t. But the thing was damming him up, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore, and he was stuck in the middle and left to just completely melt down and dissipate into the flood.

A sound like a cicada crossed with the creakiest horror movie door ever to creak ripped through the tides, and suddenly Dave found himself tugged into a full body hug, wrapped up in four limbs with his face pressed into a thick sweater. The touch dragged him out of the flood and onto dry land, brought him back into now before he even knew what was happening. Karkat’s whole chest was vibrating with some intense cricket-cat hybrid purr, and this should’ve been so embarrassing but he was so tired and so lost and it was fucking comforting, so who the fuck cared. Who cared anymore. It was all bullshit. He could be embarrassed later.

Too soon, Karkat seemed to have the same thought, and tried to pull away. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t—fuck, I’m so sorry, this is really presumptive and I know you aren’t even into boys,” he babbled.

Dave groaned, wrapping his arms around Karkat’s chest and pulling him close. “Dude, if you try to make this about alien romance right now, I swear to fuck,” he gasped out between harsh sobs. Christ, he was going harder than Karkat did like twenty minutes earlier, what the fuck.

Karkat paused. Good. It meant his warm arms were still there. “Dave, I…I mean, this is troll romance, this is textbook moiraillegience, and I shouldn’t just be throwing myself at you because you had a moment of weakness, no matter how bad I, uh.”

Dave sniffled, wracked his brain for a moment…Karkat had explained this stuff about a million times, which one was…”That’s like…the bros quadrant, right?”

“The what.”

“The one that’s, like, platonic and shit.”

“…Yeah?” The cricket-purr started up again, cautiously.

“We fuckin’ kinda do most of that shit already, don’t we?” Like. Yeah. He wasn’t gay. That was still a thing. But Karkat was warm and solid and real and Dave was fucking exhausted and didn’t want to be alone, especially not when he felt right now like he was wrapped in safety. “Please, Karkat,” he added, because why not beg. He was already at maximum pathetic, there was no digging this hole lower, fuck it. “I really don’t wanna be alone right now, just, please don’t go.”

Karkat was quiet for a long moment, but finally, the cricket-purr went back to full volume and Karkat’s arms tightened around him.

“Okay,” Karkat said quietly. Dave let out a breath he’d barely known he’d been holding and went back to crying.

“We’re going to have to talk about this later,” Karkat murmured, which put him at about normal volume for anyone else.

“Later, then,” said Dave, and let himself finally fall the fuck asleep.

#dave strider #karkat vantas #davekat #roxy lalonde #longpost//#u BET UR BUTT THIS OENS GOIN IN THE DAVEKAT TAG #ITS ABOUT TIME #fanfic #fanfiction #calmvsstormfic #calmvsstormchapter #katt does a writing #jkdfsgfjhsfjshf not the best start to a relationship but like its something #lord this got long.#why tf did i think 32 and 33 would ever fit into one chapter.

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miminomadic · 3 years

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Coca State of Mind

I am currently reading a book written by a guy who crossed the Amazon jungle living off a backpack all by himself. It’s his story about this risky endeavour and the motivation behind. He starts off in Quito, Ecuador on a bike and continues crossing the whole South American continent from West to East coast on canoe and on foot.

The book immediately transported me back to the 18th of January this year when I landed in Quito and started off my Ecuadorian adventures. It brought back the epic memory of reaching the Cotopaxi glacier at over 5000m above sea level, the second highest active volcano in the world, and going downhill on a mountain bike afterwords. Developing some crazy speed in between these majestic vistas guaranteed ending the day on an absolute high. I can’t imagine a better way to go down a volcano.

One of the most memorable places from this trip however is the town of Coca, where the protagonist of the book also spends some time trying to buy a canoe from the local indigenous communities.

I landed in Coca after spending some of the best time of my life in the absolute Neverland - the Galapagos. I don’t know why I chose Coca to be the gateway to my Amazon experience in Ecuador. Maybe simply because I found the name cool. I had done little research about the city itself as I knew that I am not going to spend more than one or two nights in it. I would use it just as a brief stop to organise a stay in the jungle with one of the local communities on the spot. When I travel I live day by day and rarely have anything planned in advance. I love it because it gives me the absolute freedom to stay longer in places that I like or move farther and discover places I had not even intended to go to in the first place. If I had done more research or spoken to other travellers about it, I would have probably not come to Coca. I am glad I did though.

After leaving my backpack in the hotel I had booked before jumping on the flight this very morning, I set off to see the town and look for a guide or an agency that organises stays and explorations in the Amazon. From the basic and quite empty hotel I was already noticing that this was not a very popular place. The few people I passed walking towards the main plaza were all from various indigenous groups. Very few mestizos and zero Western-looking people. I had entered a completely different world and suddenly I felt foreign. An exciting and somewhat uneasy emotion at the same time. The curious and not really friendly looks of the passers-by were wondering what is this woman looking for here. I was actually desperately looking for a place to have coffee without much luck. Turns out coffee is not really a thing in the Amazon so I bought some heavenly delicious mango from a man on the central plaza as an alternative. I sat there for a while watching local life unfold. Coca town was nothing special so far. Just square and similar looking streets with people going about their daily business selling and buying stuff or just drinking. Poverty and alcoholism among indigenous communities being forced out of their ancestral lands are unfortunately common and sadly noticeable here too. Everyone around in the basic street eateries was having ceviche with beers or some sort of large grilled fish or meat although it was still morning..I gave up the idea of a coffee and continued walking around.

Turns out there were just two “agencies” offering jungle exploration. Agencies is a bit of a stretch as one of them consisted of a desk on the pavement with a very young girl behind an old desktop computer who could not explain very well what they were actually offering. I was also quoted the crazy price of over $400 or $500 for a three-day stay in Spartan conditions on Shuar territory. So the second place it was! They were next to each other anyway. The other agency was expensive too and everything looked kind of shady so I was starting to wonder whether to travel to the other town I had read about that serves as I getaway to the Amazon and maybe try to organise something from there instead. The town in question is Tena situated about 200kms Southwest of Coca. However, it could take me many hours to get there. There might be fallen trees on the way and the bus can easily get stuck somewhere on the road too. Travelling through the rainforest is slow and can be very unpredictable and I would lose one full day for sure even in perfect circumstances. I was walking around looking at a map wondering what to do next. I also called the numbers of some guides I had but only one answered and he was quite far down the current of the Río Napo towards the border with Peru. If I stayed in Coca, there was only one option really - leave the next morning and spend three days with the Shuar community accompanied by a guide and the only other person that happened to be there at this same time wanting to explore the jungle, a Czech plumber living in London who spoke neither Spanish nor English well! This was gonna be interesting..! It would be just the two of us, a guide and a few locals in a secluded hut in the rainforest. I did not want to lose another day so I decided to go for it. It was expensive due to the fact that we were just two but after the Galapagos I had stopped counting. Every cent so far had been absolutely worth it and I would certainly not start thinking of saving on entering one of the most biodiverse places on the Planet, el Parque Nacional Yasuní. Yep, that is where we were heading off to the next morning.

After it was all set and done, I decided to pay a visit to the local market for lunch as it was already late afternoon. This turned out to be like coming back in time at least a couple of decades, if not even more. The market encompasses an open space with a palm roof situated almost on the shore of the mighty Río Napo - a tributary to the Amazon river. People around here have only lived on what this very river and the rainforest have to offer for millennia and I think the menu had not changed much. There were just three things being sold on every of the 30 or so stalls around. It felt so weird that every stall offered exactly the same thing but hey! the jungle is not a supermarket after all. Neither it’s a place of plenty where exotic fruit just hangs out there waiting to be picked as many people might think. For every barely edible plant, there is like a gazillion other species that will try to get it first. Getting food here requires work and skills.

I made a full circle followed by the eyes of the families standing behind the fires. Again, I was the only foreigner here at this time. All the sellers were representatives of different indigenous communities and everyone was staring at me. The three things being sold on every stall were fish from the Río Napo wrapped and grilled inside a palm leaf, grilled palm larvae on a stick which I learned were called mayones, and to drink agua de guayusa - a herb from the area that is believed to be almost magical and have numerous health benefits. That was it, basic and fresh. I decided to leave the mayones for another time, or possibly never (had to try them eventually though) and ate the fish with my hands under the stares of the market people. Being so observed did not feel very comfortable nor welcoming but in the end I was studying these people too. The rainforest is certainly not a comfortable place so the sensation was spot on. We embodied two different worlds colliding and I so pray that the world in which I grew up does not destroy theirs more than it already did.

The Amazon remains, in many parts, the least explored place on Earth and the home of the last people living according to the laws and in harmony with Nature. I was beginning to grasp what an absolute honour and privilege it is to be here and learn from them.

vimeo

#theartofliving #gratitude #amazon #jungleadventures #cocaecuador #neverstopexploring #travel #travelphotography #southamerica #traveller #laamazonia #amazonia #amazonica

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i-am-a--lionheart · 7 years

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~◇~ The colours of the ocean ~◇~ ◇ ~ A Short fic for day 1 of #sunor week by @sildesalaten and @ryuokowolf ♡ ~ ~ Lukas always thought about the past and present when he sat there at the rocky shores of his countryside, his feet hanging were hunderds of meters below the angry ocean hit the crags again and again. The night was long and slow and so was his thoughts. Long, slow, like he needed to enjoy every beautiful memory, like he needed to revive them to smile at the illusions. Sometimes he wished he could just turn the time back to when they were young. He missed the real, the true smiles Mathias had granted them and how they had played together. He missed their harmony and yet he did not regognise that he was one of the reasons this harmony had fallen apart. Of course – three was always a bad quantity. It meant that when they splitted up, one was determined to stay behind or to go his way alone. And sadly it had not turn out to become better once he had found Emil. The icelandic boy had grown also, he was not the toddler he had found but had reached the outer appearance of a seven years old. He lived with him in Oslo, an uprising city which Lukas had chosen to be his remaining place. The Norwegian’s king, Harald III had begun to build a castle in his reign and by now it was finished and for Lukas it was the perfect place to live. The last hundred years had been troubling, he had argued with Mathias, he had argued even more with Berwald – the only one that had stand to him during all those times – was his little brother. That was why he was even more sorry that he had even screamed at him from time to time. He had thought that he would have been used to his countrymans neverending fight of who was the strongest, who was the king but in the last time it had grown so worse that he felt a neverending pain in his chest that would surely drive him crazy one day. The civilwar lasted for so long by now but all his hopes were bound to one man: Sverre Sigurdson. He wasn’t like the other kings he had before, he wasn’t like them. Maybe he would finally bring him peace. In this phase he had done so much wrong and he wished he could make it undone. But he could not. He simply could not. The night sky was eternal and so was he. So were them. And nothing that had happened could ever been undone. Yes, villages could be build up once again after being burned down and buildings could be restored but all the humans which lost their lifes during their small and bigger battles. It was something that Lukas could hardly forgive himself. Peace, he just wished for some peace and harmony. But there were nearly no good news in the world. He had heard of the many fights between the Dane and the Swede – he had not seen them in a while – but then again he had also been told that Berwald had once again travelled eastwards – but now with the flag of the holy roman church as his banner. It was what they called a ‘crusade’. And apparently now Berwald was not alone anymore.

Lukas sighed as the fullmoon slipped out of the shady trees behind him and lightened his surroundings. It was so bright that he could barely see the stars he had been watching just minutes ago. The silverish moonlight had become so ugly during those changing times. Lukas had grown weak during all this fighting. He had grown frail, his body did not change as much as the others during puperty. Often he would stand at a lake in the woods or in front of the mirrors in his chambers and search for changes on his body. He had grown – but only a little – his face was still fine featured and his jawbone as well as his shoulders had not become broad. On the contrary, he had become thin, damn, he could even see some hints of a waist. Where had his strenght gone?

Suddenly another wave of pain washed over him, let him shiver under it’s harshness and he bent forward, his slender hand digged into the soft textile and he had to grip a rock behind him with his left hand to prevent himself from the deathly fall. It hurt, it hurt so badly.Why didn’t it stop? He was worn out, he was hungry and lonely, he hadn’t the strength to escape nor the strength to��change it. It would never end or at least that was what he thought in this very moment. Was it true that nations could never die? Because he felt like dying. Maybe he should just jump into the depths of the bluff, maybe he should burst at the edge of the cliffs down there below. The ocean would take his body and bury him on the ground of the ocean and everything would be over. He had never tried to die before but he knew that they would be awoken to a new life. Lukas had seen it with his own eyes as he had knelt by Mathias side. The Dane had died before and today he was as powerful, no, even more powerful than before. But still, it was worth a try, right? Oh yes, it seemed so very simple. Would it hurt? Surely not more than the pain that shooted through his heart, radiated all over his body and exploded in his head. He felt how his fingers immediately grabbed the rock behind him to get a hold there but he wanted to force himself – just a little push, a small step and then…

„Lukas?“, he heard a calm, nearly monotone voice with a thick accent behind him and then there was a hand on his shoulder and another around his wrist. The Norwegian’s breath got a little faster as he begun to struggle against the grip around his hand but this only led the Swede behind him to pull him into a hug. Damn, he had gotten so delicate or why was Berwald able to lift him up that easily? Lukas eyes were sticked on the gras below as they filled with tears. Through all the wars and all the hunger he had never cried but right now he could not hold back. How had Berwald found him here? It was his secret place, wasn’t it? Well, not for the Swede. Lukas had showed it to him centuries ago and he had told him that this had always been his favourite place in his whole country. And even if the Swede wasn’t alone anymore, even with the finnish boy by his side, he had never forgotten the one he cared the most for. Through all the battles, his hearthad stayed the same. Memories could fade away but his love didn’t and although it hurt like hell, he did not give up on it. He did not give up on Lukas and he would also not give up on Mathias. No matter if their relationship changed…They were still so close. Their bonds had grown thin, their bodies had transformed but in their chests were still the same hearts.

Carefully Berwald held the Norwegian in his arms and worries filled his stoic greenblue eyes as he felt the ripbones right through the thick textile of his tunic. In contrast to him the other former viking had become broad. Lukas could feel it, the strenght of his arms. It mocked him on a cruel way, it showed him that he had become ruinous through the last months, years, decades, centuries. But his hurting heart grew warmer as he tried to relax in his arms. The silence that laid between them was like a warm blanket to him, soothing, comforting. It saddened him that he did not feel equal to them anymore. Where had the time gone? Once upon a time he had been the strongest, once he had been their leader. Now he was the one who had not grown. He was thin, fail and breakable. Wispy. And it hurt to stand on his own feets but he was far too proud to let someone help him. Although he grew weaker and weaker. Although he grew uglier in his eyes ever day, hour, minute second.

To Berwald he was the most beautiful creature on earth. The Swede did not say anything because he knew that it was better to keep quiet right now. He felt how the tension of the muscles of the Norwegian faded away and how he relaxed. And then he heard a sound he had not interrogated in ages – at least not from Lukas. A sob. Quiet, soft and just like the whispers of the wind that waved around them. Still the Norwegian’s back faced him so that he could not look into his eyes but he would not change this. He would not force him to look at him. Not at all. Not when he knew that there was nearly nothing worse than to be watched in the moments of weakness – he had experienced it by himself. And he would not even dare to hurt him more. „’t’s ok'y.”, he finally said after minutes that felt like hours and days. Lukas’ stand was weak, he could feel it by the way the Norwegian leaned at his chest. Had he gotten smaller? Berwald did not know. It had been a long time since they had last sawn each other. But he had heard rumours about the endless civilwars that haunted the younger one. Of course he had also heard and also felt the despredations of the norwegian peoples – but there had never been such a thing as a great war between them. And even if there had been such a thing, Berwald would never push him or would try to get any kind of revenge. Lukas gave a weak smile into the night, knowing that Berwald couldn’t see it but maybe he would able to feel it somehow. After all they were connected. And there had to be a reason why he felt so safe right now. Between all those troubles and saddened thoughts, between all the pain and the worries there had been no place for the feeling of missing someone or even the feeling called love. But now all those emotions surrounded, encircled him – it was soothing, this warmth. Those feelings weren’t that confusing anymore. He had grown up. They had. No matter if Lukas still lacked the broad shoulders, the strong limbs, the muscular arms and back the other two achieved a long time ago. No matter if his skin – though scattered on his whole chest and back – was still too soft and too pale. Inside he had grown as well or maybe even more than the older one.

And while he stood there in his arms – he was still independent, he was still on his own, he was still Kongeriket Noreg – he realised that there was no reason to give up. He was not alone. His brothers were by his side. The heartbeat of Berwald was proof enough, it was so vigorous, he could feel it through the layers of their clothing, through his spine. He heard it. And it made his heart beat stronger like he would transfer him hope with the simple touch of his ungloved hands and his chin resting in his light blonde hair. It dissolved the shadows that had clenched his heart, that had held his mind in an iron grip…just like the uprising sun after the long Mørketid.

His tears had dried slowly, leaving his face wet from the salty streams that had wetted his scarf but as he finally lifted a hand up to wip away what was left of the first teardrops he had cried in decades, he found his hand in the light hold of his old friend.

„D'n’t.“ The tone of his voice moved the Norwegian on a unknown way and he blinked a couple of times before he finally turned around to face the one he had missed so much. The one he had always cared for without being able to show it. The one he had hurt so much, nearly more than Mathias. Because he had stood with the Dane for so long. Still Mathias had a huge part of his heart. How he had threated Emil – like a real father– the boy still asked for the eldest of them whenever Lukas came home. But it wasn’t the same. Berwald was so much like him, he was like the ocean – deep and somehow mysterious and on windless days or out there on the sea it was calm also. On other days it could get stormy and it was powerful. And Mathias, Mathias was just like a fire.

Lukas’ heart was a mystery to all of them, even to himself yet right now he simply knew what he should do, what he wanted to do and what he felt. Right nowall that counted was right in front of him. Berwald had grown, he was taller than him, even more than he had been before. 6 inches… And damn, he looked good.

In those times the Swede did not need glasses at all and in this very moment the silver light of the moon let his eyes shone in just an inviting way. Berwald was again perfectly silent, his left arm still laid around his waist and now there was no place for thoughts and worries. His mind was blank and his heart was warm and overall this was the most beautiful feeling there was. Cinnamon, Lukas smelled like cinnamon and calluna flowers and he laid his head again on top of his, burying his face lightly in the soft hair of the shorter boy. His hand slowly let go of the frail wrist of him – he really wondered since when he had gotten that perfectly frail, like a piece of porcelain, like a picture-perfect creature that would disappear if one touched him. Like an illusion that could fade like sand trickle through his fingers. Berwald’s eyes were closed but they opened in surprise in the second the Norwegians slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling them closer together. Lukas did not think anymore. Thoughts had pushed him too far in the darkness. And because of Berwald he could forget about the never disappearing pain in his chest – the warmth he had brought into his heart was like medicine – healing and hushing. „Takk…”, he whispered and his resigned, toneless voice turned warm and melodious by this one word. The Norwegian tilted his head to the side and then a little bit into his neck, forcing the taller one to look at him. „Missed ya.“, he told him softly and Berwald found himself caught into the deep amethyst orbs of the Norwegian. And he did not even try to escape him, why should he? He was the most stunning creature of this world. His world. And suddenly yet slowly his hands wandered upwards to cup the cheeks of this perfectly featured face in an incredible tender motion. Lukas wondered if the Swede could hear his heart also, it beat up to his throat, filling himself with so much warmth. Standing on the tip of his toes, he brought his face closer to Berwald’s, their nose brushing. His pale cheeks got tinted in the colour of roses in the first snow and they heated up quickly under the older one’s touch. And eventual one of them – and Lukas did not even know anymore who of them had done it – the last inches between them were decased and their lips touched in what they called a first kiss – tender and innocent and soft and yet so alluring and so colourful. Colourful like an autumn’s wood, like the rainbow between clouds, like the soft and dancing faries that flowed within the wind into the eternal night.

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dandelliongirl · 4 years

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New year

And a new decade!

Wow, what an original title.

My Christmas vacation was amazingly cozy. I spent the 23rd-27th of December at home with mum and dad. On the 23rd me and mum went to the flea market to buy yarn and thin knitting needles for my bunny plushie project. We also found an adorable winter themed PowerPuff Girls duvet cover that I got to have in my bed for the holidays.♥

On Christmas Eve I got to watch morning cartoons on mum’s new sofa in my soft Oodie. We spent Christmas Eve traditionally having rice porrige for breakfast, going to take candles to the graves, going to the sauna and having a delicious dinner of smoked fish, salads, roast, mashed sweet potato, fried carrot and parsnip, and a dessert of home made gingerbread ice cream. Then we watched From all of us to all of you and handed out presents. My photo book was a big hit and made both mum and dad tear up. They both loved their moomin themed presents as well. I got Jamie Oliver’s VEG cook book, a radio for my summer house, a face wash from the Body Shop, and some gloves that got mixed up with dad’s at some point. Now mine are pink and mum has a purple pair. My dad also got me a 100 square meters of protected forest that will by law be kept in its natural state forever, which is an incredibly magical and special gift. ♥

On Christmas morning we woke up to the most beautiful snowy landscape and a calm little snowfall. Me and mum shovelled the driveway and went for a really long magical walk to the beach and around our area. The beach was full of little lanterns and candles burning in the snow. In the evening I started knitting my bunny plushie with the instructions found on the book I got at grandmum’s place. Mum helped me get started but I made her entirely by myself. By January 19th she already has a face too, with only a few details missing.

On Boxing Day me and dad drove to see the cousins and mum went to see granny and grandpa. It was really good seeing my cousins again for the first time since I think last Christmas (?), and dad’s cousin visited my aunt that day as well, so dad and his sister got to see their cousin as well. Me and my twin cousins finally made a Whatsapp group, which will make keeping in touch a lot easier.

On the 27th I came back to the apartment to spend some time working on my projects (and play some Sims..). My guy came back home on the 28th and we opened the rest of our presents. We got some cute kitty mugs and some (less cute) moomin pillowcases. I got new socks from my guy’s grandpa and my guy got me the brick oven bakery and the pizza delivery set of Sylvanian Families! ♥ My guy loved his Otamatone and we’ve had a lot of fun with it. ♫

We spent the day before New Years with my twin cousins who came over. We went to a trampoline park and Burger King, and played some Smash Bros Ultimate and Mario Kart. Then we spent about 4 hours until 2 am playing Overcooked. One of the twins works at a fast food restaurant so he was really damn good at coordinating our team. We decided that we would only accept 3 stars and had to spend a lot of time on some of the stages, but it was a blast. My guy is really bad at communication and team work though (heh, sorry) so it sucked for whoever was on his side. My cousins left on the morning of New Years Eve, and our friends came over around 6 pm. We made pizza, talked, went to see the mayor’s speech and watched the fireworks. For once the weather was completely clear and comfortably warm so the fireworks were a lot of fun. After midnight we spent the rest of the night until 6 am playing a quiz game, cards against humanity and Overcooked. I’m so glad I went back to work on the 7th and not on the 2nd.

My New Year’s resolutions this time are to continue working on my crafts and finish at least 2 of them, to only buy recycled items (apart from a couple things that I’ve planned on and needed to buy for a while), trying to spend a plastic free July (no single use plastics or plastic packaging), continuing my photo project with at least 3 photoshoots, working on my grimoire and finishing at least 12 pages, continuing to play the piano and get better at reading sheet music, spending the coziest and witchiest summer at my cottage/summer house, reading/listening to books and stretching/body care. A lot of these are things that are already habits and a part of my life so they aren’t that big of a deal even though the list is long. Mainly my resolutions are there just to push me to continue creating. I have set a date around midsummer/Litha to check my progress. So far piano has definitely already fallen behind so I need to try and pick that back up real soon. I have my new pile of sheet music books to start with.

So my winter has been filled with cottage visits nearly every weekend. At Christmas we went for a bonfire and carols. We have been feeding lots of little birds, walking in the nature and even went ice skating last weekend. This winter has been almost entirely snowless and very warm, and the birds are already singing and starting to nest even though it’s only January. There is no snow on the lake ice so last weekend my mum, dad and I had a perfect private skating rink with some magical sunshine and beautifully frosted trees. These are the moments that make winter worth it even though the lack of snow makes everything so dark, which makes me so incredibly sleepy. Luckily the days get about 7 minutes longer every day. It’s already almost light out when I leave work. Only 3-4 more months until we get to spend more time at the summer house, and soon I’ll be out there on that lake on my SUP board. That place truly heals me and helps me remember what's important in life. Nature is always beautiful no matter the weather, and everything over there has a purpose, unlike in the city.

Almost all of my apple seeds sprouted, and every one of my first saplings has already died from what I suspect is the lack of light. Some of the second batch are still alive, and I’ve got a third batch to plant. Hopefully those will make it to be planted outside. I even picked up a board from our cottage shed to make a windowsill in the kitchen for the saplings.

My guy and I have been enjoying our second playthrough of the Witcher 3, this time on the Switch. I love laying on the sofa all warm and cozy in my Oodie and working on my crafts, or putting photos in an album while he plays. Our PC playthrough was tedious because I had to sit down and do nothing through hours of gwent or side quests. Now I get to lie down and work on my own projects during the side quests. The PS2 era graphics do bother me a bit, but the story is immersive enough and the cutscene quality is not reduced too bad.

The first 2 weeks of work have been pretty decent. I’ve even had a couple of good days. ☼ I’m about to start a rough spring of trainings for both staff and teachers, which will be mentally exhausting, but I will try to keep myself busy with hobbies, and enjoy the coming spring to the fullest. January has already flown by, which is both exciting and scary. As for working out, this spring I’ve got a lineup of body combat, the occasional 45 minute guided meditation class (which I love because last week we had a body scan meditation and that’s my favourite type), HIIT ‘45 whenever I can leave work early to go to class, and ballet.

Yesterday we celebrated grandad's 90th birthday. Lately I’ve been really sad thinking about my aging grandparents. I recently went through my old post cards because I’m planning on making some crafts with them, and while doing that I found all of granny and grandpa’s letters and post cards and got some very emotional flashbacks to my childhood and the stories grandmum used to tell me. After a few glasses of cognac grandpa gave me a really emotional and sweet speech about how proud he is of me and how he remembers the time the swing in their yard broke down from under me and the times he taught me how to ski. He has truly taught me to never give up and be resilient in everything I do. I love my grandparents so much and I want to try and spend as much time with them as possible. It is so unfair that we never get enough time to spend with all the loved ones... Regardless, happy 90th birthday to the best grandpa. ♥ ♥ I love you so much.

Speaking of family and celebrations, I was asked to be a bridesmaid to my friend whom I've known since kindergarten. It is an incredible honor and I really can’t put into words how special it is to have someone who’s known me since I was 4 years old - and now she’s getting married! I will do my best to make her day special, but it is a lot of stress and pressure on me - especially as I’ve never planned a wedding and I’ve only been to 2 in very recent years. Her other bridesmaid got engaged the same week as she did so they are both planning on getting married the same month. We’ll see how that goes, and if one of them has to postpone their wedding or not, but regardless the other bridesmaid won’t have as much time and focus for my friend as I will since she’ll be planning her own wedding at the same time.

I think we only have 61 or 62 days until Animal Crossing New Horizons, and still no AC direct. Instead we’ve had a Pokémon direct and a Smash Bros direct.. If preordering seems worth it and/or there is a Switch console bundle I’ll take the 20th of March off work to go get it in the morning. We were planning on taking a trip to Japan this spring but we’ve postponed it until the autumn since the Super Nintendo World will be opening in the summer, and my guy can earn some money at his summer job.

Me and my friend were going to have a photoshoot today but the weather isn’t great (it’s very windy) and she had a weird stomach bug last night so we postponed. Instead I’m trying to finish up some odd to-do list jobs so that I can start preparing for Imbolc. It’s coming up so fast, but that’s also very exciting. ☼

#personal #diary #January2020 #memorial

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Saturday, July 17, 2021

Vaccinated Americans to be able to enter Canada (AP) Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said on Thursday Canada could start allowing fully vaccinated Americans into Canada as of mid-August for non-essential travel and should be in a position to welcome fully vaccinated travelers from all countries by early September.

Child Tax Credit (The 19th) Earlier this year, Congress expanded the Child Tax Credit, giving families $3,000 for kids aged six to 17 and $3,600 for kids under six. Furthermore, it’s no longer just an annual lump sum around tax time: the money will now hit bank accounts in monthly increments of $250 to $300 per kid per month. The payments began yesterday and will go to 88 percent of American families with children, and the backers hope that the payments could cut the child poverty rate from 13.6 to 7.5 percent, a 45 percent reduction. There’s at least one catch—the deposits are actually prepayments based on estimated 2021 taxes, meaning families may face smaller returns or unexpected tax bills next April.

Largest wildfire in Oregon expands further (AP) Firefighters scrambled on Friday to control a raging inferno in southeastern Oregon that’s spreading miles a day in windy conditions, one of numerous conflagrations across the U.S. West that are straining resources. Authorities ordered a new round of evacuations Thursday amid worries the Bootleg Fire, which has already destroyed 21 homes, could merge with another blaze that also grew explosively amid dry and blustery conditions. The Bootleg Fire, the largest wildfire currently burning in the U.S., has now torched an area larger than New York City and has stymied firefighters for nearly a week with erratic winds and extremely dangerous fire behavior.

With virus cases rising, mask mandate back on in Los Angeles (AP) Los Angeles County will again require masks be worn indoors in the nation’s largest county, even by those vaccinated against the coronavirus, while the University of California system also said Thursday that students, faculty and staff must be inoculated against the disease to return to campuses. The announcements come amid a sharp increase in virus cases, many of them the highly transmissible delta variant that has proliferated since California fully reopened its economy on June 15 and did away with capacity limits and social distancing. The vast majority of new cases are among unvaccinated people. Other counties, including Sacramento and Yolo, are strongly urging people to wear masks indoors but not requiring it.

Haiti’s assassination mystery (Foreign Policy) In the search for those behind the assassination of Haitian President Jovenel Moïse last week, authorities have arrested at least 18 retired members of Colombia’s armed forces—some of whom previously received U.S. military training—and five Haitians, including a former rebel leader, the owner of a security company, and a pastor. While the details of the plot are still under investigation, the alleged use of former Colombian soldiers as mercenaries was unsurprising to observers. Elite Colombian troops, trained over the country’s half-century of conflict, can retire as early as their 40s and are frequently hired as private military contractors in the Middle East and elsewhere.

Biden: US will protect Haiti embassy, won’t send troops (AP) President Joe Biden said Thursday that the U.S. will bolster security at its embassy in Haiti following last week’s assassination of that country’s president, but sending American troops to stabilize the country was “not on the agenda.” Haiti’s interim government last week asked the U.S. and the United Nations to deploy troops to protect key infrastructure following President Jovenel Moïse’s assassination. Biden signaled he was not open to the request, which comes as he is drawing down U.S. forces in Afghanistan this summer. “We’re only sending American Marines to our embassy,” Biden said. “The idea of sending American forces to Haiti is not on the agenda,” he added.

U.S.-Cuba policy (Foreign Policy) U.S. President Joe Biden said he would not allow U.S.-based Cubans to send remittances home as part of White House plans to assist the Cuban people following Sunday’s protests. Biden said he was prepared to give COVID-19 vaccines to the island, but only under the condition that an international organization administered them. During a speech on Wednesday, Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel again lambasted the “cruel” and “genocidal” U.S. blockade of Cuba while promising a “critical analysis” of the problems facing the country. Since the weekend protests, Cuba has lifted restrictions on the amount of food and medicine travelers are allowed bring in to the country, fulfilling one of the demands of the protesters.

Death toll from European floods passes 115 as receding waters reveal scope of devastation (Washington Post) As deadly floodwaters began to recede Friday across Germany and Belgium, the full extent of the destruction was slowly revealed: muddy washouts where homes used to stand, cars and debris tangled together, and officials still adding to a death toll that surpassed 115 and was expected to climb higher. “Whole places are scarred by the disaster,” German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier said at a news conference after the worst flooding in decades to hit the region. “Many people have lost what they have built all their lives.” The storm—a major low-pressure system that stretched from Germany to France—brought a deluge Thursday that quickly swelled rivers, collapsed bridges and roads, and left many people scrambling to rooftops or onto fallen trees. Luxembourg and Switzerland were also hit by torrential rain, and warnings were issued in more than a dozen regions of France. Earlier this week, Britain was struck by flash floods that submerged parts of London in deep waters and turned residential roads into flowing rivers.

Xinjiang Products Banned In U.S. (Reuters) The Senate passed bipartisan legislation Wednesday banning the import of all products from China’s Xinjiang region. It is Washington’s latest effort to punish Beijing for what U.S. officials say is an ongoing genocide against Uyghurs and other Muslim groups. Under the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act, the burden of proving goods manufactured in Xinjiang are not made with forced labor—and therefore not banned under the 1930 Tariff Act—would be shifted to importers. This legislation would go beyond steps already taken to secure U.S. supply chains in the face of allegations of rights abuses in China, including existing bans on Xinjiang tomatoes, cotton, and some solar products. The Biden administration, which has been increasing sanctions, issued an advisory on Tuesday warning businesses they could be in violation of U.S. law if operations are linked even indirectly to surveillance networks in Xinjiang.

COVID spreading in Asia and Africa (Worldcrunch) As Indonesia becomes Asia’s new COVID epicenter, nearby countries are planning new restrictions with Singapore’s announcement it will limit social gatherings, a move that South Korea is also considering. Across Africa, cases have “surged by 43 percent in the space of a week.” There is concern that the Delta variant could mutate into more dangerous variants as it sweeps through largely unvaccinated regions.

Athletes go it alone in Tokyo as families watch from afar (AP) Michael Phelps reached for his mother’s hand through a chainlink fence near the pool. The 19-year-old swimmer had just won his first Olympic medal—gold, of course—at the 2004 Athens Games, and he wanted to share it with the woman who raised him on her own. That kind of moment between loved ones won’t be happening at the pandemic-delayed Tokyo Olympics. No spectators—local or foreign—will be allowed at the vast majority of venues, where athletes will hang medals around their own necks to protect against spreading the coronavirus. No handshakes or hugs on the podium, either. “I like to feed off of the crowd,” defending all-around champion gymnast Simone Biles said, “so I’m a little bit worried about how I’ll do under those circumstances.”

Hospital fire deepens Iraq’s COVID crisis (AP) No beds, medicines running low and hospital wards prone to fire—Iraq’s doctors say they are losing the battle against the coronavirus. And they say that was true even before a devastating blaze killed scores of people in a COVID-19 isolation unit this week. Infections in Iraq have surged to record highs in a third wave spurred by the more aggressive delta variant, and long-neglected hospitals suffering the effects of decades of war are overwhelmed with severely ill patients. Doctors are going online to plea for donations of medicine and bottled oxygen, and relatives are taking to social media to find hospital beds for their stricken loved ones. “Every morning, it’s the same chaos repeated, wards overwhelmed with patients,” said Sarmed Ahmed, a doctor at Baghdad’s Al-Kindi Hospital.

Riots in Lebanon as West calls for quick Cabinet formation (AP) Tension intensified in Lebanon on Friday, with riots leaving more than two dozen people injured in the northern city of Tripoli, including five soldiers who were attacked with a hand grenade. France, the European Union and the United States in the meantime called on Lebanese politicians to urgently form a Cabinet. The announcements came at a moment of great uncertainty for Lebanon after Prime Minister-designate Saad Hariri stepped down on Thursday over disagreements with the president on the shape of the Cabinet. Hundreds of his supporters rioted in the streets, blocked major roads and hurled stones. In Beirut, protesters briefly closed several main roads Friday, prompting a swift intervention by the troops to clear them. In the northern city of Tripoli, Lebanon’s second largest and most impoverished, residents angry over rising prices, electricity cuts that last for most of the day and severe shortages in diesel and medicine, rioted in the streets and attacked Lebanese troops.

Bamboozled Birds (Hakai Magazine) Lots of bird populations are at risk due to habitat destruction, deforestation and wildfires in historical nesting areas. Given that they’re not really known to crash zoning board meetings, birds don’t know that the areas they want to live in are doomed to timber harvesting, so researchers would like to find ways to get birds to nest in places where it’s safe. New studies have found ways to trick the birds into doing this, with one recent experiment in Oregon convincing marbled murrelets to nest away from threatened forests by piping in artificial recordings of marbled murrelets into the desired areas. Over 60 species of seabirds have been lured to different breeding grounds in this way before, and now they know it works with the murrelets: they played back recordings in 14 locations not slated for logging but otherwise unoccupied in 2016. Within a year, those locations had four times as much nesting activity compared to un-bamboozled tracts of forest.

#headlines #news

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tryveryhard · 5 years

Text

Six years

One. Tangled up in those big “look-at-me” necklaces, hung in the same cheap wood paneled-closets where women hung such things decades and decades before we, ourselves, were on the verge. So we got to talking. And we hated it, I’m sure. My hair thin and pressed close to my head, braces squeezing my teeth — this was still an era of low-rise jeans and believing life could end in acne-prone boys named Luke and Jake back home in Michigan. A had purple, died hair and didn’t believe in abortion, nor feminism. S had a heart-shaped face and a dimple at the end of her spine and believed in both. We all agreed upon peanut butter and cheap sheets. We were complete strangers doomed to share a room for at least a year. We would have to see one another’s breasts, our curved moons hanging in the dark. We would have to tell one another everything. We would have to share secrets across the room, across that wavy dark carpet, and think: adulthood. We would fall in love with one another by Christmas break.

This all seemed terribly exciting, our semi-sheer shirts and dining-hall salads. I wrote none of this down. I watched a boy get carried out of our dorm hall — Washington Hall, 49 E. Green Drive — and into the ambulance that waited for him on the slick pavement. I watched this scene from the window of my dorm stairwell, all covered in cracked plaster, and thought about how it felt awfully like the slick tile of the bathroom walls in my elementary school. Exotic, cool. I cried several times that year in public, and would pace around the lobby in that yellow glow, all panicked, calling my parents while I sobbed on the floor of the single bathroom that locked. And it always felt so haunted back then, that place. I realize now that’s because the whole placed dripped with the choking sobs of other young people. I touched at least five strange penises that year. I fucked at least two that I can remember. And that year, I became both addicted and un-addicted to Camel Blues. I got my braces off and grew my hair past my ears. I went to Pittsburgh for the first time, teetered around in high heels, and realized I still had growing up to do. The girls I fell in love with, we’d forget one another soon. But I left letters for them the day we left that room. And I think of them each day, trapped in that small square, us crashing against the walls of our teeny-tiny brains. Two. This was the year I got a better down comforter for my twin-sized mattress and became inextricably involved with people in the military. My roommate that year, H, had an eating disorder and a boyfriend who didn’t want to fuck her when she was bloated. She also wanted to be a nurse in the Navy. She studied relentlessly. And somewhere between Pittsburgh and leaving that room, I had fallen impossibly in love with a boy who would leave for a military base that October. I did not realize then that every woman must go through this at least once, this plot. I loved him for his height and for his almost endearing violence when he kissed me in parking lots. Naturally I never told him any of this, but as a matter of perseverance I’m sure he and two other men loved me that winter. I did not know then that it was odd for a 25-year-old to lure a 19-year-old to bed — a bed in his parents’ house, then a guest bed in his sister’s house — when he got off his job at Lowes. This felt perfectly in-line with my trajectory, what I was supposed to be doing when not coaxing my roommate to eat something other than a can of corn and $15 handle of vodka. He broke up with me over text, I threw myself into the student newspaper, then a skinny, short boy who would hold my hand as we left philosophy class. He lent me several hoodies I never returned, and I had sex with him until he told me he loved me and I determined I couldn’t do anything but ignore him for the rest of my life. Nonetheless, I remember wondering if I could marry a short man, if this was my life. Then back to the student newspaper. Work, work, work. Many nights in a fluorescent hallway, fingering the gray carpet and whispering into the phone the whole, I. Can’t. Do. This. One night, after covering a student protest, a boy walked me back to my dorm and kissed me, suddenly. This was the sweetest moment of that year. His dorm room smelled entirely of garbage but it allowed me to climb the steepest set of stairs on campus and observe, so viscerally, the campus I had grown to know in the past year. I never felt afraid. This boy and I, we went to church. Then I took his virginity, and I determined I couldn’t do anything but ignore him for the rest of my life. He asked if we could have one last kiss which I, cruelly, found pathetic. Especially sad because he had once carried me home when my heels were too bruising, and no man would ever do that again. Work, work, work. I suddenly woke up to the fact that my life had been rife with problems. My mother was a drug addict. How did I not realize this before? I did, I did. I started making both more destructive and more impressive decisions with this knowledge. I went to a conference in Atlanta and ate brisket and began telling everyone all at once that my life was a tragedy. I drank cheap wine with strangers and decided, weeks later, to aggressively kiss a boy I had just decided to love. Then I took him back to his home, crashed into his cheap blue sheets, and I told him he was weird, and we saw each other for the next year, just like that. Me thinking he was weird. Me taking him home. Those girls from the first year, at that point, had melted into background noise. But I lived in the attic of S’s mom that summer, which is astounding now that I think of it. I moved into a home with humid green trees, a grand staircase, no furniture. And my bedroom, larger than the one in Queens now, had two windows that framed the bed and buzzed with cicadas. I went there every weekend, and I have no memory of what exactly that meant. I became editor of the student newspaper for no reason at all, except for that I wanted to feel something. I went to New York City for the first time as an adult and drank chilled sangria in Harlem, radiating terror.

Three.

This was the year of machinery. Synapses in my mind click, click, clicking to remind me I was knocking out my minutes and careening toward the end. I made big promises that that are difficult to think of now. I ate so many meals in bed. I was playing dress-up at 20 years old, with all those adult meetings and tears and assumptions that life began and ended with the student newspaper, with my own thoughts. In some ways, I was half-right. I grew my hair long, met with professors constantly. Studied, studied, studied. After all that swallowing of misery, I began the fast climb out of the pits, desperate. I do not remember if I wrote this year. I do remember that I fell out of love quicker than I had fallen into it, would go weeks without talking to that man, would try to end our relationship over and over to no avail. Everyone hated me this year and I could feel it cloaking me, that dismay. I started drinking white wine out of coffee mugs, laying in bed watching documentaries all weekend and thinking about how I was on fire. Big, magic, the life waiting for me outside. This was the year of optimization, the year of Girl Boss. I am sure there were many cardigans in my closet. I sent many emails. Too many emails. I started to have the impression that I was becoming something bigger than myself, bigger than my past, bigger than this school. I kept crying in meetings. This was mania, pure mania, after all. I worked until 4 a.m. some nights, slept until 8 a.m., went to class, never anywhere else. I was made to constantly meet with old men who didn’t care for me much. I went down the hall to sit in Ian’s bed, nightly, drinking beers in silence, thinking that I had never been so exceptional. Every once and a while I completely lost my mind, but never quite openly. I would sometimes get phone calls late at night, a message from the newspaper printing facility saying something had gone wrong, and I’d drive barefoot back to that tower where we made the thing nobody read so I could I’d fix it. And maybe it’s the prospect of fixing that made me feel so unrecognizable and knowing that year. There was so much that was broken, after all. I forgot my one-year anniversary with that guy, yet realized I was fine doing the same thing two years in a row. I do not remember when I discovered I had gotten that internship. I do not remember when I realized I’d move to New York after all. I do remember that before all of that transpired, all of that hope, I cracked and slipped back into angst. I went home and pressed myself into the ink-stained jeans I wore throughout high school, bought magazines on foreign policy, lied to my parents. I was 21. I met with my ex-boyfriend at a Coney Island, laid in his tobacco-scented scrawny arms, and kissed him, shaking with anticipation. A reintroduction to my 15-year-old self after all those nights spent pretending there had ever been anything else, and many more nights trying to forget. We shuddered with all the years we had lost, and I slid under his body again, and we watched skateboarding videos on a thin mattress on his floor. Before I left for New York, I realized it would unlikely work in the long-term. Then I hit his friend’s car on accident, moved to an unfamiliar city, and for whatever reason, slept in the same bed as my ex-boyfriend every night for three months in an apartment that smelled like new paint. He pissed in an Uber. I developed an odd relationship with a comedian named Alec, who I saw once in person, like a mirage, getting off the 2 train and walking away from me. I discovered a new egg and sausage sandwich at Clark Avenue, and I wandered about with Seth, slowly losing my mind. My calves, though, were hardened by all the nervous pacing I did that summer. I got a plane and went back home, with the newfound strength to wear slip-on vans with sheath dresses that hit below the knee. Four.

My room in Athens was haunted by cicadas, rainy mornings. Always impossible hot, yet I surrounded myself in blankets and pillows. I still drew on my eyeliner thick. And my bathtub still clogged with hair, soaking my feet in cold, gray water. I still felt those minutes click, clicking away but I also felt desperate to gain them back. The first night, a Friday, I wore a tank top and met Reba at a wood-paneled bar called Tony’s, drinking white wine, thinking: just like Manhattan. I met my ex-boyfriend from sophomore year thinking: he’s not gay, I think. And I had sex with him half-heartedly that night in one of those dingy college-guy rooms, with the bad sheets and a handful of the posters and the sense that this is all fading fast, just for kicks. But he only lived up the hill from my home, and I knew I could stumble on back to my own bed before 2 a.m. And I did just that. That morning, I ate three scrambled eggs on a plastic plate. I prepared an three boxes amount of pasta because I was determined to have people like me that year. I walked it over to the home of a boy I knew only marginally, named Alex. I wore a black shirt, patterned shorts, sandals, and that thick eyeliner. I was still in a fit of insanity from the night before, thirsting for all my new bad decisions. His roommate was tall, lanky, wore black pants and a short-sleeved button up shirt. I thought: he’s balding, and covering it up with a hat. I thought: he’s odd. He came up behind me when I was drinking my second bottle of red wine in the basement, all caked with alcohol, all under the glare of an ex-boyfriend from my sophomore year. I was playing Danzig, and he made some comment I was too drunk to process. I went up to that yellow-lit kitchen and tried to clean the dishes I had brought. I wanted everyone to eat pasta. I wanted to clean up everything as if I had never been there. I wanted so badly to stop thinking the past three years were for nothing. The boy, the roommate with the hat, stopped me and told me I didn’t have to wash the dishes. Don’t worry about it. I asked him if he wanted to kiss, and he nodded and leaned into me, and we feverishly toppled onto the front porch. I took him to the same bar where I was the night before, kissed him, and he took me into the other bar I was at the previous night — the wood-paneled one — and walked me home. Inexplicably, we sat in my bed while I talked about the summer I had just crawled out of. I told him about the articles I had written, Manhattan. Does this sound impressive? Does this make me likable? He did not kiss me goodbye. He merely disappeared down the stairs, long legs carrying him back to the kitchen with all the dishes I wasn’t allowed to clean. I knew his first name: Michael. And he waved to me the next morning, sat behind me as if I had not disclosed all those things and kissed him on his porch. He left without a word, turning to walk beneath the tall oak trees flush with summer, stepping into that flickering light. And I loved him, honestly. Would’ve died for him. But I spent the next few months tumbling into his bed, trying to deny that. Trying to pretend I was still my productive self from the year prior, but always thinking of him and wishing I were beneath him. One autumn night I ran out of his home, terrified of him, and straight into a field where I laid down without my phone. I thought: I hope I die. Instead, I told him I loved him that January. Instead, I replaced some of my ambition with his Friday nights. I spent my last night of college on his floor, watching heat lightning ripple across that Ohio sky, and was unable to figure out whether I had been incredibly stupid or incredibly astute these past four years, falling in and out of love with many things and people. I did not talk to my roommates from the first year anymore. I did not talk to my roommates from the second year. I was hardly talking to my current roommates, having practically moved into Michael’s. I was still doing the student newspaper six days a week, but part of me didn’t feel as committed because I had gradually become less insane. I thought. I did not write my name on the wall with the rest of the people who had worked there, at the same time, did not say goodbye, because I thought: these people still hate me. And I drove out of Ohio without any tears.

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