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bubbledumbbinch · 3 years

Note

Some oral headcanons for Riddle, Idia and Epel (if you write smut for him). Both giving and receiving please 🔥🔥

Woohoo!!!! First ask EVER!!!! I hope u enjoy it aaaah, the reader in this scenario has no specific pronouns but fem body parts, since that’s what I’m most comfy writing with rn ;v; i will try to keep getting better the more i write!

A/N: This piece of writing is purely 18+ only. Minors do not interact.

Riddle Rosehearts x Reader

Giving

Riddle has never given oral, but he is fueled by his desire to please you!!

He offers it as some kind of reward for doing so well on an exam he helped you study for

Now, Riddle has certainly passed by the human anatomy images in textbooks and read about each person’s sexual body parts, learning about it in a very educational way. He usually blushed when he looked at the detailed images and quickly turns the pages.

Riddle would have researched different ways on how to please you before actually initiating anything; he wouldn’t want to completely blow it (pun intended) with you.

But learning about things in a book and actually practicing it would be completely different, he’ll come to find out!

He lets you sit on the edge of his bed while he kneels down in front of you, looking up at your face as he pulls your pants and underwear off

Riddle turns almost as red as his hair when he finally sees your leaking cunt, excited that he made you feel this way!

He watches your face intently as he listens to the noises you make, taking your body language into great consideration.

He focuses his energy on your clit and spends time building you up to your release

Riddle moans lightly as you cum, still licking you as you ride out your high

He wipes his mouth as he comes up to kiss you sweetly, teasingly asking you how it was, the smug bastard KNOWS he made you feel so good

Secretly plans on doing it more often because he wants to watch your face twist in pleasure because of him.

“Ah, my rose... did you enjoy that?” The redhead asked smugly, smirking at your form as he raises his head up. “I believe you really did, by the way you made such a mess on me...”

Receiving

Surprise surprise, Riddle ALSO has never received head!

Is a blushing mess when you offer it so casually during a heated makeout session!! But he can’t deny his beautiful rose, can he?

He remains seated on his chair as you knelt down on the floor, undoing his belt and pulling his bottoms down.

He’s extremely embarrassed because, he’s a bit average if not less than the average. Riddle’s worried you would judge him in that department, but when you stroke the precum leaking out of him with your finger he lets go of all of those doubts!

He can’t help but let out a groan and throw his head back when you give his cock a kitten lick from the base to the tip and then engulf him in your mouth.

Riddle tries to be quiet but you can hear his little gasps and you look up to see his eyes glazed in pleasure.

You also can’t help but let your hands explore his body,

He feels like he can’t control himself and grips your hair in his fingers, releasing in your mouth

If you swallow his cum, expect Riddle to freak out the first time, him completely flustered !! But also secretly turned on 😏

“Mmh,! S-so good...” Riddle’s panting as he finished. “E-eh?! You swallowed?! Why?!!” His face is burning by now. “My rose, let’s wash down that flavor with a sweet tart now, hm?”

Idia Shroud x Reader

Giving

It starts out with the two of you by yourselves in his room, sitting on the floor and playing games

Idia notices the way your thighs look thicker when you are sitting in a certain position, reminding him of a certain set of lewd doujinshi images he has masturbated to a few times

You catch Idia staring, fixated at your thighs and quickly catch on

You have to be the one to initiate anything since you know Idia is not the type to!

When you get up to lay down on his bed, Idia actually manages, somehow, to ask you to sit on his face! You’re surprised he would even initiate anything at all!

You’re embarrassed but seeing the way his eyes look so lustful when you lower your hips to meet his mouth, it spurs you on and gives you some confidence!

He lowkey wants you to suffocate him with your thighs..... he won’t tell you that in person though!

Idia hasn’t done this before, but he has watched a lot of hentai scenes of eating out, so he tries to mimic the same actions and is met with your high pitch moans!

When he feels you squeezing his head when you’re close to cumming he uses his hands to keep you in place, not letting you pull away

When he sees and hears you orgasm he swears he could just die a happy man right then and there!!

“A-ah.. this was so much better than my fantasies.... Y/N, you truly are my SSR character...” you heard Idia muttering into your thighs as he lays there, looking even more happy than you were at the moment! You had to wonder, “was this for my enjoyment or his?”

Receiving

Idia would definitely want you to give him head while he is gaming or coding 👀

Personally I see him as really horny but never brave enough to really initiate things verbally

Idia would have a pink flush on his face as he asks if you could suck him off

He makes sure that he was able to tell Ortho to go out and run some errands for the dorm which he knew would take a little while

He would probably be on his gaming chair, with you on your knees in front of him

Idia would bite his shirt or the sleeve of it while feeling you lick at his cock, sighing heavily once you start to pick up your speed

If he is gaming though, he turns off his mic and releases short gasps and sighs of pleasure, trying to prove he is great at what he’s doing by being distracted but still winning

He would definitely tell you when he was close to cumming, planning to pull out. Depending on if you decide to swallow or have him pull out, either scenario would be a win for him.

The idea of having his seed in your mouth or painting your pretty face only serves to turn him on more :)

By the way DEFINITELY don’t tease him by saying you’ll wear kitten ears the next time you blow him, he will be adding them to his online shopping cart within the next .5 seconds

“Oh- Oh Great Seven- That was close..!” Idia groans, accompanied by the sounds of his rapid movement on his controllers. Once he notices you swallow his cum, he instantly turns pink and you swore his hair flashes red for a moment! “I-..... you didn’t need to... do that..” he turns away from your gaze.

Epel Felmier x Reader

Giving

Epel definitely wants to prove he’s a man who can provide to his partner!!

He would not be forceful, but offer to treat you and take an initiative! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Epel gives you plush pillows to lay down on his bed and makes sure to have his apple scented candles on to set the mood~

He secretly asked Rook for advice but you don’t need to know that LOL

Epel is definitely the type to be shy internally but tries to cover up that fact by trying to be dominant, but not too over the top. He wants to be respectful of your boundaries

Epel will try to use his fingers as well - using them to tease your nipples or play with your dripping hole~

Rook told him to do that LOL

When you look down you’re met with the lavender haired boy looking up into your eyes with a determined yet lustful gaze, cheeks tinged with pink ❤️

When he finally brings you close to your release, he works his pink tongue more aggressively as he watches you come undone~

What a hardworking farm boy! We love :)

“Well, how was that? Wasn’t that something a real man would do for his woman?” He asked you, a big grin on his face when you nod your head and smile at him.

Receiving

You totally catch Epel off guard when you ask to give him a blowjob!!

He became a blushing mess and was shy, at first.

However, you sorta made him a bit mad and told him his dick was cute, no matter how big it was, describing HOW it was cute in great detail!

Epel tried to conceal his feelings but once he felt you wrap your lips around the tip of his dick, he lost himself.

He grabbed your head a bit roughly, “I’ll show you how cute I can be...” as he fucked your face (with your consent!)

Hey, you know the repercussions of calling him cute, and how much he hates it!

If he notices you don’t like how rough he’s being, he will stop being rough once he notices your body language and if there are tears pricking your eyes he gets pretty worried!

However if you DO like it, Epel will definitely keep going at it, and fuck your face faster once he feels his release coming.

You look up at his face while he released inside your mouth and you see his eyes rolled back and mouth agape. Epel’s releasing moans that are throaty and similar to his “real” voice he hides from everyone.

He’s a blushing, panting mess once you’re through with him!

“Sh-shit!!” Epel grips your hair tightly as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat, simultaneously releasing his seed and showing his dominance. “You... were amazing...” he pants, too tired out to even care about how he sounded at the moment.

#idia shroud #riddle rosehearts #epel felmier #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #idia shroud x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #epel felmier x reader #twst lemon #twst headcanons #twst idia #twst riddle #twst epel #twst x reader

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firelxdykatara · 4 years

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Touching Zuko’s Scar

It’s entirely possible that someone has written meta on this before, and possibly done it better/more eloquently than I’m about to. However, I have Things To Say and I’m going to say them, and hopefully my point comes across! This post is largely spurred on by a few posts I’ve seen in the tags lately which have... rather baffling takes on the whole ‘who touches Zuko’s scar and why’ situation, particularly in regards to feeling the need, for some reason, to diminish the scene in which Katara touches his scar and the importance of that moment for both of them.

From what I can tell, this was done in an attempt to prop up Maiko, which I suppose makes some amount of sense since that is a ship which can barely stand on its own without tremendous amounts of headcanoning to fill in the gaping holes left by the fact that the entirety of their relationship development happened off-screen (and the glimpse we do get into it in the ‘going home’ midquel comic leaves a lot to be desired in terms of why Zuko would even want to be with her, but that’s another discussion entirely). But it still doesn’t quite fit, because the scenes with Katara and with Song are so much more meaningful, both in terms of Zuko’s arc and the way the girls relate to him (and it also ties into Katara feeling so hurt by Zuko’s betrayal, and needing more than any of the others before she can forgive and accept him into the gaang).

Now, that out of the way, I do want to say up front that the intention here is not to be particularly anti Maiko, but to examine the situations in which Zuko’s scar is touched (or almost touched), and the similarities two of these scenes have which are not shared by the third (at which point, you’re obviously free to draw your own conclusions).

Also, please bear with me--I can’t take screenshots or anything, so I’ll reference scenes and the episodes they come from but there won’t be images.

Under a cut bc this got long

To start off, there are three moments in the entire series where a character touches, or tries to touch, Zuko’s scar with her hand. (I say ‘her’ because all three instances occur with girls near Zuko’s own age.) The first moment is in The Cave of Two Lovers, the second episode of book two--this is the moment where Song sees Zuko’s scar, recognizes it for the intentional burn from a firebender that it is, and reaches for it.

Song: Can I join you? I know what you’ve been through. We’ve all been through it. [looks at Zuko’s scar] The Fire Nation has hurt you. [she slowly reaches for his scar, but before she can touch it, Zuko grabs her wrist and stops her; she puts her hand back in her lap] It’s ok. They’ve hurt me too. [pulls up the leg of her pants to reveal the burn scars there]

The second moment comes at the end of book 2, in The Crossroads of Destiny, in a moment that is a deliberate parallel of Zuko’s connection with Song--but this time, he lets Katara touch him.

Katara: [she holds up a vial] This is water from the spirit oasis at the North Pole. It has special properties, so I’ve been saving it for something important. [moves closer to Zuko, standing in front of him] I don’t know if it would work, but... [Zuko closes his eyes, and Katara’s fingers touch his scar; the scene holds there as the music swells, before they’re interrupted]

Like Song did, Katara felt a connection to Zuko via a similar trauma he suffered. However, unlike Song, Katara knew who Zuko was--the banished prince of the Fire Nation, and someone who had been her enemy for most of the past several months. However, she still feels compassion and empathy for him, and it is for this reason that she takes his subsequent choice harder than anyone else in the gaang does (and why it takes more for him to earn her forgiveness).

Now, the third moment is... rather incongruous. There is neither compassion nor understanding involved in touching his scar, there is no real emotional connection, and it comes right on the heels of his girlfriend--someone we’re supposed to believe cares about him and his emotional wellbeing, since they’re in a relationship (which happened off-screen, but I digress)--shutting down his attempt to talk about his feelings, something that will present a conflict in their relationship later on.

Mai: [yawns] I just asked if you were cold, I didn’t ask for your whole life story. [she moves forward, smirking, and then chuckles, putting one arm around his neck and pulling his face towards her with her other hand] Stop worrying. [they kiss, and then Mai walks away, leaving Zuko to stare out at the horizon again; the wiki transcript says he looks relieved, but to me he looks resigned more than anything]

What’s interesting about this moment is, for one thing, it’s unclear if Mai is even supposed to be touching his scar at all. Giancarlo Volpe, the director for this episode, put the original storyboards for the scene up on his DeviantArt, and in them, it seems he was fairly careful to make sure Mai was not touching Zuko’s scar. This would make sense, considering that touching Zuko’s scar was presented as a very big deal--he specifically prevented a girl from touching his scar in the beginning of book 2, and at the end, he allowed another girl to touch him, showcasing vulnerability and trust in that moment. It is the culmination of one small part of his character arc, and that makes the moment that Katara touches his scar even more meaningful.

Of course, I can’t say definitively that it was an animation mistake or something that was deliberately changed during production (which, considering there is a moment later in the book where Bryke mandated a change, isn’t outside the realm of possibility), but it does present interesting implications.

However, even if you take the scene at face value and assume that Mai was intended to be touching his scar....it’s still presented in an entirely different framework than the previous two scenes, despite occurring almost immediately after Zuko’s moment with Katara in the caves (at least as far as episode count).

The different framework being, of course, the fact that it.... doesn’t mean anything at all.

In the first two scenes, Zuko’s scar and his pain--as well as the pain of the girls who are forging an empathic connection with him based on understanding each other’s trauma--is the focus. Touching, or attempting to touch, Zuko’s scar is the point--it is very deliberate, and there’s no way to argue against it because the writing is very explicit, and nothing else would make sense for those scenes. On the other hand, you could take out the moment where Mai touches Zuko’s scar and lose absolutely nothing--because the focus is not on Zuko, but rather on the fact that he was attempting to open up emotionally to his girlfriend (and note that this is the first indication we get in the show that they are together--take out the kiss completely and no one would even know they’re dating, let alone supposedly like one another even as friends), and was shut down with a sarcastic quip, ostensibly because Mai simply didn’t want to hear it. (This is in keeping with her later characterization, where she would much rather distract him and keep him from actually talking about any of his problems, but @araeph goes into the nature of Mai and Zuko’s emotional intimacy [or lack thereof] in much greater detail in this essay, so I won’t get too deep into it here.)

Mai touching Zuko’s scar doesn’t mean anything to the audience because it doesn’t mean anything to Zuko. He doesn’t react to or acknowledge it in any way, it’s as if he doesn’t even notice it happening (perhaps because it wasn’t supposed to? but again that’s speculation), and nothing in the scene would change if it didn’t. It simply doesn’t matter. On the other hand, Song nearly touching Zuko’s scar and then Katara actually touching his scar? They matter to him--and to the show, and therefore the audience--very much. Both moments are incredibly important to Zuko’s overall arc, because together, they show how far he had come in his own emotional journey over the course of the book.

Of course, it isn’t enough to keep him from choosing to side with Azula, because his journey was far from complete--but the fact that he was able to show such trust and vulnerability to a girl who had been his enemy not very long ago? That was huge. Because Zuko didn’t just let Katara touch his scar--he closed his eyes. She could have hurt him in that moment, but he trusted that she wouldn’t. He trusted that she was willing to use special water she’d been saving for something important--and he trusted that, in that moment, he was important to her.

It wasn’t just Zuko showing trust either, though--Katara showed trust in him. She trusted, after a few minutes of conversation and learning about the loss of his mother (and, specifically, the fact that the Fire Nation was responsible for the loss of his mother, just as it was responsible for the loss of hers), that he had changed--that he was different, and she could trust him. She was willing to use the spirit water she’d been carrying around for months on someone who had recently been so much an enemy that she fled from the tea shop, convinced that he’d somehow infiltrated the city and was planning something.

The fact that she trusted him in that moment is exactly why she took his next choice so hard, but it is also why their relationship cemented itself so solidly after The Southern Raiders, giving them quite possibly the strongest relationship in the gaang outside of Katara and Sokka.

Anyway, that was a lot of words for what essentially amounts to this: Song attempting to touch Zuko’s scar in the beginning of book 2 is explicitly paralleled by Katara being allowed to touch his scar at the end of it, and both moments occur during scenes where Zuko’s pain and trauma are acknowledged and validated, and where the person he’s speaking with feels a connection to him because of that shared trauma--because they understand what he has been through. It’s likewise important to note that while Song didn’t actually entirely understand, because she didn’t know who Zuko was or what being traumatized by the Fire Nation actually meant to him, Katara did--and she still was able to feel for him, connect to him, and want to help him.

By contrast, the moment with Mai occurs in a scene where Zuko’s pain and trauma are invalidated and dismissed, where his girlfriend attempts to distract him rather than help him through what is clearly a moment of great emotional turmoil. No, she shouldn’t have to be his therapist, but emotional support is vital in any relationship--especially when one party is traumatized and desperately needs support and love--and it is notably lacking from Maiko, starting from their very first romantic scene together.

Make of that what you will.

#atla #zutara #zuko #katara #mai #song #maiko salt #just covering my bases #atla meta #zutara meta

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secret-engima · 3 years

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hamelin-born

@secret-engima

It is. A very grim comfort to take (no pun intended), but Oscar’s sole almost-solace during that terrible time of blood and pain and (literal) soul-wrenching agony was that Salem hadn’t lied when she called his ‘Ozma’s son’. It was a truth that cut into him like barbed wire, a truth that lashed him with pain and grief and sorrow - but a truth that, as you said, he clung to.

He was son to a murdered father, he was a child of the Infinite Man, and it was - it didn’t bring him comfort, it brought him pain, but it kept him from shattering, it gave him the resolve he needed to hang on.

(And oh, but Salem would have laughed as she shifted the aim of her experiments, her torture - because Oscar was Ozma’s son, so Ozma’s son he would be in every way she could devise, ever similarity she could wrench into his body, down to his scars and to his limp - scars that, one day, Ozpin would take one look at and blanch because he recognized those scars from his own past.)

And Salem would. Salem would have poured her own magic into Oscar, not only to see what happened, not only to triumph over the memory of Ozpin one last time, giddy with the victory of finally killing her one-time husband for good. No. Salem would have set out to make Oscar her son as much as Ozpin’s as well, because she would take everything Ozma had, taint even the memory of him that lingered in the world - Ozma’s child would be her child as well, and best of all, to her? It would hurt Oscar so to know it. To be forced to acknowledge it. To have to call her ‘mother’.

Forget thunderstorms. Oscar might, in a panic, summon a full-on cyclone in an attempt to launch whoever’s pressing the issue as far away from him as possible.

...in a slightly fluffier vein (how did this get so dark?!) just. During their first meeting, or maybe a little later. Imagine Oscar hesitantly asking Ozpin if he’s his dad, because She said he was, but - there’s a difference between being a father and being a Dad.

And Ozpin, not hesitating for a single moment as he says ‘yes’. Yes, he’s Oscar’s dad.

(And that - that might just make Oscar break, for more reasons than one. Break, and *hug* Ozpin like there’s no tomorrow. Because he has healed, he’s worked hard at it, he has his family, he has his Torchdad and his friends/siblings and his magic, but this - this is something old and precious, the most tender of old scars, and now - now it’s split open so it can finally, finally heal clean.)

(He breaks, and goes in for a hug).

...also, Ozpin+Team Gremlin are willing accomplices in unceremoniously ejecting anyone from the room who thinks to ask Oscar about his ‘mom’ or guilt-trip/interrogate him for being ‘Salem’s child’. They will eject the individual at high velocity, preferably from the nearest window - hey, Ozpin is known for dropping people off of cliffs.

Me: Once again plopping this here because the reblog chain was getting super long XD-

It is a very dark comfort indeed, but it was what got him through to the other side in enough coherent pieces to help destroy her once and for all.

(But yessss, oh how she laughed as she shifted her efforts to remaking this child, this remnant, into being the most perfect child copy of Ozma she could make. The perfect *son* in her mind and all that entailed)

Salem wove her magic into Oscar’s and it save his life, but oh what an agonizing price. She took glee in *claiming* one of the few things that could have been once considered solely his and gloried in tainting the last pieces of his legacy (and in the end, isn’t it ironic that her own torments are what undid her, both in the future and in the time rewritten that would come later)

FLUFFY VEIN YES PLEASE. Your comment finally spurred me to actually write that scene btw. And it came out ... angstier than intended but I’m so pleased and I won’t post the whole thing yet but HERE HAVE A SNIP:

...

“Hey, Sondor,” murmured a voice through the tent fabric and Ozpin’s world crystalized, “Everything alright? You left in a bit of a hurry.” A deep rumble, inhuman and bass and … oddly content sounding. The voice —a child’s voice, a gentle voice, a voice he’d just heard laughing and waxing dramatic for a show of fake magic and real mysteries— laughed faintly, “Checking on someone then? You know everyone has to stay up late on performance nights.”

If he held on any tighter to his cane, he thought it might shatter, but the feel of it grounded him like it always had, and with the last bit of courage he possessed in this lifetime, he pushed the tent flap open and slipped inside as the voice —his son— finished saying, “We’ll be sure to take long naps in the morning.”

Ozpin was here. He was standing in the same space as his child, without a crowd to be wary of or a performance to keep them apart. He was standing in some kind of makeshift workshop, with a cot on the floor on the far side and the vast majority of space taken up by a battered, foldable metal table that seemed to be a desk and all the tools of a magician’s trade. Cards and wands and hats, gloves and fanciful outfits and a hundred thousand other things that didn’t matter, because amid all the mess, with his back mostly to the entrance and a massive Grimm lying contentedly next to his feet, was the Ringmaster.

His child.

The Grimm raised its head again to stare at him, a low noise he’d never heard the monsters make before rumbling from its chest, and the boy tilted his head toward the tent entrance absently, still not looking away from the Dust gem he was setting in his elaborate cane, “Hey Neo, you’re back early. I thought you were still scoping … out…” he finished setting the Dust in his cane, looked up and saw Ozpin standing there. Neither of them moved. Green-gold eyes in a young face —he looked ten had Qrow really been correct on estimating his age closer to twelve or thirteen?— went wide, and the magic passively swirling through the tent shrunk in on itself until he couldn’t feel it.

It occurred belatedly to Ozpin that while he had essentially been stalking his son for the last few years in an attempt to meet him and make sure he was okay, the boy wouldn’t know him at all. Or worse, had only heard of him from people who hated him —from Salem herself even—. And now Ozpin had just shown up in the boy’s living space without warning or invitation.

Terror and nerves tangled up all the words he wanted to say, all the ones he’d longed to say, and instead he found himself folding both of his shaking hands on the pommel of his cane and bleating out the first, most habitual line currently living in his brain, “Hello, I’m Professor Ozpin-.”

A shout, loud and gutted, and all his words died in his throat again as the boy threw himself off his little camp chair and at Ozpin. Long Memory clattered to the ground unnoticed as Ozpin instinctively raised his hands to wrap around the little body that collided with his waist, slender arms tightening like a vise around him and Ozpin couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-.

Had he really said-?

A hiccuping sob from the child in his arms, a fully body thing that shook him from his tousled black hair to his shoes while that word spun endlessly in Ozpin’s mind, haunting him and confusing him because he couldn’t have heard that right. He couldn’t have heard…

“Dad.”

The word echoed between them again, muffled by a young face buried in his suit jacket, and Ozpin felt his own breath start to stammer as he clung tighter to the boy in his arms, sinking down to his knees despite the screaming in his leg and burying his face in flyaway black hair, “I’m here.” He choked out, “I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re alright. I’m right … I’m right here.”

#Secret Engima Rambles #Team Gremlin verse #Melodies and Manuscripts #long post

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morvantmortuary · 2 years

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Hi, Rae! For your Writing Ask game:

'hunt you down (eat you alive)' and 💎

And 😂 with:

“Clearly,” he said, setting your stuffed alligator aside and getting to his feet. “You are the first authority I’d turn to on the latest eyeliner trends for departed octogenarians.”

“Gotta make sure Gramma’s wings are sharp if she’s going to meet the lord,” you said, fighting desperately to keep a straight face and failing.

"Sharp enough to keep the Devil on his toes,” Maxi agreed with his best solemn church face, causing you to break and laugh.

Hope you're doing well, and have a great rest of the day!

(Nora!!! hey babe, good to see you!! <3

💎- What was your favorite part?

Honestly, this is just one of my favorite stories for Maxi that I've written, period. It was the first time I really got to take a lot of him for a spin, both the sweet romantic part of him that I was used to and the part of him that's a straight-up killer, and after so many years of doing it, isn't too concerned with the morality of it like a normal person would be anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's also one of two chapters I got to write from his perspective, which is definitely something I want to do again, but couldn't quite manage with the information I needed to keep back in this version of the story!! hopefully the very very patient people still waiting on their requests won't mind if I do it again when I try to clear my inbox before the next semester starts :'D It was also the first time I really got to run around the House and the town from his perspective and see the things the Reader wasn't able to see until after Halloween, so that was definitely a lot of fun to play with. I took your question as an opportunity to re-read it, and I couldn't just pick one part, which I'll say I'm proud of as a whole!! :) One thing I did miss as we got into the bigger parts of the world was just Maxi being weird and romantic and kind of creepy around town/in the Mortuary, as I'd originally intended him to be when I first wrote him, so now that the pressure's off him and Final Them a bit for the next Arc, I hope to get back to that some more!

😂- Leave your favorite funny scene in the ask and I’ll tell you what I was thinking.

A;HGJ;GHFAH this really was just a lucky spur-of-the-moment conversation that happened as I was thinking about doing makeup and writing, but it is part of the reason this story is one of my favorites!! one of the things I love writing just as much as smut apparently is two people in love making each other laugh, because to me that's such a critical part of a relationship. you want someone who will take things seriously with you when they should, obviously, but I also think having a similar sense of humor is such a huge turn-on, bc I'm really a total goofball under all the eyeliner lmao. Reader's also trying to figure out why Maxi is watching them so intently, not quite knowing the truth yet, but also not realizing the depths of his feelings for them bc this scene happens before the graveyard flashback in spellbound (reprise) (something I'm definitely going to have to establish a bit more clearly in my next version of this lmao). Reader, as we know, deals with some self-esteem issues it's me I'm bitches!! so of course the only logical reason he'd be watching them is to see how people are doing makeup lately, right?? Maxi, of course, deals mostly with little old people, and here we are. :'D I'm so glad you sent it in, though, bc that really was an exchange that had me giggling to myself in the wee hours when I wrote it.

thank you so much for being kind enough to ask questions, babe!!! I really appreciate you taking the time, and I hope these answers were to your liking! <3)

#nice people #nora!! 🥰#ask game #ask memes

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maximumwrites · 3 years

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before i begin, i would just like to say THE IDEA FOR THIS STORY IS NOT MINE!!! I GOT THE MAIN IDEA FOR THE PLOTLINE FROM @aressss1 (if you would like for me to take this down, please dm, and i’d be glad to!)

now, let’s get into it!

summary; you go on a journey through the nether for the purpose of reaching a fortress, but in the end earn something more valuable then anything that may have been in the fortress.

The heat was excruciating. Sweat soaked through your clothes in the most uncomfortable way possible. The mugginest made it almost impossible for you to breathe had it not been for your avian lungs, specialized for high altitudes and heightened canine senses.

You wiped your brow once more letting out a sigh. How exactly did anything live in this hell hole of a realm? There were so many creatures that lived here similar to a hybrid like yourself, piglins, striders, ghasts….piglins.. Regardless, there were too many.

Living in the overworld as a hybrid must be a lot easier, you thought. Fellow humans to walk amongst, and half-family to learn from, while hybrids here in the Nether had to suffer with their animalistic brethren, leaving their human roots behind. In the overworld you learned how to read, how to write, how to locate your way home through the stars. But learning amongst your other roots, you learned what plants to eat, when meat is rotten. Different howls at night, and what they mean. And your avian routes, what winds are best for flight, meaning of clouds, and how to navigate the world through the heavens.

After hours of wandering, frequently checking your map of the fortress you bought, or more so bribed from local villagers, you took a break on a netherrack, double checking that it wasn't a magma rock that would leave you icing your butt for days. What to do, what to do… Opening up the small side bag you carried with you everywhere, you dug around for your canteen. Praise the lords there- it's empty. “Shit…” you muttered to yourself, already standing up and summoning obsidian from your inventory.

After 5 minutes of mumbling curses under your breath and struggling with your flint and steel, you finally managed to light the portal. Gingerly putting the tip of your wing through, watching it disappear was still such a weird concept to you.

This was your first Nether trip, alone that is. Raised out of pity by villagers when you were dumped in the town square, you would take frequent commissions in order to pay your rent. Some of which included venturing to the Nether, accompanied that is. This, however was your first time unaccompanied, deemed the right age to be on your own. Just thinking about it made you roll your eyes.

Fully stepping through the portal, you fell out, stomach a mess from the swirling particles. After taking a few seconds to ensure your lunch wasn’t lost to the violent swirling behind you, you took an assessment of the sweet smelling forest. That is, compared to the soot covered hell you just left.

You couldn't help but take a deep breath of the fresh oxygen, followed by smaller sniffs, testing the forest for any predators that may leap on you at any moment. The fur covering your tail and feather coated wings stood up to intimidate anyone; or anything nearby, but you sensed nothing. However, there was a sooty smell still lingering, which you shrugged off, blaming it on the residue from the sooty hell you had just left. Just thinking about it made you shiver, urging you to get far away from the portal, and search out fresh water.

Now, this is when your avian roots come in handy. Taking in a quick breath, you spurred your wings out and lifted off. The feeling was still foregin, the lightness in your lungs, and the weightlessness of your bones. Your human instincts screamed in your ears to get back on the ground, but as usual, you let the wind drown out their familiar cries. The air here was different from back home, you thought. Traveling in the Nether really is worth it. You can't help but chuckle and shake your head at these thoughts. Realizing nobody is around, you feel a sense of embarrassment, what a weirdo chuckling to yourself midair.

The air cooled down your skin, and removed the soot still clinging onto your sweat drenched clothes. Ensuring you didn't stray too far from the portal, you finally came across a small creek, running quick enough to get water without dangers of bacteria (something you learned from your fleet-footed furry friends.)

Scooping up water into your canteen and even more to drink at the present time, you sure did spend some time there, just resting. Maybe I should set up camp here… you slowly began to drift off, mind slowing down and muscles relaxing in the more familiar environment. But right as you finally closed your eyes, your ears twitched. Humming in response, too out of it to think straight, you merely rolled over, not even thinking of what may have caused it. Not until the crinkle of leaves just nearby, too loud to be a mere rodent. This time, you fully sat up, a low growl in the back of your throat, fur & feathers standing up on high ends. You scrambled to your feet, summoning your bow swiftly in one hand, and your dull yet much needed dagger in the other. Tucking the latter into your belt and the former notched with a poison arrow, your arms shuddered with nerves. Of course, you thought, the first time I'm on my own I get killed.

Breathing as softly as possible, you survey the area, sniffing to see if you can smell anyone nearby. Perhaps the dusty, sour scent of an enderman, or the rotting of a zombie's flesh. Instead, all you can smell is a faint whiff of that damn hellscape. You thought you lost the scent in your high speed flight, or even in the quick bath you took in the stream. Yet, it still lingered. This time, it had the faint scent of rotting, and the sickly sweet smell of gold.

Your brain, now fully awake, searched through all the possibilities. There's no way that any mob would have followed me, only humans and endermen can cross in between realms. And even if it was an enderman, it would still smell of the end- before your brain could continue its ramble, it was interrupted by yet another shuffle in the brush nearby. Followed by a soft; squeal? It sounded like a pig to a slaughter, only much softer and lower of pitch. Could it be a child? Maybe another human?

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you re-aimed your faintly shimmering bow, now towards the brush that seemed to be making noises. Slowly approaching, walking so softly that even your heightened senses couldn't hear your advances, you opted to use one hand and push away the brush.

What you found did nothing but leave you dazed and confused, unaware of what you were getting yourself into.

thank you for reading all the way through! i intend to post the next part within the next 2 days, as i already have it finished. if you have any tips for me, please feel free to share!

~max

#techno x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dsmp techno #x reader #series #fanfic

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lycorogue · 3 years

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Some Passing Thoughts on the New Miraculous Episodes

Finally got around to watching the fansubs of the Shanghai special and “Truth” (I’m still waiting for the other episodes to come out before watching Furious Fu).

Miraculous World: Shanghai – The Legend of Ladydragon

I have to say, I might change my mind later if the Prodigious proves to be more crucial to the overall lore of the series, but right now? Yeah. This special is a major skip for me.

I did not connect with Fei the way I fell in love with Jess and Aeon. I am so pissed at the set-up the writers came up with to GET Marinette to Shanghai; her reasoning is the most selfish thing we have ever seen her do and it is such an injustice to her character. Plus, it is like neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir learned anything from the New York trip as they both show up in Shanghai kind of spur of the moment (i.e. didn’t tell the other they were leaving Paris). In fact, Marinette - again, going back to my hatred for the setup to get her to China - didn’t even CONSIDER the fact that Paris would be left unprotected; that Ladybug would be MIA. Granted, it was stated that Hawk Moth was surprisingly inactive, but shouldn’t that put her on hyper-alert; waiting for the other shoe to drop and Hawky to release something big that he was building up to? Instead she just lowers her guard and doesn’t even consider her superhero duties when planning on following Adrien.

Another annoying thing is that the writers didn’t seem to learn anything from backlash against the episode “Kung Fu.” They just once again have Adrien be the one offering to teach Marinette Mandarin; not her mother (whose Chinese name Marinette never even knew), nor her great-uncle. Another writers flub was in the battle against Roi Argent. Ladybug questions Mei Shi’s suggestion that revenge does not equal justice (if that was translated properly), and... I’m pretty sure Marinette already showcased in previous episodes such as “Silencer” that she very much knows that revenge doesn’t equal justice??? She’s the one who corrected Chat Noir that Silencer coercing Bob Roth to admit he stole from Kitty Section and Marinette isn’t justice; it’s revenge. So???? HUH? NOW she magically feels like Fei’s revenge on Cash is justice for what he did to her?

If all of that wasn’t bad enough, the pacing of this special was in complete overdrive as well. You didn’t have any of those emotional moments - both heart breaking and fluff-bombs - that you had in the NY special. The focus was largely on Fei, and I didn’t even really like her. She didn’t have the heart and the fully-fleshed characterization that Jess or Aeon had.

I’m also confused about Gabriel spending the past 15 years planning this whole thing. HOW!? WHY!? This is before Adrien was even born, or VEEERY shortly after if we skipped over his 15th birthday in the series. This was LOOOOOOONG before Emilie’s illness, which is presumably why Gabriel started using the butterfly miraculous in the first place (as showcased by Gabe in Origins asking Nooroo to remind him how the powers even work before using them for the first time in a corrupted state on Adrien’s first day of public school). So, if getting the Great Power of the Prodigious was something he was planning on doing literally all of Adrien’s life, why present it as “I found something that can finally give me an edge against Ladybug and Chat Noir”? I mean, what was his original endgame going to be? He couldn’t have possibly known that he’d be in dire need for the cat and ladybug jewels but struggled to take them from two teenage superheroes. It’s like the writers are trying to set him up as some mastermind akin to David Xanatos from Disney’s Gargoyles, but they are failing miserably. The whole Hawk Moth plot just doesn’t make sense to me.

Honestly? The only things that made this special worth it for me were: 1) Finding out a bit more about Sabine and her family (I love that she probably picked the name Sabine because it sounded like the pronunciation of her Chinese name) 2) Seeing Gorilla be his action figure nerd self a bit more (and the action figures of Uncanny Valley and Eagle) 3) Mei Shi in Renling (?) form, who was hella adorable! I need him as a plushie STAT 4) Adrien being the precious bean that he is. Just every moment he’s on screen was adorable (complete with him STILL having the picture of Marinette that was sent to him in “Evillustrator” saved to his baton and using that to try to find her) 5) Seeing the world through the eyes of a kwami for the first time and learning a touch more non-crucial lore 6) Mei Shi in statue form reminding me of the Dragon costume on The Masked Singer.

(I know, seeing them side-by-side now, they really aren’t that similar after all, but it’s been about a year since Dragon was on The Masked Singer, and he’s still what I kept thinking of as I watched Mei Shi on screen)

While I obsessively watched the New York special at least a dozen times, I’m really only seeing myself re-watch this special once more when it’s in English, and maybe whenever I do a full-series binge (which is super rare that I take the time for that).

Not impressed. Sorry.

Truth

“Truth”, on the other hand? Hhhhhnnnnnngggg. My heart! It breaks! Poor Marinette. Poor poor Luka. I mean, silver linings at the end there, but also BIG OOF. (Also, why wasn’t Adrien around at all whenever Truth made people confess that Marinette’s secret was her love for Adrien? xDDD)

I’m also a bit confused about the Adrien pictures. She had them taken down pretty much since “Troublemaker”, and yet her walls are once more papered with Adrien’s likeness now that Marinette is trying to get over him and date Luka? How does THAT make any sense outside of the writers going “we need an awkward phone call between Marinette and Luka. Oh! I know! A picture of her Adrien-covered bedroom walls is accidentally sent to Luka!” >3> Also.... what is UP with Luka’s animation again!? The kid was so pale it’s like they forgot to add any color to his model in this episode. WHY CAN’T THEY JUST ANIMATE MY PRECIOUS SON LOOKING HANDSOME EVER!? FIRST NO EYELASHES, AND NOW NO SKIN TONE!? WHYYYYYYYYY!? Personally, I prefer “Silencer” to “Truth” both in overall story and in Luka’s akumatized form design. Also, side note, did anyone else notice that Ladybug was hit by Luka’s attack and couldn’t speak for most of the battle both times? And that she needed Chat Noir to help her set up her Lucky Charm both times? And that Luka’s drive both times was to get to the truth?

I did still enjoy this episode very much. It showcases the new stresses Marinette has to face (totally unfair; I agree. However, it’s a standard trope in most teenage superhero stories such as Teen Titans and Spider-Man, so I was expecting it). It showcases how hard it is for her to figure out a balance between life and superheroing (again, re: standard teen-superhero trope). The fans get confirmation on a fantheory that’s been circling pretty much since Luka was introduced (ESPECIALLY after the episode “Desperada”). The Ladynoir shippers are well fed, and it’s great to see LB and CN praise each other - including Ladybug’s love of Chat Noir’s humor.

I hope this isn’t the end of us seeing Luka in the show (that would break my heart even more) and it feels lame to build up the Lukanette “love rival” arc only for it to die off before it really goes anywhere. There was so much story potential there where Marinette could grow to learn what it truly means to be in love, and not just idolize and romanticize someone you’re infatuated with. Instead, all she learned is that she is alone aside from Chat Noir, and I feel like that’s SUUUUPER railroading the Ladynoir ship. And, frankly, I’d much prefer to see the Ladynoir side grow naturally, as it has been, instead of forcing Marinette’s hand because Chat Noir is the only one she can be MOSTLY honest with (secret identities notwithstanding).

It’s been a long hiatus. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to dodge fandom salt, but still get a larger dose than I intended to have in my fandom diet, so maybe my views are a bit tainted from that. However, this special and season premiere feel a bit like the writers are stumbling. I don’t know if the pandemic somehow affected their writing flow, or if they feel pressured by the fans to tell the series’ story a certain way and are scrambling to do so, or if they are rushing to an ending instead of taking their time and letting it naturally unfold as they had with the first few seasons. But, regardless of their reason, I hope they re-find themselves; the ones who told great stories in seasons 1 and 2 and (poor writing for Marinette notwithstanding) really good stories in season 3. I hope they can step up their game for the remainder of season 4.

It’s been a long break, and we all deserve something good to feed us. We don’t need another GoT or HIMYM final season. Especially when this isn’t even supposed to BE the final season of the series.

Guess it’s time to wait for “Lies” to come out, and hope for the best.

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jeannereames · 3 years

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Hi, I'm curious about the incident with the Pages, what exactly happened with that? Was Alexander not exactly a "kid" person and the pages didn't really bond with him? It seems extreme for them to want him dead. I thought of Alexander as a people person who wanted to be liked. He seemed to care about his brother, even with his disability. Maybe that's just Renault's influence since her books portrayed Alexander as compassionate and empathetic. I think you'd provide a better take on it, thanks!

What happened with the Pages or, as Beth likes to refer to them (accurately) the King’s Youths* had nothing to do with Alexander’s feelings towards kids or even teenagers. It had to do with timē, or public honor. I’ve written before about the importance of timē in Macedonian politics, particularly with regard to Pausanias’s murder of Philip.

Before I go further, however, I want to point to an excellent article by senior Macedoniast Elizabeth D. Carney, “The Role of the Basilikoi Paides at the Macedonian Court,” in Macedonian Legacies, Howe and Reames, eds., (2008), 145-64** Beth doesn’t just write about Olympias and Macedonian Women. She frequently deals with Macedonian court politics, and that’s what this article addresses. The incident with the Pages is examined in detail, and she comes to somewhat different conclusions about the complexities of it than she did in her earlier “Regicide in Macedonia,” although the latter should be read by anyone wanting to understand why Pausanias killed Philip (see linked post above).

Much of what follows summarizes Beth’s article, but read the whole thing as she explores a number of intriguing issues surrounding the Pages. (Beth is a good writer, clear, unlike some.)

Back to timē. One of the (many) jobs of the King’s Youths involved attending the king on hunts.

Also, a critical ritual that marked the movement from boyhood to manhood in Macedonian society was a hunt wherein the boy was expected to spear a boar (very dangerous prey) without nets (to hold it). If you read Dancing with the Lion: Becoming, Alexander undergoes that very ritual in chapter 3.

Anyway, most Macedonians would have undergone this rite-of-passage in their mid/late teens, possibly early 20s. Much is made of the fact Kassandros hadn’t, even though he was in his 30s. It was seen as a lack of courage (and thus manliness: andreia).

Furthermore, there was a Persian tradition that nobody in the royal hunting party could strike at an animal until the king had. To anticipate the king was a serious affront. Persians were all about rank and status.

Macedonians didn’t really have rules, per se, but something similar seems to have been assumed (unless the king intended somebody else to be chief hunter). In Macedonian hunts, competition was very much the name of the game, and “helping” the king wasn’t appreciated. Lysimachos found that out the hard way. That Krateros had the gall not just to save Alexander from a lion, but commemorate it in an ex-voto, is notable, although it was actually Krateros’s son who commissioned the statue group (c. 320 BCE) memorializing his father’s bravery … after both his father and Alexander were dead. By choosing that event of many in his father’s career, what do you think is the message sent? Not just his father’s ties to Megalexandros, but that Alexander wouldn’t be Alexander without Krateros. Perhaps it was his son’s way to hit back at Alexander’s own elevation of Hephaistion (his dad’s chief rival) to semi-divine status as a hero.

Another bit of background, Alexander had been trucking around Asia for about six years by the time this occurred. He was getting reinforcements for troops, but it’s not clear he was getting other reinforcements: e.g., new Basilikoi Paides. Hatzopoulos has theorized not, or if he did, it was early in the campaign, when he sent back Koinos and Meleager along with the newlyweds to Macedonia for a “break” in the winter of 334/3, to make new little Macedonians. They returned with reinforcements. So, maybe we can shave off a year. Still, and assuming Hammond is right that boys were King’s Youths only between about 14 and 18, these “boys” were getting a bit long in the tooth, even the youngest being past the 4-year appointment.

A lot of focus is spent on the conspiracy, Kallisthenes as their stoic-ish teacher, and fluffed up speeches (written by Curitus) about freedom and tyranny… It comes off very Romanized. I won’t go into Kallisthenes, but he reminds me a bit of some US Senators (Ben Sasse): a lot of hot air about principles while kissing ass with his votes. In Kallisthenes’s case, kissing ass with his glowing, propagandic history written for the Greeks. Even his own uncle (Aristotle) thought he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. (Yeah…don’t think much of the guy; can you tell?)

What people have forgotten about—but Beth discusses—is the lead up to the conspiracy. What prompted it?

A hunt gone wrong prompted it. Hermolaos stepped between the king and his quarry, to spear the boar for himself. One source says he did it because he thought the king in trouble, but the other doesn’t give that as a motivation.

A-ha! Did you just say that in your head? You should have. 😊

The fallout: a furious Alexander had Hermolaos not only flogged, but also took away his horse. (Kinda like Dad taking the keys to your car.)

Now, flogging wasn’t that shocking (horrible as it sounds) in Greek and Macedonian society. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” is a saying they’d condone. Normally it was reserved for slaves and children (and women). The King’s Youths were a little old for it but…it’s the king. Curtius specifically states that the Basilikoi Paides performed jobs that were normally slaves’ duty, but being for the king, it became an honor. Plus most of these teens would age out c. 18 into another unit, probably the Hypaspists (Pezhetairoi under Philip) or the Companion Cavalry.

But—if Hatzopoulos is right—these young men may have been some years past 18, which would make a flogging especially humiliating. Even if they weren’t, and Alexander had been getting new Basilikoi Paides post-Gaugamela as well as new troops, Hermolaos was still a touchy teen punished like a “little boy” or a slave for just trying to spear his boar and be a man!

In punishing Hermolaos for insulting Alexander’s timē, Alexander, in turn, insulted his. Alexander no doubt saw it as a breach of discipline and decorum, as well as a slap at his own courage and prowess in the hunt. But to Hermolaos, it was, as Beth points out, “emasculating.”

Keep in mind: these are young men, even if late teens/early twenties. Everything’s a crisis. They’re also the sons of the top tier Macedonian elite, so very tetchy about their honor. And the Basilikoi Paides would have been an absolute stew of competition and testosterone poisoning.

I can just imagine a background to this of his mates teasing him, “When ya gonna get your boar, Hermolaos?” “You too much of a white-belly to face down a boar, Hermolaos?” Etc. Maybe he really did think, for a moment, Alexander was in danger AND this would be his chance! He could protect his king (his job as a Page) AND win his manhood! Two birds with one spear!

Except it didn’t turn out like that.

Smarting from more than the flogging, he would have complained to his friends in the unit, and griping grew legs and became a conspiracy. As Beth points out, they may even have heard fathers and uncles complaining about Alexander’s “Persianizing,” but they only complained. The boys, spurred by youth and Kallisthenes’s attempts to cover his ass-kissing with a pretense of philosophy, imagined themselves—especially Hermolaos and his lover Sostratos—as the new Harmodaios and Aristogeiton. (And yeah, I bet some clever soul pointed out the similarities between Hermolaos’s name and Harmadaios’s.)

So what is usually seen as an event all about Alexander’s increasing Persianizing and tyranny really gives us a peek into the pressure cooker that was Elite Life at the Macedonian court. Now you understand why I keep comparing these guys to a pack of sharks.

More on the Pages, Companions, Somatophylakes at the court....

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

(**) The link above takes you to academia-edu where you can obtain a free download not only of that article, but the entire festschrift in honor of Gene. Tim (Howe) and I have made it free in PDF form and very cheap in paper form at Amazon. It’s basically sold at printing cost and a few pennies. All proceeds from paper copies go to the subvention fund of the Association of Ancient Historians, which provides financial assistance to grad students and junior scholars to attend annual meetings. Tim and I get nothing. (You will also help us shaft the dirty dog who bought Regina from its original owner and shafted us by printing and selling copies but giving us no royalties [like we got much anyway]. Academic karma.)

(*) While Beth’s translation of “King’s Youths” is more accurate, I decided not to use it in Dancing with the Lion because it falls awkwardly on the ear, and most people familiar with the court are already familiar with the Pages. That said, I agree with her that “pages” is misleading, causing most to envision pre-pubescent boys after the medieval fashion, whereas these guys are closer to squires.

#Royal Pages #Basilikoi Paides #Pages' Conspiracy #Hermalaos's Conspiracy #Hermalaos #Sostratos #Alexander the Great #Elizabeth Carney #Classics #ancient macedonia #Ancient Greece #Macedonian court #asks #Macedonian Royal Pages #Kallisthenes #Callisthenes #Krateros #Craterus

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spidermilkshake · 3 years

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Isolated Element--Part 1: Captoptromancy

Welp, I'd best post writing on the hellsite too. What better place for the unhinged fanfiction that spills between my brain's cracks?

IP: Kingdom Hearts (powerfully headcanon'd)

Genre: Fantasy, Mystery+Suspense

Word Count: 2,400+

TW: Unreal/derealized dream states, mild body horror

(Next)

1: Catoptromancy

It had been a few years since she had last come this way. Already, nothing was at all like she remembered. Years back, Traverse Town didn’t even have its proper name; it was only known as the settlement cobbled together from Gaia’s refugees—from Radiant Garden to Corel to Nibelheim—a hybrid of survivalist shelters and shanty-town as more and more hunks of unfortunate Worlds materialized in the outskirts, sometimes bringing hundreds of new people with them. A few years ago there weren’t quite five thousand folk crowded in here, getting by on salvaged bits and crisis aid given by the Elveshmean military and the Elvaan Źduhace (the Elven Dragoon Order). If not for the work of Radiant Garden’s more progressive intellectuals, Gaia’s ties to Elves and even fellow Human nations would not have been so strong, and if not for these ties, the alarm at the sudden radio silence would not have been so swift in onset. If not for this, Traverse Town would likely have remained a guttering, suffering den of survivors—languishing and on their own.

Aqua sympathized.

As she disembarked the transport cruiser into a grey, stale-smelling rain she noticed immediately the place’s changes. She pulled the sides of her hooded poncho together, pausing by the platform’s railing to look out over the newly-constructed bell tower, and the mis-matched buildings surrounding it. Formerly, this area had been half-built and strewn with piles of salvaged rubble. The wrecked hulk of an Interspace-Airship hybrid, the Highwind Mark IV, had lain propped up on blocks, its engines burst and drained of power. It had since been moved—or taken apart, likely to go towards the Mark V. Shaking the oil rivulets dripping down her hood away, Aqua brought herself back to the present. Traverse Town was now equipped with signs; she began following some, scanning the terraced levels and built-into underpasses for signs of nightly lodging. A warm, elevated porch caught her eye—its swinging sign lit up with a covered manatech lantern, the orange glow making “Bedknobs+Broomsticks: Food—Rooms—Entertainment—Vacancies Available” legible through the weather. She climbed the stairs to the entrance, taking a moment to shake the rain from her poncho again, to not drip a soot-marred trail all through the place. The least she could hope for was that this one wasn’t already grimy, and without her griming it up for the proprietor.

It did turn out to be clean inside, mostly. A few active spiderwebs decorated the high, out-of-the-way corners, but a polished oak bar-top was well-shined, and a row of recessed booth seating looked to be mostly clear minus some spice containers. It was a tiny place, a staircase and a cramped elevator entrance intruding halfway into the diner-like area. Clearly, most of the establishment was on ascending floors and this scant hole-in-the-wall was the only important thing besides cheap beds. At first she assumed she was alone on the floor—some clanking in the doorway behind the bar area implied one distracted kitchen worker only. A sound like sheafs of silk rubbing together turned her head, and the slight, constant movements caught her peripheral vision.

She jolted, instinct forcing her to grip thin air after a Keyblade that would no longer come to her. After all this time, she’d assumed she would be used to the full range of weird entities roaming the Three Realms, but apparently this… entity, was still a surprise.

He was wedged into the outermost side of the closest booth, in the shadowy corner. His feet were propped up on the table and half-crossed, but it was not their electric-green claws and webbed toes the color of “drowning victim” that was so terrifying: The rest of him was by far more strange. Tall, slender, with swept-back pointed ears and some of his dark reddish hair braided into an Elf-Knot identified his species—and the bustling array of mutations he bore brought that species into question again. Above the protective gloves and bracers he wore, his forearms were that drowned-blue color, and slithering with several large tentacles each. His ripped jeans were a similar story at the hip joint—and even more sprung from a point near his shoulder blades. The deep V-neck of his shirt allowed a travesty of more subtle issues to be on display: His shoulders and across his collarbones had stubby, green quills protruding from them, the veins of his neck close to the surface were a green hue too and hideously engorged. On second glance, Aqua suppressed a shudder of revulsion as she saw the veins on his arms and even one faintly popping from his temple were the same. A moment passed in which this Grey Elf paid no attention to her—engrossed with a ratty-looking, thin book propped open against one knee—but then, vivid purple eyes flicked over to the onlooker.

“Well, well, cydezé,” the twisted elf greeted her, gaze flicking over her from the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho emblem on her chest to the lacing ornaments over her corset and spur-stabilizers on her boots, landing at last on her muted blue hair and bright eyes. “They say it’s rude to stare, stranger.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” Aqua stalled her movements by force of will, as instinct was sending her creeping backwards. “I couldn’t help but look.”

“’Swhat they all say!” He snickered, snapping his book closed. She couldn’t be so sure of this relaxed, humored response; her eyes lingered on the tentacles as they coiled back over themselves. “No offense taken at all, eh, miss..?”

“I’m Aqua,” she suppressed a flinch, especially as one of his eyebrows raised in intense interest.

“Aqua, eh?” Finally, he slid the mutated pair of feet down from sight. “Excellent. I’m named Oppidimy—though some call me the ‘Octomancer’. Or a walking accident.” He chuckled again, grinning.

“Now we’re introduced, at least—so! You didn’t come in here after me, I’ll assume, but surely you’re looking for someone.”

Aqua’s brow twitched as it was tempted to furrow, “What makes you say that?”

“You have that ‘looking for someone’ quality,” he smirked, tipping a hand towards the scene outside, “It’s a safe assumption. Most who come here are, in fact, trying to find people.”

The young Keybearer half-bit her tongue; appearance aside, she was unsure of how wise it would be to make even a guarded mention of her goals. Oppidimy was clearly a mage of some sort: What kind was as uncertain as how he’d come to be half-elf, half-aberration. And what kind of magic-user he was made all the difference.

“Actually, I wasn’t looking for someone,” she chanced it. She figured she could downplay the importance it had, leaving little clue that the lost item in question was the sacred Keyblade. “Something, actually. Several somethings.”

“Lost some stuff?”

“Actually… more like stolen.” She sucked in a breath, reigning in the residual outrage that lingered even years later, “A sword, and a set of plate armor. They were very important to me and I don’t have much idea of who took them from where I last saw them.”

Oppidimy clicked his tongue, eyes hooding in a disgusted expression as he nodded.

“That’s cute—people really are out there like that. World’s in the process of ending and they’ll still try robbin’ you blind.” Aqua blinked hard at the statement, but he carried on overtop of her visible bewilderment, “Odds are, the culprit’s one of a short and nasty list; the only types who would be out to steal anything that wasn’t provisions, these days.

“I might be able to help y’ out,” a slow, crooked smile spread over his pointed features, and his gloved fingertips settled together into a triangle of scheming thoughts. “At least, if you’ll have me. At the very least I could help rule out some of these skeezballs.”

“And how would you accomplish this?” Her voice turned suspicious, and the Rurcelan mutant obviously cottoned on. He disbanded the triangle of wicked contemplations with a series of assuring waves, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Ah, ah, I know that tone—relax! My methods are one hundred percent legitimate, completely moral. Even though I blend in quite well with society’s villains and monsters, the ‘look’ was not exactly intentional. But, if you’ll take up my offer, you’ll see how it serves to my advantage.”

As Oppidimy began to stand and tuck his book amongst the grips of the tentacles issuing from one elbow, Aqua tilted her head:

“…So you specialize in espionage?”

The elf raised a gloved finger to his lips and the quills on his bare shoulders went rigid, suddenly looking grim and serious.

“Not so loud,” He slid past her, the Keybearer wearing a stone face even as she cringed internally at the tendrils coming inches from brushing by. Stepping towards the stairs, he turned back to call over his shoulder, smirk returned: “Come see me some time if you need a hand, yeh? I’m in 32. I’d suggest giving that old office door a knock so you can get a room of your own before it gets too late.” He began to cackle, “Owner’s a bit narcoleptic, so knock hard!” His laughter echoed, becoming cartoonish as he ascended the narrow stairwell and the raucous noise faded out. She paused a few seconds just to breathe.

Never had she encountered someone quite so exaggerated—it felt like a front—or a trap. She could be the intended victim, but just as easily the intended bait, a lure to draw in the unsavory targets he’d referred to. Only further investigation would bring that to light.

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

As suspected—the place was a cheap joint for cheap beds. The need in town was high, and the cramped room she was assigned was, at the very least, livable. Crumpled under the stiff, rough-textured outer sheet, every attempt to calculate the dubiousness of the elf’s offer, versus the likelihood she could finally close in on her lost Keyblade, set her sleep back another hour. And another. But slowly, surely, sleep and Aqua arrived at an uneasy truce.

She had the dream again. Different—and clearer.

The vision of that round, white, metal-plated room, the gaps in this armoring (or acoustic featuring?) showing faint glints of pipes, cables, and other hints at underlying manatech. It mocked her. She was for a second so infuriated at its recurrence that she almost missed the new features: Insignias in a stark black marked the walls, familiar but strange. It was much like the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho—or the Heartless Emblem, itself very much a cheap plagiarizing of the order’s sign—upside-down, so that the spikes forming the “Chi” took the peak position.

The miasma of her unconscious half-lucidity swam around her as she struggled to turn around and face the raised central area. She had already seen what was arranged there during the prior dream states. Her armor, and her Keyblade, where she knew it last. If the passage of time was to be believed, someone had been keeping it tidy and dust-free.

The chair was new. Aqua’s jaw hung in silence a moment, unable to react, as she faced its occupant. Outside of this recurring hallucination she knew she was asleep—and she wondered if he, within the dream, was also. His dark-toned skin and wildly-arranged silver hair were uncomfortably familiar, and his face itself also so but for different reasons. His ears were slightly-pointed as a half-elf’s would be, but since his eyes were closed she couldn’t tell if he possessed the mish-mash of colors and features she dreaded. She had seen this man before, she was sure this was… but somehow, her mind refused to let her assume this was the same person. Or persons, technically. He had to be, and yet… she was sure this quietly seated man was another entirely.

Her frown began to appear, giving some control of her face and voice back. Whoever this dead-ringer for Terra (and Xehanort) was, there was no likelier suspect for the role of the one who had relocated this Chamber—her Keyblade with it.

“Where are you?”

Aqua nearly jumped, though her dream-self felt far too sluggish for it. Exactly as and exactly what she had been gathering up energy to say the man with closed eyes had asked in a low murmur, devoid of feeling. Though, this she supposed could be from him truly being asleep—mumbling and aware of her regardless.

“No,” she barked, “You tell me. Where are you? And who are you?”

The man paused, eye movements flickering behind their lids. In painfully slow motions, he began to shake his head.

“I cannot answer you. You must tell me first.” He was still almost deadpan, with a hint of tired annoyance creeping in now.

“You can’t force me to tell you, and you can’t do anything to me. This is a damn dream-state. So, if you want anything, you first.”

He huffed, his brows twitching, and the sleek black fabric that made up his gloves straining as his grip on the armrests tightened.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t understand. I cannot answer you first because I have no answer. I don’t know who I am.” He let silence return to the humming void around them, becoming neutral in expression, “But perhaps, if you tell me your name, I can know more.”

A spike of hope softened her expression; the frustration and the intonation was so like his, melded neatly with the rigid aura of calm he imposed on himself—two traits so Terra-esque and incongruous with each other they seemed unlikely to be performed. And very un-Xehanort, in this way.

“I’m Aqua. Do you have a name, by chance?”

“I do,” he nodded, brows knitting slightly, “But it would mean nothing to you. It is a chosen name, taken after the time you seem to recognize me from.”

“Are you Terra?” She forged ahead, prepared for a let-down.

“I am aware of who that name belongs to, but I do not think so,” he surprised her, “Before you ask: I am equally aware of the one called Xehanort. I am not him.

“You have seen this Chamber before, haven’t you?” A dim inkling of curiosity entered his soft tone, surprising her alongside the change of subject. “Years ago I began to see this place. In my dreams at first, and then, every time I closed my eyes. I suspect you saw these visions. You saw the way into the room, hidden in what is left of the bastion of Radiant Garden.”

“How did you figure that out?” But, already guessing the answer, her eyes wandered to the sections of her armor propped on the central dais.

“I have memory I can’t explain,” he began. “I remember the name of the one this Keyblade, and its armor manifestation, belongs to. Aqua.” Sudden, jarring, he seemed unable to resist letting his eyes snap open and zero in on her with their bright, orange intensity, “This belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

An immediate shock came over her—but not only from being eye-to-eye. As soon as it happened, a spell broke. She felt roaring in her ears; the Chamber of Repose winked out and she was filled with the sickening sensation of half-awake, confused floating just above one’s body. Psyche-wise, she felt slammed back into her self as she bolted awake, still curled under the cheap inn’s terrible sheets, the room quiet and empty.

She sat up, waiting for some soreness that never came. A vivid dream. Not exactly, but closer than really being there. For a minute she just listened; a few muffled clangs of activity echoed from some lower floor, and she could hear through razor-thin walls the sounds of folk opening and shutting doors, exchanging bleary greetings, and going about the act of “morning”. A sliver of weak light creeping in between shut curtains confirmed the early, small hour. She collected her wits, and stood. She wasn’t getting any more sleep now anyways.

To Be Continued

#fan fiction #fanfiction #fantasy #mystery and suspense #kingdom hearts #heavily headcanon #headcanon #aqua #birth by sleep #isolated element #xemnas #oc #oppidimy #traverse town #chamber of repose #sfw story #sfw fanfic #captoptromancy #I too name my things weirdly but I generally do so with a theme apparent and not just to sound cool hAHAHah

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collapse-and-comfort · 4 years

Note

Prompts you say? If you want to/it intrigues you - any (and all) Geralt whump would be amazing! As far as a specific prompt - maybe something involving poisoning? Something lethal to humans and not-so-fun for Witchers? But only if you want to! -@sick-bae

Oh, my goodness!!! Thank you, @sick-bae for the amazing prompt! Sorry it took me so long (roughly forever) to write it! I meant to make it a drabble. (Oops!) Here is a bunch of Geralt whump for the sake of Geralt whump! I hope you enjoy!

It also helped me fill another @badthingshappenbingo square! (View my BTHB Card.)

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Whumpee: Geralt of Rivia

Caretaker: Jaskier

Pairing: None

Squire Filled: Delirium

Word Count: 3,303

Jaskier sat in their little camp and plucked at his lute’s strings. The tune was flippant, atonal nonsense but Jaskier stopped and started again as though he’d made a mistake.

This is taking too long, he thought as the sun slipped below the horizon.

He nudged away the familiar pang that came with being unable to do anything in these situations. He continued to strum, and imagined the thing Geralt was hunting -a creature that was feline and reptilian in grace and appearance. It was difficult not to find inspiration in that horror, though. His fingers sussed out a new rhythm. He looked into the fire and wondered if the creature's eyes were similar in color, how Similar to Geralt’s.

Jaskier stopped abruptly when the brush to his left rustled. He gripped the neck of the lute tightly and jumped.

“You’re back,” Jaskier said as he huffed out self-deprecating laughter, but gave a smile that insisted he knew it was Geralt all along. “You really-”

Something was wrong.

The fact Jaskier had heard Geralt approach was testament to that fact. Geralt’s steps were slow. His right hand held his ichor-slicked silver sword, and he kept his left arm across his abdomen. Jaskier couldn’t see the blood very well against the dark fabric of Geralt’s tunic, but he could see that the hand covering the wound was stained crimson.

Jaskier set his lute down, stood and walked closer without bothering to brush the dirt from his clothes. In the pale evening light, Jaskier could see the sheen of sweat covering Geralt’s face. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wondered where Geralt’s armor was.

“Hey,” he said as he reached out to take the sword, or help in some way. He wasn’t really sure.

“Leave it,” Geralt growled as he slumped against a tree. He winced and swallowed hard.

Jaskier would not be so easily rebuffed. He let Geralt take a couple of breaths before walking over and taking a soft hold of Geralt’s forearm with one hand, and the sword’s pommel with the other.

“Is it dead?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said by way of confirmation.

“Then let go,” Jaskier said.

It was not a request. He supposed it might have been an imitation of Geralt. Jaskier squeezed his forearm lightly. Geralt, for his part, looked at Jaskier with annoyed resignation as he uncurled his fingers and let Jaskier relieve him of his weapon.

Without taking his eyes off of Geralt, Jaskier carried the sword and placed it by Geralt’s things. He opened his mouth to lament Roach’s absence when Geralt heaved himself away from the tree trunk and tried to walk. One step, then another that faltered. Jaskier closed the distance between them and caught Geralt under the arms before gravity could claim him. It must have pulled the wound; Geralt gave an abrupt, pained grunt.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said as he helped Geralt right himself.

He nudged his way under Geralt’s left arm and was surprised by the heat Geralt’s body was putting off.

“You’re so warm.”

Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier, but said nothing.

“Come on,” Jaskier said as he took as he took a step.

Geralt’s movements shadowed Jaskier’s as they made their way to Geralt’s bedroll. The going was slow and with each step, Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier. They paused when they reached the bedroll. Jaskier struggled for something to say. Expressions of concern were jumbled with glib proclamations about how heavy Geralt was. He settled on silence and focused on settling Geralt. Jaskier’s knees threatened to buckle, and he felt the strain in his back, but he didn’t let go until Geralt was on the ground.

Jaskier huffed out a breath and smiled at how close he’d come to toppling. His smile was short lived, though. Jaskier had expected Geralt to begin rumaging through his pack and begin the process of making himself well. But Geralt sat there, jaw clenched, with his hand still holding his side.

“You’re hurt,” Jaskier said.

His words didn’t spur Geralt into action, but it did earn him a half hearted scowl.

“I'm allowed to indulge in stating the obvious every once in a while,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Thirsty,” Geralt said.

Jaskier was used to Geralt answering with sounds, gestures, or monosyllabic words, but his voice was quieter than it should have been; he sounded so worn. Jaskier located Geralt’s water and handed it to him. Geralt drank from the skin with the urgency of someone who had been stranded in a desert. Geralt’s breathing escalated with the effort, and Jaskier watched with both worry and morbid fascination as some of the water ran down Geralt’s chin and onto his chest. Geralt exhaled harshly when he was done. He let the water skin fall from his hand, then scrubbed a broad palm over his face and winced.

The longer Geralt took to make a move for his pack, the more nervous Jaskier became. He couldn’t see the extent of the wound on Geralt’s side, but that seemed like as good a time as any to mention it.

“We should get that cleaned,” Jaskier said.

Geralt made no move for his things. He just sat there, staring forward with his jaws clenched, sweat on his face beading anew.

“Do you need a potion, or-”

“No.”

Geralt’s voice was flat and impatient, but not angry enough to dissuade Jaskier from pressing the issue.

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Geralt said as he looked up at Jaskier.

Jaskier guessed he was trying to glare, but Geralt looked too tired to muster any real menace. Jaskier frowned, but quickly marshalled his expression.

“If I were an insecure person, I might think that remark was about my value as a travelling companion.”

“The venom,” Geralt said as he bowed his head and moved it from side to side as though he were hoping to clear his vision. “There’s no potion. Nothing.”

Jaskier thought of the people the creature had already killed; their ends hadn’t been pretty. Icy fear crept into his gut.

“You just intend to curl up and die then? What if...”

Jaskier’s impassioned speech about not giving up fell short. He looked at Geralt. He looked miserable and ill, but not afraid. But then, Geralt couldn't usually be relied upon to display his emotions in a way that would allow Jaskier to gauge the desperation of the situation.

Geralt sighed and looked up at Jaskier with a flash of aggravation.

“It’s fatal to humans,” Geralt said.

Not to witchers, Jaskier thought, unable to miss the subtext of Geralt’s statement.

Geralt licked his lips and swallowed hard before slowly enumerating all the ways he was about to suffer. It hurt Jaskier to hear the frankness with which Geralt discussed the inevitability of his own agony. It was far from the first time Jaskier wondered how much pain Geralt had withstood in his past to make this seem acceptable.

Geralt moved his hand from his side. He put both of his palms on the ground and lowered himself down; he shook as he did so. He rested on his uninjured side and wrapped his arms around himself. Jaskier walked over and knelt down next to Geralt and put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” Geralt said as his muscles bunched. “Leave me. I told you I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said. “You did.”

He didn’t like how Geralt’s voice seemed to come from miles away, or the way he was trembling. But he removed his hand and stood. The sky had darkened; it called to attention how low the fire was burning. That thought gave Jaskier direction. He got some of the wood he’d gathered earlier and added it to the fire. The kindling popped, hissed and shifted in the flame.

He cast a glance back at Geralt before making his way to the nearby stream for water. He rushed back, but everything was as he’d left it. Geralt’s chest moved with short, quick breaths and the deep furrows in his brow informed Jaskier Geralt’s sleep was not a restful one. There was no comfort he could offer his friend in that moment, but he sang one of his own ballads dto himself as he found a pan, then filled it with water and put it over the fire. He willed the water to boil as inactivity grated on him. He considered picking up his lute, or cleaning the sword. Anything but the impotence of waiting.

Jaskier shifted his weight from foot to foot, then made a noise in the back of his throat before getting a blanket from his own belongings. He brought it over to where Geralt lay, and folded it. He sank down behind Geralt. With gentle hands, Jaskier lifted Geralt’s head and put the blanket beneath it. Jaskier felt how damp Geralt’s hair was, and a concerned tut escaped his mouth. He moved a hand to Geralt’s forehead, then his cheek.

Too warm, Jaskier thought. Far too warm.

Geralt’s eyes slid open when Jaskier moved his hand to his throat, but he did nothing to prevent Jaskier from helping.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jaskier told him as he focused on the way Geralt’s pulse jumped under his touch. Was it too fast for a witcher?

Jaskier was unsure if the heat radiating off of Geralt’s body, or his lack of response was more worrying. Geralt’s eyes seemed to look right through him. Jaskier was disabused of any notion of pressing Geralt for a way to help him when Geralt’s body seized up and began to shake.

“Nonononono,” Jaskier said.

Geralt had told him this would happen, but he wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t want to see the way Geralt shook; he didn’t want to see the way Geralt’s eyes rolled back in his head. He put a hand on Geralt’s arm and another on his hip, if for no other reason than to let Geralt know he was there. He knew the gesture was useless, but maybe, maybe, it would keep Geralt from shaking himself apart.

“Okay, you’re going to be okay,” Jaskier said. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You said so yourself.”

Geralt’s back remained straight as his limbs and head shook and spasmed with malignant force. The stuttering, uneven hiss of Geralt’s breath being dragged in and out of his noise was the only sound Geralt made. Jaskier wanted to tear through Geralt’s pack and search out a potion, but he knew that would have been absolute idiocy. He knew whatever he selected would, in his hands, likely do more harm than good.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease, Jaskier prayed to whichever deity might have been listening. Please let this stop!

It did stop.

Eventually.

The shaking tapered off. Geralt breathed hard, but his body went slack. He let out a strangled noise, likely the remnant of words that had snared in his throat. Jaskier moved his hands away, though he doubted Geralt noticed their presence in the first place.

A hissing sound drew Jaskier’s attention; the forgotten water was boiling. He leapt up and took it away from the flame and set it aside to let it cool, but his attention returned to Geralt, who was reigning in his breathing. Jaskier walked in front of Geralt where he crouched and cleared his throat. It was so discreet a noise that Jaskier barely heard it himself.

“Are you with me, Geralt?”

Geralt breathed out, in, then out again before giving a little nod. His eyes remained closed.

“Okay,” Jaskier whispered; relief had muted the volume of his voice. He rose and found his way to his pack.

He brought it over to where Geralt was and began rooting through it. He kept odds and ends on hand, little just-in-case things that he thought he would have needed before Geralt ever did. He found the poultices easily enough; he supposed he could have found them by scent alone. A priestess of Miletele had given them to him; he remembered the crinkle in her nose when she’d admonished him about their pungence.

Jaskier moved Geralt’s arm and pulled his tunic up. It came away easily enough; the fabric had barely begun to stick in the blood. He breathed a sigh of relief when he revealed the wounds. His mind had conjured images of spilt viscera and gushing blood. The wounds, undoubtedly inflicted by one of the creature’s claws, were ugly but they were nowhere near as bad as Jaskier had feared. The blood seeped lazily. Jaskier thought that staunching it should be relatively simple. But the skin around the wounds piqued his concern; it was raised and red.

Poison, Jaskier thought.

Or perhaps it was venom. He chose not to dwell on the distinction. He drew a pained groan from Geralt when he put pressure on the wound. Jaskier mouthed the word ‘Sorry,’ but he didn’t relent. Geralt did what he always did. He tolerated the pain; aside from the occasional tensing of muscle or grunt, he made no complaint as Jaskier worked in silence. He did his best to mimic the priestess’s ministrations. When he was done, he chewed his lip and hoped his limited experience as a healer was adequate. At least there was no more blood and Geralt’s breathing seemed to be more even. Jaskier pulled Geralt’s tunic back down and wished his friend a restful sleep, all while knowing unconsciousness wouldn't find him until Geralt returned to himself.

The night seemed in no hurry to pass. Jaskier shifted from one position to the other, trying to escape the aches in his legs, back and neck. The period of time the relief for his muscles lasted was shorter each time he moved. The fire’s warmth was no comfort to him, especially considering how comparable it was to Geralt’s body heat. Jaskier had no reason to believe their problems would fade with the sunrise, but that didn’t stop him wishing it.

Darkness remained. Geralt groaned and curled in on himself. Jaskier feared another seizure, but while Geralt’s body tensed and trembled, Jaskier realized another symptom Geralt had mentioned was presenting itself. Geralt shifted as he made strangled, pained cries, and Jaskier sat with a desolate kind of uselessness as cramps wracked Geralt’s body.

Nothing you can do, Jaskier thought as he rubbed circles on Geralt’s back and intermittently wiped the sweat from his brow.

Geralt raised a hand. Jaskier watched as it stayed where Geralt had lifted it; several fingers were tightly curled as he trembled with the force of his muscle spasms. Jaskier reached out his own hands and wrapped them around Geralt’s before he guided it back down to his chest. Jaskier moved his thumbs back and forth over Geralt’s hand.

He sounded inane in his own ears as he hushed Geralt and tried to comfort him through the pain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he dashed the idea of running for help when it resurfaced.

Geralt said he would get through this and Jaskier had to trust in that. He bit his lip as Geralt’s hand threatened to crush his. He quelled the urge to attempt to wriggle free. Even if Geralt ground his knuckles into dust.

Geralt’s cries crackled with agony, but they tapered off into muffled, breathy sounds, but those too faded into silence as his body stopped warring with itself. Geralt’s muscles eased and his hand went slack in Jaskier’s. When Geralt’s body unwound, Jaskier patted his hand and set it down before nursing his own and sitting back with a long exhalation. Beneath the light breeze and the occasional snap of an ember there was the occasional hitch in Geralt’s breath. No matter how things seemed, Jaskier didn’t allow himself to sink into the calm, relative quiet.

He sat and watched the thankfully steady motion of Geralt’s shoulder as it rose and fell. Jaskier counted as Geralt breathed, one on inhalations and two on exhalations as though it might make time go faster. A thought flitted into Jaskier’s mind. What if the sun didn’t rise? He nearly chuckled at the thought, but it continued to rattle around in his head. Darkness eternal? It was poetic. It could be the subject of a song. There were no words for that song, not yet, but it would begin with a plodding one-two, one-two tune.

But the rhythm became a staccato riot that was accompanied by murmuring. Jaskier had no wish to wake Geralt, even when those murmurs shaped themselves into names. Some Jaskier recognized, some he didn’t.

“I’m here,” Jaskier whispered.

The desperation in Geralt’s voice made him sound so lost and unlike himself. This part would not make it into his song.

Geralt made an ugly, uncertain noise as he rolled onto his back; his mouth hung open as he gasped for air. His eyes, unseeing and ablaze with disquietude, searched the camp.

“No,” Geralt rasped as the corners of his mouth tugged downward and he rolled back over onto his other side, facing Jaskier. He tried to push himself up on shaking arms.

Jaskier knew better than to try to reason with him. He put firm hands on Geralt, who tried to scuttle away. It took hatefully little force to keep Geralt still and his arms, unable to hold his weight, tremored before giving out. It hurt Jaskier to feel the extent that Geralt’s power had fled him. Geralt panted and raved as he struggled weakly against Jaskier, who alternated between apologizing, begging Geralt to be calm and offering him comfort. All told, it did not take long for Geralt’s energy to deplete itself. He stared at nothing as he settled.

“Ma?” Geralt called out again.

“Shh,” Jaskier hushed him as he shook his head.

He brushed silver strands from Geralt’s brow, hoping to show him the gentleness his life so often lacked. Jaskier willed Geralt to close his eyes, to find rest.

Geralt was quiet, save for the occasional, insensible whimper. Those sounds stopped too, though and Geralt lay there with his eyes half-lidded. Jaskier wondered what specters were haunting Geralt and if the venom’s repertoire of tortures had exhausted itself yet. He dabbed the sweat away from Geralt’s brow again. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He savored the feeling of the muscles in his back stretching. His own heart rate slowed and, despite his best efforts, he felt his eyes begin to droop.

“Huhuh,” he admonished himself as he drew in a deep breath and shook his head. He began to hum while he put another log on the fire. As the flame grew, Jaskier’s humming bloomed into a melody. It was only when he began to mouth the words that he realized it was some half remembered song from his youth, something he’d sung with glee before having had any concern for skill or method.

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and Jaskier could see that his body had, at last, had enough; his muscles relaxed and his breath evened out.

Jaskier yawned and started singing another song he hadn’t given voice to since childhood. After a verse of that song he came to the realization that, at that moment, there would have been nothing better than to hear Geralt grumble at him to shut up.

He sipped water when his throat and mouth became too dry and he smiled lopsidedly for no reason at all. His eyes burned and when he rubbed them he found tears, though he could not recall when they’d fallen.

When the sky began to lighten, Jaskier was unconvinced that he wasn't imagining it, but when the brightness became tangibly gray, his sleep-deprived mind became giddy. He knew the light would not guarantee Geralt would be well, but the dissipation of the darkness was something.

#bad things happen bingo #delirium #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #bthb #poison #er...venom #drabbles done wrong #fevers #slight wound care #Jaskier helps #geralt!whump #my writing #unbeta'd #released into the wild

39 notes · View notes

exhaustedfander · 4 years

Note

For the oneshot request, could you please do some soft logince? Maybe Logan's had a hard day and Roman comforts him with some cuddles or smth?

You got it! It’s certainly been a while since I've written Logince, but it’s a ship I've loved for a while and one I had a lot of fun writing again.

a03 link

Word Count: 1,673

A Little Creature Comfort Never Hurt

Logan hesitated to say that he’d had a hard day. Yes, it had been rather tiring. Yes, one of his students had nearly burned the science department to the ground; it reminded him quite a bit of the shenanigans that Roman’s brother, Remus, liked to pull. It was a wonder that he was able to find any humor in the situation. But Logan hadn’t had a “hard day” per se, considering it could’ve certainly gone worse. Even more so, tonight was date night, and Logan intended to put his best foot forward despite his exhaustion.

Roman was making dinner and they were going to watch a movie together. If anything, the evening would be rather relaxing.

Logan sighed as he opened the door to their shared apartment, removing his shoes and placing his briefcase by the door. He could smell the heavy aromas of garlic and chicken coming from the kitchen, his lips upturning in a faint smile as Roman came to the doorway. He was clad in a “Kiss the Cook” apron that Logan had gotten him as a joke last Christmas, having not thought Roman would actually use it. It had been foolish not to know Roman would wear it every chance he had.

“Hello, love of mine,” Roman greeted in a sing-song-tone, walking up to him and throwing his arms around his shoulders and giving him a tight squeeze.

“Salutations, Roman. Dinner smells good.” Roman grinned, pulling Logan into a kiss that the teacher could’ve just melted into, had he allowed himself to do so. Instead he ignored the fact that he was nearly dead on his feet, pulling away and smiling at Roman.

“Thanks, nerd. Should be done in a few minutes. Could you go set the table?”

“Of course.”

Logan still found it odd sometimes, the domesticity that had fallen over his life. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t ever expected to find someone who he wanted to share a life with, he’d considered what his future might entail for years prior. It was just the fact that Roman had taken him by complete surprise. In all honesty, they hadn’t been on the best of terms for quite a while. Roman was a stage actor, a profession that Logan used to know almost nothing about; he still knew very little, but he’d tried to understand as much as he could for Roman’s sake. Logan had never quite understood the ways of the theater. Sure, he could research the great array of plays and performances as well as the rules to how to craft had been perfected as well as the technicality of everything, but that didn’t actually provide him with an understanding of why people enjoyed plays as much as they did.

He’d met Roman through a mutual friend of theirs, Patton, who Logan was fairly sure had been trying to set them up from the get-go. Logan had been sympathetic of the fact that Patton meant well as being as happy as he was in his own relationship with his husband, Virgil, would only want to encourage love in others. But when he met Roman, he was flabbergasted. How could this man be someone Patton could remotely believe to be his type?!

The first several months of being acquainted, many of their conversations devolved to full-blown arguments more times than not. Patton, sweet, sweet Patton, had tried to keep the peace between them but to no avail. It seemed they were destined to argue, and they did just that, any time they spent time with their friends or spent time alone together. Come to think of it, why were they spending time alone together? The question baffled Logan but still he found no answer. Surely, he despised Roman’s company…right?

Signs were pointing to no, considering the moment a quarrel of theirs had found a peak in tension the two of them had connected their lips in a fit of more than mere spur-of-the-moment passion. Logan, as it turned out, had feelings more than just animosity for Roman. All of those instances in which they’d been screaming their heads off at each other he’d unknowingly been becoming smitten with the brash man – and strangely enough, Roman felt the same.

Things didn’t fall into place automatically. There was a gap period where the pair weren’t exactly sure what to label their relationship, considering extensive amounts of conflict continuing between them. But as time went on more of their conflicts found resolutions, or at the very least apologetic make-ups. Roman was much more than the bold, overconfident actor who Logan had initially taken him to be. He came to recognize the kindness his boyfriend possessed that he was working to improve upon as well as how hard-working and determined he was. He was compassionate, and supportive, and far more loving than Logan had ever known.

It pushed Logan a great deal out of his comfort-zone, the affection that Roman was able to provide do freely and willingly. Logan’s relationship with his own emotions as well as human-touch in general was complicated, but being with Roman, he was able to find himself growing to embrace it.

Now here Logan found himself, nearly two years into a relationship with a man so unlike himself, but someone who brought him more joy than even he could conceive. Most of the time, he was deliriously happy in a way he’d never expected to be. He’d even attended a great deal of plays, some of which Roman performed in, some not, to show his appreciation for his partner’s craft. He still had little interest in the theater, but he had to admit that Roman was a spectacle onstage that rivaled the beauty of the constellations. He performed with such gusto, such genuineness and bravado that Logan would have to be a fool not to see the raw talent his boyfriend possessed.

So, to say the least, Logan took date night very seriously. They were both very busy individuals with their work, so some down-time spent together at home was something he cherished dearly. He wanted to express to Roman how much he loved him and adored his company. He was never as spontaneously romantic as his boyfriend was; sometimes Roman wrote him love-letters just for the hell of it, several pages long and sentimental enough to bring a tear to Logan’s eyes. But he could still do whatever possible to ensure that Roman understood that he cared.

Logan and Roman ate dinner and chatted idly about their days. Logan forwent explaining his deep-seeded exhaustion that was beginning to take a tole, determined to make the most of their time together.

It was only when they shut the lights out and Roman put on “one of Logan’s nerd science documentaries” that he liked so much did the weight of the day settle over him. He fought to keep his eyes on the screen, basking in Roman’s embrace but despite how much he willed it, he was dozing off before he knew it.

“Mmm – what?” Logan mumbled in confusion, shifting the blankets around him and realizing he was in bed without remembering how he’d come to be there, his glasses placed gingerly on the bedside table. Roman chuckled, turning their bedroom light out and sliding into bed beside him.

“You started drifting off, sleeping beauty,” Roman teased, “So I brought you to bed. I noticed that you looked tired when you came home but you should’ve said something. We could’ve rescheduled date-night and allowed you to get a few more hours of sleep.” Logan sat up, his mind still somewhat fuzzy with sleepiness.

“I apologize, dear. I’d tried to stay awake.” Roman grabbed his hand, the contact comforting and soft.

“Whatever are you sorry for, my love? You can’t help that you’re tired, you must’ve had a hard day.” Logan sighed. Was it pitiful that the feeling of Roman’s thumb brushing over his knuckles in a steady rhythm was already beginning to lure him back to his slumber?

“I suppose so. A student was messing with flammable liquids without proper instruction and a small fire started. Luckily, it was put out with little trouble, but quite exhausting nonetheless. And then I’d had a staff meeting that was as dull as ever. Did you know they’re talking about cutting this year’s trip to the Science Center? I was appalled.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Roman cooed in a tone that had it been anyone else, Logan would’ve been positive Roman was making fun of him. Perhaps he was, if only a little, “Why didn’t you say something? I would’ve understood; you’ve put up with me in more sour moods than I’d dare to count.” Logan sighed, relaxing against his boyfriend as Roman ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know…I suppose I didn’t want to disappoint you. I enjoy our time together and I didn’t want to sacrifice it, even if I was a little overtired.”

“You could never be a disappointment, mí amour,” Roman drawled out flirtatiously, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Logan’s neck, “And I will always understand if you’re too tired or upset to do something. Just as you preach to me, physical health and mental health are incredibly important things that shouldn't be disregarded."

“Yes, but it’s different when I’m begging you to go to bed when it’s already past 3 am and you’ve hardly had anything to eat all day,” Logan scolded, though the feeling of Roman massaging his scalp took much of the bite out of his bark.

“Ah, but similar nonetheless.” Logan yawned, feeling Roman’s arms wrap around him as he pulled him into a cocoon of an embrace that he was positively helpless to. “Go to sleep, dearest. We can talk more in the morning. I love you with all my heart.” Logan had very little energy for a rebuttal of any kind, instead sinking further into the warmth that was Roman’s hug, closing his eyes and drifting back into slumber.

“I love you too.”

=+=

#logince #romantic logince #sanders sides #ts #sanders sides oneshot #ts oneshot #oneshot request #human au #fluff #cuteness #Logan loves Roman a whole lot but he's sleeeeeby #my writing #Sammy writes #exhaustedfander writes

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gummysungshine · 4 years

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Mornings Like These [FFVIIR Rufus/Tseng]

{Fic masterlist}

Pairing: Rufus/Tseng Words: 1853 Rating: Mature (NSFW) Warnings: Smut, unbeta’d so there might be mistakes. This ignores their ages in the remake as I wrote this before the ultimania guide came out (putting them both at 30yrs old). Tseng should be older than Rufus in my eyes, so I’ve written him as such. Also, I am hella rusty at writing smut (and just writing in general) so I apologise in advance. I can almost guarantee there will be mistakes even after checking it a dozen times :’)

~~~

Typically a light sleeper, as his job intended him to be, there was but only one time the Turk could truly let his guard down. And that was alone with Rufus.

Keeping Rufus safe had been one of his top priorities for the longest time, doing all he could to ensure no harm would come to the man. Of course there were other Turks to help fulfil that role, but Tseng took it upon himself personally wherever possible.

Yet, the newly appointed Shinra President had tested his resolve to an almost unbearable degree. Going one on one - or technically two on one - with the man that called himself a SOLDIER was enough to send the Turk’s blood pressure rocketing. He still had to reprimand both Reno and Rude for allowing Rufus to do such a thing in the first place. The two of them should’ve known better, he reasoned, they should’ve considered Rufus’ safety even if the blond had insisted. It seemed the pair hadn’t learned when to tell their boss no for his good. Unlike himself... Well, most of the time.

Feeling a light tug at his hair, Tseng knew the blond was awake. Simply letting Rufus toy with his hair for a few moments, fingers running through his ebony strands softly, the Turk contemplated letting him continue for as long as he pleased until the blond shifted closer. He felt the younger press his forehead against the top of his back, nose gently tickling his skin from that angle, a half-audible murmur sounding from behind.

“Mornin’”

“How did you know I was awake?” Tseng asked as the blond reached an arm around to rest at his hip.

“I can tell.” Rufus answered simply. “Your breathing pattern...it’s different when you’re asleep.”

It seemed his boss had learnt a thing or two, Tseng thought. The Turk himself used the same method himself; to the trained eye it’d become second nature deducing a truly sleeping body from one that was faking.

“Thought you would’ve wanted to sleep a bit longer, sir.” His words earned him a small chuckle.

“Hm. Well, you did give me plenty of reason to be tired.”

A playful lilt to his voice returned, one that Tseng was all too accustomed to. It seemed Rufus was in a sort of...particular mood, the Turk now came to see. The hand at his hip snaked its way up to his bare chest, resting there for a moment before fingers traced undefined patterns across his skin, the body behind him shuffling in closer as they lay there. With a small roll of his brown eyes, Tseng rolled to face him, getting a grateful - albeit lazy - smile in return.

“It’s always nice to see your face.” Rufus teased, brushing a few stray hairs from the Turk’s features as he leaned in for the briefest of kisses.

But it didn’t remain that way. Almost everything with the blond was either 0 or 100 when it came to affection. Tseng supposed it stemmed from years of constantly hiding anything they had together, the pair of them well trained in acting like nothing more than professional around each other. Sexual favours had always been done in haste, no time to wholly enjoy one another’s presence. A part of Tseng had questioned the point of this ‘thing’ he had with Rufus in the past, wondering if it was entirely worth the hassle it caused. Yet he’d come to the conclusion that it was indeed worth every ounce of hassle. Failed attempts to end what he had with the former-President’s son had wound up with the most emptiest of feelings gnawing away at both his body and soul. He’d taken no joy in seeing the well masked sadness in the younger’s blue eyes, pretending it wasn’t hurting either of them, doing their part to keep up the charade.

But that, ultimately, was how the Turk realised perhaps he loved Rufus.

Letting Rufus sit atop his body, knees resting either side of his hips, he couldn’t help but smile at the confident smirk pulling at the blond’s lips. Watching him lean forward, pressing his weight mostly against him, Tseng met the new President’s fervid, open-mouthed kisses with equal vigor. He knew what Rufus liked; kissing being perhaps the younger man’s favourite part of foreplay. The more heated, the more desperate those kisses became, the more riled up he could get him.

Pulling on the blond’s bottom lip with his teeth, not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough to squeeze a moan out of him, the Turk felt him roll his hips forward, the younger’s erection brushing up against his own. With his usual impatience beginning to rise rapidly, Rufus hauled himself up, grabbing the lube that he’d stashed under the pillows the night before.

The word ‘impatient’ hung on the tip of Tseng’s tongue, dying there as he breathed in a hiss of pleasure at the hand that reached behind to slick up his cock. Watching him scoot back just a little, raising himself up a touch higher, the Turk resisted the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head as the blond took him in. He didn’t wish to miss that small gasp of surprise that came with each time Rufus was on the receiving end.

“Maybe you should take some time to adjust.” An almost goading tone coloured Tseng’s offer.

Rufus tossed him an icy glare, ignoring the Turk. The elder’s hands rested at his thighs, gently coaxing the skin there, fingers smoothing over the small nicks he’d sustained from his run in with the so-called ex-SOLDIER. Though his injuries - if he could even call them that - were insignificant, it hadn’t stopped Tseng fretting over his wellbeing.

“I’m fine.” He insisted, placing his own hand over Tseng’s as it rested upon his thigh. He could read the concerned look in his brown eyes, no matter how well hidden it was.

Rolling his hips shallowly, he followed the Turk’s line of sight, the elder’s gaze fixed upon his body, specifically letting his focus rest at the purpling marks around his neck and collarbone from the night before. It was always Tseng’s signature to leave such evidence unseen, well covered and away from prying eyes. Smirking through the rapidly dissipating discomfort, the blond took pride in the way that the Turk’s hands moved to grab at his hips, grip tightening, blunt nails dug so perfectly into his skin as he was pulled down to take Tseng into him deeper.

“Shi— Tseng.” The curse died in his mouth.

“I thought you said you were fine?” Again, the Turk’s tone played with him.

Throwing him a half-hearted glare, the younger knew Tseng was aware what he’d meant. If the Turk wanted to play it that way, Rufus could match it. He was always up for a challenge, after all. It was already a difficult feat to get any sort of reaction out of the man, his stoic, no nonsense demeanour remaining largely in place even in the bedroom. Even the night before Rufus had worked hard to even pull a moan of his name from the Turk’s lips. Sometimes he wished the elder would just let go, succumb to the pleasure he wanted to give him.

“More.” He urged as the Turk obliged, feeling Tseng buck upwards to meet with his own movements. “Mmh— just like that.”

If Rufus knew anything, it was how to praise the Turk leader. It’d taken a while for him to realise that Tseng took great joy in praise. But once he’d noticed, the blond was more than happy to shower him with it - if he’d earned it, of course.

Usually neat, ashen-blond locks started to fall away from their perch, sticking to the sides of the President’s face with sweat. In any other situation he would’ve tidied them up, maintaining a prim and proper visage. But Rufus couldn’t care less. The more of a mess he looked, the better the fuck. At least that was his reasoning. Leaning back a little, changing the angle of Tseng’s cock pushing into him, it seemed the slight difference was enough to garner a muffled cry from the Turk.

“Touch me.” Rufus instructed, pulling on one of the elder’s hands to guide it.

Doing as was asked, Tseng relished in the way the lithe body on top of him shuddered and tensed at the dual stimulation.

“Rufus~” He breathed with a gasp, biting down on his bottom lip, eyes fluttering as the slick walls around his erection gripped tight with each stroke of the blond’s own.

The look in the President’s eyes darkened at the sound of his name, gazing down at the Turk with a lust-filled daze. He was getting the reaction he wanted out of him.

“Tseng.” He called out, hoping to prompt the elder again. “Nhg— More. Yes. Tseng.”

His almost nonsensical babbling was enough to break down the Turk, spurring him on with a similar mantra of Rufus’ name. And that was all the younger wanted; to know Tseng was enjoying himself just as much as he was.

“Come for me.” The Turk panted, pushing up harder, earning him a choked cry, hitting Rufus’ sweet spot.

“Oh— fuck.” A ragged moan ripped from his throat, swiftly feeling himself teeter on the edge with each passing second.

“Come for me.” He instructed again, more forcefully this time.

Reaching out to grasp at something, anything, finding Tseng’s hands meeting his as he entwined their fingers, he cried out the Turk’s name with a gasp, seeing nothing but white blooming behind his eyes. Almost in unison with the blond’s own climax, with one last buck of his hips the Turk found his own. Spilling his seed deep inside the younger’s still tensing body, filling him nicely, he caught his breath, waiting for Rufus to come down from his high.

Gazing down at Tseng through strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes, Rufus almost wanted to laugh. There he was, leader of the Turks, still retaining so much of his dignity and professionalism despite a good fuck. Barely a hair was out of place.

“Something funny?” Tseng asked, taking note of the amusement in his eyes.

“Not particularly.” He shook his head with a content sigh, moving off the Turk and falling down by his side. “Just woke up and now I want a nap.”

It was Tseng’s turn now to laugh, a small chuckle reaching Rufus’ ears. “Want to reschedule your duties for today, sir?”

“No.” Answering with another sigh Rufus closed his eyes. “You could bring me some food though.”

Sitting up with a shake of his head, the Turk grabbed his phone from the night stand, calling Reno to ask him to get what the President wanted. With some minor bitching from the redhead, he pulled himself from the bed, moving over to the ensuite bathroom while Rufus continued to lounge about. He supposed one of them would need to be well presented when Reno finally got there, and his boss didn’t seem ready to get up anytime soon.

#FFVII #FFVII Remake #Rufus Shinra #Tseng #Rufus/Tseng

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nera789 · 4 years

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Unforeseen Consequences

Admiral ZEX, The Captain, Dax

Suggestive themes but no “details”. (Not my kind of writing lol)

I’m really. not sure why my brain fixated on writing this. I was introduced to Star Control and Admiral ZEX by @zarla-s (hopefully this tag isn’t bothersome?). I was in the process of introducing him to some friends and it spurred the thought: Would ZEX even expect a human to respond positively to his advances? He’s probably gotten pretty articulate with deflecting rejection and criticism and judgement, but what if that wasn’t the case for once? How well would he handle it?

I apologize for however out of character or Not Canon this may be, but it was a thought that wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it down. And then after I started it, it got away from me. Its been a long, long time since I’ve wrote a fanfic whoo boy

I think I wrote this with the presumption of how it would take place if you could romance him in the game, and the consequences (for everyone) of that XD

“The scope of our relationship can grow as close as you wish.” Zex said with a foreign body language of bravado.

The Captain regarded him for a moment before leaning forward into the Admiral’s personal space, a grin pulling at the corner of their lips. “Oh? Close…how~….?”

Zex sputtered, caught off guard and overwhelmed by the human’s sudden, unexpected close proximity. A human had never so much as dared to tread within a couple feet of him, much less ever enough to feel their breath. He had grown rather bold with this certainty. Perhaps a measure of that was his own doing– intentionally or not, his forthright tendencies wedging itself in between any opportunity. Being turned away, shrugged off or kept at a distance was the standard order of things. It was easy. It was predictable. And it had been so long, he never really expected that standard to be challenged. Needless to say, this threw him off.

Even still, he may have been a hopeless romantic, but he was no fool. He was aware of what the human stood to gain by winning him over. Manipulating him just to secure his military genius was low– but with a suspicious lack of human behavior like this ever before– not unheard of. He regained a brittle amount of composure, steeling over his words to obscure it. “Captain. If you intend to taunt me please do so in the way I am accustomed. I’ve hardened to the ridicule of my countrymen but faking interest in me is a different manner of cruel. If all you wish is for an alliance I am happy to oblige without the exploitation of my…weakness.”

The Captain challenged his words and moved a little closer, resting a relaxed arm on the admiral’s desk and shrugged. “I’m not faking, Zex.”

The admiral stared at it, then up at the captain when they said his name informally. Anyone else he may have corrected, but there was a warmth to it from the human that he so badly wanted to indulge. He had to confess, he had fantasized about similar circumstances and how he would conduct himself, but now that it was actual happening, he froze. He was usually so articulate but words escaped him, he was usually so well composed but this human had a way with disrupting it like a house of cards. As much as it currently worked against him, it was new to him. Exciting.

Reality began to sink in when the human didn’t recoil their appendage away, instead looked at him expectantly for a response. The gesture wasn’t an error. It was intentional. Even despite their lack of tendrils, humans had such a way with expressing emotion. It was one of the things he loved most about them. This one was a challenge to read, but everything he could gather from them seemed genuine. Which meant…

He struggled for a moment, realizing the position he had put himself in before laughing nervously. “Would you look at this? The first time a human reciprocates interest and even I succumb to a measure of my people’s distrust. You must forgive me, Captain. It has been a long time…” The admiral seemed to fight with some kind of internal conflict for a moment before the human settled it for him.

They reached out, dexterous fingers closing over his arm tendril in a comforting gesture. Their hand was warm, far warmer to the touch than he anticipated.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Before the admiral could speak, the human was standing. And before he could ask if he had done something wrong, they were on his side of the desk.

A lot of things began to happen at once, and he opposed none of them.

“Zex?” The human asked, pulling on their robes not a moment before the admiral could take in one last look at their beautifully crafted anatomy akin to a living, breathing sculpture. They truly were a unique work of art forged from the galaxy and experiencing them so up close was a privilege. The captain’s question was what pulled him out of his trance.

“Mmm?”The human studied the quiet planet outside from the window. Pensive observation stirred a thought that pricked the edge of their brow. They had such a world of emotion hidden behind subtle changes in their features. But interpretation was a different story.

“How much do you actually know about humans?”

It was a good thing VUX couldn’t blush.

“Admittedly, Captain, much more now than I did an hour ago.”

The human gave a kind but cheeky grin, looking down as if it helped them compose their words differently. Their “smile” as it were, had been toothy and startling when he first witnessed it. It contradicted what he otherwise should have interpreted as some kind of feral threat display. This was so very different. It was tender and warm, and it melted a part of him he didn’t know existed. Since then, he had been compelled to incite it as often as he could. They seemed to respond best with his banter and advances, which was a pleasure in and of its own.

“I’m serious. Be honest.”

The admiral thought for a moment.

“I know that your people are beautiful. And very clever. And resourceful. I know you are a uniquely hardy species. I’ve heard the stories of your people surviving conditions that would have easily killed others by shock alone. As I’m sure you know by now, my countrymen do not share my appreciation. They think you grotesque.”

“What else have they said about us?”

“They may have mentioned that you are stubborn. And reckless.”

“Do you believe them?”

“….I am beginning to consider it.”

“Perhaps you should.”

There was a pause.

“Why do you ask me this now?”

The Captain was quiet momentarily, but returned to Zex. Perhaps it was touch starvation, but he hadn’t realized how much he craved it until the captain returned to settling a hand against what equated to his own. They didn’t make eye contact just yet.

“The Ur Quan enslaved my people. What’s left of them.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. I was not aware. I am sorry, perhaps I’ve lived in isolation longer than I thought. I suppose that explains the lack of human visitors.” The gears began to turn. “But you arrived here in an armed starship. You weren’t given clearance to leave either, were you? You cannot be planning what I think you are planning. Captain, resisting the Ur Quan is madness.”

“And my visit here is a direct violation to your people’s alliance with the Ur Quan. I suppose if nothing else, reputation is accurate.” The human sighed. “You mentioned an alliance but I can’t expect that of you. You would be labeled a traitor. Your people already have enough reason to kill you without my interference as it is.”

“I am not attached to this planet, Captain. Nor interaction with my people, unfortunately.”

“If you think VUX are bigoted, you’ve not met enough humans.”

“How do you mean?”

“My peoples’ entire history is built on conflict and persecution. Our biggest challenge has always been coexisting with eachother. It’s a harsh lense to see it through, but that in mind it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to come with me either. Even if we do win the war, your help or not, life on Earth afterward would never be peaceful. They’ve done far more to their own people over far less. They’d tear you apart.”

“You’re suggesting this shouldn’t last.”

“I’m suggesting that we consider everything involved before this gets complicated.”

The admiral was quiet for a moment in thought. The human brought up a lot of good points, much to his displeasure. But that wasn’t going to deter him so easily.

“While I must commend the forethought, you are forgetting that tactical improvisation in dangerous situations is my specialty. Besides, this planet has always been more of a prison than a place of retirement—no matter how they attempted to sell it me. I saw through it. The whole reason I am here, Captain, is because I refused to be someone I am not. I can assure you. I would rather pursue an opportunity for a life worth living and the one that I want, however that is defined, than to live out my days rotting on this planet in fear. It would simply go against everything I stand for. I would join you on your travels… if you’d have me.”

The human sighed realizing he likely wasn’t going to let it go— not after making a conclusion like that. Not that they truly wanted to refuse him anyway.

That smile returned—quieter, more subtle this time. Almost somber. They reached over to the side of his face and stroked with the back of their hand. His eye closed, leaning into the touch with some measure of tension fading from his posture.

“I suppose it makes it easier when we’re not investing in another bunk on board.” The human teased. “And after all this is over, Alpha Cerenkov I can’t be the only one of its kind in the galaxy.”

The admiral’s shoulders relaxed, and an arm curled around the captain’s.

“We have some time to prepare. My countrymen visit occasionally to exchange supplies and resources but they’ve been scarce lately and I do not think they know you are here. Fortunately the others that live here permanently are—“

“Sir, I didn’t hear the human’s departure and it’s been awfully quiet, are you o-.OHMY-“ After entering through the door, Dax dropped and shattered what seemed to previously be some kind of beverage he was holding before scrambling to shield his eye.

“Dax!? Have you no sense to knock?!”

“I did NOT see what I think I just saw.“ He nearly pleaded. "Tell me that isn’t what’s going on here. Admiral, I swear to–”

“Who is—?“

“My sub commander.” Zex retrieved and put on a robe of his own irritably before standing. “Who very rudely barged in unannounced, I might add.”

Dax carefully peeked open his eye, as if unsure if it was alright to look. “Excuse me sir, but the very last thing I expected to walk in on was—…“ Something like a grimace contorted Dax’s features.

“I do not need your approval, Dax. Besides, I thought you more open-minded than this.”

“So this is what I think it is. You have to be joking.” He finally looked, though now had a somewhat exasperated and heated posture. “Sure, maybe I don’t hate humans but to be involving yourself with—…“ his eye swiveled from the bed to the human, then back to Zex with a more bitter grimace. “What will the council think?”

“The council will not think anything if they don’t hear of it.”

"With all due respect sir, this– this had gone way too far. This is going to get you killed!”

“Mind. Your. Place. Dax.”

The sub commander’s posture recoiled slightly. His superior may have been reckless, blinded, mad and a hedonist, but he was also well respected and rightly earned it. Dax was as loyal as they came, even if the admiral absolutely exhausted him at times. This was easily in the top three of those.

“…I’m sorry, sir. I understand the council put you here to pursue your…‘lifestyle’–.”

“That’s what I’m doing, aren’t I?”

Dax laughed, uneasy. “Sure, but I highly doubt they expected it possible for you to ever actually–”

Zex sighed stubbornly and looked off, the sub commander’s words stinging a bit. It gave Dax pause to reword, but Zex spoke before he could.

“Please excuse me, captain. I’ll take care of this.”

The two of them left the room and shut the door behind them.

“Sir…even if they don’t find out which they obviously will, how do you expect to keep this up? If this gets back to our home planet they’ll make an example of you. They’ve been placated this long knowing you’re not influencing the public but as soon as it starts to get out of their hands it could cause an uprising. How long has this been going on?”

“If you must pry, I’ve spoken with them on recent occasions but this was the first time we–”

“Eugh. No. Stop. That’s enough.” He winced and interrupted. “So you’re telling me you don’t even know this human very well. You don’t know if they have an ulterior motive for all of this.”

“Actually, Dax, the human initially agreed with you. They were ready to leave for the sake of my safety and that would have been that. But I was who convinced them otherwise. They wouldn’t have initiated what they did or gone as far as they did if their intentions were to take advantage of me. If you were violently repulsed by the very appearance of an alien, don’t you think having sex with them would be a last resort? ”

“Sir, please—“Dax cringed, waving his arms to stop him but Zex continued.

“And if you must insist on doing this now—“ He huffed and straightened himself. “I’ve decided to join them. I’m leaving Alpha Cerenkov. The human plans to resist the Ur Quan.”

“Have you gone completely mad?! What about the fleet? I hope you realize the position you’re putting them in if they question them. If they question me. They’ll suspect us traitors. I didn’t swear an oath to your loyalty with the intention of breaking it. If I refuse to give them what they want…”

“If you and the rest of the fleet do not intend to join us, then perhaps the less you know the better.” The admiral turned back to the door, but Dax stopped him. There was a pause.

“I hope you’re sure about this…”

“There are few things I’ve been surer of.”

Dax sighed deeply.

“Just…wait. Don’t do anything reckless. I’ll talk with the fleet.”

#admiral zex #star control #star control II #star control 2 #boy I'm bad at titles #yes thats a strange magic reference fight me #Sub Commander Dax

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frozenprocedural · 4 years

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TDOE, Day 10

Here it is! This one got longer than I expected, but I enjoyed writing it!

Alarik and Neta belong to @patricia-von-arundel.

Rating: T (some gore)

Earth Giants.

Gale was the first to alert Elsa of the man’s presence in the forest. She twirled through Nøkk’s legs- much to their annoyance- as Elsa rode out to patrol the Eastern border, whistling until Elsa asked Nøkk to stop.

Images flooded Elsa’s mind- a lean, gangly man with auburn hair walking into the camp, speaking to Honeymaren, Ráfi and Ryder. She guessed him to be Alarik, a scholar of magic whom Anna had written to Elsa about- he’d expressed an interest in visiting the forest for his studies. Alarik was left alone for a while, and something appeared to catch his attention. He started off into the woods, and the vision jumped, showing him with his eyes and mouth wide open as he looked around, walking along the edge of a familiar river lined with cliffs.

Not cliffs- Earth Giants. Sleeping Earth Giants.

Elsa sucked in a breath, turning Nøkk and spurring them into a gallop towards the river. Idiot, idiot man! What was he thinking? He had spoken to the Northuldra- Gale had shown her that- and they would have warned him about the dangers of entering the forest without a guide. Why had he gone out on his own? The Earth Giants had become far less temperamental ever since Elsa’s ascension to the Fifth Spirit, but they were still dangerous, particularly if woken during their daily naps.

“He’s going to get himself killed.” Elsa growled. She only hoped that she could get there in time.

……..

Alarik struggled to comprehend the scene around him. He’d certainly known that a place named the “Enchanted Forest” would be awe-inspiring, but seeing the forest in person put even his wildest imaginings to shame. His travels had taken him to countless forests, all with their own appreciable beauty, but none came even close to the one he stood in now. If it wasn’t such a ridiculous notion, he would even admit he could feel the magic thrumming through the very land itself.

As he made his way along the cliffs looming over the river below, Alarik couldn’t suppress the niggling worry that urged him to turn back to the Northuldra encampment and wait for a guide. The Northuldra leaders, while welcoming, had urged him to remain in the camp until someone could be found.

“The spirits can be unpredictable at the best of times,” the leader called Honeymaren explained. “Best to wait until someone can accompany you.” To his credit, he had tried waiting, but a burst of dancing flame had captured his attention. He wouldn’t go too far, and besides, he’d done his share of trekking through woods in his travels. He would be fine. Alarik didn’t realize how far he’d walked- shortly after leaving the camp boundaries, the flame had disappeared, but by then he was completely enraptured in the scenery surrounding him that he kept going, right up to the river where he now walked. As he peered at the rugged cliffs surrounding the rushing water, Alarik thought he could make out- was that a face?

“Fascinating,” he whispered, pulling out his journal and pencil. He’d heard of the Earth Giants before, but to see them was something else entirely. He found a nearby boulder and sat down, opening the journal to a blank page and beginning to sketch and diagram the phenomenon in front of him. While he was trying to get a detail of the Giant’s face, Alarik slid off the bolder, intending to get a closer look. His foot caught in a fissure he’d not noticed, and he pitched forward with a howl as a bolt of agony shot through his ankle.

Below him, the ground began to convulse, and Alarik immediately forgot about his ankle as the two dark craters snapped open and glared in his direction.

“Oh… oh no.” Alarik scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. He stood, intending to run, only to have his ankle collapse beneath him. The giant worked its way to its feet with a tremendous roar, grabbing a boulder the size of a house. It brought its hand back, and all Alarik could do was watch as the stone came hurtling in his direction.

He did not expect for a gust of ice and snow to lift him from the ground and send him hurtling through the air, the boulder slamming to the spot he’d been lying on seconds later. The gust deposited him on the back of what he assumed was a horse- though it looked like no horse Alarik had ever seen. The creature was not one of hide and hair, but rather what looked, and felt, to be ice. He had little time to marvel, however, as a voice to his right called out, “Enough!”

Everything fell quiet, even the breeze. A figure stepped forward, and Alarik could not believe his eyes. A woman, dressed in clothing similar to the Northuldra’s, but nearly white in coloration, stepped forward, her pale hair flowing like a waterfall down her back. She strode forward with a straight back and regal posture, lifting a hand. The giant’s features softened, and it set down a second boulder before settling back into a reclining posture. Within seconds, the giant was asleep. The woman relaxed momentarily, then turned to pierce him with an icy glare, advancing with a straight back. Alarik swallowed. The woman in front of him could only be Elsa, the Fifth Spirit, and he had just put himself squarely on her bad side.

“What… were… you… thinking!?” Alarik couldn’t help but to shrink back at Elsa’s rage as she continued her advance. “No one should ever, ever go into these woods without a guide from Northuldra! Weren’t you told that!?”

“Yes, but-”

“No. No excuses. You were incredibly fortunate that I found you when I did, or that would have been your final resting place. The Giant thought you were an intruder! Now, I’m going to take you back to the camp, and you are going to stay at the camp unless one of us is with you, or I will send you back to Leisalla myself. Am. I. Clear!?”

Alarik could only nod. With a graceful movement, Elsa swung up behind him.

“Take us back, Nøkk.”

………

From the next several days, Alarik remained in the camp unless he was accompanied by a Northuldra villager. He stayed clear of Elsa during those days, as her contempt for him remained quite clear. He tried, multiple times to apologize, but each time he was met with a glare and a curt nod before Elsa left on her own.

A week after his misadventure, Honeymaren and her wife Ráfi were able to convince Elsa to accompany them and Alarik to the Earth Giant’s resting place to meet the Giant that had nearly killed him. Alarik, of course, had been extremely nervous to meet the spirit, but with Elsa translating- he learned that she was able to communicate with all the spirits through a series of images and feelings- the Giant eventually accepted Alarik, at least enough to tolerate his presence and understand that he was not there to harm anyone or anything within the forest.

After the meeting, and once the other spirits had a chance to meet Alarik, he was allowed to make short excursions in the forest by himself.

It was on one such foray on a particularly hot, humid day when Alarik heard a strange bawling noise. He followed the sound- more out of curiosity than anything else- to a steep, craggy hill. At first, he didn’t see anything, until a movement near the top of the hill drew his attention. It was Elsa, climbing with easy, nimble movements. Alarik followed the direction of her climb and was just able to make out the form of a reindeer calf stuck between two large stones- the source of the noise. Within seconds, Elsa was at the calf’s side, and with a few deft movements, she had pulled the calf loose. Alarik watched as Elsa slung the calf over her shoulders and began her descent. Just as he was about to leave, not wanting to face Elsa’s ire- even if she had seemed a bit less cold towards him- he heard the sound of rock falling free. He turned just in time to watch, helplessly, as Elsa slid and rolled down the hill, somehow maintaining her grip on the calf. As she fell, Alarik saw her leg catch on a thick branch. Her cry echoed throughout the forest, and when she finally rolled to a stop, she remained still, the calf on her shoulders bawling frantically.

“Elsa!” Alarik rushed forward even as he wondered what exactly he’d be able to do. As soon as he arrived by Elsa’s side, Alarik was relieved to see her chest rising and falling, and after a moment, her eyes fluttered open. His relief was short-lived when he saw Elsa’s left leg. A massive gash ran from her knee halfway down to her calf, and within the mass of blood and lacerated flesh, Alarik could see the white glint of bone. He swallowed back the gorge rising in his throat, struggling to keep his composure as he looked around, trying to come up with a plan. Elsa groaned, and stuck out her hand, a swirl of ice encompassing the wound.

“Wonderful,” Elsa grunted, examining the wound with a critical eye. The bleeding had stopped with the application of her ice, but Alarik could tell that the wound needed further attention.

“Can you walk?” Alarik asked, trying to mentally gauge the distance between their current position and the camp. They were maybe two kilometers out, from what he remembered, but could Elsa’s leg hold out until then? He noticed then that Elsa was not looking at the wound any more, but up at the sky. Alarik followed her gaze, and his heart dropped when he saw the dark thunderheads drawing near. Flashes of light illuminated the clouds’ underbellies, and Alarik knew that the storm would hit them before they could make it to the safety of the camp.

Elsa groaned once more, and formed two crutches of ice. Shaking, she worked herself to her feet, jerking her head in the direction of the reindeer calf. “I can’t carry her and walk at the same time. Just put her on your shoulders like I did- she’s used to it.” Alarik didn’t dare contest her order, but as he swung the calf over his shoulder- wincing when a hoof clipped his ear- he still saw no solution to their current predicament.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it to the camp in time.” Alarik spoke cautiously, not wanting to push his luck.

“We’re not.” Elsa’s voice was taut with pain. “There’s… a cave… not far… from here. We can make it… if we… move fast enough.”

“Are you going to be able to make it?”

“Going to have to.” Elsa limped forward, and Alarik had no choice but to follow.

……….

They arrived at the cave seconds before the storm broke, a tempest of rain and thunder that turned the world outside the cave entrance night-black. As they entered, Elsa explained that the cave was part of a system the Northuldra used for anyone, like them, who were too far from camp and needed temporary shelter. The cave was well-stocked with basic necessities- firewood, flint and steel, food, medical supplies, a few tools and even a small enclosure where Alarik placed the calf.The walk, while not far, had clearly pushed Elsa to her limits, and Alarik was grateful that his travels had taught him basic outdoorsmanship, particularly in starting a fire. By the time he had a good blaze going- placing a kettle of water over the flames- Elsa’s skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and a sheen of sweat covered her face. He approached her slowly, praying that he would be able to help.

“Elsa, may I please look at your leg? I was trained in field dressing during a stint in Scotland, and I have had to care for my own-”

“Fine.” The word came out as a hiss through gritted teeth, and Alarik couldn’t help but to pull back. However, Elsa stretched the leg in his direction, and said nothing as he drew closer.

“Can you remove the ice, please?” A wave of her hand, and the ice dissipated. Almost immediately, blood began to seep up in the wound, and Alarik reached for a wad of bandages, doing his best to staunch the flow. Even if Elsa iced the wound again, it would only serve as a temporary reprieve. Alarik could think of only one option.

“Elsa, I’m afraid your wound needs to be…” His throat tightened, and Alarik had to struggle to get the next word out. “…cauterized.”

Elsa’s head fell back as she groaned. “I was afraid of that. Alright, there should be a knife somewhere in the supplies. Go ahead and start heating that. Do you know what dried goldenseal looks like? Good, grab a handful and put it in the kettle. I’ll need to wash my hands before I do this.”

Alarik jerked his head around, unable to keep his mouth from falling open. “You can’t possibly be serious! Elsa, there’s no way you can do that on your own! I’ll take-”

“No.” Despite her evident exhaustion, Elsa’s refusal held an authoritative tone that made Alarik hesitate. “You’ll end up getting hurt- my powers are extremely difficult to control when I’m in pain. No, set everything up for me, and then get as far away as possible.” Her tone made it clear that she expected no arguments, but Alarik wouldn’t do so. Not this time.

“Elsa, please, hear me out.” He had to be careful- even in the short time he’d been staying in the forest, he had learned that if there was anything Elsa feared above all, it was losing control of her powers, even around him. “I know why you don’t want me near you if there’s a risk of you losing control, but you and I both know that this isn’t going to work as well, if at all if you attempt this on your own. Please, allow me to help you. We can figure out how to keep things safe for the both of us.” He fell silent for a moment, looking about the cave walls as he desperately sought inspiration for a solution. Wait… the walls.

“Elsa, the walls- can you direct your powers into them? If you can send them into the walls, it could be enough for me to finish the procedure without being harmed.” When he noticed her hesitation, Alarik reached forward before realizing what he was doing and pulled his hand back. “Can you try that?”

Elsa remained silent for so long that Alarik wondered if she had fallen unconscious, until she spoke.

“I will try. But I need you to promise me that if I tell you to go, you will go.“

Alarik nodded as he checked the knife blade- it was glowing red. "I promise.”

“No. Look at me. Promise it.” Elsa’s voice held a tense note, and when Alarik met her eyes, he thought he saw tears forming.

“I. Promise.”

Elsa gave a curt nod, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. Alarik turned away, giving her privacy, and pulled the steaming kettle of goldenseal off the fire, sitting back to let it cool enough to wash his hands. To his surprise, a layer of frost grew on the outside of the metal, and he caught Elsa’s half-smile.

“Sometimes it helps to have ice powers.” Alarik chuckled as he lowered his hands into the mixture, scrubbing thoroughly. When he had finished, he gave one last look at Elsa, whose smile had vanished.

“Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s get this over with.” Elsa braced her hands on the stone, fingers splayed, eyes screwed shut. As Alarik pulled the knife from the fire, she spoke again, her voice soft.

“Would you… would you talk to me?"

Alarik froze, unsure of what she wanted. "Talk to you?”

“Tell me about your travels, or what you’ve learned. Just… please give me something to focus on, other than… other than the pain.”

“Of course."

And so he talked. He started at the very beginning, his first visit to Oslo, as he pressed the blade to her flesh, fighting to keep his voice level as she threw back her head with a howl, ice spiking away from her hands. He spoke of his mishaps and friends as he guided the knife over the wound, recoiling at the awful smell, trying to move as quickly and thoroughly as possible. He spoke of his journeys to other countries as he packed and bandaged the wound. By the time he was finished, the ice had spread to the ceiling, dagger-like icicles hanging menacingly above them. Elsa’s eyes were glazed with pain, and her hands dropped from the walls as if they were weighed down with stones. Alarik kept an eye on her as he cleaned everything to the best of his ability. Finally, there was nothing else to be done, and he fell silent, letting the sounds of the storm fill the air between them.

Eventually, Elsa shifted to a more upright position. “Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and when Alarik looked at her, her eyes were shut tight, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I… owe you.”

Alarik flushed. “You would have done the same.” He busied himself by pulling out his journal and pencil, finding a new page. He set the pencil to the page, but nothing came to mind.

Elsa remained quiet for several minutes, and Alarik wondered if she had fallen asleep. An idea came to him, and Alarik started sketching an outline.

“I suppose I would have.” Alarik looked up to see that Elsa’s eyes had opened again, but rather than looking at him, she was eyeing the ice dripping from the ceiling. He was relieved to see that her breathing had evened out, even more so when she was able to dissipate everything.

“Even if I’m an idiot who nearly gets himself crushed by an Earth Giant’s boulder?” The joke was a risk, and for a moment, Alarik feared he’d gone too far. He relaxed when Elsa’s lips lifted in a crooked smile.

“I suppose you ended up growing on me.”

Alarik stopped his sketching as something warm and pleasant bloomed in his chest. “Really!?”

“Yes. Like a fungus.”

Alarik threw back his head and laughed, and Elsa even managed a quick chuckle. They fell into silence for a while more.

“Alarik?”

“Hmmm?”

“I know the tent you’re sharing with Ryder is a little on the smaller side, and I’m sure space is tight with your supplies.”

Alarik lifted a shoulder. “It’s perfectly fine, really. I’m used to travelling light, and I’ve been in much smaller places. And Ryder is a nice man.”

Elsa wasn’t looking at him any longer, and he noticed a tinge of red was creeping up her neck. “I’m… I’m glad. But… if you’re interested, I do have plenty of room in my tent. The Northuldra really did make it much too large- I don’t use all the space, and I did bring some desks from Arendelle which you are welcome to use.”

Now it was Alarik’s turn to blush. “That is a very kind offer, Elsa, but I’m quite fine where I am. I don’t want to impose on you.”

“You wouldn’t be, I promise.” Elsa had turned away from him, and what Alarik could see on her face was unreadable. He wasn’t entirely sure about his own feelings on the matter- his thoughts were a confusing jumble.

“Will you… let me think on it?”

“Of course.”

Alarik returned to his sketching, and Elsa’s eyelids drooped, until he could hear her breathing grow deep and even. It took him a moment to realize that he could hear her breathing clearly because the storm outside had finally tapered off- they could return to the camp, and get Elsa further medical attention.

If she could make it.

“Elsa?” She sniffed and murmured as she woke, and Alarik was struck by just how sweet she looked. He quickly pushed the intrusive thought aside and indicated the calming weather outside the cave’s entrance. “The storm is letting up. We should probably get you back to the camp so that the healer can look at you. Can you walk, or do you want me to bring someone here?”

Elsa’s eyes closed once more, but it looked more that she was concentrating rather than falling asleep. After a moment, she looked at Alarik with a smile. “No need. We have help coming. Go ahead and douse the fire.”

Before Alarik could ask what Elsa meant, a low rumble filled the air and the cave began to shake. Seconds later, a massive face lowered itself to the cave’s entrance- an Earth Giant, and one Alarik thought he recognized.

“Is that…”

“The one who almost crushed you? Yes. Don’t worry, he’s alright with you.”

Alarik grunted, dousing the fire and making sure the ashes were sufficiently scattered. He went to pick up the reindeer calf, but noticed that Elsa was having difficulty standing. Alarik quickly removed his shirt and fashioned it into a sling, placing the calf within. He then offered his arm, and after a moment, Elsa grasped it and pulled herself up, leaning heavily on Alarik. Together, they made their way out of the cave and into the Giant’s waiting palm. As they settled in, Elsa leaned against him, and was soon asleep. Alarik moved the calf out of the way and pulled at his journal, opening it to his newest entry. His finished sketch showed Elsa, sleeping much as she was then, and the image brought a smile to his face.

………

Several days later, a stir rose through the camp as a royal wagon rolled up to the camp carrying Anna, Kristoff and baby Neta. Elsa, still limping slightly, rushed out to meet her family, and endured Anna’s chastising. Anna’s attention was quickly diverted when Alarik stepped out of Elsa’s tent as well- a grin working its way across her face.

“New tent-mate, Elsa?” Elsa stiffened and began a flustered series of excuses, until Anna eventually bumped Elsa’s shoulder and leaned over to meet the reindeer calf who ended up with the two of them.

“And what’s your name, little one?” Anna asked, scratching the calf under the chin.

“Beowulf,” Alarik said, rubbing the calf’s ears.

“That’s a female calf.” Kristoff pointed out, bouncing Neta in his arms.

“So?” Elsa and Alarik answered at the same time, and Anna’s grin grew.

“Look at you two, just like proud parents!” At that, both Alarik and Elsa flushed and stammered until Anna was doubled over with laughter. She yelped when Elsa sent a flurry of snow down her collar. Rolling her eyes, Elsa went over to retrieve Neta from Kristoff. She bounced the baby in her arms, chuckling when Neta reached out to tug on a strand of her hair.

As Alarik watched, he blinked in confusion. For a moment, he could have sworn that he had seen Elsa holding, not baby Neta, but a different baby with red hair- the same shade of his own.

#tdoe #tdoe 2019 #elsarik #alarik #elsa #Earth Giants #Neta #Anna #Shardsverse #shards of shards

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whythehellnaut · 5 years

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Why’s Joker review

So, Joker was... unique, to say the least. It left me with a very unsettling feeling afterward, for reasons I wouldn't have expected, both good and bad. I will say that this is a creative, one-of-a-kind character study of this classic villain, though it tends to be somewhat pretentious in its portrayal, partly due to its ironic humorlessness, which works both for and against it. I expect this to be remembered for a long time, maybe get a few Oscar noms and bring about some controversy, because there's a lot to analyze in this, and I admittedly have more to say than usual.

The film starts out rather generic. Joaquin Phoenix depicts a mentally ill man, who is down on his luck, gets bullied, cares for his sick mother, struggles to stay employed, and engages in a bland romantic subplot with a neighbor. All story elements we've seen before in countless films. As time goes on, however, these story elements all are given a lot more depth, and I dare not provide spoilers, but even the romance winds up providing some surprising insight into this character which caused me to take back my negative opinion on including such a contrived plotline. When the story gets going in the second act, whatever boredom experienced in the first part dissipates as we see more and more of Phoenix's seemingly stellar acting and twists that systematically emerge, making the plot much less predictable than it is at its start.

Phoenix's character, Arthur's descent into madness as the Joker is shown to be gradual and coherent. At no point did I think the writing was dumb or that the story was taking easy shortcuts into "crazy" territory in the way that, say, Star Wars does when Anakin Skywalker becomes the evil Darth Vader after a sudden, spur of the moment action that doesn't reflect his overall personality (I know I'm harsh on Star Wars, but this was the first example that came to mind). Arthur's change to the Joker is well paced. He is introduced as noticeably mentally ill, but not particularly angry, and slightly sympathetic. As time passes, and as he loses his medication and therapy, we see him slowly, over several scenes, lose his sanity bit by bit until the climax where he completely changes his identity to become the character we all know.The acting is top-notch and the directing, while strong, often seems like it's being artsy for the sake of being artsy. Arthur will often slow dance in place for twenty to thirty seconds at a time, for no apparent reason other than there's nothing else to film. It's intended to show his encroaching madness, as if we've forgotten what the movie is about, but seems awkwardly shoehorned in to match the orchestral score, which I admittedly must compliment because of the way it adds to the mood. It sounds much like the original Batman soundtrack from earlier movies, but more intense to signify Arthur's mood, which fluctuates unpredictably, as it reasonably would for a brain damaged man like him. I found my heart racing when I heard the music fade in at apparently mundane moments, the increasing tempo making me wonder what he's going to do or what he's thinking. Ordinarily this would make a film predictable by signifying ahead of time that something major is about to go down, but Arthur as a character is so unpredictable that it negates that effect.

Still, its focus on its artistic value hurts it, because it takes itself much more seriously than it should. I mentioned before that the film is humorless. This creates a large part of the unsettling mood for the story, clearly pointing out the irony of a movie called "Joker," containing no jokes. But in its attempt to be thoughtful and provocative, it saps out the fun. The Joker as we know him in comics and other films, in addition to his morbid nature of seeing human death as a joke, also happens to be genuinely funny at least at some point in all of his portrayals. This version of him displays him as a man who wants to be a comedian despite having no comprehension of humor, resulting in him being ironically unfunny. I acknowledge that Todd Phillips has the right to create his own portrayal of the character, and I won't bash his use of artistic freedom, but even the most serious dramas include some form of humor to entertain the audience. This film didn't get me to crack a smile until the final shot before the credits. This is where showing off your artistic filmmaking through use of irony crosses the border into outright bad filmmaking. You can't use the excuse, "you just don't get how brilliant the irony is," because I do get it, it's just not entertaining.

I'm sure there's plenty more to talk about, but I want to end by discussing the final message of the movie, because it comes off as ambiguous, and that's where the most problematic aspect of the film emerges. At best, the moral of the story is to support funding of mental healthcare and to treat the mentally ill with respect. Questionably, the theme also could be that the rich are morally bankrupt and must be stopped, which could have had some merit if handled properly, but is rather overkill in its portrayal, especially during a certain climactic scene. At worst, the moral is that mass murderers like school shooters are just sympathetic lost souls deep down, who are just victims of the American system. This theory has been circulating since before the film's release, and I deem it a valid concern. Arthur is typically portrayed as a character you want to feel sorry for, and often does kind or helpful things before his eventual turn (one of his kills is arguably justifiable). It's worrying that he is portrayed less as an evil villain character than as a revolutionary by the end. This should not be how we should see the Joker. He is a mindless serial killer idolized only by similar minded people. He should be a source of entertainment, not sympathy. Hopefully this movie doesn't inspire the wrong people as a result.

Overall, I think this is a solid movie with a riveting story. Phoenix and Phillips may be up for Oscars, but something else odd I noticed is that Arthur's movie-spanning relationship with Robert DeNiro's late night talk show host character is strangely similar to the real Joaquin Phoenix's relationship with David Letterman, spurring from a quarrelsome interview in 2009. I'm hoping this wasn't intended to be a threatening message to Letterman, and that Phoenix was playing a fictional character, rather than playing himself as a former drug addict. That may also take away from the movie if it's true, but maybe I'm overthinking.

#movie review #Joker #Joker (2019)

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