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ladykailitha · 3 months

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The Harrington Pattern Part 1

Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late uploading today, but I went to bed early last night and forgot to schedule this.

Oops!

But! Welcome to what I've been calling Steve is a History Nerd agenda. We see in season two on Steve's essay for colleges that he can link his grandfather's military service with his prowess on the basketball court.

It is also surprisingly well written. *shakes fist at the Duffers stop telling us he's stupid and then showing the opposite, please! Let him be smart, too!*

Summary: The Renaissance Fair is finally back in Hawkins after three year absence (Starcourt was built on the fair site and after the fire it was bulldozed back to it's original field). Everyone is excited, even Steve to everyone's amazement. But Steve is hiding other hidden depths as he offers to help the kids make their costumes for the Fair.

Lucas is struggling with being both a nerd and a jock and fears the judgment of his friends. Steve sets out to help him overcome those doubts to be himself.

Tagging the untaggable: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Nobody expects Steve to be excited for the Renaissance fair. Dustin, Will and Lucas spend hours plotting bribes, schemes and out and out manipulations to get Steve to agree to take them. Even Robin expected him to side with her about the dust and the filth. Eddie expected him to be dismissive of the fantasy aspect of it.

Boy were they all wrong.

For it was Steve to bring up to the group after a rather successful D&D session.

In his hand was a bright pink flier and a wide grin on his face.

“Guys! The Ren Fair is back this year,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “I’ll finally be able to show off that tunic I’ve been working on.”

All heads turned to Steve in shock.

There was a cacophony of questions.

“Since when did you know how to sew?”

“What do you mean back? I didn’t even know Hawkins had one to begin with!”

“You want to go to the Ren Fair?”

“Why would you want to spend all day in the heat and dirt?”

Steve looked around at all off his friends in shock.

“Guys, I love the Ren Fair,” he muttered. “Didn’t you guys know?”

All their jaws dropped.

And Eddie? Eddie felt an icicle to the heart at the sight of Steve’s hurt expression.

“You’ll pardon the peasants, my liege,” Eddie said, bowing grandly. “I’m afraid we have all be harboring under the delusion that Ren Fairs were beneath your notice.”

Steve blinked at him a moment. “But I love that stuff. It’s the history and sword fights and jousting. It’s the like medieval Olympics. It’s the romance and chivalry of knights fighting for a fair maiden’s hand. It’s getting to dress up in fancy clothes and rip into turkey legs like a savage. What’s not to like?”

Dustin frowned. “Who here knew Steve liked history?”

Robin and Nancy raised their hands. They looked around waiting for me people to join them. But they stayed down.

Steve ducked his head and scuffed the floor with the edge of his sneaker.

“The ex-girlfriend I’ll buy,” Dustin continued. “But Robin didn’t become friends with Steve until after he graduated so how did she know?”

Robin blinked at them owlishly. “You mean you guys don’t know?”

Everyone looked around each other and then shook their heads.

“Steve was in my AP history class my junior year,” she said as if this was know fact.

“You do know that AP stands for advance placement, right?” Mike asked.

Eddie smacked the back of his head. “She was in it, dude. Don’t be an ass.”

Steve looked up at him and smiled a little.

Good, Eddie thought. Nothing like a little Mike violence to cheer up Steve.

“He wrote an essay for early placement college exams,” Nancy said. “He didn’t get a chance to turn it in because of our second go round with the Upside Down, but it was really good. It needed a little neatening up with the actual writing, but the history was solid.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks.”

Dustin looked skeptical. “What’s your favorite part of history?”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I liked hearing about my grandpa’s time in the US army during WWII, but that was more because he made it interesting. But I really like the Industrial Revolution. Or rather the first Industrial Revolution. There have been four. The first one was from 1760-1840 and featured heavily in the textile movement.”

The room was silent.

“Why textiles, Stevie?” Eddie asked as the silence grew awkward.

Steve lit up like a child at Christmas morning and he began talking about the British textile movement.

“What the hell?” Dustin huffed, breaking into Steve monologue.

Steve ducked his head again and blushed. “Just because I’m not interested in science and fantasy doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” He straightened up. “And yeah, sometimes I get things wrong. But everyone does at some point. In fact I get a hell of a lot more flack for my intelligence than Eddie does and he repeated his senior year twice!” He took a deep breath and then ran his fingers through his hair.

“No offense,” he said waving to Eddie.

Eddie looked up at him with earnest eyes. “None taken. I concur.”

They all looked around at each other in shock. Like they hadn’t realized that they had done that.

After a few moments, Steve put his hands on his hips and pointed at all of them.

“So do you guys want to go or what?”

Eddie sat back with a smile as everyone roared their approval.

“No corsets,” was Robin’s only firm and fast rule for Steve when it came to dressing her up for the Ren Fair.

Steve looked her up and down. “Why on earth would I want you in a corset? Have you looked in the mirror?”

“Uh...” Robin said. “Is that a trick question? Of course I have. I don’t what that has to do with saying no to corsets though...”

Steve rolled his eyes. “In order to give you the curve you need to match the proper silhouette you would need to be cinched to hell. And as this is supposed to be fun.”

He grabbed her hand and started hauling her toward his car.

“Where are we going?”

“Thrifting!” he said with glee.

It took three different stores and a stop at the mall to get everything he needed.

“Give me three days,” he told her when he dropped her off at her house. “And I think you’ll like what I come up with.”

Robin eyed him warily. “If you say so.”

Steve laughed.

He crashed the next D&D session, showing up early to pick them up.

“What is everyone wearing to the Ren Fair?” he asked with a note pad on his lap and wagged the pen in his fingers.

“You want us to dress up?” Mike asked, eyes wide.

“Why not?” he asked with a shrug. “I’ve made my costume and currently reworking some thirfted threads for Robin’s outfit.”

Eddie blinked. “You made your costume?”

Steve shrugged again. “Yeah. I like sewing.”

There was suddenly an uproar and he held up a hand. “I can’t make you a full outfit before the Fair, but I can make over already made clothes to make them more historical. And maybe for next year I’ll have the time to make something special for everyone.”

Dustin eyed him suspiciously. “Like what?”

“Like tailoring pants to a tighter fit,” Steve explained “adding a sash or belt, turning old coats into vests and cloaks, things like that.”

They still weren’t sure how that would work out.

“Now I talked to Joyce and Claudia,” he continued. “And they’re both willing to help out in making sure everyone has something nice to wear. That includes Max and El.”

“Are the fair maidens joining us?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Joyce is doing El and Will, Claudia is doing Dustin and Mike, and I’m doing Lucas and Max. Eddie said he already had a costume, so I didn’t have to worry about him.”

Eddie grinned. “You better believe it, pretty boy.”

Steve ducked his head and blushed. “So we’re all going thrifting with a $5 limit for each of you. But I wanted to brainstorm some ideas of what you wanted to go as so we don’t waste time wandering around.”

Everyone started shouting at once and it took Steve a good ten minutes before he got everyone calmed down enough to get what they wanted. Dustin wanted to go as a hobbit, but Steve had to nix that one.

“You don’t want to go running around the grounds barefoot,” he explained with a wince. “It’s not safe.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Stevie on this one,” Eddie said. “You guys have never been but there is all sorts of stuff laying around. It’s not indoors and the pathways are dirt lined. Think the state fair. It’s more like that then going to comic book convention.”

Dustin grumbled but conceded the point. Steve got them to decide on... well not quite peasant gear, but more rough around the edges than what Steve would be wearing.

Well, all but Lucas. He didn’t want to wear what they were wearing but he refused to say what he did want to wear.

So Steve dropped him off at home last.

They pulled into his driveway and Steve turned to him. “Do you not want to dress up? Because I won’t make you.”

Lucas picked at the loose string on his sweater. “It’s not that. I just remember the last time we did a group costume and they all thought I should be Winston because I was black like he was.”

Steve frowned for a moment. “The Ghostbusters, right?”

Lucas nodded. “I knew if I brought it up they’d shoot me down again.”

“So what did you want to go as?” he asked.

Lucas huffed out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid pipe dream anyway. Especially since you have to make Max’s dress and Robin’s costume, too.”

He opened the door to get out, but Steve reached over and slammed it closed.

“One, Robin’s costume is almost done,” he said counting out on his fingers. “Two, do you really think your girlfriend is going to want to wear a dress? And three, let me be the judge on what’s too much for me, okay?”

Lucas huffed a laugh at his second point. “Yeah, that was dumb of me.”

“So what is it?”

Lucas looked down again and heaved out a sigh. “An elf.”

Steve’s mind was whirling with the possibilities. “What colors?”

“What?” Lucas asked, not sure he heard Steve right.

“What colors would you want it to be?”

He pulled out the notebook and scrambled for a pen. Lucas pulled a pencil out of his bag and handed it to him.

“Uh I was thinking of a light blue and with a silver trim?” he said hesitantly.

Steve sketched something out. “Like this?”

Lucas leaned over to look at the drawing. “A little shorter so I’m not tripping over it and maybe those puffy pants?”

Steve adjusted the drawing and Lucas nodded.

“Yeah, like that.”

“All right,” Steve said. “I know exactly what to do and how to do it. It won’t be perfect because I don’t have time to do it right so I’ll be doing a lot of cheating. But yeah, it’s doable.”

Lucas gave him a hug. “Thanks, man.”

Steve called the one person he knew he could help him.

“Eddie,” he said the second the other man picked up. “I need your nerd connections to do a huge favor for Lucas.”

“Wha’cha got, big boy?” Eddie asked with a grin.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any Trekkies would you?” Steve asked chewing on his bottom lip.

“That depends, Stevie,” Eddie replied, “what’s the need?”

“Pointed ears.”

Eddie hummed. “I’m assuming you’re thinking Trekkie because of Spock and that’s a good thought. But I’m guessing since we’re going to the Ren Fair our stalwart ranger is wanting to be an elf?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Do you know anyone who can help?”

“Better than that,” Eddie said. “I know where to get the ears in the right... shade?”

Steve perked up. “Oh? I’m guessing Jeff?”

“Right in one, darlin’,” Eddie said with a soft smile. “I’ll give him a call and then call you back.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Steve breathed. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, doll.”

****

I am so excited for this, guys. You have no idea. I'm little history nerd myself and this really fun to play around with.

Just a heads up. We WILL be addressing Mike's casual racism from the Ghostbusters scene because I don't like that it's never been addressed.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @artiststarme @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd #tw: racism

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miraonpluto · 7 months

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i did a deep dive on pyrrha’s name and was once again impressed by the sheer amount of meaning behind everything in these books? anyways here is what i found (warning for long post ahead):

literally pyrrha’s entire life because she never gets a break but specifically: g1deon pushing wake out of the airlock and killing her but saving the nine houses in the process. g1deon setting off the nukes (everything is his fault, objectively). losing nona to save harrow, losing cam and pal to save cam and pal. etc

pyrrha is one of the founders of the second house aka the military house (was she a cohort commander? i don’t remember) and the logo for the second house is a skull wearing an ancient greek helmet!! also pyrrha/g1deon is the only character to use a spear as an offhand, the main weapon used by ancient greek soldiers. plus ancient greek soldiers are typically depicted with red plumes and white tunics, which are the second house colors. why john decided to theme the second house after ancient greece in his dark academia space punk imperialism universe is not something i want to analyze right now

in terms of benevolence i would actually say one of pyrrha’s main traits, at least in contrast to g1deon, is her kindness, especially when she told harrow how to protect herself from g1deon. based on how john describes pre-resurrection g1deon though this could be a soul permeability thing

fucking the enemy definitely counts as a failure to maintain focus. no further explanation required

i would say this is a coincidence but idk if tamsyn does coincidences so. the other meaning of pyrrhic is Two syllable meter. what the hell!

definitely fits her personality but also g1deon's body has red hair so that's fun. i could connect this to landmine people and/or cam literally setting herself on fire but that might be a stretch

ok that's all i got if this post doesn't flop i'll consider doing it again for other characters' names (alecto maybe? that name has interesting lore)

bonus:

#making this post lagged the fuck out of my phone #tlt #the locked tomb #tlt meta #pyrrha dve

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etherati · 9 months

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Belmont crest and colorrrrssss

I have a lot of thoughts and feels about the colors used in various versions of the Belmont crest in the netflix show, and how it fits into traditional heraldry. I have decided to make that everyone else's problem. So.

In Leon's portrait, we see him in a surcoat of white with the Belmont crest rendered in azure blue.

In traditional heraldry the "white" component of this would be synonymous with the metal silver/argent, as matte white was not a meaningful color choice and all colors had to be combined with a metal (silver or gold) rather than another color. Now, I know that in the Doylesian sense, this color choice was made because of Leon's original character design, which utilized different tradition imagery and had nothing to do with the Belmonts specifically:

But the text is what it is and the show gave us the first Belmont in an azure and argent version of the Belmon crest. Color meanings vary depending on your source, but azure typically referred to truth, loyalty, and unwavering morality. Morality is, of course, a construct--you can imagine that for the rebellious ex-church-knight Belmont it probably had some input from the bible but moreso was informed by his own oath--to "battle the night". Yeah, this gets made fun of--he's the dumbass who wants to fight an entire time of day--but we know what he means, ok. He's swearing to defend the daylight world against the things in the night that would harm it. He is defining his moral position going forward very specifically--he will uphold humanity and destroy that which would cause it harm. In a fic of mine he described it as representing the daylight sky, which given that he's a vampire in that fic carries even more poignancy, but even in the canon version it works, because that is the moral field he is aligning with.

Meanwhile argent/silver generally refers to purity, sincerity, and faith, which yeah, this is definitely a character who has purity of purpose. This combination of colors suits a vision of the Belmonts that served humanity unerringly, who had faith even when the church itself seemed flawed, who defined their morality by the divide between daylight and night and executed it with sincerity and dedication.

Fast forward to Trevor's time. The family has risen and fallen. At its height it was considered a great noble family--a warrior dynasty, as Alucard put it. Trevor's tunic and his armor both bear the crest in gold; once we're in the hold, we see that it's set against a deep burgundy in the official banners and standards.

Why the change? What does it mean? Red is obvious--it's the warrior side of them, the military might, the weight of generations of fighters and all the blood they've spilt. It's the most common color in heraldry because conflict and war were themselves so common, but the Belmonts (to our knowledge) weren't besieging neighboring Lords' territories. They defined themselves by their fight against the creatures of the night, defined themselves to the point that they became The Fight. The warrior is the largest part of their identity. In the same fic I had Trevor say that the red represented family to him, like bloodlines, which is not the traditional meaning--but given that nothing defined his family or his relationship with them as much as The Fight, I still think he was onto something. Additionally, red can carry the meaning of sacrifice and martyrdom, which also fucking fits, unfortunately.

As for the gold, usually this refers to faithfulness, nobility, constancy, and glory. On its own, it's a statement of those qualities--particularly nobility and faithfulness. Combined with warrior's red, the glory piece of it starts to assert itself. A family of martyrs and warriors, noble and glorious--that's how they saw themselves, anyway. The family had gotten so far up its own ass that it cared more about perpetuating those ideals and standards than it necessarily did about the original purpose and duty of its existence! Eventually Trevor re-finds that purpose, when he drops the cloak in Gresit and re-dedicates himself to protecting the people--but it's worth noting that the crest he displays in that moment is gold alone, without a specific colored field. The version of the Belmonts that defined themselves by the amount of blood they'd shed are dead and buried, their flags tattered; the one who survived has taken their steadfastness, their faithfulness and constancy and nobility, and managed to reconnect it to what they always should have been.

Which brings us full circle, back to Leon's portrait--because there's another crest, there.

Azure and gold. All the steady dedication of a long standing nobility--much less fragile than one man's personal purity of purpose--applied to moral defense of humanity and the daylight world, rather than simply to fighting and glory for its own sake. There's a reason this is the color scheme I plan for Leon to end up in, in my fic-verse, and is the one that I think may have been in between the other two, chronologically. It conveys all the Belmonts are meant to be and do, without reducing them to simply violence. They fight, not for the fight's sake, but to protect the people they've sworn to protect.

Anyway. Yeah. Uh, colors!

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #belmont stuff #trevor belmont #leon belmont #CoLoR tHeOrY~~~#heraldry #meta #eth blathers and everyone else suffers

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oliveroctavius · 4 months

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I got this ask on main but thought I'd pick it up here, my comics history/fashion ramble blog. I'd been wondering this exact same thing recently, and Google initially wasn't much help—Rocketeer replica jackets describe themselves only as "Rocketeer jackets" and the one Lobster Johnson cosplay thread just suggested ordering one of those.

The most curious part is the double seam and horizonal row of buttons that mark out the entire front as possibly being an unbuttonable "bib", like a plastron front. (Please don't ask how late in the game I worked out that "plastron" is the right word for that.)

The closest genuine Golden Age example of a plastron jacket I found was the military tunic style uniform of Blackhawk, created in 1941.

(Pics from the '52 movie serial (right) really show how awkward it is to combine open lapels + plastron. On a double breasted coat, that chest panel IS the bottom lapel, folded shut.)

Here's the thing: This outfit mirrors that of the Nazi ace pilot he fights in the origin issue, von Tepp (middle). And compare further to the far right: real life WWI flying ace Manfred von Richthofen, AKA the Red Baron, in imperial German Uhlan (lance cavalry) uniform.

"The Germans had designed such great costumes, we decided to use them ourselves," co-creator Cuidera is quoted as saying in Steranko's History of Comics, which (more dubiously, in my opinion) compares the look to the Gestapo or SS. Breeches or jodhpurs weren't strictly a Nazi thing at the time, but they do add to the overall effect.

Compare two other military tunic themed costumes from 1940, on Captain Marvel and Bucky Barnes. These are asymmetrically buttoned, and switch to a more classic circus strongman look below the waist.

But somewhere around 1975, with the Invaders book, Bucky gets a buttoned bib! There's something infectious about it—the symmetry, maybe. (Even re: the characters we started with; Mignola didn't draw Lobster Johnson with buttons down the right side, but every artist after does. And Spider-Noir wore a sweater under his coat until Shattered Dimensions introduced the double-breasted vest.)

If it didn't reach his belt, Barnes' button-on front + shirt collar combo would resemble a bib-front western shirt, like the one that became the Rawhide Kid's signature look in '56. (Or Texas Twister's in '76.)

This shirt entered the old-West-obsessed public imagination in the 1940s/50s largely because John Wayne wore it in several cowboy movies. In reality it was rare among cowboys, more common with firefighters and civil war era militia.

Military tunics, Western shirts, alright, but does anything match the style and material and era, or are these jackets a total anachronism? I tried looking into 1930s leather flight jackets and was surprised when the closest-looking results were marked as Luftwaffe.

It took me a bit to work out why: USAF and RAF issued standard flight jackets with a center closure. The Luftwaffe instead let their pilots buy non-standardized ones. The 'weird' double-breasted black German flight jackets were in fact fairly normal (but repurposed) motorcycle racing jackets.

Far left is an English biker's jacket that dates back to the 1920s. Even without the bib, this may be as close as you'll get to an authentic Rocketeer. The jodhpurs were pretty common to complete the look. (What was an early motorcycle anyways, if not a weird metal horse?) The first biker jacket with the now iconic off-center diagonal zip was designed in America in 1928 and yet as far as I can tell, not a single actual pre-war pulp hero wore one.

The greatest weakness of this post is that I haven't been able to find any of these artists' notes on how, exactly, they arrived at similar versions of this iconic Pulp Front Panel Jacket. I'm sure I've missed some things. But as far as I can tell, this jacket is an odd bit of convergent stylistic evolution from the above influences that's picked up enough momentum to now be self-perpetuating.

The problem with pulp heroes is that for the most part, they just wore clothes. The appeal of this jacket is actually very similar to what the 1940s thought the appeal of the bib-front shirt in westerns was: It's alien enough to feel "old". It looks like something invented before zippers or synthetic fabrics. It looks formal and militant but also renegade, rebellious. It also looks a little mad-sciencey*. It's a costume, but you can nearly fool yourself into thinking the past was weird enough that you could find something this cool on the rack.

If I wanted to end on some grand point, I could try to argue that there's a thematic throughline between fascist fashion, John Wayne movies, and throwback pulp. A manufactured aesthetic valorizing the violence of a fictional golden age... but I think the noir stylings of the post-Rocketeer comics in this lineup mean that, at least on some level, they know the "good guys" didn't dress like this.

*If I had another couple weeks of time to burn, I'd try to trace the visual history of the Howie coat in popular culture and investigate its possible connections to this. Alas, I do actually have a life.

#thank you for reading. also don't read golden age blackhawks the racism is awful even by era standards.#comics history #costume taxonomy #<- forgot I had that tag.#not to be like ''in MY favorite comics...'' again but may I point out that Hellboy and Robo and Tom Strong just wear... clothes #like. yknow. A pulp series that had confidence in itself rather than trying to cosplay as eras it thinks were cooler might do-#[I am yanked offstage before I can restart that rant]#the rocketeer

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disastrouscanasta · 14 days

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this wip is taking too long, and i’m not sure how outright I can be with the smut on tumblr, so here’s the before-stuff

Once the war was over properly, and men were being sent home to their wives and their children, John was faced with an unfortunate reminder that everything he’d tried so hard to sustain would amount to less and less the further they got from Europe.

The tenuous convenience of his and Buck’s relationship slipped away quickly, and before he knew it, John was standing at the threshold of their ending.

In the morning, Gale would get on a train and go home to Marge. He’d say his farewells and snuff out the only fire that was keeping John going. Still, John would take it on the chin and shake his hand, standing up beside him on the platform until Gale cut his losses just to board the train.

That night, though, John would be damned if he didn’t at least try to make something of what he’d worked so hard to get to. Through their first years in the war, through all those missions and every goddamn day in Stalag Luft III, they’d stuck together. They’d been more to each other than John thought had ever had with a friend of his, and he knew it was more than Gale had ever had. Yet, as 1945 had shifted through seasons and months of supply drops and general military service, John had rationalised that it would end.

What they’d become to one another was circumstantial. It didn’t matter if John had no one back home, Gale did.

“Have you got a minute?” He asked Gale that night at the local officers club, their shoulders brushed where they stood at the bar counter.

“More than a minute.” Gale said. Hardly, John thought. He’d counted the hours, they had less than ten together.

But work was light, they’d mostly been sitting around waiting for things to do. And when they had a responsibility, nine out of ten times it was paperwork. John was bored, but Gale was the one who’d decided to go home first. I’ll come back, he’d promised. It wasn’t for John, even though that’s who he’d been speaking to. It was for the air force, for their country as a whole. God bless America.

But whatever kept Gale coming back. John doubted they’d continue their… Well, he just doubted they would continue past the war. Tough times and all that, John was good at getting Gale out of his own head every once in a while.

“Mind calling it a night?” John asked. It earned him an intrigued eyebrow raise followed by the subtle way Gale’s eyes widened when it dawned on him. John smiled when Gale just nodded quickly.

“Sure.”

John downed his drink, placing the drink down on the counter next to Gale’s— still, unfortunately— alcohol-lacking glass. He still had a flask in his uniform pocket, just in case.

He took Gale by the sleeve after paying for their service with a few bills left on the counter. When they reached the door and a blast of cold air hit them, John felt an inexplicable need to rush settle into his bones. They only had about nine hours left. Maybe just a bit more. In nine hours they could get off, that was sure. Maybe even save some energy for a second go at it.

At their billet, turned on the lights before he pressed his body close to Gale’s, keeping their hips together and bringing up his hands to rest on Gale’s face.

Gale wound his arms around John’s waist. His hands were a steady, grounding weight on John’s hips. He felt the hum of Gale’s voice as he spoke.

“Bed?”

“Wherever.” John huffed. He waited a spare few moments before kissing Gale needily. He tilted his head to deepen it, brushing Gale’s teeth with his tongue.

Gale moved them backwards, guiding John until his legs met the bed frame.

John’s hands fell to Gale’s buttons, undoing them with ease, then he pushed the tunic off of Gale’s shoulders. He moved on quickly to Gale’s tie, then his shirt.

“In a rush?” Gale said against his lips.

Yes, goddammit. “Just in the mood, Buck.”

“We’ve got all night.” Gale said, painfully sweet. The softness in his voice made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand on end. That kindness wasn’t for him, he knew that. But he’d take it. He would take what Gale would give him.

“Whole lot of time.” John said, hardly believing a word. With each erratic, aroused beat of his heart, he felt the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Gale was slipping through his fingers, even while he was a mooring presence against John’s skin. “Come on, just like old times, yeah?”

Old times meant cramped closets in the dark. Muffled breathing as they chased their own orgasms. Those were some of John’s favourite memories, tucked up against Gale’s body as they tried to drown out the world around them. If Gale was there, things didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gale smiled at him now, in the relatively spacious billet. His eyes were lit up by the lamp on the nightstand. A warm, golden glow that reflected on his skin. It sure felt different from any other time, not only for the sand in their hourglass pouring out, but the kindness, the warmth, everything they hadn’t been able to have during the war.

John undid his own tie and started on his own buttons, Gale took over for him, undressing John before leaning in to kiss him. It was soft and slow, close-mouthed and all too serene. John had to remind himself that they were back home, that this wasn’t the war. Gale wouldn’t be by his side anymore, but he’d be out there. He’d be okay.

Gale pushed him back against the bed until John’s back met the mattress. Gale posted his arms next to John’s shoulders, kissing him and pressing their chests together. He reached down to undo John’s belt, slipping his trousers down to palm him through the front of his underwear. John gasped, bucking his hips up against Gale’s hand.

“Don’t.” He said when Gale licked his lips, ducking his head to be level with John’s groin. “Not like that.”

Gale looked up at John, a bemused expression on his face. John cupped Gale’s jaw, bringing Gale’s lips back up to his.

“All the way?” Gale asked when he pulled back, studying John intently.

“Why not?” John said. Anything to move them along. He missed Gale’s touch like a chasm in his chest, and he hadn’t even gone yet.

“Alright.” Gale’s lips dropped to John’s neck.

#mota #clegan #buck x bucky #mota fanfic #buck cleven #bucky egan #gale cleven #gale buck cleven #john egan #john bucky egan #fic #this is in the drafts. sitting there. taunting me #brain taken over by luztoye fallout au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Common Knowledge 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You unfurl the strip of legal pad, marked with Professor Halfdansson's messy and pointed writing. The usual scribble that has you squinting at your returned papers. He must be the only instructor in the college that still handmarks his assignment.

Like much of his style, his slanted cursive is chaotic. Often, his lectures or spiraling tangents about his trips to Norway or some mythos unrelated to the topic at hand. He is a well of knowledge, but one which is often overflowing and bottomless.

The subject is far from your first choice. You prefer history with a human subject. Your intrigue is those events which truly occurred, people who once walked the same earth as yourself. Mythos and belief is a human creation but it hardly captures your imagination.

Along your search for title jotted onto the scrap, you find several other books to sate your personal preferences. A book on the Beothuk and their demise and another illustrated index of Renaissance art. Finally, you find the rear corner of the store, the mythology shelves nestled behind Spirituality and New Age.

You hover your finger before the rows and lean in, squinting through your lenses as you search out the rather Nordic-sounding name. You sense a shadow at the end of the aisle but do not look over. You'll just be on your way once you-- there it is.

You pinch the spine of the deep blue tome and slide it out. The cover is stamped with gold runes and lettering, a viking helm the central image. You double-check that it matches the professor's scrawl, however you can never be sure as his Fs look like Ss.

You set it flat on your armful of book, balancing the weight with the rest as you crumple the scrap and tuck it into your pocket. It's a bit more than you want to spend but it will be useful in maintaining your average through Halfdansson's course.

The shadow comes closer and you shift out of the way for the approaching customer. You sidle away as they huff, a breath that fans around them. He leans into the shelf and you sense his head shift and his gaze follow your slow retreat.

"Ah, you are a fan of vikings?" He asks, stopping you in your tracks. "You must've watched the show, hm? Cute series but not very accurate, you know?"

You blink, taken aback but his tone and his assumption. It isn't the first time you've met the attitude in your chosen discipline. When it comes to military history or the lives of vaunted men, there is often an intonation towards female scholars. You have been dismissed more than once.

"Never seen it," you lie, "you seem the type though."

You note his snow white hair, a peculiar shade, drawn back into a half pony, and his blindingly pale eyes. He wears a tunic better housed in the closet of a LARPing club and looms with an air of indignation. He puts a thick hand on the shelf and leans, no doubt used to towering over others.

"Funny, that is the very book I came for," he intones.

"Oh, what a coincidence."

HIs jaw ticks and he snorts, "seems you've found quite the lot--"

"I have. A whole trove."

You go to turn away and hear his sole clomp down behind you, "surely you can grab another encyclopedia. I really need that one."

"Uh, no, this is what I need."

He follows you down the aisle as you keep a quick step, uneasy at how he trails you so fervently.

"Maybe you should grab another one."

"I have all the others. I've been waiting months for that to come into stock," he insists.

"Well, you can find a kiosk and order one in--"

"On a three month backorder," he interjects and grabs your arm. "I'll pay you--"

You spin back to face him and hit his chest with your books, "don't touch me."

"Well, just..." he retracts his hand, "hold up. I'm trying to talk to you. To barter--"

"I'm sorry, but I need this book for class," you hug the books and back up, overly aware of the tingliness from where he grabbed you. You don't like being touched. At all. You can feel your heart pumping.

"Does the school not have a library, little girl?"

Your mouth falls open. Little girl? This guy just can't help himself. You haven't been rude, maybe matter-of-fact, but he's been downright mean.

"Not for sale," you push your shoulders up and back away.

You twist on your heel and speed away. You weave between the shelves and discount tables and join the winding queue at the counter. You don't look back and sway in your boots, waiting your turn.

"I could give you several recommendations for an alternate text," the man appears at your side, crowding you inside the black cords that rein in the queuing customers.

You ignore him and turn your head away. You wish he'd just take a hint. If you heard a single please or any sort of respect, you might consider it. He's only been a jackass and judging at first glance, he's too old for that.

"You don't need it–"

You move with the line and he growls, shifting with you.

"Look, girl–"

You snap your head back and give him a glare. He sucks in one cheek and exhales heavily, "miss, I am asking you nicely–"

The associate at the counter calls for next and you take your cue. You quickly cross the space and put your haul onto the wooden ledge. You hear the pushy stranger snarl something under his breath. You refuse to look back as you hand over your membership card.

Men like that are the very reason you despise the general public. Hard to fathom how you can be so intrigued by the human condition when you can hardly bear to be around other people.

#geralt of rivia #geralt #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #harald halfdansson #harald x reader #dark harald #dark!harald #harald finehair #vikings #the witcher #bookstore au #au #series #drabble

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nikomedes · 26 days

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ive seen some great bingo sheets going around for malevolent s5 but i would ask you to go further. lets invent some new 13th century miseries for our failsons arthur and john

EDIT: people in the notes have mentioned they don’t know what some of these are, so i jotted down some quick and dirty explanations below the cut.

the bubonic plague or black death is pretty well known, a horrific illness mostly transmitted by fleas and rats that was responsible for mass death in europe.

marginalia are funky little drawings made in the margins of illuminated manuscripts, largely by bored monks and scriveners. my favorite is the penis beast.

a medieval lord’s military might wasnt made up mostly of knights, who were typically low in number and expensive to field. they largely relied on levies, groups of able-bodied men raised from their land holdings and basically given a pike (a long spear), the bare minimum of equipment/livery, and a slap on the ass, and sent to fight one of the many english civil wars.

leprosy was another greatest hit of medieval diseases that fucked your whole life up.

catholic heresies are super fun! christianity has existed in a sort of perpetual state of “fuck around and find out,” but the medieval period saw a supreme amount of fucking around. here’s a great post rating many of these heresies. check out marcionism for some great Demiurge Discourse

middle english was the form english took at this time. it can be very musical, but its, uh, yknow. difficult to parse these days.

crusades were basically the greatest pastime of medieval rulers. not sure what to do with a heap of gold and all your vassal lords getting antsy and potentially fomenting ANOTHER civil war? ship them off to the middle east to fight a holy war on any pretext you can think of, including “because i can.”

tunic malfunction is mostly a goof, but between hose, sumptuary laws governing specific colors and items different races/religions/classes could wear, tunic length discourse, and how expensive making clothes could be, well. it could be a hurdle

legal proceedings weren’t just for people back in the day. sometimes animals would be dragged to the stand and accused of crimes. pigs in particular were often accused of eating limbs, children, and promoting sin.

13th century well water is your one stop shop for some all-time hit fatal diseases, such as cholera and dysentery! also, even if it didnt kill you, frequent contamination means it usually smelt or looked bad. poisoning wells was a common warfare tactic as well.

#john gets really good at lefthanded longbow unfortunately did not make the cut bc its 14c #malevolent #malevolent podcast #john malevolent #arthur lester #poll #jarthur #private eyes

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mara-tevith-solo · 11 months

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Fate Thinks She’s Funny

Screw it, I might make this a series. Part of the One Enchanted Evening fic. Reader here has a recycled OC background I made for the MCU. Essentially came to Earth after Order 66 in the 90′s, was forcibly conscripted in the US Military and she gets tangled up in everything because of the Ancient One, the Jedi inability to not meddle, and Billy. It’s a 43k word fic that is no where near complete and probably will never be

Pairing: Adam Warlock x ex-avenger/guardian! reader

Warnings: Canon levels of violence, love at first sight, prospective death, Adam pulling his punches just for you because he hates the idea of hurting you after 0.001 seconds, reader compares him to a Rancor of all things

Words: 1.8k+

Rated: 18+ as always

It was the crashing that alerted you initially, pulling you from the half-sleep you had managed to finally fall into. You didn't even bother shutting the door to your apartment behind you as you went to investigate, Groot wrapped around something on fire shooting past without much preamble. You were fully awake before he was out of sight, already trying to calculate his trajectory to be there to stop him. You ran over walkways and tight wires, not truly looking where you were going besides making sure the way was clear, making sure that no one would get hurt from the debris. It barely occurred to you that you were only dressed in one of Stephen's old shirts and a pair of sleeping shorts, your main concern being the citizens, and then the attacker.

A mother and child huddled on main street gave you pause, the mother trying to shelter her screaming child as debris began raining down towards them. Protecting them with the Force was reactionary, no really thought put into it until they were safe and you were on the move again. You skidded to a stop on a catwalk as Kraglin's arrow smacked the man harmlessly across the cheek, making him stop angrily in his tracks "Who threw this thing at me?" He demanded sharply, looking around the rubble he'd created. No one dared to answer him, all of them hiding and fighting to remain silent despite their fear. He looked, disarmed by the fear, choosing to move on "Baby." He chided before continuing on his path.

Landing on the attacker was easy, he was strutting through main street like he owned the place, like he wasn't trying to tear it apart bit by bit. He fell to the ground under you with an annoyed yell, your claws sinking into his shoulders before you were moving off of him, twisting and throwing him over your head and down into the ground with a shout. You didn't wait for the dust to settle to grab him again, hoisting him up to his feet as he tried regaining his barrings. For a moment, one single solitary moment, your eyes met, gold giving way to his pupils as they dilated, his breath stuttering as his golden lips dropped open the barest fraction. There was something star struck in his expression, something you forced yourself to not dwell on as you let go of his tunic just long enough to Spartan Kick him further away from where he'd thrown Nebula. He didn't go far, landing on his back with a forced exhale before he was clambering up to his feet with a bewildered glare "Do that again and I'll be forced to kill you." He was warning you as he shook the dust from his person, not taking his eyes off your form.

"Pity." You huffed, calling my saber, reaching back towards your apartment.

"What's that? What is the purpose of that?" He asked, genuinely curious, tilting his head like a puppy. It genuinely caught you off guard, both the fact that he genuinely didn't know what you were doing, and the fact that he seemed so innocent in that moment. You didn't answer him, instead taking a ready stance as soon as the hilt was in your hand, the familiar hum and yellow hue a comfort. He blinked, taking in your position and your weapon before deciding that you were still intent on being a threat, powering up with a frustrated grunt and a silent snarl, his hands engulfed in blades of light. It was like dancing, fighting with him, meeting him strike for strike even though it didn't feel like his heart was fully in it. He depowered one hand enough to grab your saber hand, immobilizing it no matter how hard you struggled, making you grab his arm that was still powered up, holding it above both of your heads in a struggle of wills. "I do not want to kill you." He admitted with a grunt, trying to break the hold you had on him.

"Not the first time I've heard that." You growled back a little bitterly, straining against him for a moment before you saw an opening and took it. Your forehead collided with his, a resounding crack! echoing through your head and the square as he cried out in pain, stumbling blindly back in retreat. "Fucking hell." You groaned, doubling over as you pressed your freehand to your forehead, trying to sooth the ache that was still blooming there. You could feel the tale tell tickle of a small track of blood dripping down the bridge of your nose, but didn't think much of it as you focused an eye on him, watching him recollect himself with that snarl of his.

"Are you always this stubborn?!" He asked you indignantly, throwing his hands out with exasperation.

You couldn't stop your expression if you wanted to, open bewilderment taking your face by storm as you just stared at him "You're trying to kill my friends! Of course I'm 'being stubborn'!"

"I just want the squirrel." He rebutted as though it was so simple.

"You can't have our friend! He's not property!"

Before he could say another word, Drax grabbed him and began throwing him around "Pick on someone your own size!"

You wanted to just hide somewhere as you backed away from the two men, your heart pounding deafeningly in your chest as Drax threw him into the headquarters sign "Y/n!" You could hear Mantis calling desperately from the med center, tears in her voice spurring you into action, ignoring the suddenly very determined man as he lifted himself from the dirt. You had to stop, your eyes glued to the scene, as the man met Drax hit for hit, matching every bit of his strength easily. It made you want to throw up. You watched, helpless, as beams of light came from the man's hands again, Drax barely able to stop them, holding the man at bay with groans of strain. "Y/n! Help!" Mantis wailed again, but you couldn't tear your gaze away as the stranger's power began to whine audibly, getting brighter and brighter until he was blowing Drax back with it.

As soon as he straddled and began pummeling Drax you were in motion, charging without a thought of your own safety. You dove at the last possible moment, only loosing a cry when your shoulder collided with his ribs, ripping him off of Drax and into the dirt with you. Scrabbling for dominance in the dirt with him, you didn't care to use finesse, or any true skill. He'd already proven that he was ridiculously strong, that you had to fight dirty to get any advantage. You barely paid attention to the darkening of his cheeks and neck as you straddled his waist and tried to punch his lights out, your fist raining punishment into his pretty face over and over again as your other hand kept you anchored to him, fisted tightly into the collar of his tunic. He seemed more concerned with trying to fend off the blows than fight back "ENOUGH!" He roared under you, almost succeeding in turning over under you as he tried to protect himself. You didn't listen to him as you pressed him back down, driving your fist into his sternum as you continued to punch the daylights out of him. "I said," He grabbed you by the thighs, his hands engulfing them by nearly half before he was usurping your position, driving your back into the dirt, his weight pressing down between your legs "enough!" It was only at that moment that he seemed to realize the position he had put you both in, making you feel like you were on fire as he stared down at you with those wide doe eyes that just screamed innocence.

You blinked back up at him, suddenly uncomfortable with the vulnerable position, your grip on his collar almost slackening with the shock that you liked it, until Drax groaned in pain, snapping you back to reality. Your legs tightened around his lower ribs, locking at the ankles behind him as you squeezed for all you were worth, not letting up as he sucked in a panicked, ragged breath. His hands found your thighs again as he sat up, dragging you up with him as you resumed punching and he tried pushing, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh, trying to pry you off before you constricted him to death. In a split second he gave up trying to get you off of him, his hand molding around the column of your throat like it was made to be there, cutting off your own breath as he pressed you back down into the dirt with a heavy glare. You tightened your hold on his ribs defiantly as you tried to pry his hand off, snarling right back up at him as he reared his fist back to finally fight back. A glowing blade erupted from his chest, instantly taking the fight out of him as he incredulously looked from you to it "That... hurts!" He breathed as golden blood dripped from the tip of the blade and down onto your shirt, immediately standing out from the blood sweat and dirt that clung to it.

"What a pity." Nebula growled from behind him as his hand loosened around your throat, allowing you to suck in a greedy lungful of air that had never tasted so sweet. The man looked back down at you as you gulped down ragged breaths past your burning throat, a small trickle of blood dripping past his lips as he grunted in pain. You let him go as soon as the blade retreated, letting him fall to the dust beside you. You couldn't look at him, it hurt to and you couldn't figure out why, why his imminent death was going to bother you. He'd been trying to kill your friends since he'd arrived on Knowhere and yet... "Still alive down there?" Nebula's voice broke you out of your thoughts and slammed you back into the moment as the man continued to suffer quietly beside you.

She was fighting a ghost of a smile as she offered you an arm "He hits like a Rancor." Your voice was still rough as it passed your burning throat, your healing taking its sweet time as you accepted her help to climb to your feet. She just shook her head with amusement before going to Drax, leaving you there. You didn't want to, but you looked down at the man, acknowledging his gaze as he turned onto his back, his eyes begging you for help "I'm sorry, I didn't want it to end like this." The words felt right as they hit the air, your chest aching at the idea that he'd die there. You were quick to turn away from him and limp to the Med Center, your thighs shivering with every step. You didn't want to face his death, didn't want to acknowledge it and you couldn't figure out why.

#adam warlock x reader #adam warlock #adam warlock x you #gotg vol 3

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maculategiraffe · 2 months

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did anyone at all see rebel moon and why is the bad guy's white button down shirt and dark tie not all anyone is talking about. they're all wearing perfectly respectable star wars outfits-- dusty boots, tunics, robes, hooded cloaks, funny hats, long military coats and shiny boots for the bad guys-- and then this fucking guy walks out on screen dressed like THIS

cannot possibly describe how insane this sartorial choice is for this setting. this is like if geralt and jaskier sat down in a pub and the carolina-duke basketball game was playing on a flatscreen behind the bar. this is like if a drunken sandor clegane told sansa to sing for him and she started singing "baby" by justin bieber. I'm going to lose my goddamn mind

#rebel moon #psir

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sweetie-peaches · 6 months

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My concepts for the Blue Team uniforms!!!

Basic:

(ID:

Two versions of a A winter themed military typed uniform. The first has a blue aviator hat, blue over coat with a brown tunic under it. Over the overcoat and tunic is a brown strap running diagonally across the front, lower down the tunic splits off into two flaps with blue details on them.where they split a blue sash is wrapped around the waist, then brown pants and blue boots. The second version is the same but with a blue cloak over it

End ID)

Team leaders:

(ID:

Two winter military type uniforms one with a blue over coat, double breasted brown shirt, a light blue sash, brown pants, and blue fur lined boots. The second version has a blue cloak over the uniform, shorter in the right shoulder then the left

End ID)

Attempting to make a base work/farming vers, but it’s being difficult for no reason, soz :( )

Anyway, the team leader uniforms would probably be costumized depending on who’s they are, but the good ole hand injury is acting up again (procrastinating) sooo, this is just a gen type uniform, I’ll make the costume ones tmrw, or the next day or uhhhh, some point?

Anyway, please reblog as well as liking if you don’t mind

#peaches posts #qsmp qosts #qsmp fanart #qsmpblr #my art #costume design #badboyhalo fanart #qsmp tubbo #qsmp blue team

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pjmslave · 7 months

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UPGRADED

Günther’s eyes remained open. Wide opened. He could not remember the last time he had actually blinked his eyes. They had been shielded with a silver mesh like material. On this silver mesh was projected multiple layers of information. Most of the data being inputted into his brain via his eyes was, to Günther, gibberish. Yet, Günther knew it had meaning to a part of his brain that was no longer accessible by him.

What frightened Günther the most was that this ‘aspect’ of his brain was gaining an ever increasing control of his body. This was a part of his brain which kept him from blinking his eyes. It also kept him from moving from the cubicle where he stood. This new growing persona in his brain would cause things to happen with and in his body. Günther refused to accept the fact he was no longer in control…in theory at least, but the mounting evidence was suggesting that his body was being controlled by someone or something else.

Günther returned his focus to the room before him. It was some type of small factory room. Yet, it was also an operating theater. What happened on the other side his shielded eyes was gruesome. He was not sure how many days he had been ‘captured,’ but he had watched at least a score of men and women be upgraded into robotic individuals who were completely identical to each other. Not one individual resisted being ‘upgraded.’ Not one had resisted having limbs replaced with mechanical limbs. Not one has resisted having the tops of their scalps removed to be replaced by a silver hairless scalp.

Not one had resisted being covered in identical silver plating. Günther had recognized several men and women from the rally where he had given an electrifying speech on the need to resist the liberal causes and the need to slam shut the open border policy of the current elected PM who is more dictator than elected official. Not one of those individuals had mounted any resistance to what was being done to them. They just screamed from the pain. None ever moved from the gruesome work being done on their bodies. Step by step. Metal plating by metal plating they had been transform, upgraded into their current form. Now, Günther could not tell one from the other. They were all the same. All of them had been upgraded. Identical. All spouting, “You will become like us. You shall be upgraded!” in the creepiest robot voice that Günther had ever heard.

Günther suddenly moved out of his cubicle. He immediately turned right and moved forward to what was the first step to being upgraded. Here, all his human clothing was surgically removed with what appeared to be a laser scalpel. The fact he had been wearing over seventeen hundred pound sterling worth of leather, including pants, knee high boots, and military tunic, was not even recognized by the mechanical beings stripping his clothing from his body. It was removed and disregarded into a trash bin.

Next, the mechanical beings attacked something that was priceless. Günther felt the sharp laser scalpel cut into his groin. He screamed. Günther lost consciousness. Not his body, just the part of its mind that was Günther. The body continued with the upgrade. During the absence of Günther in active thought, there was an extreme increase in endorphins flooding Günther’s body. These endorphins only increase as a silver metallic tube was forced down the screaming oral-pharynx into the waiting trachea. Then a huge voice box being inserted into Günther’s waiting mouth. The gag reflex of Günther’s throat was quickly and efficiently exterminated. When the body that had been Günther’s ceased its screams, the teeth of its mouth snapped down onto and into the soft pliable silver coating of this newly upgraded voice box—never to move again.

When Günther regained some small bit of awareness, things were different. His limbs had been replaced with upgraded mechanical limbs. One thousand times more durable. Indestructible! One hundred times stronger. Undefeatable. Its new limbs were so much more than its former limbs.

Günther’s new upgraded body approached a new humanoid to be upgraded. It was being restrained by two other upgraded beings. The upgraded body was resisting. Struggling frantically against its situation. Günther felt its right arm raised without any intervention from him. It felt this right arm become electrified. The four digits of its hand which had been upgraded to only two digits almost touched the forehead of this poor pitiful humanoid. Günther did not understand what was happening but this new individual ceased its struggle. Its eyes rolled upward until all that was noticeable was the full whites of its eyes.

As Günther placed headgear on to this individual, he heard his voice box proclaim, “You will become as we are. You will not resist. You will be upgraded.” As his body filled with a new wave of endorphins, Günther realized this had been his good friend Larry. He had done to Larry what had been done to him. Günther was unsure what to think of this until his body filled with a massive amount of endorphins. Only then did he think, ‘this must be the way.’ He was not sure what this actually meant, but his did not care anymore. All he wanted were the endorphins.

Günther’s body turned to face another humanoid. This one with a heighten skull cap. Günther mind recognized this as ‘LEADER’. Günther left his mechanical body stiffen to a stance of attention. His mind filled with a mechanical voice of LEADER, “You have been upgraded to our standards. You are now like us. You are CYBERMAN Kappa Six Three Omega.” Günther felt things shutting down in his mind. The last suggestion that he had once been human was being completely and irretrievably erased. He was a CYBERMAN now. Totally obedient to the will of the CYBER CONTROLLER and the CYBER LEADER. CYBERMAN Kappa Six Three Omega would obey. no independent thoughts. No resistance. No hesitation. Complete obedience. No cause to think for itself.

CYBERMAN Kappa Six Three Omega understood its task: “Upgrade. Upgrade. Upgrade.” It turned to other pathetic humans who were to be honored by an upgrade. He picked the first. Somewhere it knew this human was named Butch. He was a Neo-Nazi. It did not matter. It would be upgraded.

Butch saw this massive silver humanoid object move towards him. He increased his struggles against the restraining hands of his captors. He has seen what had happened to all the others. He did not want to be upgraded. He just wanted to escape. This was his primary objective until the tip of the silver man’s hand touched his forehead. Then the chaotic thoughts in his mind became more orderly.

Butch felt a wave of pleasure engulf his mind. He stopped struggling. He moaned a sigh of pleasure. “Perhaps being ‘upgraded’ is not so bad.” Butch’s body started seizing. Only the grip of the two Cybermen kept him upright. As soon as the ‘induction head gear’ had been properly place, Bruce was moved to the cubicle he would occupy during his initial upgrade. He would love being upgraded. Everyone did.

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dreaming-medium · 5 months

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Animals Without Direction

Chapter Fifteen - Serendipitously

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

“Swin…ging his ax… ab…ove his head… The… col… col…col…” Changbin hesitates in his reading, paused at a single word.

True to your word, the two of you continued lessons on reading and writing whenever you had a chance. He picked up on everything so fast, he hardly needed your help anymore. But every now and then, there would be a word or two that tripped him up.

Sitting at the same corner of the table in his quarters, you look down at the book splayed out on the table.

“Ah,” you say, seeing what word he was stopped on. “Colonel. It is a tricky one and there is absolutely no reason for it to be spelled that way.”

Changbin nods sheepishly and continues on, picking up where he left off. “The Colonel brought it down upon the prisoner’s neck, ex… ex-e-cu-ting swift just…ice– justice in front of his p…eople.”

It’s been three weeks since Miroh’s victory at Fort Mire. Since that time, a larger garrison of troops arrived and Changbin has been sending them out to overtake smaller strongholds along the border of Bewaes, just as Chan told him to.

Once the army takes over the stronghold, they set up a garrison and camp out there.

Each time a legion has been deployed, you go with them for the battle. But, each time, you return to Fort Mire.

It has become Miroh’s top base and point of contact as new soldiers arrive.

Another attack was scheduled to leave at first light to march out to a camp north west of Fort Mire.

This will be the fourth camp overtaken if all goes well.

Erbus’ troops have been falling easily– too easily.

After the third victory, alarm bells began ringing in your head. It’s not that Miroh was not strong enough to deliver these sort of victories, no. It was that Erbus was not the type of hold to take these losses lying down.

Changin had instructed Jeongin to stay at the second military camp, Bonereach Blockade. He was put in charge of his own small battalion there. You haven’t seen him in almost eleven days.

Since your arrival in Miroh, this has been the longest stretch of time you’ve gone without seeing the squire. Not a day goes by where you don’t miss his boyishly charming self.

“I will see you soon, then.”

You never were good with goodbyes; always found them awkward and sometimes too emotional. You’re a big fan of leaving without saying anything. But, people have expressed in the past how rude that it can be. Oh, well.

Jeongin stares down at you with a sad smile. A long sigh leaves his nose.

You were to make the day-long trek back to Fort Mire by yourself and you were not looking forward to it.

Ever since that first night, the two of you have been attached at the hip. Stealing kisses left and right, spending whatever time you could with one another.

Not there was much time to do that with all the preparation to be done.

Training had been different, that much is for sure.

“I look forward to it, Y/N.”

You had helped him set up his tent. It was rather grand, you don’t even know if you could just call it a ‘tent’. A full sized bed as well as a desk and a table fit inside.

The commander of a camp gets the master tent.

Earlier, you had teased Jeongin, telling him that perhaps he should invest in laying out a rug. He laughed off your joke and told you not to be jealous.

Just the two of you stood inside, the sun had risen about two hours ago. Really, you need to get going if you want to make it back to Fort Mire by sundown

He takes steps closer to you until your chests are practically touching, sparkling brown eyes gazing down at you.

“I thank you for giving me your time, mercenary.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “You say that as if I will not do so again.”

Jeongin chuckles and wraps both of his arms loosely around your waist. Your hands come up and rest on the soft fabric of his tunic, fingers picking at the pills in the cloth.

“I know for certain that I am not the only man pining for your attention, Y/N.” He whispers down to you.

One of your eyebrows raise and you look at him curiously. Jeongin only shakes his head and dips down to meet your lips in a soft, meaningful kiss.

Your hands slide up his chest and your arms wind around his neck.

He pulls away first, kissing each corner of your mouth, your nose, and then your forehead. “Be safe, Y/N. I hope to see you soon.”

Since then you’ve kept yourself busy, helping Changbin around the keep.

Surprisingly, you’ve spent more time with Hyunjin as well. On nights where you find yourself awake in the wee hours of the morning, you’ll wander down to the courtyard and find him reading in front of a fire or practicing a new spell.

The two of you never speak, you just sit in silence with one another, basking in the other’s presence.

“I never thought about doing an attack like that.” Changbin says to you, bringing your mind back to the present.

“I am sorry, what did you say?”

He’s still looking down at the book on the table. “The character in this book, he swung his ax over his head to create momentum on a downward strike. I never thought about doing that.” He shifts around on his chair, obviously excited.

“See? I told you that there is a plethora of information you can discover by reading books.” You can’t help but smile at him.

“Aye, once again, you were correct.” Changbin looks away from the book and up at you. “I cannot thank you enough for having patience with me, Y/N.”

You reach across the table and place your hand on top of his. “You do not need to thank me, Changbin. It is a pleasure to teach you.”

He flips his hand over on the table; his thick fingers play around with yours absentmindedly. The heat coming off his hand is comfortable and draws your attention.

Changbin stares at your face for a moment longer before looking back down at the book again.

“What is this word?” He points down at the page.

“Which one?”

You scoot your chair even closer to his and peer down at the pages. Your shoulder brushing against his.

Both of you wore comfortable, easy clothes; tunics and soft pants. It was uncomfortable to wear your armor everywhere.

Humming, you read where he was pointing at the book. “Try to sound out the letters, this one is not so difficult.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, his fingers coming up to grasp yours playfully. A warm laugh bubbles from your chest.

“I am serious,” you tease. “Attempt it.”

Changbin looks back down at the book, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scans over the letters. “S… Ser… en… end…” He pauses, “endip… serendip…”

“You are doing so well,” you encourage in a whisper. “Keep going.”

Imperceptibly, he squirms a little at your praise.

You’re no longer looking down at the book on the table, you’re staring at the side of his head. Changbin’s lips purse in concentration, the grip on your hand tightens and his knee bounces anxiously.

You squeeze his fingers in fortitude.

“Ser– endip– pit… pit…”

“Remember that ‘t-o-u-s’ makes a ‘ tous’ sound.”

“Serendipi… tous… ly.”

“Now, put it all together.”

“Serendipi…tously. Serendipitously. Serendipitously? Serendipitously!” Changbin shouts excitedly after he’s read the entire word.

Your smile grows impossibly bright and you let out another cheer for him. “Yes! See? Not so hard!”

Changbin squeezes your hand even tighter and pulls it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his. The feeling shoots all the way up your arm and through your shoulder.

Goosebumps raise over your flesh and a blush spreads over your cheeks.

He’s too busy celebrating his small victory to notice how much of an effect that kiss had on you.

“At this rate, I will not need another general to read me the correspondence from Chan.” He smiles back down at the book, a wistful expression on his face.

“Aye, you will.” His dark hair had fallen in front of his eyes. You reach forward and brush his bangs away. The soft strands fall over your fingers.

Changin’s dark brown eyes flicker over to you, they catch the light coming from the candle on the table.

“Then, you will be able to read the tomes of old warriors where they discuss their preferred battle strategies.” Your fingers drop from his face and down to your lap, but your other hand stays clasped within his own. “And perhaps, you can write down yours for future military commanders to read long after you are gone from this world.”

He grins, suddenly shy, and looks down at his lap. “I never considered the idea of immortalizing my life in that way.”

“That is because you are too humble, Sir Seo.” You squeeze his hand, the blush on his cheeks darkens a bit. “In years to come, people will sing songs of your greatness. Children will play in the streets with their wooden swords and they will fight over who gets to be you in their fantasies.”

“My victories are not so great.”

“Perhaps not yet.” You chuckle, “You have so much life left to live, so many great battles to win. A year ago the story of Seo Changbin would not have been as thick of a book as it is now. And who knows what will become of those pages by this time next year, next month even.”

Finally, his eyes lift from his lap and look into yours. His cheeks are impossibly red and his eyes impossibly sparkly. He gazes at you as if you hung the moon yourself.

“You flatter me, Y/N.”

“I only speak the truth, Changbin.”

He picks up your hand and holds it with both of his; his fingers playing with yours absentmindedly again.

“Would you read my tales?”

“Who says I am not going to write some of them?”

He leans closer to you.

“Would you sing my songs?”

“I would lead the revelry in the inn in your honor.”

His laugh is hearty and kind. Once more, he brings your hand up to his lips, but this time, it is much more purposeful.

Changbin’s eyes stay locked with yours as he presses the kiss to your skin. You beam at him, and deep down you hope that your eyes are sparkling just like his. His pillowy lips are so soft against your skin.

The flame of the candle dances around in the reflection of his pupils.

Three knocks on the door breaks your eye contact with Changbin. Annoyance causes his eyebrow to twitch and he gently drops your hand.

“Come in!” He calls.

A sight for sore eyes walks into the room.

“Jisung! I was not expecting to see you.” Changbin says, standing up from the table and walking over to the man happily.

You rise from your chair as well, smiling at him.

“It is good to see you too, Changbin.”

The two men clasp forearms in a warm greeting.

“I did not expect to see you anywhere near the front lines.”

“I have actually come to retrieve something for our Jarl.” Jisung explains to Changbin.

“What is it?”

Jisung looks over at you with a sly smile. “I am here for our mercenary.”

Oh, that’s right. You were to return to Miroh in a month after your original departure.

“Has it been a month already?” you ask.

“Just about, Chan gets antsy, I am afraid.”

You shift around on your feet. “But the battle in the morning.”

Changbin raises his hand to stop you. “We can manage without you, Y/N.”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest. “Perhaps, but your victories will not be as speedy or magnificent.”

Both men laugh at your joke.

“I would like to be on the road soon, Y/N, if that is alright.” Jisung says to you.

Reluctantly, you nod. “Aye, I can have my things collected within the hour.”

“That is perfect, I will meet you out in the courtyard then.”

Jisung nods his head to both of you and leaves through the door, leaving you and Changbin by yourselves in the room.

A deep sigh leaves your lungs and you look down at the book on the table.

“Do not sigh like that,” Changbin chides, “I am certain you will be back after you are finished with whatever Chan needs from you.”

“I sure hope that our Jarl allows me to return.”

“He will. I also doubt he will be able to keep you from returning.”

A semi-awkward silence falls over the two of you. You bite your lip anxiously and look around the room, anywhere but at him.

“I will be off then. Best not to keep Jisung waiting.”

You made to move past him, but a soft call of your name made you pause directly next to him, your shoulders brushing.

Changbin turned and looked at you with a flush crawling up his neck. His eyes tracing over each one of your features with a kind warmth. He looks as though he’s trying to memorize each curve of your face.

“Please be safe, Y/N.”

You grin, “I should be saying that to you, Changbin.”

Looking down at the ground, you let thoughts churn in your mind for a moment before turning and quickly wrapping your arms around his chest.

By The Six, he smells so lovely; so earthy and fresh. Rainwater on freshly blooming flowers. Like you fell asleep in a meadow and woke up with the sun and dew covers all of the lily pads in the pond.

Heat radiates through his tunic and leeches onto your skin.

Changbin emits a small gasp of surprise, but he immediately wraps his arms around you in return.

For a man who has arms like tree trunks, his embrace is so soft. Your cheek presses to his chest and you can hear the powerful thuds of his heartbeat.

Its drumbeat sends wave after wave of reassurance.

“I do beseech you to look after yourself in the coming battles, Changbin.”

“I will.”

His voice rumbles through his chest and you feel the vibrations against your ear. Tightening your arms around his body, you press your face further into his fresh scent.

He chuckles and rubs one hand up and down your back in a comforting manner.

“Who would have thought the mercenary would develop a soft spot for her commander?”

You pull away from him slightly and level a blank look at him. “Do not get cocky.”

Changbin pats your back and laughs. “Of course, of course.”

Reluctantly, you pull away from him and take a few steps towards the door. You clear your throat awkwardly and shuffle your weight around.

The commander just stands there, staring at you with that amused smirk on his lips.

“... Do not die.” You say one last time and open the door, shutting it behind you. But, you were still able to hear the hearty laugh that Changbin let out from behind the wood.

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

“If only Hyunjin came with us, we would not need flint to start a fire.” Jisung complains under his breath.

He’s crouched down next to you, watching as you strike the flint rocks against one another over the pile of firewood and dry leaves.

“If Hyunjin came with us, perhaps the flints would not have been dropped in the river.” You mumble, hitting the rocks together over and over.

“I did not do it purposefully!”

“Sure.”

Despite the words on the harsher side, the air around the two of you is anything but. Every time you’ve been around him, Jisung always gives off such a comfortable aura.

Night had fallen just about two hours ago. You both continued on the road for a bit longer until you decided to set up camp for the night.

“Wet flint should still spark.”

You sputter at his statement. “That is not true.”

“It is.”

You hold out the flint towards him. “Would you like to prove me wrong, then?”

Jisung looks down at the flint, then back up at you, “... Nay.”

“That is what I thought.” You turn back to the firewood and strike the flints over and over again.

Eventually, the rock will dry enough to spark, but it was only about an hour ago that they were dropped into the water.

Jisung watches you in silence, his body crouched down, arms wrapped around his shins. His nose twitches every once in a while.

There was only about three minutes of silence before he spoke up again.

“How have the battles been?”

“Have you not read the correspondence?”

“I have, but I wanted to hear it in your own words.”

You stop hitting the flints for a moment, keeping your eyes cast downwards. “They have been entirely successful. Victory after victory for Miroh.”

“For someone who has been taking part in these victories, your voice is downtrodden.”

Your brows furrow and you bite your lip, weighing your words carefully. Your fingers readjust their grip on the flints.

“It is not that I doubt Miroh’s skill,” you start. “But I have seen Erbus’ forces before. These victories… They are coming too easily. A voice in my mind is calling for attention, it is saying we are overlooking something, that we are blind to an attack to come.”

Jisung watches you carefully, his boots shuffle in the dirt as he readjusts his crouched stance.

You continue on. “Erbus has a higher rank of deadly warriors. I have not seen a single one in all the battles we have fought. These soldiers are marked by two triangles interlocked with one another. It is usually branded into their skin. They’re called the Mercy Division.

“You most likely saw these soldiers the night that you saw soldiers attack those Elves in Erbus. The Mercy Division is typically the group that handles the execution of Elves.”

Jisung looks down at the firewood, his face twisting in distress at the memory.

Swallowing, you pick the flint back up in your hands and strike them against one another even harder.

“Ironic, is it not? The ‘Mercy Division’ causes the most agony and shows none of this so-called ‘mercy’.”

Memories of screams pierce through your brain and your muscles tense. With one particularly rough strike of flint, the sparks fly and land in the brush.

A small fire lights in your campfire.

Both you and Jisung jump to action, blowing air on the small fire to keep it alive. Quickly, it catches and spreads to the logs you placed upon it.

Relief floods through both you and Jisung at the sight.

The two of you stand up and begin shuffling around your tiny campsite. You both set up your bedrolls directly next to the fire to bask in its warmth. You’ve set them up so that when you’re laying down, your heads will be by one another but still both surrounding the fire.

“First light, then?” you ask.

“Aye,” he answers. “Three more days ahead of us after that.”

You nod and scoot down into your bed roll, enveloping yourself in the familiar warmth. You hadn’t slept in this fabric since you shared it with Hyunjin. Heat creeps onto your cheeks at the memory.

Ever since that night, you’ve been able to sleep normally. But still, those few short hours were the most restful you’ve had in years.

Your eyes watch the flames dance around the log, the wood pops and some embers fly around in the air.

“Y/N?” Jisung calls timidly. You hum in response. “What happened to you in Erbus?”

Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

“That day in the throne room,” Jisung’s voice is weak and wistful. “You spoke about the cruelty of Erbus towards Elves in great detail. Plus, you know all about the Mercy Division. What happened to you?”

Neither of you look at one another, you’re both watching the fire. Despite your heads being mere inches from one another.

You were lying on your left side, Jisung on his right.

You didn’t speak for a long moment, all of the memories died on your tongue and turned your stomach when you thought about them for too long.

“I apologize, you do not need–”

“It is alright.” You whisper. “It is not a pleasant bedtime story, Jisung.”

“I was always more of a fan of scary campfire stories, anyway.”

His small joke manages to sneak a smirk from you.

“Are you certain you would like to know?”

“Aye. Hearing these stories ignites a fire within me.”

You watch the fire for another couple of moments trying to gather your thoughts.

“I had only seen nine winters when it happened,” you begin. “We had lived in a tiny cottage hidden in the woods. It was only a six minute walk to the lake, three if you ran, two if you were late to dinner.”

Jisung hums a laugh.

“It was just my mother, my father, and I in that one room cottage. My mother was a human, my father was a pureblood Elf. We were so happy for those first nine years. I would go into Erbus’ capital all the time for school and to play with other children; my mother would barter and buy our groceries. My father always stayed home.

“Back then, I knew that I was not allowed to talk about my father, but I did not know why, nonetheless I did not speak of him to anyone else. Whenever we went into the city, my mother would make sure my hair was down and covering my ears. She even made me a cloak with a hood that I could keep up over my head during the winter months.”

You wore that cloak everywhere. It was a beautiful dark green color that made you feel as though you could blend in with the trees.

“I am not certain how it happened. I will never know if we were ratted out by someone in the city or if someone somehow spotted my father, but the Mercy Division showed up one night. My father had caught a glimpse of them through the window as they were marching up to the cottage. He grabbed me from the bed, pulled up the floorboards with his own two hands and placed me in the crawl space underneath the house.

“Both him and my mother kissed my cheeks one last time. They told me under no circumstances am I to leave until the next morning. My father told me to close my eyes and cover my ears and do not make any noise, no matter what, do not make a sound. Do not weep, do not gasp, do not scream, nothing.”

Your throat tightens, the words coming out more strained with each passing moment.

This is the first time you’ve ever talked about this. It’s the first time you were able to. The first time someone’s ever asked.

“Jisung… I will never forget what happened in my family’s cottage that night.”

He flinches. As if you could feel his sorrow, it wafts over to you. Tears build up in your ducts and your eyes begin to burn.

“The Mercy Division. Five of them came to my door. They kicked it down and grabbed both of my parents. My mother and father screamed, begged, pleaded, prayed for benevolence. My father asked that my mother be let go, she was a human, not an Elf, why does she need to be punished?”

Your stomach does a cartwheel.

“‘A human, eh?’ One soldier said. He grabbed my mother by the hair and threw her onto the ground. Two other soldiers held my father’s arms. They did exactly what they did to the women in that village, Jisung. They all took turns with her, violating her body right in front of my father’s eyes. She sobbed so hard she vomited several times, but it did not deter them until they were all satisfied. ”

The tears finally fell and you bare your teeth, gritting to keep the sobs at bay.

“Once they were done they pulled her apart piece by piece, I can still smell it.”

A sob wracks your body and you curl in on yourself in the bedroll.

“I can hear my father screaming until his vocal chords finally collapsed. Then they had their sick fun torturing my father, cut off his ears and shoved them down his throat. Scalped his head and kept him alive as long as they could to prolong the misery.”

Jisung shuffles around in his bedroll for a moment, but your vision is so blurred from the tears rolling out of your eyes that you don’t focus on it.

“I tried so hard to block out the sound, but hands can only do so much.” This last sentence is whispered. “And I had to keep quiet, swallow each cry and bite down every scream of terror. Some nights I sit and wonder what they would have done to me if my father did not hide me. What would they do to a nine year old girl? My imagination runs wild…”

There’s a sudden presence at your back. You feel the fabric of your bedroll being shifted around and a wave of heat overtake you.

Arms wrap around your waist and bring your body back flush against a strong chest.

More and more sobs wrack your chest, Jisung only holds you tighter.

“Apologies,” you sob. “I do not mean to cry like this, I–”

“Hush,” he whispers into your hair and curls around you like a safety blanket. “It is alright to cry.” He sniffles, letting out a sob of his own.

Just like back in the throne room, Jisung cries for these Elven lives that he did not know.

Your sobs are silent, the physical effects of them are the only sign that you’re crying. Your chest stutters and your breathing is extremely shaky.

Through it all, Jisung stays wrapped around your body, unwavering and delivering silent comfort.

Eventually, your cries calmed down.

“I stayed awake all night in shock. I do not remember a single moment from when they left to when the sun rose. But when my mind eventually began working once more, they were gone. The only evidence that the events did occur was their blood staining the floorboards.”

One of Jisung’s hands move from around your waist and rest on your arm, rubbing up and down soothingly.

“I left the cottage and lived on the streets of Erbus’ capital. Begged for gold to eat, and if I could not afford food, I would scavenge the garbage dumps behind the tavern. I think the chef knew what I was doing, some nights full meals would miraculously show up on the cobblestone.”

“And eventually you learned to swing a sword?”

“Aye, there was a fighter’s guild in the city. I would watch them train in the yard for hours. I had a crush on one of the swordsmen.”

You laugh weakly and Jisung does so as well from behind you.

“He was one of the best fighters I have ever seen. Most of the fighting techniques I know now are from watching and mirroring him.”

“What happened to him?”

You hum wistfully. “I am not sure. He left for a job one day and never came back.” You adjust your head on your bedroll. “They held no funeral, so I am not sure if he was killed or simply did not return. But, one day one of his swords was left outside like trash.”

Your head lifts and cranes towards the sword sitting against your pack.

“It is a nice sword,” you laugh and drop your head back to the ground.

Jisung’s fingers dance along your arm. Then, he wraps it around you once more. His face buries in your neck and his knees tuck behind yours.

Both of your bodies are molded together completely.

This should feel awkward, odd, and completely off-putting. But, it’s not.

Instead, your body sinks backwards and falls into his sincerity. You’ve only been around him a few times, and each time his kind eyes always find yours.

Never once has the man behind you made you feel uncomfortable or lesser than him. Even on the first day he met you in Miroh’s Keep.

When Guatier had insulted your intelligence, Jisung’s eyes sparked with his own annoyance that rivaled your own.

Trust is gained slowly, but for some reason, he has had yours from the beginning. Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to open up to him tonight.

Both of you sit in silence, you feel every inhale and exhale, both from his chest against your back and the small puffs of air fanning out over the nape of your neck.

Another log pops, neither of you flinch.

After a long while, you feel Jisung’s breathing even out, the movements of his chest become shallower and his exhales deeper.

You smile weakly and snuggle backwards towards his warm body.

The bedroll felt empty with only one person, anyway.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #stray kids fantasy au #skz fantasy au #animals without direction

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